The Viking's Willing Conquest: Historical Medieval Adventure Romance by London Lolita

Author:London, Lolita [London, Lolita]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-10-21T07:00:00+00:00

VI

Zane's breath caught. He looked down dumbly.

Azor panted, his blade buried under Zane's ribs. “You will never again lay your hands on my beloved Bella,” he growled and then jerked the dagger upward.

Zane staggered backwards, the dagger jutting out from his chest and fell with a guttural grunt that forced the last breath from his body. Then, he lay still.

Azor lay panting on the bloodied deck for a moment, but a soft whimper sent life surging through him. He pushed himself up and stumbled to where Bella lay huddled against the side of the ship.

She screamed as a strong hand closed around her arm.

“Hush, Bella, my love,” he crooned. “You're safe.”

She blinked up into the clear blue eyes, glistening with fear and pain. “Azor,” she gasped. Tears blurred her vision and she dove into his arms, gripping him with all her strength.

“Bella,” he gasped, “not so tight, my lovely.”

She drew back. “You're bleeding! Oh, God, no!”

He panted for a moment to catch his breath. “It's just a scratch. Calm yourself.”

“Azor!” Raginmar hurried over. “Damn it, not again. Why can't you protect your axe hand side?”

“For fun,” Azor growled. “Are we secured?” Raginmar nodded. “Good. Then shut up and hand me the liquor.” Azor pulled off his shirt. A long red gash marred the polished stone of his body. He used his shirt to wipe away the oozing blood and poured the amber liquid over the wound.

Bella watched his face for the pain she knew he must be feeling, but it remained a stony mask revealing nothing. She frowned, but then began studying his body. His arms bore numerous scars, some still bright with their freshness, others pale with age. His chest, too, was marked with several long, horrible looking scars. He turned and Bella's breath caught in her chest. Across his back was a magnificent tattoo of a fierce bear with ornament and runes across his massive shoulders. Warmth flooded her body. Her tongue slipped out and wet her lips and suddenly she found herself ravenously hungry to taste his flesh.

Raginmar knelt beside Azor with a long needle and thread in his hand, momentarily blocking her view of his magnificent body. A hot blush burned her cheeks.

The surviving Viking warriors began cleaning themselves up, those that were able tending to the more gravely wounded. The warriors who were mostly uninjured picked up the bodies of the dead Normans, tossing them casually back onto the Norman ship. The Viking warriors who had met their end in valiant battle were respectfully and tenderly moved onto one of the longships with their weapons placed beside them.

Ivar slowly limped over, his thigh bound in rapidly staining white linen. “Oh, the ladies will swoon for the scar that'll give you.”

“Do you ever think of anything but bedding women?” Raginmar sighed as he slowly stitched the gaping wound in his brother's side.

“Yes,” Ivar said.

“And what would that be?”

“Ale!” he cried. The Vikings gave a roar of agreement and several men brought forth barrels and bowls.

“Hold!” Raginmar cried.

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