The Jewel of Time: Called by a Viking

by Stone, Mariah

  He wanted her like he had never wanted anyone or anything else in the world.

  The desire burned him from the inside, awoken like a hungry beast who needed only her. He would not be able to breathe, to move, his heart would not continue beating, if she was not his. If he could not dissolve in her.

  He wanted nothing but to plunge into her tightness, but that would not be enough. He needed to savor every movement, every lick, every pull of her lips and stroke of her tongue, the fullness of her breasts and the silk of her belly…

  He pulled her skirts to her waist, lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around him, her sex pressing against his erection, the sensation making him growl.

  He could not stop kissing her, savoring the taste of her, the sweet-apple smell of her hair—and that intoxicating feminine scent of Rachel that made him harden even more.

  Holding her with one arm, he undid his trousers with the other hand, and his cock pressed against her bare ass, swelling even more. Rachel shifted and began rubbing herself against him, searching.

  She pushed herself against him and planted herself on his erection, the slick velvety heat surrounding him and sending a tremor of pleasure through his whole body.

  She was his, oh gods, she was his, this cunning beauty from another world who’d turned his whole life upside down and owned his heart from the first moment he saw her.

  And he was hers.

  He eased into her, gripping her ass in his hands, shafting her on his cock. Rachel’s hips moved in the same rhythm, meeting his thrusts. She was so wet for him, and so tight, and the friction of their bodies moving together made him lose his mind.

  “Mine,” he growled, as he removed his lips from her mouth and lowered his head to plant wet, hungry kisses on her ear, her neck, and to inhale the delicious scent of her hair.

  “Yes,” Rachel moaned. “Yes.”

  The thrusts were devastating. They brought pleasure and satisfaction, and yet were not enough. Nothing was enough to make her his forever.

  The waves of bliss that rocked his blood each time he set himself deeper and deeper inside of her grew like the swell of an approaching storm, making him sink faster and faster into a sea of pleasure. His thrusts became more urgent, harder, as did Rachel’s cries of pleasure.

  Their primal dance took them ever higher, until it felt as if their very souls connected. And as the consuming orgasm shook him in its violent waves, he felt Rachel’s inner spasms milking him, intensifying every sensation and making him forget about everything outside of this moment.

  Everything except the fierce, brave, beautiful woman in his hands.

  He did not remember how he got her back to the sleeping bench, how he got there himself. But after the orgasm let go of him, she cuddled against him, his arms around her, and his or her whisper “Mine” was the last thing he knew before he fell asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rachel’s body tingled with Kolbjorn’s heavy arms around her, his chest rising and falling peacefully against her back. Her muscles felt soft, as if they had been soaked in warm chocolate. Tears welled in her eyes, and one crawled down her cheek.

  This would be the only tear she’d allow herself.

  Emotions battled inside her body. The tears were of happiness, of joy, of the intensity of the world-shattering, deep physical connection with the first man she’d fallen in love with.

  But also of loss.

  Because she was about to betray him.

  Kolbjorn was asleep, the storm was over. She would go to save her mother, and also to prevent Kolbjorn from shattering her heart into a million pieces.

  She was not terrified of death. But she had barely recovered when her father left, and now she was in danger of losing her mother. Losing Kolbjorn would be the end of her soul. And that was what would happen when he abandoned her, sacrificed her, to please his father. He didn’t see any other alternative—he’d made that clear enough.

  Rachel wiped her tears and gently kissed his strong arm, which was wrapped around her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” she mouthed, and inch by inch she slid from underneath him until her feet were on the floor. She pulled on her shoes and slid her cloak over the dress she was still wearing.

  Something creaked outside of the house. It must have been the wind. Perhaps another storm was coming. Daylight seeped through the roof patchwork, only a couple of hours must have passed since Kolbjorn had tried to open the door. She needed to hurry to get back home before the kidney went to someone else.

  Rachel sank to the floor and, with trembling hands, opened Kolbjorn’s belt pouch and fished out the necklace. She left the sapphires so that he would not go back to his father empty-handed.

  A soft thump against the wall made her freeze and glance in that direction, but nothing followed. It must have been a tree branch in the wind. Kolbjorn continued to wheeze sweetly in his sleep. Rachel would love to crawl back onto the sleeping bench with him and huddle against the warmth of his big body, but it was impossible.

  She threw a last glance at him, wishing she had a camera inside of her eyes to forever have his image imprinted in her psyche. She had been serious about coming back and bringing him stuff, but since he did not want her to, since he was still determined to take her to his father, she could not risk it.

  She had to leave.

  Without a sound, she walked towards the door and pulled it, but it did not move. Strange. She’d expected the snow to fall in. Was it stuck because of the ice? She pulled it harder, but no result.

  Then she heard something.

  Voices from outside. Another thump against the wall from the opposite side. And another one from a third side.

  Rachel pulled the door frantically. It felt as if it was blocked from outside.

  Then the scent of burning reached her nose, and she saw a line of flame flick through the planks in the walls. Horror struck her like a brick.

  Rachel flew to Kolbjorn and shook him. “Kolbjorn, wake up!”

  He opened his eyes.

  “The hut is burning!” Through panic, her lips could not move fast enough. “What are we going to do? The door is jammed!”

  But Kolbjorn looked calm. His eyebrows knit together, he glanced around the room, estimating the situation. Then his gaze lingered on her and went as cold as ice. He quickly dressed.

  “You were leaving.” The steel in his voice made Rachel cringe. He looked in his belt purse. “Gone. Of course.”

  Rachel’s blood turned to ice. Not because she was afraid of the threat in his voice. Not because she was inside a burning house with no way out.

  But because she’d stepped over the line. There would be no way back. The last bloom of hope died.

  “You won’t change,” he said, disappointment in his voice slashing at her like a knife. “So I won’t change, either.”

  With one swift movement, he grabbed her purse and cut its straps with his ax. She clawed at his hands while he rummaged. But he just slapped her hands away like flies, found the necklace and put it back in his bag.

  Rachel watched this as if she was in a slow-motion horror movie. She had now lost everything. The necklace, the chance to save her mother, the last thread of hope to be loved by Kolbjorn, and she was about to lose her life in the fire, too.

  Horror gripped her heart. Her arms and legs felt weak, as if turned to jelly. Her lungs hurt.

  Kolbjorn, however, seemed unmoved and looked collected. He walked to the door and tried to open it, jerking it with all his force. But it was clear now that something far stronger held it from the outside.

  Gray smoke started swirling through the tiny slits between the wall planks, and Kolbjorn coughed.

  He took the dirty rag from the makeshift pharmacy, soaked it in melted ice water from a bucket in the corner, and gave it to Rachel. “Cover your mouth and nose and breathe through it. Don’t you dare say anything about the dirt.”

  Rachel nodded, numb from the shock and the feeling of loss. She did as he said—sh
e knew in a far corner of her mind that he was right, that breathing through wet cloth helped to not suffocate from the carbon. But he didn’t have anything for himself.

  The fact that he put her wellbeing before his own melted her heart.

  “We must get out.” He studied the patched roof that they had worked so hard on.

  “Are you thinking—”

  “Yes. It’s our only chance.”

  He stood on the same stool he had used to repair the roof just a few hours ago, except now he was removing the planks. How ironic was that.

  The fire roared behind the walls around them, the smoke thickened, and Kolbjorn began coughing more. What was she doing standing like a statue? She had to help him. Rachel shook off the shock, looked for the woodcutting ax that she had made the nails with and found it behind the firewood stash. Shifting the table towards Kolbjorn, she stood on it.

  Then she tied the rag behind her head so that she could use both her hands. Either she or Kolbjorn had to be all right in case the other one lost consciousness.

  “What are you doing?” Kolbjorn coughed.

  He’d managed to hack through the first flitch, and snow fell through the gap, fresh air rushing into the hut.

  “Helping you. What does it look like?” Rachel continued hacking.

  The work was harder than she had thought, but little by little, she managed to remove the second flitch while Kolbjorn got to the third. It was getting warmer in the room, and Rachel began to sweat.

  Kolbjorn was coughing non-stop now, and she was afraid that he’d burned his lungs from inhaling too much smoke. But more fresh air came in as the gap grew larger, and soon it was big enough for them to get out.

  Kolbjorn stood on the table and put Rachel on his shoulders, helping her to get onto the roof. The walls were burning, but the roof was completely untouched—a thick layer of snow covered it in soft drifts. She turned and gave Kolbjorn a hand to get out.

  When Kolbjorn stood by her side, Rachel looked around. By the door, through the thick gray smoke, she saw people.

  Kolbjorn said, “I’ll go first, then I’ll catch you,” and jumped down into the snow, a lot of which had already melted from the heat of the fire.

  Rachel first threw the ax into the snow, then jumped. Her breath caught, but the hut wasn’t tall. And when the heat biting at her skin was left behind, and Kolbjorn’s steady hands caught her, she finally exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

  “There are people—”

  “I know. My father’s legitimate sons. The man who tried to kill me at the jeweler’s is the eldest of my half-brothers, and he must have seen what direction I went. I can only imagine what lies they told my father.”

  Rachel swallowed a hard knot.

  “Okay, they did not see us, let’s go.”

  “Oh, I am not running. Stay back. This is between me and them.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kolbjorn’s heart thumped in his chest, his pulse drumming in his ears. His lungs burned from inhaling the smoke, his muscles already tired from the strain of hammering at the roof for what felt like an eternity.

  He walked towards them without hiding, and as he emerged from the corner of the burning, roaring building, he saw Alfarr, Ebbe and three other warriors. They would have known that Kolbjorn would not get far in the storm, and this was the only shelter close to his father’s village.

  Kolbjorn’s blood boiled. The maggots had the audacity to try to kill him—of course, like the cowards they were, stabbing him in the back, not brave enough to face him. And now there were five against one.

  Rachel was right, he’d be useless as a jarl with his code of honor, with the rigidness of his beliefs. He was only as good as a pawn in the game of hnefatafl, just a warrior to execute the orders of the jarls and kings who had cunning and who could manipulate and backstab.

  Such as these two.

  He recognized the warriors standing by his halfbrothers: Ulf, Garpr, and Haki. He had raided with them since they had joined his father’s raiding force a few years ago. They had never been friends, but he had trusted them in battle.

  Now he had to fight them because his father had believed his sons, the two snakes who had wanted Kolbjorn dead ever since they were able to tell a sword apart from an ax.

  These men were fresh, and he was tired. They were fully armed in battle armor, with shields, swords, axes, and scramasaxes. He only had his ax.

  Odin, will this be the day I meet you?

  It would be not a bad death, with his ax in his hand, fighting his true enemies.

  But then—

  The blood stood still in his veins, his breath froze in his lungs, and he staggered a moment.

  If he died, what would they do to Rachel?

  The memories of how Alfarr behaved with women during raids made his skin crawl.

  No. He could not die. At least not until Rachel was out of danger from them. How ironic. He was doing everything now to save her life, yet if he succeeded he’d still take her to his father.

  He glanced back and saw her, wide-eyed, staring at him, steam pumping out of her mouth in a quick rhythm.

  “Run,” he threw back. “Run, Rachel. Go home to your mother.”

  “I’m not leaving you. If they injure you or worse—maybe I can help.”

  “Run.”

  But she stubbornly shook her head, and it both pleased him and made sweat break through his skin from fear for her.

  Let it be then. The Norn had put another stitch in the tapestry of his life. His woman wanted to stand by him—To all goblins, why was he thinking of her as his woman?—and he’d rather die than let harm come to her.

  He touched Mjölnir—Thor’s hammer—on his pendant, calling for the protection of the god of battle who had never left him, never let him lose a single fight.

  “Thor!” he yelled as he launched himself like a spear at his enemies.

  He roared as he ran—no, clambered—through knee-deep snow, calling the holy battle fury. One against five. The fury and the ax were all he had now.

  It was hard to run in snow and would be hard to fight in it. But there was the burning house, and it could be his ally or his biggest enemy.

  They clashed, the three warriors against one, Alfarr and Ebbe standing behind, of course, letting others do their dirty work.

  Ulf was scything an ax towards his face, but Kolbjorn pierced his shoulder and kicked him into the fire, and his agonized scream was lost in the roar. Garpr hit Kolbjorn with his shield from the side. Kolbjorn staggered and almost fell but whirled, the blade of his ax cutting off the man’s foot. He fell, and Kolbjorn caught Garpr’s shield to protect himself—a mistake. Haki slashed Kolbjorn’s upper arm with his sword, the pain hitting him like a lightning bolt.

  He heard Rachel’s scream and cursed because he was sure that Alfarr and Ebbe had heard her, too.

  Kolbjorn whirled around and went for Haki, ax hammering, but only hit the shield, splinters scattering from under his blade. His wounded arm was weakening—he’d normally have split the wood by now.

  He allowed his eyes to dart towards his half-brothers and saw that only Alfarr stood there.

  Worry kicked his gut like a boot. Ebbe must be hurrying to Rachel. Gods, he hoped she hid or ran away now.

  He had to get to Ebbe before he got to her.

  Kolbjorn roared and came at Haki, hammering at him like a blacksmith, and one thrust found its aim, splitting the shield in two…and with the next hit, the man’s head. Blood sprayed in a fountain, and the man sank to his knees and then fell to his side in the snow.

  Kolbjorn twisted, his eyes searching for Ebbe and Rachel, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  Alfarr was coming at him now, one eye black on the side that Kolbjorn had hit yesterday. Alfarr aimed for Kolbjorn’s wounded arm—of course he did, the contemptible worm—but Kolbjorn escaped the sword and hit Alfarr from behind with his shield.

  He could not kill his half-brother. Even though he de
served death for all he had done, Kolbjorn knew that his father would be devastated, and he could not bring such pain to him.

  But Alfarr was not a bad warrior, and he thrust his sword, almost piercing Kolbjorn’s shoulder. Kolbjorn dodged and smashed the man with the back of his ax.

  “Afraid to spill my blood, mongrel?” Alfarr growled as he beat Kolbjorn’s shield down and plunged his sword into the empty space between Kolbjorn’s arm and body, just missing his rib.

  “I am not afraid of you,” Kolbjorn spat as he kicked at Alfarr. His brother had to take a step back to avoid falling down. Seeing an opportunity, Kolbjorn slashed Alfarr’s thigh, and blood spilled like red lightning.

  Alfarr fell on one knee, clutching at his leg and screaming.

  Kolbjorn left him and clambered through the snow looking for Rachel.

  The house roared with fire, the earth black around it, and dark clouds of smoke billowed into the white sky.

  Behind the house, he saw broad tracks and a chill reached his bones. He rushed towards the sound as fast as he could, ramming through snowdrifts, his heart beating war drums in his ears.

  Then he saw them.

  Ebbe by the tree and Rachel several feet above him, plastered to the tree trunk, hugging it like a ship’s mast. Ebbe cursed and hit the trunk with his ax, but he had no spear and no bow to reach her.

  “Get away, Ebbe, you rotten fish’s turd!” Kolbjorn roared.

  Their heads shot in his direction. Ebbe paled and ran.

  Kolbjorn pressed on after Ebbe, but the man was as quick as a bird. He was unharmed and had not just fought four men.

  When Kolbjorn knew that he would not be able to reach his half-brother, he stopped, hands on his knees, steam rushing from his mouth and clouding his vision. His lungs burned from the smoke and from the strain of the fight. He allowed himself a fit of coughing that tore his throat and chest apart.

  “Loki’s sweaty ass,” he mumbled when the cough subsided.

  “Are you all right?” Rachel called out.