Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Erik glared at me; then, without taking his eyes off me, he pushed the drunk man away and muttered a command. The drunk man smiled, shrugged, and stumbled away down the hall. I listened hard, his footsteps pattering up a long flight of stairs, and I realized then that I was being kept underground.
“I am not here to hurt you,” Erik said slowly, calmly, in French. He took a step toward me, his arms raised in defense.
I had no answer for that but to scream, one of fear, pain, and rage. Everything came out all at once. I couldn’t form words even if I tried.
“Quiet now,” Erik warned, his voice low. “You don’t want to bring the others down here. They will not understand.”
Get out! Let me go! Who are you? Where am I? But again, I could only cry, a guttural, tormented sound that echoed throughout the room.
Erik licked his lips nervously as his head twitched slowly from side to side. He looked less menacing with his face cleaned of blood, but the shadows from the torch added back that sense of malevolence.
“Please,” he said. “I saved your life.”
“You robbed me of my life!” I yelled at him, the sound and power of my voice surprising both of us, judging by his crumpled brow, and I took the opportunity to lunge at him.
I speared the torch into Erik’s hard middle, the flames catching on his wool tunic. I couldn’t help but grin, even as he snatched the torch and pushed me away. He batted at his stomach, trying to put out the fire, then ripped the smoldering tunic over his head and threw it to the ground, stomping on it until the flames went out.
Now, he was standing before me with a bare, heaving chest, eyes glinting between madness and control. I hated myself for not being able to look away from his face, but I couldn’t help it. Marc had been a muscular young man, or so I thought, but Erik was something else entirely. I had never seen a body like his, each muscle—thick shoulders, sculpted chest, rows of abdominals—lean, smooth, and precise. I had expected him to be hairy, maybe unclean, but he appeared to be the opposite. His skin was even and taut, marred only by clusters of markings running down his firm biceps—inked symbols from a culture I knew nothing about.
“Still,” he grunted, his teeth grinding as he tried to control his temper, “you stand before me. You live.”
In one quick motion, he reached down to his belt, unbuckled it, and pulled out a steel dagger. He whipped the belt off with one hand, and there was only a brief pause before his leather kilt fell to the ground.
Forget being bare-chested; Erik was entirely naked, save for his boots.
Once again, my eyes drifted below where I was trying to keep them, and I saw a man with long, well-defined legs, his manhood partially erect. The sight of it was already enough to make my eyes widen.
A crude barbarian was standing before me, stark naked as the day he was born. I knew this could only mean one thing. I thought about the ways I might fight back as he came closer, whether it would hurt more than it had with Marc.
Clearly, Erik didn’t care that he was baring all for me to see. There must be something in my eyes that excites him, I thought absently, noticing his erection growing by the second. I willed my expression to be impassive.
Erik tossed the torch aside with one hand, and my eyes followed it like a moth to the flame. Before I knew it, I was scampering toward it, toward the only weapon I had a chance at getting my hands on.
As I ran, Erik snatched the dagger and clamped it between his teeth before he grabbed me by the arm. He yanked me off my feet and brought me to him in one, swift motion, my back slamming against his chest. In seconds, he had both my hands behind my back, tying them together with his belt.
Once he knew I was secured, he grabbed my hair, pulling my head back so my throat was exposed, his lips at my ear.
“I am not your enemy,” he whispered, his calloused hands moving softly through my hair.
I bucked against him and kicked back with my legs. He simply wrapped his other hand around the belt and twisted my arms until I grunted in pain.
“I left some food in the corner for you—if the rats haven’t gotten to it yet—and there’s a bucket over there for a latrine. I’ll bring you some proper clothes once I find something that might do you justice. Until then, you will stay here. And, God willing, I’ll be the only one to visit you.”