She had a nasty wound on her forehead, dried blood on her flesh and hair, and a bruise starting to form. He scanned the rest of her body, took in the garments she wore, and picked at the material. The fabric was like nothing he’d ever felt or seen, seemingly to be poorly made. She wore no leathers and had no weapons. Who was this woman? Surely the gods had not dropped her here to die?
He looked at her face again. She was a beautiful woman, even if she was hurt, filthy, and clearly not of his people. But maybe that was a good thing. His people had shunned him, forced him out because they feared him. Stian welcomed that fear in them, though. It made them wary, made them smarter. She ate well, that he could tell by the thickness of her body, and the curves he could see through her filthy, wet clothing.
He lifted her easily into his arms. She was small, much shorter than his towering height. He could have left her to die, but instead he’d bring her back to his hut and make her his. He was in need of a wife, a bed partner, and what a perfect gift from the gods for a monster like him. Whoever she was didn’t matter anymore, because now she was the wife of Stian Dagmar.
****
Agata opened her eyes. The lighting was dim, and not painful as she looked at the ceiling. Her head throbbed, but the feeling of a warm, wet cloth on her forehead was pleasing. How had she gotten back to the hotel? She closed her eyes again, lifted her hand to rub her aching head, and breathed out. She couldn’t remember much, didn’t think she’d even had any alcohol at the festival, but she had to have gotten drunk to be feeling this way, right?
Opening her eyes again, she blinked at the ceiling, and then knitted her brows. That wasn’t the ceiling in her hotel room, not with those crude wooden beams, and what was that? Hay? When she pushed herself up a wince and gasp left her as her arm gave out from her weight. Looking down, she noticed a white bandage wrapped around her forearm, but it was the thick animal hides and fur she was on that had her confused. Was she still at the festival, maybe in one of the novelty huts?
The sound of metal on metal had her snapping her head to the right. She felt her eyes widen at the sight of a very naked male back in her view. The man that was crouched before a fire set in the center of the hut was monstrously big, with wide shoulders, and muscles layered upon each other. He also had scars that ran crisscross on the wide expanse, and what looked like Nordic symbols inked into his biceps and sides, back and shoulders. She could see his biceps, saw the same inked markings on them as well, and wondered what the front part of him looked like.
“Um, hello?” She cleared her throat, feeling like she’d swallowed a bucket full of sand. What she needed were some painkillers for this wicked headache and the throbbing in her arm. “Am I still at the festival?”
Why would she even ask that? Of course she was at the festival still, because no one lived this primal and raw anymore, not even in this part of the world. Did they?
The man hadn’t moved, hadn’t responded to her question either. Maybe he didn’t speak English?
“Hello? Am I at the festival still?” She asked in Norwegian this time, and even though it was rusty and probably thick with her American accent she knew he would have understood her well enough. He still didn’t respond or move. She pushed herself up on the bed and looked around more thoroughly now. The hut was bigger than the ones she’d seen at the festival. There was a long-standing fire basin in the center of the one room, and through the sides of the fire basin she saw the crackling flames and felt its heat. There was a scarred, wooden table off to the side, with wooden bowls, metal, crude looking utensils, and a basket full of vegetables and fruit. Bones and feathers hung from the ceiling, and she saw weapons close to the front door, as well as sporadically placed around the room. The floor was dirt covered wooden planks, and the fact there wasn’t anything modern about this place, nothing familiar to her, had her heart pounding harder with confusion and hesitation. She looked out the window, or at least tried to, but in her position and the way the wood shutters were positioned only showed her glimpses of trees.
“Excuse me,” she said more determinedly now. Bracing her hand on the hide, she pushed herself up as best she could because of her injured arm. One standing she swayed, her head growing fuzzy and starting to pound fiercely. She immediately sat back down and cupped her forehead. “I need to know where I’m at. I have to get back to the hotel. I have a flight to catch.” What time was it? What day was it even?
She dropped her hands to her sides and stared at the man again. He slowly started to rise, and she craned her neck to look at his towering height. Even in the sitting position and from the distance she was at she had to tilt her head back just to look at him. The leather pants he wore formed to his massively large thighs, and his height was staggering. She actually moved back on the pallet, not sure what in the hell was going on, but her flight or fight instincts were kicking in.