Claimed by the Vikings (3 page)

He felt deeply aroused and hopelessly lost, and he did not even dare call upon God to save him.

Leo wriggled his bound fingers closer to his aching groin, touching himself with half-numb fingers and feeling more shocks of pleasure travel up his spine.

When the Viking thrust up into him at a slightly different angle, Leo cried out helplessly and felt himself spill into his own bound hands. How could it feel so good? How could it feel even better than touching himself alone, late at night?

He shuddered, breathing hard, his body relaxing against the stone floor, but the Viking tugged him back up with a hard grip of his hands.

The Viking’s hands on his hips were bruising him, forcing him back upon his cock. His flesh slapped against Leo’s with every thrust, and he kept grunting words that Leo did not understand, grinding the hard length of his cock into Leo’s ass.

“Raahh!” the Viking yelled, an animal roar.

He was coming, too, Leo realized with a shiver. Coming
inside
him, his seed spilling inside Leo’s flesh, filling him as if he were a woman. Surely this was a horrible parody of sanctified love.

Then the Viking pulled out, and a slick warm rush of seed dripped down Leo’s thighs, marking him with his sin. Marking him as a lustful, sinful, wretched, debauched creature, abandoned by God.

Leo cringed, trying to crawl away from the Viking, but the brute grabbed him by his bound hands and jerked him up and around to face him.

His wrist bones ground against each other. Whimpering at the sudden new pain, Leo stared up at the Viking’s grim face.

The Viking leered down at him, his scabbed-over eye looking like a portent of evil, and Leo saw him lift the axe and braced himself for death.

Then he saw a large shape appear behind the Viking, and a voice thundered: “Gorm!”

The axe dropped to the floor, and Gorm spun around, startled.

Blinking against the light of a second torch, Leo watched the newcomer step into the wash house. He was a giant of a man, bigger even than the one who had abused him, and he was so blond his long braids looked white in the torchlight. Like the other Viking, he wore armor, but he carried a longsword instead of an axe.

The man’s jaw was set in a grim line, and his eyes were blue and fierce. Yet there was a nobility to his features that didn’t match up at all with the idea of Vikings as savages.

In fact, Leo had never seen a man who looked so like his attempts to draw an angel.

Leo found that he couldn’t tear himself away from those eyes as they raked his half-naked body, then turned to the Viking holding him - Gorm? Was that his name?

The two men spoke together in their own tongue, a surprisingly musical language that Leo couldn’t understand a word of. Yet the tone of their conversation was clear enough: the newcomer was giving Gorm a reprimand, and Gorm was grudgingly offering an apology.

Growling, apparently unhappy, Gorm dropped Leo to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

“Please untie me,” Leo dared to say again, staring up pleadingly at the second Viking. Maybe this one would be capable of mercy. He could barely feel his fingers anymore.

The huge Viking looked him over a second time, his fierce blue eyes lingering on Leo’s bare thighs and the slick wetness that marked his skin.

Leo blushed helplessly. For a moment, dazzled by this Viking’s presence, he had forgotten his shame, but now he knew again what he had done. What had been done to him.

But you liked it
, a treacherous voice whispered in his ears, chilling him.
In the end, you liked it. Slut. Whore.

It sounded very like the old Abbot, whose standards were absolute and merciless.

Leo shook his head slightly, trying to get rid of those wretched thoughts, and the Viking’s huge hand caught his chin and lifted his face up toward the light.

“Your name,” the giant Viking said. It was not so much a question as a command.

Leo gulped. The man spoke Saxon! And he was looking at Leo intently, waiting for his answer.

“Leo,” he said, trying to find his voice. “Brother Leo.”

The Viking looked perplexed. “Whose brother?”

“I am a monk,” Leo tried to explain, baffled that even a Viking would not know this. “Brother is what we are called.”

“Hm,” the Viking said, trading a dubious look with Gorm, who now stood behind him with his axe ready to hand. “Leo, then. You are my thrall from now on.”

Now it was Leo’s turn to be baffled. “Thrall?”

“Slave,” the Viking explained matter-of-factly. He drew a large, wicked-looking knife from his belt, and cut the leather around Leo’s wrists with one swift slice.

Caught up in relief that he would not lose his hands, Leo flexed his fingers, feeling the blood slowly return to them. It tingled so strongly that it hurt, almost as though his fingers were on fire, but it was a good pain.

Then the Viking looped something around his neck. A rope, strong and rough. Leo watched as he tied the other end to his belt, leaving a few feet of slack between them, and he slowly began to comprehend what was happening to him.

“I am Runolf, son of Ragnar,” the blond Viking said, a note of formality in his voice. “And I claim you for my household.”

Behind him, Gorm scowled. Anything that took Leo away from Gorm could only be a good thing, Leo thought with a giddy sense of unreality.

He was a slave.

He was the slave of Runolf, son of Ragnar.

As yet, he had no idea what that would mean. But he hoped it meant that he would not die today.

Runolf tugged at the rope, and Leo realized that they were preparing to leave.

From outside, he could hear screams, and the roaring of fire.

Fear shot through him, and along with the fear came a desperate flash of courage. He was not safe here, and he would never be safe again. But perhaps he could still save the one thing that he had almost given his life for.

Leo got up from the stone floor, his ruined robes and tunic dragging at his legs, until Runolf noticed and cut them away with another flashing slice of his long knife.

Now Leo was entirely naked, his thighs still wet with Gorm’s seed, but he no longer felt the burning shame of it; his mind was too full of his one wish.

“Please, oh I beg you, let me take the book,” he said, clasping his hands in a desperate plea to Runolf.

Runolf blinked. “Book?”

Then Gorm said something in their own language, and stooped to pick up the manuscript from the corner where he had thrown it. He opened it and showed it to Runolf with a laugh.

Runolf looked at the intricate pictures with a baffled look in his eyes, as if wondering who on earth would bother to create such a strange thing, let alone save it from a burning monastery.

Then he thrust the manuscript into Leo’s hands. “Keep it,” he said gruffly, and Leo almost collapsed with gratitude.

He clutched the book to his naked chest, and left the wash house wearing nothing but the rope around his neck.

They walked into what looked like the portals of Hell. The quiet, peaceful monastery was unrecognizable; fire licked at the straw roofs, and smoke hung heavy in the air, creating a foul-smelling fog so thick that Leo felt barely able to breathe.

Runolf tugged at the rope again, and he stumbled forward into the smoke.

Two monks ran past him, screaming, their robes flapping behind them, but before Leo could even call their names, they were cut down by a group of yelling Vikings wielding axes and swords.

Blood fountained up, and the monks were trampled beneath Viking boots as if they were straw dolls.

Leo gulped and rubbed his eyes against the stinging smoke, feeling tears escape and run down his cheeks. Fear and horror ran through him. Why was he still alive in this inferno? Was he being saved for a fate even worse than this?

“Why?” he choked. “Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t expect an answer, but Runolf said casually, “We don’t need old men. We can’t sell them, they can’t work, and they are no good for fucking.”

Leo felt his cheeks blaze with renewed shame. He had never heard anyone say that word out loud before.

“A-and me?” he asked, gathering all his courage. If they planned to slit his throat, surely they wouldn’t have bothered to let him keep the book, or to tie him.

Runolf looked at him with surprise, then gave him a startlingly beautiful smile. “You are young and fit. Also, Gorm says you are a good fuck. Right, Gorm?”

Gorm said something unintelligible but enthusiastic, and Runolf laughed. “We shall see.”

Leo swallowed, his face hot, and tried not to think about his future.

Runolf called out some orders, and the yelling Vikings ran past them, splitting up to round up more of the monks. Some of them were carrying objects that Leo recognized: the huge gold crucifix from the main altar, the holy dishes and cups used in ceremony, and even a couple of caskets of saintly relics.

It was unbelievable. They carried these holy objects under their arms or in bags, even tossed them to one another when the load became too heavy, and yet God was not striking them down for their sacrilege.

As they walked out of the monastery gates, Leo saw that some of the monks were being herded into the river. The Vikings tossed them in as if they were bags of flour, laughing.

Leo did not look to see if they would drown, knowing he could not help them, but his heart ached for them.

He stumbled past these scenes of horror, naked and afraid, until finally they reached the mouth of the river, where the Viking ship lay.

It was a great foreign shape, topped with a prow in the shape of a biting serpent, and it lay at the river’s mouth like a beached whale. Apparently, the Viking ships had no keels to speak of, or their vessel would never have been able to run up so close to the monastery, Leo thought. That was why the sudden appearance of the Vikings had been such a surprise.

Clutching the book to his chest, Leo walked up the rough plank to the Viking ship’s deck. He was not the only one; there were other men, other monks, being driven up to the ship. Five others, in total.

He recognized them, and his heart sank.

The other monks were still dressed in their robes, and they did not look as though they had been used as Leo had, though some of them had bruised and bloody faces.

He cringed and tried to make himself small, kneeling down behind a ship’s chest. The holy book he dropped in the shadowy gap behind the chest, hoping it would be safe from salt water there.

For a little while he cowered there as the other monks marched into the ship, but then Runolf dragged him back up, pulling the rope around his neck taut. “Get up,” he ordered. “You will help us make sail.”

Ashamed, Leo tried to cover his privates, but Runolf slapped his hand away. “You are mine,” he said gruffly. “I will clothe you, but until then, you are as the Gods made you. There is no shame in that.”

Leo nodded. He was indeed as God had made him, he thought with a desperate conviction. The
one
God, not these strange gods the Viking spoke of.

And apparently, God had chosen to make him a slave.

He bent his head, thinking of the very words of the gospel he had been illustrating.

Not my will, but thine, be done.

And yet, when Runolf drew him close to his side and showed him the rope he should hold onto as they made sail, the Viking still had the face of an angel.

Other Books by Isabel Dare

If you enjoyed this story, be sure to check out these other erotic romance stories by Isabel Dare:

Taken by the Vikings

When Viking leader Thorvald puts a slave collar around Edric’s neck, Edric offers to pleasure the huge Viking in exchange for his freedom. But the other Vikings demand their share of their new thrall, and soon Edric finds himself on his knees, servicing the entire crew with his mouth, hands and ass.

Adult readers only! This 8.000 word story contains explicit gay scenes. All characters are 18 or older.

Excerpt:

Edric took a deep, shuddering breath, and sunk to his knees in front of the big man, looking up at him in hope and fear. 

Thorvald looked down, frowning. “What’s this?”

“I…would pleasure you,” Edric said, trying hard to keep his voice firm. These men admired courage, not weakness. And this…it was either the bravest thing he had ever done, or the craziest. “If you give me my freedom in exchange.”

There was a pause. Edric didn’t look away from Thorvald’s fierce, icy blue eyes, but he sensed the other men listening intently all around them.

“I see,” Thorvald said, and that same grim smile curved his lips. “You think there is a bargain to be made, here, do you? You think you’re at the market, selling fish?”

Edric didn’t know how to respond. “No, I -”

“And do you have experience pleasuring men?”

Thorvald’s fierce eyes watched him grimly, and Edric knew he could not lie to this man. Not if he wished to live.

“No,” he said quietly. “I do not.” He had heard some stories, boasts, filthy tales told at night, but that was all.

“Or women?”

Edric swallowed, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks. “No.”

There was a hush of indrawn breath from the men all around them.

A gruff voice said, “A virgin boy brings double price on the block,” and someone else capped it with, “A virgin boy brings double pleasure on my cock!”

Laughter erupted again from the men around them, and Edric shuddered. He didn’t look away from Thorvald’s eyes. His life, his future lay in this man’s hands.

“Ogleif,” Thorvald said, “Bring me a strap.”

 
Buy Taken by the Vikings from Amazon

Owned by the Vikings

Captured by the Vikings, Edric must serve their needs on the long voyage home. As the only captive in a longboat full of brawny Viking raiders, he must satisfy all of their lustful appetites or die trying. But Edric is desperate for Thorvald, the huge Viking leader, to claim him for his own.