Chapter 8: Sigrid’s Challenge

I woke up draped in Felix and the first gray light, muscles screaming from the night before, and every inch of my body promising to mutiny if I moved. Northland mornings always started this way: cold as death, with a breeze that stank of smoke, sweat, and new humiliations. Even so, Felix was pressed up against me, his hair a tangle of gold and his hand curled possessively around my cock. I’d have let him keep it all morning, but the morning itself had other plans.

“Are you going to hold that all day?” I whispered, not quite ready to untangle myself.

Felix nuzzled into my neck, voice still thick with sleep. “You want me to stop?”

“Not really.”

He squeezed once, hard enough to make me gasp, then let go and rolled away, instantly replaced by cold air and regret.

The man had a gift for leaving me desperate, frustrated, and in a permanent state of fuck-me-now. But even after last night’s marathon, he still looked more put together than I ever did. I never trusted people who woke up beautiful, and Felix was a goddamn masterpiece in morning light.

“Where are you going?” I asked as he pulled on his tunic.

“To set things in motion,” he said, flashing a sly grin. “Stay here. Or don’t. You’re easier to catch if you run.”

I stared at the door long after it closed, willing myself not to do something stupid. Which, of course, meant that I did the stupid thing immediately. I stole a pair of trousers off a sleeping warrior on my way down from the loft, hauled them on, grabbed the Tome I’d left up there out of habit, and slunk toward the courtyard, already sensing the thrum of something big and unpleasant building in the stronghold below.

The main courtyard was a war zone of breakfast, and I avoided eye contact with everyone, especially Sigrid, who I did not want noticing me after yesterday’s tickling gauntlet.

The first thing I saw in the courtyard was Sigrid, bare-armed and glistening, burying her axe into a training stump with enough force to split the damn world. She was alone except for the shadows and the ghosts of last night’s humiliation, her hair pulled back in a wild tangle and her body shining with sweat. She wore nothing but a wolf pelt slung over her shoulders and a scrap of cloth that was less “loincloth” and more “wishful thinking.”

She spotted me before I’d taken three steps, her eyes that same pale blue as the glacier-fed rivers and her smirk promising nothing but trouble. I ducked my head and pretended I wasn’t there.

I wasn’t the only one watching, though. Felix was already there, a wraith among the shadows, gliding up behind Sigrid so quiet I didn’t even notice him until he was at her ear.

He said something, voice too low for me to hear, and Sigrid went still. I could see the tension run down her arms, muscles clenching, her whole body rigid as she listened to Felix. Whatever he was saying, she liked it. She bared her teeth and squeezed her axe handle until her knuckles went white.

The next words I caught, barely a whisper above the courtyard noise: “Ancient tradition. The war prize is yours if you take him before the next raid. It’s what Bjorn would want.”

Her lips curled up, and the effect was equal parts bloodthirsty and horny. “If he’s still alive by then,” she muttered.

“I’ll make sure he is,” Felix purred, laying a hand on her shoulder. “But you have to want it bad enough to chase.”

Sigrid’s eyes tracked me across the courtyard, dark and hungry, and for one insane second I thought about running. Not just for cover, but for my life. It would have been less terrifying if I hadn’t been so goddamn hard from the way she looked at me.

Felix peeled away with a satisfied smirk, glancing my way just long enough to meet my eyes. He gave the smallest nod, like he’d set a trap and was curious to see if I’d walk into it.

I kept moving, careful and slow, putting as many warriors and obstacles between me and Sigrid as I could. I made it to the far side of the courtyard before I even noticed the next threat: Brynhild, Sigrid’s lover, standing in the training grounds like she’d been waiting all morning.

Brynhild was taller than most of the men in the hold, with a smile that said she’d enjoy breaking you as much as fucking you. She eyed Sigrid with a predator’s amusement, waiting for her to finish her training routine. I slowed down, hoping not to draw attention, and tried to blend in with a knot of young warriors bitching about their breakfast rations.

It didn’t work.

Sigrid barked a command at her training stump, then stomped toward Brynhild, dragging her axe behind her like a bloody extension of her arm. She stopped inches from the other woman, planted her feet, and just stared for a moment.

Brynhild grinned. “You’re going to break that axe if you keep smashing it like that.”

“I’ll break more than that if you stand in my way.”

“You always say that,” Brynhild teased. “What’s got your panties twisted today?”

Sigrid leaned in, voice low but urgent. “War prize. Felix says it’s tradition.”

Brynhild’s eyes widened, then narrowed with dark delight. “Who’s the prize?”

Sigrid jerked her chin in my direction. “Little rabbit.”

They both turned to look at me, and I nearly dropped the chunk of bread I’d just stolen off some guy’s plate. Brynhild’s grin widened to something predatory, then downright obscene.

“Oh, we’re doing this the old way,” she said. “That’s fucking hot.”

Sigrid didn’t break eye contact. “I want him.”

“Do we have to share?” Brynhild teased, putting a hand on Sigrid’s lower back and tracing her spine up through the wolf pelt.

Sigrid’s lips quirked. “We can break him together. Like old times.”

Brynhild laughed, the sound deep and thrilling and terrifying. “You’re on, shield-maiden. But you get first taste.”

Both women turned, moving in perfect sync, and started toward me.

I tried to bolt, but a wall of barbarians blocked the nearest exit, so I ducked behind a stack of mead barrels and held my breath.

“Come out, little rabbit,” Sigrid called, her voice echoing off the stone and timber. “If you run, I’ll chase you all the way to the fucking grave.”

Felix appeared at the edge of the courtyard, leaning against a post and watching the hunt unfold with open amusement. He caught my eye, waggled his eyebrows, and mouthed: “Run.”

I ran.

The last thing I saw was the flash of Sigrid’s teeth, Brynhild’s delighted laugh, and the two of them stalking me with all the patience of wolves and all the certainty of northland goddesses.

If I was going to die, at least it’d be in style.

I made it three steps into the back corridor before a hand closed on my collar and lifted me straight off the floor.

Sigrid was faster than any woman her size had a right to be. I flailed, managed to kick her in the shin, and immediately regretted it when she just grinned wider and spun me into the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs and the dignity out of my soul. She pressed up behind me, pinning both my wrists over my head with one impossibly strong hand.

“Gotcha,” she whispered, the warmth of her body running down my spine.

It was a lot of warmth. She was hotter than a woman should be, like she’d been standing in front of a forge, and the heat came right through to my bare back. I twisted my head to look back at her. Her eyes were too bright, lit up from behind like two lamps, and her grip on my wrists squeezed tight enough to grind the bones together. She blinked hard, and the light went out of them. They were just blue again, and she was grinning like nothing had happened.

I didn’t say anything. I knew exactly what it meant, so I just tried to remember how to breathe.

“Let go!” I shouted, trying to twist out of her grip. My shoulder screamed, and she let up just enough to keep it from popping, which almost made it worse.

“Not a chance, little rabbit,” Sigrid said.

I opened my mouth to try biting, but Brynhild was already there, her forearm jamming under my chin and forcing my head back. She pinned me to the wall by the throat, her body heat and laughter nearly as intense as Sigrid’s grip.

“Don’t wriggle,” Brynhild said, voice soft as a dagger to the gut. “It makes us want you more.”

I considered screaming, but the chances of anyone caring were exactly zero. The only help I got was from the Tome of Wanton Desecration, still jammed under my arm from when I’d grabbed it.

“Oh, this is classic!” the Tome cackled, its eye rolling in delight. “The little prince finally gets his fairytale ending: stuffed by barbarians and left to die!”

Sigrid wrenched my arms behind my back, and Brynhild took the opportunity to grab my ass with both hands, squeezing hard enough to make my eyes water. “You like that?” she said.

“No,” I lied. “Not even a little.”

Sigrid leaned close, her breath hot in my ear. “It’s okay to like it, Sam. Northlander boys like it, too.”

“Not a northlander,” I muttered.

“Not yet!” Brynhild sang, then nipped my earlobe.

They spun me between them like a doll, each taking a limb. Sigrid’s hand clamped around my neck as Brynhild yanked my feet out from under me. I landed flat on my back, winded and blinking up at two pairs of merciless blue eyes.

“We’re supposed to be friends!” I wheezed.

“We are,” Sigrid said, “which is why we’re not just taking you here and now.” She leaned down, her lips close to mine, and I could taste sweat and mud and hunger. “We’ll take you where it’s private.”

“Not very private if you shout about it in the hallway,” I pointed out, struggling in their grip.

Sigrid pressed her hand over my mouth. “Quiet, or I’ll stuff something in there.”

Brynhild gave me a wicked look, tugged the stolen trousers off, and slung me over her shoulder, one hand pinning my wrists together behind my back, the other splayed across my bare ass. She carried me like a sack of potatoes, laughing the whole way down the corridor. Sigrid followed, dragging my stolen trousers, the Tome and my dignity in her wake.

The further we went, the colder and quieter it got. The walls turned to rough, unpainted timber, the floors to creaking planks. A single torch flickered at the end of the passage, and beyond that: darkness and the unmistakable stench of furs and ancient sweat.

They pushed open a door I’d never seen before, and I got dumped unceremoniously onto a heap of animal skins in the center of a small, windowless lodge. It was like a hunting blind for giants, with half the space taken up by a massive pit hearth, the rest by racks of weapons and antlers nailed to the walls.

Sigrid shut the door and bolted it. Brynhild lit two more torches, illuminating the space with a lurid orange glow.

“Now,” Sigrid said, pacing around me like she was trying to decide which part to bite first. “By ancient right, I claim you as my war prize.”