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)
“You look worried, my friend,” Rolf said from his side, snapping Erik out of his daydream.
Erik straightened his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “I am merely preparing myself for the worst.”
Rolf rolled his dark eyes and turned their attention back to the silky water in front of them, mist rising above it like angel breath. It swirled past the front of the ship, slinking around the wooden dragon head that looked out to sea with snarled teeth and dead eyes. “The worst is that you suck on the breast of a gorgeous Valkyrie and spend eternity in Valhalla.”
How could I forget? Erik thought dryly. He was never too sure about the beliefs of his people, their utmost trust in the gods that pushed warfare as the only means to real existence. But that was something he would never dare admit, especially to Rolf, his oldest friend, his thorn in his side, his constant superior.
Rolf wiped at his broad chin and looked Erik up and down, searching for further signs of weakness. “Do you doubt me?”
Erik grinned coldly. “I’d rather die than give you any doubt, old friend.”
Rolf stared back at him, their eyes locked in silent battle, a warm-up to the real show to follow. Rolf intimidated most living men, called The Walker due to his size. It started as a joke, of course, because the 6’5”, 250-pound man of thick muscle broke many a horse’s back growing up, so many that he began walking everywhere instead. That was, until someone found him an English knight’s steed from a raid. When Rolf sat atop his black Shire beast, they became a monstrous pairing worthy of legend. Erik knew if Rolf could, he’d kick off a few of his men and bring his horse on the ship instead, but alas, the horse had to stay at home in Møre. The boat would probably sink otherwise.
Not only was Rolf the size of a small giant, but he also possessed a feral beauty that was part of his charm. His eyes were so dark, they seemed to swallow up time, his hair a shiny, obsidian sheet that ran halfway down his back. He refused to braid it going into battle, preferring it to cloak him like a warrior’s cape. The side of his face was marred with a deep red scar, but instead of detracting from his appeal, it only added to it. No scar could hide those prominent cheekbones or impish lips. When he smiled, which was frequently, Rolf could lull you into blanket of trust, only to slice your head off moments later.
Erik, on the other hand, had a more austere look to him. He wasn’t as tall a Rolf—though what man was—and instead of stacked warrior muscles, Erik was made of long, lean ligaments, the sculpted body of a top athlete. His hair was thick and shoulder-length, and he kept himself close-shaven, his face elegant and refined. His eyes were a cool blue grey that mimicked whatever shade the sky or sea chose that day, his lips full above his chiseled jaw. Erik never had a shortage of female attention growing up on the fjord, though the girls would always favor the flirtatious Rolf. He would seduce them—and scare them, and not always in that order.
At the sound of the mast fluttering, Rolf tore his eyes away from Erik and looked to the sheet. The longships weren’t designed for true sailing and, more often than not, they needed the oar power to propel the ship forward.
“Men!” Rolf barked, turning from his post. The men were quick to move. Animal skins were shed, and the oars were simultaneously slammed out into the sea. In seconds, the mast stabilized, and the boat cruised forward at maximum speed.
Behind them, the rest of the ships in the fleet followed suit.
Soon, they would hit land.
And all hell would break loose.
Chapter 3
Cherine
Dawn was just breaking, the sky and fields a colorless haze, when I woke to use the latrine. I’d barely slept at all, and it wasn’t because Giselle snored from too much stolen wine or because Odette kicked in her sleep. No, I spent the whole night worrying about Marc. I was scared he might tell someone of what we had done. It wasn’t like him, but he hadn’t been himself after we had sex. I felt different too, but I couldn’t place my finger on why. Part of me felt proud, like I’d done something other girls were too afraid to do, and in turn, I had awakened something in myself. The other part of me was scared, like the act of sex was going to turn my whole life upside down, that the repercussions were waiting in the woods.
What I didn’t feel, though, was shame, and that realization made a small smile stretch across my lips.