Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Being claimed as a mate by two ruthlessly sexy Vikings isn’t what I expected when I stowed away on a ship leaving Earth, but as the first of these brutes finishes with me and the second steps up to ravage me even more shamefully, I know they are doing more than just putting on a show for a cheering crowd.
They are making it clear to everyone watching that I’m theirs now.
But as I come over and over again for these barbarians who’ve already belted and bred me, it isn’t the audience witnessing every savage thrust and screaming climax that’s on my mind.
It’s how completely I belong to them now.
Publisher’s Note: Viking Captive is a standalone romance. It includes spankings and rough, intense sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t read this book
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Iam running for my life, my feet clad in boots covered in mud and much worse things. My pants are threatening to slide down over my ass in what amounts to the worst clothing betrayal I can imagine in this moment. Pieces of wreckage act as obstacles I have to leap over like a goat. I give silent thanks to my previous misadventures for making me agile, because tripping right now would not only make me like the heroine of every single bad horror movie I have ever watched, it would be deeply embarrassing.
“Get around her on the left!”
“Cut her off!”
“Can’t you just lunge and grab her?”
“You fucking lunge and grab her!”
I hear a heavy sound behind me as someone lunges and fails to grab me. There’s no time to laugh, though a slight ‘ha ha’ escapes my lips between gasps for breath.
“She’ll tire soon enough. Keep her moving.”
That voice isn’t panicked, or consumed with the lust of the hunt. That voice is deep, calm, and completely in control. That’s the voice that scares me, more than any of the others that surround me in a cacophony of male prey drive.
This isn’t fair. If there were any goodness or chivalry in them at all, they should be my rescuers. They should be helping me. But there is no kindness in this wicked clan of men. The Vikar do not value mercy. I do not think they have a word for it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone moving faster than I can, legs pumping at a speed that puts mine to shame. He has a longer stride, and I am already tired from trying to survive after getting through something that should have already killed me.
He keeps pace with me, this man with dark hair and scintillating blue eyes that catch the sky and reflect it back at me. I keep running, but my legs are tiring, my lungs are fatiguing, and I start to realize why the heroine falls down in horror movies. It’s because that is what happens when your body runs out of steam. You don’t lift your feet as high as you should and they catch on a tree root, a bit of uneven ground, or in my case, a rock.
It sends me tumbling head first onto the ground. I do a complete revolution, head over heels, before coming to a dizzy halt.
I am captive.
By the gods, I am going to be taken.
A rough, bloodied hand takes hold of my throat. I am dragged up from the ground, barely able to breathe. Both of my hands scramble at the one that has me by the neck, but they are ineffective.
Those shining blue eyes rimmed with dark lashes and filled with malefic intent gleam down at me.
“You gave us a good chase, but it’s over now,” he says. “So stop running, and stop fighting, unless you want to be hobbled and chained. You’re going to be roped one way or another, but we can keep that for the bedroom if you decide to be a good girl.”
I never thought I would encounter a real life Vikar warrior. These men are not like the ones I am accustomed to at home. Our men are heroic, stoic, and brave. They build and they protect. These creatures are entirely different beasts. They are raiders and warriors, brutal creatures with no conception of a conscience.
This man who has me is my moral and mortal enemy.
His underlings and subordinates surround us like slavering dogs hoping to be thrown a piece of the catch. Even if I were to somehow wriggle out of his grasp, I would immediately be set upon by vicious men.
I have been struggling to survive for days now. I am weak. I am hungry. Not for lack of food, I found plenty of that in the wreckage, but just because running really works up an appetite. Being hunted mercilessly takes its toll on a woman, but I still have fire in me. I kick out at my captor, a tall man with his raven hair in a braid, and a dark beard clipped relatively close to his chin. He is handsome in the way cruel men are handsome, with sharp, hunter-type features.
He stares down at me with icy eyes and my body reacts as though I am under a predator’s gaze. I want to tell him I never liked blue eyes on a man. There’s too much cold in them. There’s nothing resembling goodness in his. Just triumph. He thinks he’s caught his prey.
I keep both my hands on his one big paw and try to pry his fingers away. It doesn’t work at first, because he’s strong. He tightens his grip, and for a second I can’t breathe. I grab at him again, but this time I grab his little finger and yank as hard as I can. That works.