Viking's Claim (Kilts & Kisses #4)(4)

It’s their eyes I see first—fierce, piercing, hungry eyes, followed by the glint of the steel in their hands. There’s a dozen of them, and as they slowly make their way out of the trees with wild, hungry grins on their faces, I tremble in fear.

Vikings.

I can’t scream. I can’t say a word, or move, or blink, or even think as the group of them advance on me, grinning savagely. The men chuckle, speaking to each other in a language I don’t understand as they move closer and closer. One grabs at his crotch, saying something that brings dark chuckles to the other men. I shiver, shriveling inside, my eyes darting fearfully from one terrifying face to the other as they get closer and closer.

Suddenly, a voice booms out from the tree line behind them, stopping the men fast and bringing fear to their eyes. They whirl, and my eyes follow.

…And my jaw drops.

Because I know the huge, towering beast of a man standing at the edge of the trees with the massive sword in his big hands and the terrifying scowl on his face. Oh, I know him alright. I know what his lips taste like. I’ve dreamed fever dreams of him for weeks.

…I’m wearing his necklace.

The massive and terrifyingly beautiful Tor Odinson steps from the trees, scowling at the other men before he turns to me. His eyes blaze with dark grey fire, piercing right into me and taking my breath away as he steps towards me, pushing aside the others.

“Mine,” he snarls in accented English as he moves closer.

“Mine,” he growls, quieter as he steps right into me, until he’s towering above me.

“I—I—” I blink, trembling, my mouth opening and closing without words.

A low growling sound grumbles in his throat, a gravely baritone sound that rumbles through my very core.

Wordlessly, he reaches out and touches his big knuckles under my chin, raising my head up as he smiles wickedly and hungrily at me.

“Mine.”

He moves like lightening, and I don’t even have time to blink or take a breath before he’s scooped me up like I weigh nothing at all and tossed me over his shoulder. Adrenaline spikes through me, my whole body shivering and trembling at the feel of his rippling muscles against my body and his powerful hands holding me firmly.

He barks something in the Norse language, and suddenly, every man there jumps into action, darting back into the woods and suddenly pulling out the hidden rowboats there.

“Wait!” I gasp as Tor holds me over his shoulder with one hand and helps shove one of the boats into the water with the other. He steps into the boat holding me firmly.

“Wait, where—!?”

He barks another order in the Norse tongue, and the men shove off, jumping into the boats and manning the oars as we start to move quickly away from the shore, off into the water towards the red-sailed warships.

I’m being stolen by the most fearsome, dangerous, wild Viking marauder in the world.

…And I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be this excited.





Chapter 3





Rhona




The rowboats move quick as lightning, skimming over the waves as we move further and further away from the shore. Tor never takes me from his shoulder—his hands never leaving me as he stands at the bow of the rowboat, wind whipping around him. There’s the sound of yelling, and I look up to realize we’re already at the biggest of the red-sailed ships.

I gasp as Tor grabs a rope ladder hanging over the side, hoisting his huge size with me along with him with one hand as he climbs onto the big ship. Up on the deck, he strides with purpose, holding me firmly, ignoring the stares of the other Vikings on the ship as he storms to a door at the back of the boat. He shoulders it open, my heart pounding as we step into darkness and down a flight of stairs to another door. He kicks this one open as well, and when we step into flickering candlelight, I realize we’re in some sort of sleeping quarters.

His sleeping quarters.

The room is sparse but for a rack of swords and other bladed weapons on one wall, a mounted bear’s head on another. And then, against one wall stands a huge bed draped with furs. Tor strides right for it, and my heart jumps into my throat as I realize where he’s headed.

“Wait!”

I scream—loudly, and without restraint, kicking and hitting him as I belt out cries for help. No one comes, obviously, and Tor ignores my strikes against his chest and back as if I were nothing more than a fly buzzing around him. At the bed, I gasp as he whisks me off his shoulder and tosses me down across it. I scramble and scrabble back from him, shoving myself away from him until my back comes up against the headboard.

“What do you want with me?!” I spit, panting as the spike of fear and adrenaline blazes through me.

Tor just grins, his eyes fierce and wild as the pierce into me.

“Do you speak English?” I blurt out, swallowing, my eyes darting between him and the door behind him. Right, as if I’m going to make a break for it. As if even if somehow, I did make it past the giant of a man blocking my path, the fact that we’re on a boat, sitting in the ocean, and full of fierce and wild Viking marauders wouldn’t be a problem for me.

And when I think about the rough, savage men who advanced on me on the beach, and the ones on this very boat, suddenly I wonder the insane thought that I may actually be safer in here, with him, than I would be out there.