Bride of Grendel: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 2) (3 page)

              When she woke, the fire had died to a soft glow, and the hall had grown cold. Everyone was asleep, her guards included. How easy, she thought ruefully, it would have been for Unferth to have spirited her away from here during this quiet time before the monster came. But he too was asleep, never having intended to attempt any such escape. What had awakened her? It was a sound that had done it. Not the sound of the doors crashing in, but a sound from somewhere outside. Movements. Something moving along the side of the hall, something scraping along the outer wall, drawing slowly closer to the front. The hairs on her neck prickled. This was it. What would she do? Should she try to fight it? She had heard that the warriors of Heorot had quickly learned, when Grendel first began his attacks, that no weapons had any effect on the monster; his skin was impervious to every blade, spear, or club that they tried against him. The sound was getting closer to the door.

              No one had bothered to throw the massive bolt; Grendel had burst through too many times for anyone to think that there was any way to keep him out. So now, instead of a great crash, she heard the low creak of the door slowly swinging open. Sigrun tensed in her seat. She caught her breath at the sight of a huge, clawed hand wrapped around the edge of the doorframe. The seconds seemed to stretch for an eternity as she waited for the creature to step into the hall. When the massive thing finally emerged from the shadows, she gasped. It was easily eight feet tall, with huge shoulders, thick, muscled arms, and legs like tree trunks. The light was too dim to see its features clearly, but its eyes glowed green, flashing around the hall. It moved forward down the center, glaring at the sleeping warriors to either side. She was struck, strangely, by how gracefully the monster moved, swiftly and silently. It must have been dragging its claws along the exterior walls, intentionally creating that noise that had woken her before.

              Halfway down the length of the room, Grendel’s eyes finally landed on Sigrun. The monster paused, as though appraising her. Their eyes locked. Her breath was coming quickly, but she refused to be afraid, refused to seem afraid. Grendel snorted lightly. Then he looked around the room and let out a massive roar. It was a bloodcurdling sound, and the warriors awoke in confusion. Sigrun, remarkably, found herself laughing. The monster wanted to make sure he had an audience, wanted to make sure the warriors did not sleep through his theft of their queen. It was a short laugh, though.

              Once he had gotten everyone’s attention, Grendel bounded to the dais and swept Sigrun from her seat. His claws dug into her arms as he lifted her up and swung her over his shoulder, but they did not break flesh. From the corner of her vision, she saw Unferth charging toward Grendel, swinging his sword. He hacked at the monster’s side, but the sword bounced off without leaving a mark. Grendel knocked Unferth away. Sigrun lifted herself up, bracing herself against Grendel’s back — his one arm was wrapped firmly around her legs, holding her close against him — so that she could see. While Grendel carried her back through the hall and towards the doors, Unferth crouched by the dais, watching, not moving again.

              Free of the hall, past the other buildings and away into the woods, Grendel swung Sigrun off his shoulder and carried her cradled in his arms. He moved quickly and agilely through the forest, out across an open space of moors and over a treacherous, craggy region where winding trails twisted down steep rock faces to a dark, evil-looking lake. She knew that the night’s darkness did not help the prospect, but she doubted that it looked any less forbidding in the daylight. They reached the shore of the lake, a narrow stretch of rocky shelf where cliff and water met. Grendel set her down. Dark water lapped at their feet. Now what? He wrapped one great arm around her, holding her tightly to his side, lifting her up onto her toes.

              She looked up at his face. She could see it more clearly now in the moonlight. It was almost human, but not quite. The mouth was a little too broad, the nose too flat, almost muzzle-like, but also not quite. The skin seemed leathery, the hair — fur or hair? too hard to tell — covered more of his cheeks than any man’s beard would. The ears were pointed. When he opened his mouth slightly, she saw that the teeth were sharp. He was looking at the water. He looked down at her, then looked to the water again, and then took a breath. She realized with a slight shock that they were going to go into the lake.

              She took a deep breath just as Grendel jumped in.

              It was so dark, she nearly panicked. It was also very, very cold. She thought she might die, if not by drowning, then from the shock of the cold water, but she also found herself wanting very much to live. Grendel was swimming strongly and steadily toward something. She felt something brush past her in the water, and she held tighter, though Grendel’s grip on her was more than secure. She had closed her eyes, but as her lungs began to strain, she opened them again and saw, miraculously, a light glowing just ahead. The light also revealed the shapes of the sea creatures brushing past, great serpent-like things circling them. She saw two snapping viciously at each other, but none of them attacked Grendel. The light grew stronger just as Sigrun felt herself growing faint from lack of air. It seemed to be coming from an underwater cave in the side of the cliff. Grendel swam into the cave, through the opening and then upward. Sigrun thought her lungs were going to burst and was about to take in a long, deadly breath of water when they broke through the surface.

              Grendel pulled her from the water and set her gently on the floor, but she spent several moments gasping and sputtering before she could gather herself enough to look around. When she did, she was surprised by what she saw.

              It was a huge cave, beautifully vaulted. The walls glittered with gemstones. A fire blazed in a massive hearth on the far side, opposite the pool from which they had emerged. She wondered how the smoke vented out, but she also saw arched openings to other caves and passages; there must have been tunnels and chutes that led all the way to the surface. The floor was too smooth — polished-seeming — to be natural; the arches and walls, too, were so regular — this was no untouched, natural cave. This was a work of architecture. She realized that pillars that she’d thought to be stalactites at first glance were in fact columns and were intricately carved with flowers, vines, and dragons. A huge stone table, also elaborately carved, stood near the hearth and held glowing gold goblets, bowls, and platters, all sized to fit very large hands. A massive sword hung on the wall beside the fireplace. Some people had suggested that Grendel began his attacks on Heorot because he was jealous of Horthgar’s magnificent mead hall; those people were clearly wrong. Grendel’s subterranean lair put Hrothgar’s monument to shame.

              Sigrun realized that she was shivering violently. The cold night air followed by the icy water had chilled her to the bone, and her heavy clothes were soaked through. Water dripped in rivulets from her hair and her dress and was pooling on the floor around her. Grendel was watching her closely. He picked her up again and carried her to the fire, setting her on her feet beside the warm hearth. With a clawed finger he pulled her shawl from her shoulders and then pulled off the brooches holding her dress. The sodden clothes slipped to the floor, leaving only a thin, lightweight shift. Sigrun bent to pull off her boots and stockings but planned to keep her underdress on. It too was soaked, cold and clinging to her skin. Even beside the blazing fire it would take a while to dry, and she continued to shake from the cold.

              Grendel grunted impatiently.

              Sigrun had been so distracted by the swim, the hall, her soaked and frozen condition, she suddenly realized that here she was, alone with the monster in its lair.

              She looked at the creature in front of her. He was huge, hulking — but he held himself upright. She had heard descriptions of a hunched, misshapen being. She could well imagine Grendel crouched and animal-like, moving swiftly in his attack, and she could imagine that his sheer size and the terror he provoked might impress witnesses with memories of him more ghastly and monstrous than was actually the case. Aside from his size, he seemed almost — but not quite — human. She could not decide whether it was light fur or thick hair that covered most of his body. He was barefoot, impervious, apparently, to the winter cold, but he wore a short skirt of skins around his waist. His torso — some had suggested he was covered with scales, and this was why no weapon could bite his flesh — was covered, she saw now, with a coat of finely wrought chain mail under a sheepskin vest.

              And then there was that not-quite-human face, and the eyes looking down at her from it. Those eyes — green, almost catlike in the flickering glow of the fire — were not the eyes of a mindless beast. Sigrun saw intelligence in those eyes. And they were clearly scrutinizing her. Grendel was looking at her thoughtfully and deciding, it seemed, what to do.

              Sigrun was still shaking. She did not want to appear afraid, so she did her best to meet Grendel’s gaze, to show that she was not shaking with fear, that she was not cowed by him. He dropped his eyes, looking at her wet shift. She thought she saw him shrug slightly, and then he took the underdress in his hands and tore it open, pulling it off of her and freeing her from the soaking fabric. She immediately felt warmer with the heat of the fire against her bare skin, but she was still shivering. She wrapped her arms around her chest, both to help warm herself and to cover her bare breasts. Grendel nudged her closer to the hearth. He pulled off his sodden sheepskin vest and shrugged out of the chain mail, revealing a massive, muscular chest. He stepped away, disappearing into a nearby alcove, and returned with the skin of some large, furry beast — a very, very large bear, perhaps? Or a tremendously large wolf. It looked like the fur of a tremendously large wolf. He set it on the floor by the hearth and then lifted Sigrun off her feet and set her down on the pelt. It was soft, so soft, and felt unimaginably good against her bare skin.

              Grendel knelt beside her. She could feel his breath on her shoulders. It was warm and smelled surprisingly nice, like apples and fresh-mown hay. This was certainly not what she had expected. She had expected his breath to reek of carnage. And fish. Rotten fish. What was more monstrous than the stench of blood and rotten fish? No, Grendel’s breath smelled clean and sweet, not monstrous. Life was full of surprises, she guessed. He poked a finger at her hair, tugging at one of the braided tresses that now hung loose, wet, and disheveled at her ear. Yes, she realized, her hair was wet and would dry better if she took it down. She unwound the braids that she had carefully wrapped around her head earlier in the evening, back in her turf cell, and unbraided them. Her hair fell around her shoulders and down her back. To her surprise, Grendel ran his fingers through her hair, his claws working like a comb. He hummed appreciatively.

              “Hmmmm… beautiful…” his voice was deep, low, more growl than speech, but she heard the word clearly and was amazed. What was this thing, and what did he want? As a child, she’d heard stories of giants and trolls, beings as ancient and powerful as the gods, who lived in other worlds but sometimes crossed over to the realm of men. There were porous places, places where the borders were thin — the wilderness places that men were right to steer clear of. Places like the wild, beautiful spot where Hrothgar had built his hall. Was Grendel one of these beings?

              He bent his head toward hers, burying his nose in her hair at her neck. The feel of his warm breath on her neck sent an unexpected trill down her spine. He placed a hand on her back, cradling her, and lifted her arm, still held across her breasts, with the other.  He was warm, very warm. His wet hair had dried quickly and felt downy soft as it brushed against her. Her shivers eased as her body finally warmed up. Her muscles relaxed, but her nerves still seemed to be in a heightened state. She had refused to be afraid, but there was no escaping the edgy rush of nervous response to everything that had happened. The excitement was coursing through her veins, and every sensation seemed amplified by it. Recovering from her hypothermia only made this other response more apparent. The tactile pleasure of the fire’s glow, the fur against her skin, and Grendel’s warm presence made her body feel like it was melting, even as her nerves were singing. When he bowed his head to her chest and ran his tongue — rough, warm, and catlike — between her breasts and up her throat, it sent a shiver through her body that made her hair stand on end.

              He pushed her down so that she was lying on the pelt, sinking into the thick, soft fur, and he ran his tongue around her breast. He circled it slowly, edging toward the nipple, and a sigh escaped her lips. He took her entire breast in his mouth — the thought flashed through her mind that she hoped he didn’t take a bite with those sharp teeth of his — but the feel of his huge, strong tongue and lips sucking and pulling at her made her forget her worries. His hand was wrapped around her back, his thumb resting beneath the curve of her other breast, the claws digging slightly into her skin. It was almost painful but also felt strangely good. It sent another thrill through her. He pulled back from sucking her breast and ran his finger, pressing lightly with the curved claw, around her nipple and then down her belly. She just about jumped when he reached her mound and twined his finger in her soft hair. He traced a line across her pelvis, from one hip bone to the other, and she couldn’t help moaning. Was this monster teasing her? And her body was exploding in response, aching for something more.

              He pushed her legs apart and bent his head to taste her juices. She caught a sweet smell — was that her? She believed it was — like she was gushing ambrosia — what was this creature doing, to make her react this way? He dragged his tongue along her lower lips and all the way up — that rasping tongue, it sent charges through her! Then he plunged his tongue into her. It was thick and long, filling her like a cock, but it was more agile, too.

              “Oh! Ahhh!” she gasped and moaned as he twisted his tongue inside her, pulling it out and plunging it back in, probing her with it, finding out the most sensitive spots and then lingering on them. His lip grazed her clitoris all the while, adding to her mounting frenzy until she was sure that she was going to come at any moment. As though sensing that she was on the verge of climax, Grendel pulled his tongue out of her and began lapping at her clit. His rough tongue pressing directly on her sweet spot was too much to withstand, and within moments he had her. A loud cry tore from her lips. She would have doubled over with the strength of the orgasm that swept through her, if his hand had not still been firmly holding her chest. His grip on her added something to the intensity of it. She was hardly done coming when he sank his tongue back into her, working the interior wall behind her humming clitoris and sending her into spasms all over again. He pulled away and paused for a moment, watching her panting and gasping for breath.

              “Beautiful,” he murmured, and he turned her over onto her belly. He looped a hand beneath her stomach and pulled her ass up. She felt his finger parting her cheeks and then his tongue running the full length of the crack. She was too spent to tense up over this particular intrusion; her body was still crackling with the aftershocks of the last orgasms, and there was something so immensely pleasuring about Grendel’s tongue, it had the same effect here as everywhere else. She sighed as he pressed the tip into her small, tight hole, and gasped as he pressed a little further in. He stopped there, flicking his tongue in and out, in and out, until she felt a sudden need to feel it go deeper. She pressed her knees into the floor and pushed her ass upwards to meet him. He responded by sinking much of the length of this thick tongue into her.

              “Ohh! Ohhh!” She dug her fingers into the fur as a shudder ran through her body. He held her firmly and delved his tongue even deeper. He pulled it out, teasing the rim again, and then pushed it, all of it, in. She felt herself wracked with spasms of pleasure. He held his tongue inside, twisting it, pulsing it. Her body was out of her control, responding entirely on its own, orgasms radiating through her from deep inside her. He pulled out his tongue and flipped her back over, her face flushed, her body bathed in sweat.

              “More,” she panted, “give me more!”

              He was kneeling over her, breathing heavily, looking down at her with hungry, glittering eyes. She could see the muscles of his chest and abdomen rippling beneath the thick hair. He pulled off the skirt of skins that circled his waist to reveal his stiff, throbbing member. She gaped at the size of it. It was longer than her forearm, and thicker. The swollen head was the size of her fist. She realized now in a flash why Grendel kept stealing Hrothgar’s queens. He wanted a bride for himself. And if the icy plunge to the cave didn’t kill them, then getting fucked by his massive, inhuman cock did. That thing would split a woman in half, would tear her apart.