Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
But no rescue came. Instead, I heard the distinctive sound of a van door sliding open. Before I could process what was happening, I felt myself lifted off Professor Hallstrom’s shoulder. For a brief, terrifying moment, I was suspended in midair. Then I landed hard on what felt like the metal floor of a vehicle, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.
I lay there, stunned and aching, as I heard the men climbing into the van around me. Their voices were low, still speaking that incomprehensible Scandinavian language. The door slammed shut with a finality that made my stomach lurch.
The engine roared to life, and I felt the vehicle lurch forward. As we drove away from the university—away from safety, away from everything I knew—I couldn’t help but imagine what might lie ahead. My mind conjured images of Viking longships, of fierce warriors carrying off captured women. It was like something out of the very sagas Professor Hallstrom had lectured about, come to terrifying life.
The van’s movement jostled me, and I struggled to find purchase on the smooth metal floor. Every bump and turn sent me sliding, helpless to control my own body. The hood over my head seemed to grow tighter, making it hard to breathe. Panic clawed at my throat, threatening to overwhelm me.
Over the top of the fear and to my humiliated mystification, the wayward, fantasizing part of me—a voice in my mind that refused to shut up—thrilled at the danger, at the feeling of being utterly powerless. As the van carried me away into the unknown, I found myself slipping helplessly into a fantasy. In my mind’s eye, I was no longer Mary O’Toole, Selecta scholarship student. I became an Irish maiden from centuries past, captured in a Viking raid, being carried off to a new life of abject servitude—as if that debased existence… that sexual servitude… represented some kind of lunatic adventure.
The rational part of my mind screamed at me to fight, to resist. But as the van drove on into the night, I only found myself sinking deeper into the insane fantasy.
“Mary.” Professor Hallstrom’s voice cut through my reverie, startling me back to the present. “It will probably run counter to, shall we say, your modern values, but it’s important for you to understand that you should feel honored to belong to a warrior, as you now belong to me.”
For a moment, I struggled to reconcile his words with reality. It took long seconds for me even to realize that he’d spoken in English. My mind had been so deeply entrenched in the fantasy of being a medieval captive that hearing him speak of the modern world seemed jarring. I blinked beneath the hood, trying to orient myself.
“You are part of a long tradition,” he continued, his accented English sending shivers down my spine. “For centuries, young women like you have been chosen, taken, enjoyed—and thus also molded into something greater than they ever imagined.”
His hand found my leg, fingers tracing patterns on my bare skin. I shuddered at his touch, the too-familiar mixture of fear and desire swirling inside me.
“Soon, lille en, you will learn a very great deal about what it means to belong to a Viking.” The professor’s voice was low, almost hypnotic. “The old ways are not dead. They have merely seemed so to the great mass of people, as beyond their sight the true Vikings preserved our culture.”
As he spoke, I felt the van slow and then come to a stop. The engine cut off, leaving us in eerie silence. My heart pounded so loudly I felt sure everyone could hear it.
Strong arms encircled me, lifting me effortlessly. Again I smelled his scent. Sven. I couldn’t think of him as Professor Hallstrom anymore, could I?
I felt myself being carried, the motion making me dizzy inside the confining hood. The air changed, becoming cooler and damper. The echoes of our footsteps suggested we were in some sort of large, open space.
Voices drifted to me—men speaking that same Scandinavian language, their tones confident and casual. But there were other voices too, female ones, speaking rapid French. They sounded my age, scared, like me. My blood ran cold as I realized there were other girls here, other victims like me.
My heart raced as I tried to make sense of the cacophony of words around me. The cool, damp air felt clammy on my skin, and I shivered involuntarily. Suddenly, a man’s voice cut through the din, speaking in accented French.
“Take off your clothes. All of them. Now.”
His tone sounded as cold as the temperature. I heard a young woman’s voice respond, pleading in rapid, native French.
“Please, monsieur, I beg you. Let me keep my underwear on. Please, I’m not… I’ve never…”
Her voice cracked with fear and shame. I could almost feel her terror, mirroring my own. The man’s response was swift and merciless.