How in the name of Odin did she know his name? And his brothers’ names, too? She wasn’t the gift of the gods that he thought she was. She was obviously an emissary of the witch who had sent him here.
She thought he hadn’t suffered enough, so she sent this woman to remind him what he couldn’t have, to reinforce what he’d lost.
He stomped across the floor, not caring that she moved away from him, obviously trying to get to the far corner of the bed before he got to her. His blood boiled in his veins as he drew nearer to her.
Was his fervor caused by the fact the sheet had slipped, giving him another glimpse of her creamy flesh, the beautiful curves that would mold with him perfectly as he thrust into her soft, warm body? Or was it because, as he suspected, she was sent by the witch to further torment him?
“Agent of Loki! He sent you here to deepen my anguish! Is it not enough that I feel anger every day with my father? Is it…” He stopped at the edge of the bed, staring up at her. The horror he’d seen on her face yesterday has returned. Her hands shook and if her eyes widened any more he feared they would pop out of her head.
He took a step back, trying to get his rage under control. Screaming wouldn’t help anything. He had to find a way to bind her, and that wouldn’t be easy with one of Loki’s kind. They had all sorts of tricks they could play. He had to…
She shot by him so fast he staggered. Pain soared through him as her fist slammed into his mouth. A second fist landed on his nose and even more pain shot through his head. The room spun. He grabbed out for something, catching the edge of the bed as he fell, the top half of his body landing on the soft down, his knees hitting the hard floor.
Rugoff shook his head, trying to shake off the sensation that seemed to radiate through his whole body. He stood and fell back on the bed, his gaze focusing on the woman as she wrapped the covering around herself before running toward the door.
“Oh no you don’t!” He ignored the fact his head swum and stood. Letting her go was not an option. He overtook her in seconds, wrapping his arms around her waist and wrestling her to the floor, rolling until she was on her back, her arms pinned to her sides by his legs.
He’d show this agent of the evil one exactly what he thought of her. Her curves were meant to entice him, to throw him off guard and forget that nothing could be trusted, not even his own father.
He’d kill her, then tomorrow, he’d ask the spirit who provided his food to take her body to Loki as a warning. He may be a prisoner here, but he was still not one to be trifled with.
The witch wiggled under him and his traitorous cock responded by throbbing with need. It rubbed against her belly and he reached for her throat, intent on blocking her air, therefore putting her out of his life when her sobs stopped him. He couldn’t make out all the words, but he heard the ones, “No Loki,” well enough.
She repeated the words and he wondered if she was to be trusted. She’d gone limp under him. She held up her hands, which shook as if in terror. The pulsing of his jaw, though, showed it hadn’t been that long ago since those hands had been balled into fists.
“No Loki.” Her dark eyes glistened with tears and he could see fear there.
If the mischief-maker had sent this woman, she wouldn’t be frightened. She would have his power behind her, she would know Rugoff could not hurt her unless he caught her off guard; and he’d lost the element of surprise.
But his hands were still on her throat, and all it would take was a quick squeeze and she would be gone.
“No Loki,” she repeated, her breasts rising and falling rapidly, drawing his eyes down.
“Who are you?”
“No Loki,” she said again. Then she added a jumble of words he did not comprehend. He moved his hands from her neck and took hold of her wrists, pinning them to the floor on either side of her head.
“Who are you?” She answered with another torrent of words he didn’t understand. “Did the witch send you?”
Tears leaked from her eyes now and she turned her head, as if she were ashamed to let him see her cry. Someone sent by the mischief-maker would not cry, unless it was a trick to catch him off guard.
There was one way to test that theory. He let go of her hands, expecting her to once again slam a fist into his mouth. She didn’t move, however, and her chest rose and fell with gentle sobbing. She kept her face turned away from him.
Rugoff stood, waiting for her to do the same, to attack him again. Instead she pulled the fur closer to her, keeping her gaze off him. Staring at her was doing him no good. It put two sides of him at war, his mind, which wanted the truth, and his body, which wanted to bend her over and claim her.
If the witch had sent her, she would welcome him with open arms, offering her lush curves to him, welcoming him inside her. Instead, she continued to sob. He needed to leave here, and now. If he stayed, he might do something he would regret.
He went to the door and barricaded it with several pieces of wood he was sure would be too heavy for her to move. That would keep her from doing anything stupid and going outside. Then he stalked to the back of the cave. It would be best to put distance between them until he had himself under control.
Maybe tomorrow he should ask the witch for an explanation. The idea had no merit, since he knew he wouldn’t get it. He could still try, though. Maybe things were changing. After all, this was the first person he’d seen in who knew how many years. And he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her.
Either he was going to bed her, or kill her. And he prayed his cock won that particular battle.
Venise waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps, then she sat up slowly. She needed to find her clothes. What had she been thinking? She’d hit him for heaven’s sake, not once, but twice! The blows had caught him so unawares it had made him fall. Not that it had kept him down for long, and it had only fueled the anger that had been there when he’d thought she was a minion of Loki.
He was definitely speaking Old Norse, and she didn’t understand everything he said, but she did get that part of it.
Luckily for her, he’d listened to her when she’d told him she wasn’t sent by the little devil. He’d had his hands near her neck when he’d finally come to his senses. If he’d applied just a little more pressure, she wouldn’t have been long for her new world. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for being suspicious of her.
If he was who she suspected him to be, he hadn’t seen another human for hundreds of years. She’d be more than a little distrustful if someone happened to just appear out of nowhere, too. Of course, she was in a similar position, since the old woman had pushed her into the chair and sent Venise tumbling down the rabbit hole, straight into the arms of the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life.
And judging from the fact that his prick had been rock hard since he’d woken up, she would say he thought she was not too shabby herself. Well, she supposed he would feel that way about any woman, since he hadn’t gotten laid for centuries. Not that she was going to fuck him. She had more important things to deal with, like getting the hell out of here.
Having sex with him, no matter how much his hard, naked body had impressed her, was not in the cards. Her nipples tingled as if to weigh in with their opinion. Her mind might say no, but her body thought something all together different.
Ignore your body, she repeated to herself. In this case, the mind knows best. Her first priority was to get dressed. She lifted slowly from the floor and glanced around, wondering where he’d put her clothing. There were a few niches in the wall and she went to them, searching. She didn’t find her clothing but she found several tunic style tops. She took one down and threw it over her head.
Despite the fact she was a larger woman the material swallowed her, and she searched for a belt, finding two that she could use. It took her a few minutes to work it out, but she belted the tunic so that she could walk without tripping over the material.
Next came the table. She went to it, examining the contents. The spread featured the same foods that had been on Mrs. Westergard’s table: fish stews, breads, meatballs, potatoes and cabbage. The appearance of the food had been a vital clue that what was happening to her was real. She’d watched it appear with her own eyes and he’d been standing far from it.
Venise got down on her knees, looking for trap doors or other things that could have been used to fake the supposedly magical appearance of the feast. There were none, which really didn’t surprise her. Hell, she wasn’t sure anything would surprise her anymore. The world was definitely changed, or it had always been this way and she was just now seeing it for what it was: magical. She needed to keep that in mind as the days progressed.
Rugoff was no one to be feared, either. He’d had the chance to kill her just seconds ago, and he hadn’t done it. She needed to go and talk to him. Her command of Old Norse was minimal, but hopefully she could get them to communicate in some way.
There were two hallways off the main room, and she’d seen him go down the one to the left of the bed. She went to it cautiously, wondering if she should knock to let him know she was coming, or if she just barge in on him.
Maybe she should go back to the clothes closet and get him something to wear. Their conversation could be awkward with him sitting there naked. And erect. Very erect.
The thought stopped her in her tracks and she leaned her back against the wall. She’d had two steady boyfriends in her life, both of them scholars who, while not too bad in bed, had not made her overanxious to jump in the sack with them.
Something told her having sex with Rugoff would prove far more satisfying than it had with either of her former lovers.
“Don’t think about sex,” she whispered. “Just pray he has clothes on and his penis has deflated.”
She followed the hallway, the space narrowing and getting darker as she walked. She tried not to think about the fact that she was probably inside a mountain, or even underground. She rounded a corner and the sound of running water startled her.
There was an opening at the end of the hallway. Light shone out from it and she crept toward it, careful to make a slow entrance so she wouldn’t startle him, because she knew instinctively this was where he’d gone.
Rugoff sat in the middle of a large pool, water from a fall cascading over his head. His shoulders were slumped and, she wondered for a moment if he’d heard her enter. Steam rose from the pool and she knew this was some sort of hot spring.
“Hello.” She kept her voice low. “Rugoff?”
For a long moment, he didn’t respond, and then he lifted his gaze to hers. He still didn’t speak, though, and she took a step forward, putting a finger on the sleeve of the tunic she wore.
“Yours. Thank you.”
He frowned, but nodded. He might not understand the words, but he obviously knew what she meant.
“Food.” The frown returned and she searched her mental Old Norse dictionary. “
Fillique
.”
This time he stood, his nod adamant. He was still naked, but his manhood was no longer erect. He pointed the way they’d come. “
Fillique
.” He made a motion simulation breaking a loaf of bread in half.
Relief flooded her that she’d used the right term for bread, which was the only Norse word she knew that could denote food. She mimicked eating, putting her fingers next to her mouth. Then she pointed at him, and at herself.
Instead of following her, he stood where he was, spouting off words in quick succession. She didn’t understand a one of them and she waved her arms, moving them rapidly, hoping he would figure out she wanted him to stop speaking. What was the word for slow? Damn, she should know it.
“I don’t understand.” She pointed to her ear, then realized that would indicate she couldn’t hear. “
Vita
? No
vita
.”
His face brightened and he fixed her with a sweet smile. “
Ya
, no
vita
.”
She again made eating motions, then pointed back to the main room. “Eat.”
She rubbed her belly when he repeated the word, walking toward her. She looked over his body, his absolutely gorgeous, naked body. She swallowed as she settled her gaze settled on his manhood, which started to swell under her perusal.
Not good, not good. Well, not good in the mental sort of way. In the physical sort, he was more than good. He was perfection.
“Oh, um…” She turned suddenly. “You need, um, clothes.” She turned back around. He was fully erect now, and her mouth watered at the sight. What the hell was wrong with her? She wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and take him in her mouth. That would satisfy her hunger, wouldn’t it?
His cock twitched and she swallowed hard, her gaze never wavering. She’d never seen an uncircumcised penis before, and it was fascinating. She wanted to touch him, to stroke back his skin and reveal the head hiding underneath. She shivered in need, but took a step back, reminding herself to focus on what needed to be done. “You need to get dressed.”
She pulled on the tunic she wore, then pointed to him. “Cover yourself.
Ript
.” That was the word for clothes, wasn’t it?