Crown | Vikings | Valkyrie Queen Novel

Chapter 12

The man stood before her, clad in light armor. Linen cloth adorned with bright pastel colors draped down to his knees where trousers stopped just above the ankles. The style of shoes were foreign to her. Even in her previous travels she had never seen such clothing.

The sound of blood coursing through her veins pounded in her ears. Embodied by Thor, her heart beat out of her chest like thunder. Breathing became difficult with the heaving of her chest. The burning sensation it created left her out breath. Feet stilled beneath her, muscles clenched tight and aching from the sudden force.

The caramal skin colored man had thrown himself upon her and she had lost her bow in the process. It laid amongst the ruin, the dead corpses of unprepared soldiers strewn across the sandy dirt. She gripped the hilt of her blade, pulling it from the sheath at her waist.

Her eyes shifted to the sword in his hand, the blade unlike any she had seen. Curved yet jagged, it was surely forged from a different world then hers. The metal glistened even in the night and she knew, with her blade sharp, she wouldn't be able to depend on it alone.

He lunged forward and while barely able to react in time, she side stepped. The edge of his blade sliced through her hair. A braid fell from her shoulders, blonde locks spreading across the sand as she recovered her unbalanced footing. With his backhand, he swung his blade down with immense strength. It was yet again a near miss, just inches away from the top of her pretty little head. She gracefully ducked underneath, her boot catching his just enough to make him stumble.

Bjorn kept his distance, taking longer strides as he had walked ahead. It was enough space for him to fight for himself and keep an eye on the others around. He would never tell another soul, but Riyah always concerned him in battle. Though she could handle herself and was adept with a bow, there were times that she would be bested and Bjorn worried that one day he wouldn't be there to have her back. He watched as her small frame, agile no doubt, dodged the foreign man's blows. Her body had little time to recover to a defensive stance yet she managed despite the struggle.

Conflicted to lend his aid or watch her struggle, he chose to intervene. He threw his axe with precision, the curved sharp edge lodging in the man's heart. The man paused, looking down at his chest. Liquid, dark red, slowly seeped through the open wound, staining the fabric of his tunic. Riyah pushed him down to his knees and forced the axe from his flesh. A soft gurgling sound erupted from his discolored lips as she left him to choke on his own blood.

Fire burned in the pit of her stomach. The crafted blade etched with carvings with the bound leather woven from the blade to the handle told her who it belonged to. Bjorn had thrown his axe to help her. It was one thing to protect her off the battlefield, but another to to protect her in combat. She could handle herself, and it frustrated her for him to not believe otherwise.

"I had it under control," she snapped as she hastily walked towards him . She shoved the axe flat against his chest. His hands instinctively wrapped around hers, pulling her back to him before she could avoid him. He held close her within his grasp as she wriggled to get loose. "I can handle myself."

"I have no doubt you can handle yourself. I just couldn't bear to watch you struggle." He said sternly. He released her hands and tucked a loose strand of hair from her braids behind her ear. "What would I do if I lost you?"

Her heart fluttered at his words, concern for her well being seemed to be all that mattered to him. All of the anger and frustration she had felt moments before vanished. Cheeks flushed, she could feel the heat radiate down her face. Her body craved  him, to feel his body spinning hers underneath him, to submit to his dominance like she had so many times before and she cursed herself for desiring such things.

"Don't do it again." She threatened, turning on the ball of her heel. She needed space if she were to clear her head for the Gods know what she would have done in the heat of the moment.

A broken stand caught her attention, a woven basket titled onto its side. Its contents were spilled onto the sand. A strange fruit peaked her interest as she held it in her palm, the light from the fires revealing it's green color. She took a bite, her teeth easily sinking in as the fruit's juice, sweet and watery, spilled onto her tongue.

She continued to eat, following the same footpath of many women and children had taken. They had sought refuge in their place of worship, a vast temple. She found Helga, Flocki's wife, as she rounded the corner. Curious and dainty, she stood at the bottom of a double paneled door set. The doors were bare with no markings or indication that they lead into the temple. It differed from the Christian's which were usually adorned with elaborate designs and their words of God.

Riyah stopped beside Helga. Although simple in design, she admired the work of the temple. Helga was fascinated just the same.

'Perhaps Allah is different." She thought. Rollo had told them of this God.

The sound of footsteps broke the fleeting moment of silence and chaos replaced it once more. Bjorn and Hvitserk, using their brute strengths, forced the doors open. A crack from the broken lock echoing throughout the night.

She found her feet moving reluctantly following slightly behind. Dim light illuminated a hallway that lead into a large opening. The room filled with people, chanting in a foreign tongue to show worship to their God.

"What is this place?" Harold whispered behind her.

"It is a temple." She said.

"There is no sign of their gods." He insisted.

"They are paying tribute to Allah. It appears their faith is different than the Christians." She reassured him. She watched them, their devotion intriguing her. But she knew their devotion meant nothing to Harold and his brother. "Sheath your blade. There will be no more killing. Not in here."

"Then let us leave, shall we?"

She nodded, slowly following behind. Another hallway lied on the opposite side of the room, completely absent of light as it came into the opening of the next room. A man sat perched in a chair. Sheer cloth hung down around him from an archway framing the door his dead body guarded. A small dart rested in his chest over the location of his heart.

Bjorn kicked the chair to the side, the man's body following suite. Frightened screams of women erupted behind the door, eliciting excitement from the men around her. Riyah was never fond of such actions. She refused to believe it was right. Forcing women to please men left a sour taste in her mouth, but she was in no position to deny these men a sexual release.

With arousal in the air men became children, Hvitserk the most eager of them all next Harold. Bjorn held a gleam in his icy blue eyes though his expression was stoic. A dark haired beauty had peaked his interest and clouded his mind.

Oh the things he wanted to do to her.