Pain was a part of him. He knew how to isolate himself from feeling anything at all, letting the hollowness claim his spirit.
You’re worthless.
Every blow, every bruise brought out a ruthless side to him until there were no emotions to make him human again. He became predatory, slashing hard with his sword. He was blinded in this moment of battle, fully immersed in the kill. Anyone who dared to come near would suffer the consequences.
Metal bit through flesh and he was rewarded with his enemy’s gasp.
They stood back, circling each other. Ragnar tasted blood and sweat, and he saw the moment of uncertainty in the Norseman’s expression.
He gritted his teeth, feigning weakness. Waiting for the moment when his enemy would strike hard. Abruptly, the manshoved his shield against Ragnar’s wound, lifting his axe high for a killing blow.
Ragnar threw himself to the ground, lifting up his sword at the last second. With all his strength, he forced the blade upward, impaling his enemy.
Blood spilled from the man’s lips as Ragnar’s blade remained in his gut. It was not a clean death and he forced the man over, rising to his feet before he struck hard and ended the fight.
He kept his sword in hand, anticipating a second attack. The haze of fighting was still upon him, like a veil of red. Dimly, he grew aware that no one was going to approach him now.
“Take your men and go,” Ragnar ordered, his gaze fixed upon the leader.
“I never agreed to leave,” Alfarr countered. “And now the rest of my men will fight. You cannot kill all of us—”
“No,” a woman’s voice interrupted. “But I can place a curse upon you, making you wish you were dead.”
The hair on the back of his neck seemed to stand on end, but Ragnar forced himself not to turn around. From the way the men were staring at Elena, something had caught their attention.
They’d gone white with fear.
“Leave us,” Ragnar ordered once again. Alfarr stared at him as if wanting to refuse, but he left the fallen body of his kinsman and drew his horse back.
“Honor your word,” Elena said. “The gods command it of you.” Her voice held a low pitch, and one of the men raised his hand as if to ward her off. Her command was underscored when lightning flashed in the sky, followed by a low rumble of thunder.
One by one, they turned to leave.
When Ragnar turned at last to see her, there was a black serpent coiled around Elena’s throat. In each hand she held anapple. The creatures were symbols of the gods, in animal form, while the apples were sacred.
No wonder the men had fled. With her reddish-gold hair unbound, spilling over her shoulders, and the serpent twining upon her flesh, she looked otherworldly.
Slowly, she lifted the snake from her throat and set it upon the ground, watching as it slithered away. Only after it was gone did she begin to tremble. Her footsteps came closer until she threw herself into his arms and buried her face against his chest. She gripped him hard. “Thank the gods, they’re gone. We’re safe.”
Instinct warned him to stand in place and do nothing. But he couldn’t stop himself from holding her close, inhaling the scent of her skin. Her act of bravery had saved them, though he’d been ready to fight.
He wished that she belonged to him. If she had, he’d have tilted her head back, claiming her mouth in a kiss. Fighting always kindled another flare within him, the desire to take a woman.
And he’d wanted this one for years.
Ragnar held her in his arms, feeling the soft press of her breasts against him. His body ached from the fight and he was weary. But this moment was a reward of its own. He savored the forbidden embrace, knowing it had to end.
The Irish were staring at them and finally, he broke away from Elena. She took his hand and one of the Irish maidens approached. In broken Norse, she said, “You...safe...saved us.”
Ragnar looked past her to the leader, who sent him an approving nod. Though he knew no Irish, he opened both of his hands to show that he meant no harm to them.
“You...eat now?” the maiden asked.
“I am hungry,” Elena admitted. “I think we should join them.” Her gaze passed over him and she asked, “What about you?”
Oh, he was hungry indeed. He wanted to take her back to their tiny shelter and claim her mouth, sating himself upon her sweet flesh. But he would never admit it—not in this lifetime.
“We should go with them,ja.“ He limped slightly as she clasped his hand and moved forward. The women smiled at Elena, as if they recognized what she’d done to save them.
