The Vikings Slave
Author
Daphne Anders
Reads
550K
Chapters
32
Chapter 1
AGNARR
“Only an hour more until we hit shore!” one of my men yelled in our common tongue.
The ripples of the waves thrashed in the distance as we continued our voyage. It hadn’t been a particularly long one—only two days’ time to reach these nearly barren lands. But it was time we were given some rest and peace.
We had purposefully decided to conquer this decrepit village for peace. It was just that—decrepit in all forms. It had been for some time now, since their selfish and foolish king had sent all their men off to battle, leaving the women and children to fend for themselves.
Last I heard, there were only about ten men left alive, all old and dying. It wouldn’t be much of a battle. After all, we weren’t looking for a fight, just a place to set up base for the summer months until we decided to move on again.
We were looking for food, shelter, peace, and women. And this village would be as good as any to provide all of the above.
Our boat kept sailing, pushing against the battering waves that threatened to sink us, but wouldn’t dare. We were gods of the ocean, and I was baptized and made into one by the old gods. The sea knew better than to anger me.
The shore lay ahead, rocky and unkempt. The forest stretched beyond, and only a few miles in was the secluded village—tarnished, near ruin, but full of women soon to be turned into Viking slaves.
I had ruled over this command of men for some time now; at least fifteen seasons had passed, full of battle, ruin, pillaging, and conquering. We hadn’t lost a single battle, not since I was ordained by the gods themselves.
After witnessing me on the battlefields—bloodied, angry, and full of destruction—the gods decided to bestow a gift upon me. A gift never seen before. The gift of a man who could merge into that of an animal: a wolf, to be specific.
That gift was mighty, and it had secured us victory in every battle I led. My wolf alone could tear through human flesh with just one swipe; it could take out a dozen men in seconds. My wolf was the god of battle, and I bent the fight to my will.
I had named him Thor, after the true god of battle. He was happy with the name, or so he said when he spoke to me on occasion. He wasn’t one for words, like me, and I appreciated that.
The boat shifted again against the destructive waves, but still continued along its course.
Eventually, the waves released their hold on our ship, conceding to a battle they knew they’d never win. Our boat reached the rocky shore, and my men hauled their muscled bodies off the boat and secured our ship.
Then, one by one, my men lined up in two straight lines, awaiting my exit, awaiting my approval. I walked through the lines of men.
It was almost as if the sea parted for me as I walked through, their eyes never meeting mine but fixed upon the rocky shore. “Let us feast!” I roared, my canines involuntarily protracting and slicing the skin of my mouth. If I needed to, I would shift into my wolf.
My men roared in agreement, happy to follow me to the pleasure that awaited in the form of women, food, warm homes and furs, and a peaceful summer ahead full of healing, fucking, and rest.
My heavy feet crushed bits of the forest floor as we trudged along. The denseness of the forest threatened to swallow us whole as the colors sank from the evening sky.
Vibrant hues of red, yellow, and orange swirled with fading blue, dissolving in the distance, framing the village on the horizon ahead. Even the sky rested, even the day came to an end, to allow the night to truly live.
Animals sounded around us, scattering deeper into the forest from our arrival and disappearing into the mountains. The village was in sight. I could make out the lull of voices, mostly feminine in the distance, along with the hum of feet and the smell of food roasting.
Good, they are preparing for us, I thought as a smirk found its way to my face.
But the villagers did not know we were coming. Instead, they were in for quite the surprise—a group of Vikings ready to enslave them and use them for the summer season.
ANNE
I was grinding up my latest batch of herbs when I heard a voice. “Anne!” the sing-song tone called out. It was Claire, one of my dearest friends in town. I’d known Claire since birth. She lived in the house next door.
Like me, she had suffered the loss of both her brothers to the war, along with her father and mother. But unlike me, Claire was educated; she was knowledgeable in the ways of men and performing such acts we had just spoken about.
I didn’t judge Claire for her choices; we all needed something to dull the pain, after all.
I wiped my hands on the dirtied cloth, then hurried to the door. I flung the door open with all my might. Claire was standing there happily with a handful of bread. “I’ve brought treats!” She walked inside.
“That’s not necessary. I have food,” I told her.
“Oh! You could use a few extra pounds on you, here!” she replied, shoving the basket of bread into my arms.
“Fine. Thank you.” I forced a smile and set down the basket, retrieving two pieces—one for myself and one for Claire.
“Another one of the men died today,” Claire said quietly, fixating on the fresh bread in her palm.
“Who?” I whispered, turning to study her gaze.
“Garrison.” She shrugged.
“The last of the blacksmiths?”
“His tools didn’t help much. Besides the crops, no one wields metal anymore here anyway. I’m surprised the Vikings haven’t pillaged us yet.” She let out an uneasy laugh.
“It was better than not having tools at all.” I sighed, melting the last piece of bread in my mouth.
“True,” she said, still staring at her palm.
“What will happen to his wives?” I asked.
She shrugged again, forcing a heavy breath out. “Probably become entertainers like myself. I’m sure the whole lot of women left will have to eventually, until that dries up. Then we’ll have to travel to the next town over and beg for anything.” A nervous laugh left her lips.
I forced a weary smile, shifting my gaze toward my feet. “Hopefully they can sell his tools, maybe to those Vikings, and make money.”
“Once the Vikings find out how scarcely we’re protected, they’ll just take them, along with us.” She was right. Eventually, they’d come. I was surprised they hadn’t yet.
“Maybe, but who knows, maybe we’re too pitiful to even conquer.” I laughed, but it came out as more of a desperate whine.
“Maybe,” she sighed. “Though I wouldn’t mind being fed, clothed, kept warm, and lying with one of them.”
“For free?” I asked, almost in shock. Vikings were known to be savages—complete savages, void of comfort and full of cruelty.
“They are nice lovers,” she explained. “One day you’ll understand.”
“Hopefully not. Not with a Viking,” I murmured as I splashed water over the fire to dull the flames.
“I know you frown upon my profession and how I make money, but it’s really not half bad, as long as the man is clean,” she said, brushing her fingers through her auburn hair. Her green eyes steadied on mine as she continued.
“Vikings are rather clean, even. They bathe so much because of battle, but sometimes the blood is permanently imprinted on their skin, because they kill so much. But they smell of fresh herbs, and they are experienced, you know, in lovemaking.”
“I can’t imagine them knowing how to ‘make love.’” I snorted.
“Well, they do, at least by my standards,” she sighed. “There’s one in particular who’s always lovely to me. His name is Ragnar. He has these mystifying blue eyes, tanned and rough skin, and caramel-blond hair.”
A sigh escaped her lips as if she were daydreaming.
“I’m sure he thinks you’re beautiful. That’s why he’s so lovely to you. I mean, look at you!” I said.
Claire was beautiful, even after the cruelties of our life. She had silky, wavy auburn hair that fell down her back, hazel eyes that shifted from brown to green without warning, and pale skin. She was tall, for a woman, with generous proportions.
“And so are you,” Claire pointed out, trying to lift my spirits.
“I used to be,” I replied, my voice lifeless.
“You still are, Anne.”
Then I heard it. Footsteps and shouting in the distance. I turned to look out the small window near the back of my cottage and saw a group of large men, with black paint, and leather and fur clothing. The Vikings.
“Come!” I urged, leading her by the hand through the village, ducking low to hide from the approaching Vikings. We escaped through the small back door of the cottage and ran like hell toward the dense forest.
I knew the forest like the back of my hand. It was a part of me. It was my solace. I glanced around, searching for the largest tree or a hillside to disappear behind, but instead found a large carved hole with a tree sprouting from the top of it.
“Here!” I called out in a rushed whisper as Claire joined me.
Claire’s breath was even, almost calm. “You should stay hidden. I will go…”
“You cannot!” I told her, tugging her by the wrist to keep her hidden. “We have no men to defend us. The king does not care for our village any longer, so he will not send reinforcements. You are the only person I care for left alive, Claire.” My eyes began to well with tears.
Claire’s gaze softened, and she squeezed my hand back. But that was when I heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
My body tensed, crippled by an unknown sensation, freezing me in place. And when I looked up, it was not a man that stood over me but a wolf.
