Ravager Read Online Karina Halle

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Erotic Tags Authors: Karina Halle Advertisement

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Before I could contemplate it further, there was a single cry. It was animalistic, deranged, and utterly mad. I knew without question that the booming voice belonged to Rolf. Its impact rippled through me, sparking my nerves. Seconds later, the forest filled with the battle calls of fifty crazed Viking warriors, causing birds to scatter from the trees. The sound of pounding hooves soon followed, and when the dust finally cleared, Knut and I peered out of the cart.

We were left alone except for another cart and one more Viking, the stocky red-headed man I’d seen earlier. He looked ashen and ill as he lay propped up against a pile of animal skins, which explained why he had stayed behind. Everyone else was gone in the cloud of dust moving up the lane. Beyond the dust stood the fortified walls of the village. To me, it looked like a stronger village than Criolium, but in the grand scheme of things, the stone walls were low and hastily put together, and the Vikings would have no problem getting through.

We waited in silence as the cries grew louder, joined by new ones. Fearful ones. Tortured ones. Dying ones. Screams and the gnashing of swords and armor, the ping of arrows, the slicing of axes, filled the air like a raging symphony of death. The sound of battle grew until it became a living breathing entity of its own, one threatening to smother me until I succumbed to it.

I hadn’t noticed I was screaming myself until Knut was at my side, covering my ears with his hands so I wouldn’t have to listen. But the sound of death was far too powerful, and behind my pinched eyes, I could see my countrymen dying, ruthlessly being murdered by a tyrant and his minions.

Then, the image of Erik flashed through my head, and I was struck with internal pain, like death was seeping into my veins. He was the only person I really knew out there, and the thought of him being speared by a sword—even if it driven by one of my own—caused my flesh to curl.

I couldn’t bear it anymore. No matter how mad I was at him, no matter how torn up I was about my feelings, the thought of him dead caused my heart to drop right out of me. I found myself ripping out of Knut’s hands and leaping off the cart and onto the road. Before I could even realize what I was doing, I was sprinting away from the cart, panic fluttering in my chest. It was an awkward run at best, and I tripped over my skirt every few seconds. Still, I was surprisingly fast, considering I didn’t have the use of my arms.

Knut was hollering after me, and I knew he wasn’t too far behind, but I couldn’t stop. I kept going until I collapsed on my knees not far from the moat that separated Saint Martin from the road.

I thought the scene in Criolium had been too horrifying to comprehend, but this was far, far worse.

Bodies upon bodies lay everywhere: on the grassy slope that led down toward the manor, on the bridge over the moat, on the dust-covered lane. Some of them were still alive, moaning, pleading for death while missing limbs. The fallen Viking at my feet was gutted, his steaming entrails spilling out of him. Close to him was a Frenchman—or what used to be one, as he didn’t have a head. A spear was clutched in his hand, frozen in death.

I jerked my head away, unable to take it all in, wanting to get away from the aftermath. But still, I heard the fighting from behind the village walls and remembered why I ran in the first place.

A gentle hand grasped my elbow, and I cried out in surprise, whirling around. It was Knut, eyeing me with concern.

“Erik,” I told him in a choked voice. “I need to know if Erik’s alive.”

Knut nodded, seeming to understand. Keeping his hand on me, he led me through the bodies. There seemed to be just as many Vikings as Frenchmen, and I could see he was trying hard not to be affected by it. His eyes watered with every familiar face he saw.

When we were almost at the walls, a Viking reached out and grabbed Knut's leg. I could barely look at the man. He was much older, with a long, greying beard and braided hair, folds of wrinkles on his sickly face. His legs had been cut off just above the knee, and he was dying a very slow, painful death.

I didn’t need to understand Norse to know what the man was asking of Knut. I clutched my hands tightly to my chest as Knut knelt and removed a sword that lay at the Viking’s side. I turned my head just before Knut drove the sword down into the man’s heart, killing him instantly and putting him out of his misery.

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