Bride of Grendel 2: Night of the Bear Man: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 3) Read Online Free
passage of countless years. She was ready to give up hope and resign herself to her heavy skirts for the time being when she came upon a carved bone chest hidden in the corner of one of the armories, amongst a disorganized heap of helmets. A gorgeous, twisted-metal, wickedly sharp horn had caught her eye, and she was pulling out the helmet to which it belonged when she discovered the chest beneath.
She caught her breath when she saw the contents, a full kit of gear — leggings, boots, tunic — fashioned from what looked for all the world like it must be dragon skin. It was a green so dark it was almost charcoal black, covered with tiny scales that faintly glistened. But would it, too, be ruined by age? She pulled out the light, hooded tunic and found it buttery-soft and supple. Depending on how the light hit it, the dark green became more charcoal, or silver, or even a sort of soft gray. This was otherworldly stuff, stuff that was meant to endure for eons. More miraculous still, the clothes and boots seemed to have been cut to fit a woman. She pulled them on, and it was like wearing a second skin. There were thicker, heavier cuffs for her arms and upper legs, a belt — with a dagger! A slim, light, wicked-looking dagger — and a sort of light breastplate, also of the same material, layered and fused, to buckle around her waist and chest.
"Mysteries upon mysteries," she murmured, delighted with her outfit, "have you been waiting for me, too? I think we're meant for one another."
Properly outfitted, with dagger, helm, and sword, she was nearly ready. She found a scabbard that would allow her to carry the great sword, too big to keep at her side, on her back. Her old cloak would suit her until she found something better. She constructed a small pack and some pouches to hang from her belt and filled them with gold coins and jewels. It was not so much to overburden her, and nothing, an unnoticeable theft, in comparison to the heaps of treasure from which it came, but even a single handful would have been enough to make her a wealthy woman. This would make her a very, very wealthy woman. Perhaps she would buy herself a ship and go a'viking...
Now to get away. Should she fear Grendel's interference? She wanted to slip away without his knowledge and hoped that he would not give chase when he realized she was gone. She suspected, hoped, that he was too attached to this place to leave it. She suspected as well that he was too far gone to even miss her very much. She had not seen him for days. She had briefly caught sight of him shortly after their terrible encounter. He had cleaned off the gore and was sitting, slumped, dejected-seeming, at the table in the great hall. She had felt pity for him, wanted to go to him and comfort him, forgive him his attack. But when he looked up and saw her, saw the sword still in her hand, he scowled. When she spoke his name he growled in response, baring his teeth. She had retreated to the maze of rooms and corridors after that.
She had not left the cave for days, either. It was hard to tell time underground, but she trusted that her internal sense of day and night had not gotten too skewed yet. Grendel went out prowling at night and generally returned early in the morning. She would be best off trying to leave shortly thereafter, while he was asleep, and when she had most of the day to cover ground quickly while there was light. She had gathered everything that the hall could offer that would be of use to her. As a child she had developed strong woodsman's skills. Once above ground, she would fashion a bow and arrows for hunting, and she knew how to forage until she was able to hunt.
She would sleep here one last night, and then she would make her escape. She was tired, and she had eaten very little in the past few days, too intent
She caught her breath when she saw the contents, a full kit of gear — leggings, boots, tunic — fashioned from what looked for all the world like it must be dragon skin. It was a green so dark it was almost charcoal black, covered with tiny scales that faintly glistened. But would it, too, be ruined by age? She pulled out the light, hooded tunic and found it buttery-soft and supple. Depending on how the light hit it, the dark green became more charcoal, or silver, or even a sort of soft gray. This was otherworldly stuff, stuff that was meant to endure for eons. More miraculous still, the clothes and boots seemed to have been cut to fit a woman. She pulled them on, and it was like wearing a second skin. There were thicker, heavier cuffs for her arms and upper legs, a belt — with a dagger! A slim, light, wicked-looking dagger — and a sort of light breastplate, also of the same material, layered and fused, to buckle around her waist and chest.
"Mysteries upon mysteries," she murmured, delighted with her outfit, "have you been waiting for me, too? I think we're meant for one another."
Properly outfitted, with dagger, helm, and sword, she was nearly ready. She found a scabbard that would allow her to carry the great sword, too big to keep at her side, on her back. Her old cloak would suit her until she found something better. She constructed a small pack and some pouches to hang from her belt and filled them with gold coins and jewels. It was not so much to overburden her, and nothing, an unnoticeable theft, in comparison to the heaps of treasure from which it came, but even a single handful would have been enough to make her a wealthy woman. This would make her a very, very wealthy woman. Perhaps she would buy herself a ship and go a'viking...
Now to get away. Should she fear Grendel's interference? She wanted to slip away without his knowledge and hoped that he would not give chase when he realized she was gone. She suspected, hoped, that he was too attached to this place to leave it. She suspected as well that he was too far gone to even miss her very much. She had not seen him for days. She had briefly caught sight of him shortly after their terrible encounter. He had cleaned off the gore and was sitting, slumped, dejected-seeming, at the table in the great hall. She had felt pity for him, wanted to go to him and comfort him, forgive him his attack. But when he looked up and saw her, saw the sword still in her hand, he scowled. When she spoke his name he growled in response, baring his teeth. She had retreated to the maze of rooms and corridors after that.
She had not left the cave for days, either. It was hard to tell time underground, but she trusted that her internal sense of day and night had not gotten too skewed yet. Grendel went out prowling at night and generally returned early in the morning. She would be best off trying to leave shortly thereafter, while he was asleep, and when she had most of the day to cover ground quickly while there was light. She had gathered everything that the hall could offer that would be of use to her. As a child she had developed strong woodsman's skills. Once above ground, she would fashion a bow and arrows for hunting, and she knew how to forage until she was able to hunt.
She would sleep here one last night, and then she would make her escape. She was tired, and she had eaten very little in the past few days, too intent
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