by Kresley Cole
“What’s in this?” Sofia asked before downing the remainder of the sweet, potent liquid.
“Mead laced with honey,” Myria informed her. “And a few herbs from my private garden. I must take my leave. Good luck, girl. May the gods smile upon you and deliver you unto a fair, kind master.”
Master—an interchangeable word for husband in this queer world. Sofia didn’t know what to say beyond “Thank you.”
A weird sensation hit her belly, and she squeezed her thighs together. “Uh, Myria…what kind of herbs from your garden are in this?”
The old healer cackled as she opened the door, then winked. “I like you and I want you to thrive in Lokitown. I gave you a little aid to see you through the wedding night. Your future husband will expect to bed you this eve.”
Sofia stilled. Her eyes narrowed. “What. Kind. Of. Aid?”
Myria shrugged as she prepared to exit the room. “’Tis known to Vikings as erotisk.” Her shaggy gray eyebrows shot up. “Our ancestors said ’twas like something called Spanish Fly—”
Sofia gasped. And stifled a moan.
“—yet far more powerful a sexual aphrodisiac.”
Sophia believed her. Her hands balled at her sides, jaw clenching, as she determinedly attempted to thwart the increasing arousal.
All ten of the natives had been auctioned off and Lord Stefsson found himself intrigued by a grand total of zero. They were all quite striking in their beauty, but they lacked a certain feistiness that he found attractive in wenches.
Johen stilled as the Outsiders were led up onto the stage. All five were exotically striking. All five were feisty. But only one of them snagged his attention from the moment he saw her.
He frowned grimly. He would not bid on her. No matter how bedeviling her beauty and proud her stance, no matter how defiantly stiff his cock became in his braes from just looking at her…
“Cease this,” he muttered to himself. He had made a vow and he meant to keep it. Johen’s jaw tightened as he willed himself to look away, but ’twas useless.
She wasn’t a classic beauty, but that didn’t make her allure any less potent. Possessed of bewitching blue-green eyes the color of which he’d never before seen, her gaze was heavy-lidded like a sexual wanton’s. ’Twas an irresistible combination.
Her hair was long and blond with springy, wild curls—further bringing to mind an untamable, exotic beauty made for his hard, lusty lovemaking. Her skin was a gorgeous honey-gold that glistened of the rich oils the groomers had no doubt slicked her down with. Her lips were full and naturally red. Johen blew out a breath as he glanced down and took in the rest of her.
Her breasts were firm for their large size, two luscious globes that he wanted to spend hours kneading, kissing and sucking. Her nipples were pink and very stiff, so swollen that just looking at them made his cock throb.
The naked, blond captive was voluptuously built, her body like that of a fabled beauty from Viking folklore. Big breasts, flat belly, curvy hips…
And a gorgeous, bald pussy.
He unapologetically stared at her glistening, oiled-down cunt. He needed to fuck her so badly he ached with it.
The auctioneer instructed the wenches to turn around, and Johen got a painfully arousing view of her plump, perfectly rounded arse. Once they were bade to face front again, the bride auction for the captives began.
She was the first Outsider to go up for bid. The wench stood there proud, her back straight and chin held high, despite the frenzied shouts, cheers and whistles erupting from within the arena.
His narrowed, silver gaze clashed with the captive’s. Her eyes widened and she quickly looked away.
“This gorgeous wench is named Sofia!” the auctioneer cried out in their people’s tongue. “With big tits and a plump arse, she’s worth your last coins, men!”
Laughter echoed throughout the arena. The auctioneer winked. “Milords, as always, you have first inspection and bidding rights. You may now approach the marriage chattel!”
Lord Stefsson’s nostrils flared when he saw every bedamned noble in the coliseum approach Sofia. This captive wench would not be bid on by those of the lower classes—the auction would never make it that far. The rouge-lipped blonde with the rounded turquoise eyes would become the wife of a noble this very eve.
You are a noble. You can bid on her, too….
Johen’s muscles tensed, fighting the way his cock throbbed from just gazing at her.
Chapter Six
Sofia didn’t know whether to scream or masturbate. She wanted to wring Myria’s neck for putting that damn erotisk in her drink.
Every moment worked her higher into frenzied sexual arousal. Surely the herb would wear off soon—it just had to! Even the bald, obese men in the crowd gawking up at her were starting to look like acceptable lovers.
Oh, God, this was just awful! Anger fought arousal inside Sofia, but it looked to be losing.
There was one man in particular that Sofia found her gaze inadvertently straying to. If she had thought the men that stole her were giants, well, that was before she saw him.
Dressed in a sleeveless, silver, chain-mail tunic with two dragon-crested bangles clasped unforgivingly around his bulging biceps, he had to stand seven feet tall. His black leather pants and boots covered the lower portion of his body, but didn’t hide the honed, powerful musculature beneath them.
His hair was a sleek dark brown and fell to mid-back, with a braid at either temple. And those eyes…
Merciless gray slits devoid of all emotion.
Their gazes clashed and Sofia felt decidedly nervous. He was assessing her and she didn’t like it. Her sex-hungry libido recognized that he was undeniably handsome, but the part of her brain not glutted with the herb realized how powerfully built he was.
If one of the fat, bald men bid on her, at least she could still carry the hope of escaping this madhouse one day. If that giant bid on her, she’d never see Florida again. He didn’t look like the type that gave up easily, if at all.
She quickly glanced away and blew out an edgy breath. Arousal knotted fiercely in her belly, forcing her to squeeze her thighs together again.
The auctioneer called out something in their Viking tongue, and the spectators cheered and whistled. Sofia swallowed roughly as men began to ascend the stage, their attentions trained directly on her. Clearly, she was the first of the unwilling brides to go up for bid.
I can’t believe this is happening. I lost my brother and my freedom in two day’s time….
And now, five days later, she was being sold at an auction like a common animal.
So much grieving and soul-searching had occurred after Sam’s death. So many “what ifs” and “if onlys.” She’d realized that she needed to get a new life—but if this was her new life, she’d take the old one back in a heartbeat.
The proud, beautiful Outsider wench was starting to get frightened. Her eyes were round, her breasts heaving up and down in time with her labored breathing. Johen had seen that look of apprehension on the faces of countless other females before they were sold to their masters, so he couldn’t say why this woman in particular struck a chord of sympathy with him. And yet she did.
Johen sighed. He would not bid on her.
Lord Mikael Aleksson approached the platform. A longtime friend, he would take excellent care of any bride he purchased. But why was he here? Mikael had always been too much of a ladies’ man to settle down with one female.
But Sofia was…intoxicating. There was no other word to describe her, and even that was sadly lacking.
As Mikael approached the Outsider wench, she warily eyed him up and down. It took her a suspended moment, but she eventually granted his friend a small, if nervous, smile.
Wenches loved Mikael—it was ever the way of it. Young maidens swooned at his feet, all of them praying she would be the one he bid on when at last ’twas her turn to stand on the marriage auction block.
The native girls would be heartbroken. Mikael
had his sights fixed on Sofia.
Johen’s nostrils flared. He didn’t even know the Outsider wench, yet he found himself detesting the thought of another Viking touching her. ’Twould have been bad enough watching her sold off to a man he scarcely knew, but to a noble he counted among his closest friends?
Johen envisioned being greeted at Mikael’s dwelling by Sofia, all soft curves and swelled breasts. He would be forced to watch as his comrade made lusty eyes at her over the evening repast. Mikael would be thinking ahead, to the time after Johen departed, anticipating thrusting into the body he now owned by the law….
His stomach muscles clenched. Johen couldn’t explain his powerful reaction to Sofia, but it was all-consuming. No man should touch her. No man but him.
Despite his vow, Johen’s feet carried him to the raised platform where she stood.
The potency of the erotisk all but made Sofia moan. She felt like a trapped animal in heat. There was but one cure to the desperation gnawing in her belly and battling that need only served to work her up that much more intensely.
A man approached her. A big man, and quite handsome, though not so formidable as the unsmiling one possessed of gray eyes and an emotionless face. She knew this man wouldn’t do. Like the Viking her damned libido kept forcing her gaze to stray back to, the new male threat was too powerful a foe to ever escape from.
Sofia swallowed as he eyed her up and down. He looked his fill at her naked body and face, and she couldn’t help but notice his erection through the leather pants he wore. Tall, raven-haired, and forbiddingly muscular, he was as frightening-looking as he was handsome.
The last thing on earth she wanted was for this man to bid on her. Nevertheless, she granted him a small, barely there smile as a safeguard.
If he married her, she didn’t want him on his guard any more than he would already be.
She would pretend compliance. Or at least attempt to.
He winked down at her, and she swallowed again.
Just when she thought the situation couldn’t possibly get grimmer, he ascended the stage—the man with the silver eyes and stoic face.
Tall and broad, his lethal musculature was a heady sight. Their gazes clashed and she felt close to hyperventilating. An aura of power surrounded him. She’d never met a harder, more determined and dangerous male in all of her life.
His gaze raked over her, his eyelids heavy with desire. It was the only emotion Sofia’d seen him betray thus far, and the very last one she wanted.
Her body reacted to his stare against her volition, her nipples stabbing out farther until they were swollen and aching. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, fingernails digging into her palms.
There was no denying his impressive good looks, but she didn’t want a husband like him! Short, overweight and out-of-shape was the ideal ticket—getting through the wedding night with such a man wouldn’t even be necessary because she could knock him out and run. She hoped.
But this man?
Her worried gaze flicked between the two potential buyers. They would both bid on her. Without a doubt these Viking men wanted her.
The erotisk continued to work its dark magic and she closed her eyes briefly, praying the worst of the herb would wear off soon.
She needed her wits about her. The hours to come would be crucial ones.
Chapter Seven
Sofia…
Her name was as exotic and beautiful as she was. Johen imagined himself calling it out as he slammed in and out of her, his cock jerking and throbbing as he came into her body.
“Milords,” the auctioneer said with a respectful bow, “we’ve a lot of brides up for sale this eve and so the auction must proceed anon. Do I hear a first bid?”
“Ten thousand,” Mikael announced without a pause.
“Fifteen,” another said.
Every muscle in Johen’s body tensed. The vow he’d made to himself was forgotten. “Twenty.”
Mikael’s surprised gaze darted over to Johen; his attention had been trained on Sofia.
Mikael’s eyebrows slowly rose. His half-smile was amused, and bedamn it, quite smug. Mikael wasn’t the only warlord in New Sweden with a rogue’s reputation. Leastways, the other noble was as astonished to espy Johen bidding on a bride as Johen had been to see him doing so.
“Twenty-five,” Mikael said, his eyes dancing.
Johen grunted. “Thirty.”
He could hear the murmurings of the crowd. ’Twas a heady sum to pay for a bride, and every man present knew it.
Johen’s gaze strayed to Sofia. She looked scared, and he couldn’t fault her for it. All conversation was transpiring in a language she knew naught of. In time she would come to know the Viking tongue; for now, all that mattered was ensuring he would be the one teaching it to her.
“Does any noble amongst you bid thirty-five?”
Johen’s gaze swept over the other men, his possessive expression speaking volumes. Wisely, no man thought to gainsay him.
Not even Mikael. Surprising, considering how much they enjoyed baiting each other.
“Going once. Going twice…”
Gods, she is beautiful. His cock was so hard it ached.
“The bride Sofia Rowley is sold to Lord Stefsson for thirty thousand coins!”
And now she was his! All his.
Johen barely noticed when Mikael affectionately thumped him on the back; he was too occupied with staring at the wench standing before him. His wife.
She was scared. Sofia mayhap spoke nary a word of their tongue, yet her expression told him that she understood her fate.
Sofia didn’t need to speak their language to know what was happening. If the congratulatory pats on the back given to Silver Eyes weren’t obvious enough, the auctioneer placing her hand in his spoke volumes.
She was married to him. By the laws of this bizarre world, the barbarian with the unsmiling face was now her husband.
She shivered, though she didn’t know if it was from fear engulfing her brain, the erotisk smothering every nerve in her body or both. Her turquoise eyes widened as he gently tugged on her hands.
“I am Johen,” the giant said softly, his gaze finding hers. “Your master.”
He spoke English. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. She also didn’t know what to say in reply. Her master? Good lord.
Sofia swallowed heavily, her breasts heaving up and down with her heavy breathing. Perspiration broke out on her forehead as her pulse picked up in tempo. Again, she didn’t know if the changes were a result of terror or arousal.
Her heart told her this couldn’t be happening, but her mind knew that it was. This was no dream. Her brother was dead, and she had been kidnapped mere minutes after his funeral. Stripped of clothes and her dignity, she now stood before a man telling her that she was his possession.
The herb hit her in the belly hard, forcing her to stifle a gasp. “My name is Sofia Rowley,” she said quickly, trying to cover up her intense arousal. She squeezed her thighs together as if trying to juice a lemon. If she ever got her hands on Myria…
“Stefsson,” the man countered, snagging her attention. “Lady Sofia Stefsson is your name.”
She would deal with the implications of his declaration later. For now, she was too busy trying to thwart the erotisk.
“I’m not feeling well,” she gasped, stifling a moan. God, how she needed to come! “Please…I need to lie down.”
Preferably someplace private, where she could masturbate like there was no tomorrow. Once replete, she could concentrate on what her intuition screamed was impossible: escaping the man who called himself her husband.
Johen’s cock had never been so hard.
Though he had purchased an Outsider bride who would try to escape from him if he ever lowered his guard, he didn’t care. She was his fantasy, with lush, full hips, a rounded arse, plump tits, and a face he would never tire of drinking in.
At this moment, she feared and mayhap loathed him. Given time a
nd patience, she would grow to love him just as his mother had come to love his sire.
“I’m not feeling well,” she said, her voice sounding choked. “Please…I need to lie down.”
Her fear was to be expected. ’Twould nearly kill him to delay the consummation of their marriage, but it was the honorable thing to do. If he wanted her to grow to love and trust him, he had to earn it.
“Come,” he said quietly, trying not to scare her with his usual gruff tone of voice. His passion-drunk gaze swept over her face, her body, unable to resist staring at those ripe, stiff nipples. “I will take you to our dwelling.”
Chapter Eight
The trip to Johen’s sector was quite lengthy, surprising her as to the vastness of this unknown world. Methods of Underground travel were proving to be efficient and complex.
Johen had explained to a distracted Sofia that when trekking from one village to another within New Sweden, a mine car could take you wherever it was you needed to go. The Viking version of a subway, she supposed. But when traveling outside the colony, as they were now to Hannu, a boat that braved the icy Viking rivers belowground was necessary.
The air was frigid, mercilessly lashing against her face. Thankfully, Johen had removed his chain-mail tunic and covered her with it before leaving the bride auction. It was heavy, bulky and scratchy, but it was keeping her pretty warm. The erotisk was doing a good job of that too.
Sofia closed her eyes and held onto the boat rail, telling herself she wasn’t aroused. The icy air beating her face should have acted as a deterrent, but it didn’t. Every second of every minute passed like a year. She repeatedly squeezed her thighs together, praying the boat would soon dock and Johen would leave her alone in a bedroom where she could take matters into her own hands—literally.
“We’ve five minutes more and we’ll be home,” Johen announced, threading her fingers through his. “Our dwelling lies close to the docks.”
