The Barbarian's Stolen Bride (Northmen Barbarians 1)

I might not have had riches while growing up, my family coming from nothing, but we’d had love. Up until Teron came into my life.

Life was not easy in our village, despite Fenrir being a fair—albeit brutal—warlord. But he didn’t mistreat us, and we were left to live our lives.

Struggles were real, but they made everyone stronger. They made everyone appreciate what we had, because we earned it. So having things handed to me, this wealth and luxury, made me feel like I’d been dropped into an alternate world where I didn't belong.

In fact, as I watched Lila and Greta, saw their fluid movements and the ease on their faces, I could tell they enjoyed being here. They were clearly being treated fair and right if their expressions and body language were anything to go by. But their enjoyment at being here wasn’t something I’d understand, because the Fenrir I’d always seen was the savage warrior atop his horse, coming back from a battle covered in blood.

So here I was now, standing in a room they’d led me into, which was most definitely, without a doubt, Fenrir’s personal bedroom. The wine I’d consumed made me feel warm and light-headed, and I felt this flush steal over my entire body.

I hadn’t moved from my spot, standing just inside the bedroom, the massive double wooden doors closed behind me, sealing me in. This room screamed luxury but in a very masculine way. It smelled of dark, rich spices, scents I now attributed to Fenrir. They were the same masculine aromas I’d scented in the bathing chamber and wondered if they’d been because of him.

The room was grand in size, with a massive, arched ceiling and exposed wooden beams that ran parallel with the floor. This room didn’t have a hearth, but instead it had a firepit placed within the floor, with pillows situated around it for seating. There were already large flames roaring in it, but despite the fire’s size, because the room was so massive, and then coupled with a high ceiling, there was still a chill lingering in the air.

I licked my lips and breathed out slowly, starting to wonder if drinking all that wine had been a bad idea. I’d wanted a little distraction from my situation, and feeling that haze had sounded like a perfect solution. But now I felt beads of sweat dotting my temples and between my breasts, my heart felt like it would burst through my chest, and the worst thing of all… I felt these tendrils of arousal moving through me from standing in Fenrir’s personal space.

I continued to look around at my surroundings, familiarizing myself with everything, mainly to keep my mind off other things.

There was a seating area off to the side, with more plush-looking pillows in dark colors adorning it. A smaller table was beside that, a large horned decanter of most likely mead on it. There were a couple goblets beside that, and suddenly my mouth and throat became very dry.

Yet I still didn’t move but swung my head to the most prominent piece of furniture in the room.

The bed.

The sleeping platform was massive, easily the size of my small room back home. No, it’s not home any longer. This is home.

The bed was covered in thick, rich-looking furs, and I shivered at the thought of what would be done on that bed. Between Fenrir and me.

Another shiver moved through me as obscene, lewd images slammed into my head—me splayed out on those furs with the Destroyer's massive body moving over mine. The breath left me hard. He’d grip my knees and part my thighs forcefully, making it so I couldn’t hide myself from him. And he’d just stare at my pussy, his expression hungry, because he would be picturing thrusting into me.

Oh gods.

I wrapped my arms around myself, the gown Lila and Greta had given me after bathing making me feel exposed despite being fully dressed. I let my hands drop to my sides and looked down at myself.

The dress—if it could even be called that—was nothing more than an almost-transparent shift that fell to my feet. It was nearly the same thing I’d worn under my own clothing before coming here. Although mine had been nothing but a muted, drab linen, this one was incredibly beautiful and delicate, feminine. The bodice was ruched, something I realized was to accent my breasts. Gods, my nipples poked obscenely against the material, my areolas clearly visible.

I was barefoot, and underneath the shift, I wore no undergarments. Then again, why would I need them? I was sure he’d just tear this flimsy material from my body before he ravished me.

Another shiver moved through me.

I kept staring at the bodice, the front clasped together with thin leather laces, something that would be easily opened with just a gentle pull of the end, baring my breasts to the cool air. I curled my toes against the frigid, cold stone floor and looked around again.