Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 32902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Surely, they were close to civilization. Agata could find help, maybe play along with him until his defenses were down. She could act like she wanted this, wanted him, and then she’d escape when he trusted her.
Looking around the hut, she tried to calm herself, tried to get in the mind frame that she’d need to be in if she was going to pull this off. This man was far from stupid; she could tell that by the way he watched her, took in every single movement she made, and appraised the situation.
Nothing got by him, and she always felt his stare on her. He was a hunter, clearly, a madman who was living out in the middle of nowhere and living some kind of fantasy where he was a Viking or some shit.
But then what about that village? Was this a community that wanted to live primitively, that wanted to have no modern comforts?
This was all so strange and confusing. Agata thought about the last night she remembered, about the old woman, the words she said, and that potion Agata drank.
God, what if she had been transported somewhere? It seemed so ridiculous to even think about but made sense to a point. The woman talked about the In-Between, another world. At the time, Agata hadn’t thought anything of it, but what if….
He started speaking again, hoarse and clipped sounds.
“Okay.” She held her hands up, showing him she submitted, or at least she did on the outside. He gave a gruff nod, made this deep noise, and took a step closer to her. She tried to stay in place, tried not to move back, but his presence was intimidating.
The way he looked at her right now, stared at her face, then lowered his gaze to her breasts, told her this man wanted her, wanted all of her. How could she possibly accept this, or at least pretend to?
6
Stian was still angry with this woman for running from him. Of course he knew it was normal for her to be afraid. He didn’t know where she came from, what she was called, or how she got here. But none of that mattered, because she was here now and his for the taking.
He sat on the edge of the pallet, saw her tense and watch him warily, but she had conceded. She might speak a language foreign to him, but he understood her body, her submitting in the way all people did when they knew they would not be victorious.
She was his wife, his konna, and she’d understand that right now.
He reached out, took a strand of her long blonde hair, and lifted it. The light from the sun and fire reflected off the honey-colored locks. He leaned forward, kept his gaze on her, and saw her tense even further. He brought those strands to his nose and inhaled deeply.
She smelled faintly sweet, and although she needed to bathe and get the dirt from her body, she was a gorgeous creature.
Stian knew she’d give him strong warrior sons, because he could see the strength pouring from her. She needed to learn his language to better understand what he wanted from her and to obey him.
He pointed to her chest. “Konna.”
She licked her lips, and it took her a second, but she finally nodded. “Wife.”
He played the word in his head. “Wife,” he repeated. It sounded strange coming from his lips. “Wife. Konna.” He said both words, wanting her to say it, to live it.
She watched him with these wide blue eyes, still frightened of him.
He looked into her eyes and reached out to grab her hand. He placed it on his chest, and a shudder worked its way through him when her flesh touched his. Her hand was warm, much smaller than his, and it felt good on his bare skin. “Dýr.”
He wanted her to know that he was a bear, a beast of a man. He’d been born this way, violent and aggressive, maybe a curse from the gods, but a monster nonetheless.
“Is that your name?” she asked softly.
She asked in this soft lilt, or so it seemed from the way she phrased it and watched him with confusion in her expression.
This language she spoke was a strange dialect, one not from this area. Was she from the seas, dropped down from the gods for him alone? It seemed unlikely, as the gods had not looked down upon him favorably since the death of his parents.
“I’m Agata.” She took her hand off his chest, but he allowed her to. “Agata.” She placed her hand on her chest, and he realized she was telling him what she was called.
“Agata.” He played her name over and over in his head, said it out loud, and grew pleased with the way it sounded and made him feel.