Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
cruel servitude, and no hope of escape. When a band of Vikings attacks the estate
where she lives, her old life goes up in flames. On the verge of death, she’s rescued
by an unexpected savior—Erik the Axe, second in command of the Viking fleet.
Erik claims her as a spoil of war, and takes her back to his leader, Rolf the Walker.
Erik is dark and sensual to Rolf’s brutal and commanding. Subject to the whims of
both men, Cherine is once again left with no choices and no hope. She’ll have to
discover her own warrior spirit before the desires of these two men leave her
burned down to ash like the life she left behind.
VIKINGS VALHALLA meets HOOKED in this Dark Viking Romance 50K word novella by NYT
bestselling author Karina Halle. If you like your heroes morally gray, ruthless, and
looking like a Skarsgård, get ready to be RAVAGED. as this book is dark, please
take heed of the content warning inside the book.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Cherine
Inever meant to lose my virginity this way, but even as I slipped the layers of my undergarments back on in the freezing boatshed, the scent of low tide swirling in through the door and wrapping around my ankles, I knew it was better than the alternative. If it hadn’t been Marc, it would’ve been with his indifferent older brother, Pierre. Pierre, with his trembling hands and hunched back from collecting shellfish all day. Pierre, the only serf available on Lord Bouchon’s estate.
I shot Marc a shy glance, trying not to notice his naked form standing before me, his spent cock still quivering with its recent victory. Shyness was new to me. Marc had been my oldest and dearest friend, the one person I could turn to when life got too hard and my sisters were either too sick or too selfish to spare me their time. Now, I’d gotten to know Marc in a way I hadn’t before, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it.
Marc watched me with a mix of worry and relief as a red splotch began to form on his neck, spreading like spilled wine. I didn’t know whether to keep my eyes on his heated face or let them drift down to the part of him that had so recently been inside me. What used to be an easy-going friendship had suddenly made the boathouse feel stuffier with every moment. I slipped my woolen dress over my head, and I briefly thought that perhaps we’d gone a little too far this time. After all, it had only been touching and kissing for the last year until my urges had gotten the better of me.
Not that I was the only one to blame. Marc was a year younger than me, and soon, he’d be paired with either my second youngest sister, Giselle, or one of the Fornier daughters. The Lord’s estate was small, and the serfs had no choice but to marry whoever was available. I hadn’t seen an outsider in two years, not since a group of soldiers from another fiefdom had come through. It had been one of the most exciting days of my life.
I cleared my throat and adjusted the stiff linen layers under my dress, my eyes darting to the stack of moldy rope crab traps in the corner. “Perhaps you should put your clothes back on, Marc.”
The red splotch grew, and he quickly snapped up his trousers, as if caught in a trance. “I’m sorry, Cherine.”
A small smile tugged at my lips as I moved my attention away from him. “It’s no matter. Just thought you’d catch a cold.”
I waited while I heard him fumble with buttons and sleeves until he finally said, “There.”
I looked back and felt a relief wash over me, happy to see my friend looking like my friend again—dark curly hair, olive skin, hazel eyes, all above tattered, threadbare clothes permanently stained by sea mud. Marc was such a good-looking boy on top of everything, and yet, I felt a pang of disappointment. Our coupling hadn’t produced the results I wanted. As much as my body had wanted to be with Marc, as frustrated as I’d been after months of secret courting and no relief, I was confused at how unfulfilled I felt. Marc had only lasted a few minutes—and I knew he’d enjoyed himself from the way his cries filled the boatshed as he came—but I’d expected to feel more than just a burst of pain and a trail of wetness soaking my drawers.
Well, there was also the bit of fear. I hoped I hadn’t bled enough to make my mother or sisters suspicious if they found my garments on washing day. Almost every soul in France was born with the fear of God in their heart, and my mother was no different. If she found out I was impure, that I wouldn’t be married to Pierre as a virgin, she’d probably have me conveniently disposed of—maybe chopped up and fed to the pigs they kept fat for Lord Bouchon.
I swallowed hard, trying to push the fear away with my fingers as I smoothed out my dress. I remembered the last time I’d upset my mother. I’d fallen asleep on a balmy summer day, lying on my back in the cow pasture, my basket of vegetables beside me. I woke up to a munching sound and a cow’s ugly udder in my face, the carrots all gone. I spent a week sleeping in the woods by myself as punishment, with only my father to bring me a pitiful slice of bread in the mornings. That was before Papa had been called upon by the Lord to serve in the King’s army.
We never saw Papa again.
“I better go,” I quickly told Marc, my heart hammering in my chest. “Odette is in the fields today, and I need to make supper.”