Bride of Grendel 2: Night of the Bear Man: A Viking Lore Erotic Tale (Viking Lore Erotic Tales Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

to hold him down. He was too weak to move, and this realization made her tears run afresh.
                  She dropped the sword to the floor and wrapped her arms around his chest. He had lost so much blood. He felt cold. His heartbeat, always so strong and steady, was slow and faint. She must warm him. She pressed herself against him, willing her own warmth into him. He lifted his hand and ran his claws through her hair.
                  "Hmm... Beautiful." His voice was a low growl, barely a whisper.
                  "Rest, my dear thing. You'll be fine. You just need to rest."
                  But he was dying, and she knew it. She kissed his cheeks, caressed his brow, held him tightly while he continued to fade. She continued holding him long after his heartbeat became too faint to feel, long after he sighed out his last breath. She held him while his body grew cold and stiff. She soaked his chest with her tears.
                  When she finally roused herself, her thoughts were reeling. She had known that his violent turn would end badly. She had thought that it would end in him killing her, or her killing him. She had not imagined that anyone or anything else could have done him in. Certainly no one at Heorot. Hrothgar did not deserve this victory. Hrothgar should have left long, long ago, and none of this ever would have happened. Her sorrow turned into rage. Her need to escape was replaced by a burning need for revenge.
                  Hrothgar must pay.
     

 
                  Sigrun had thought that she would never return to Heorot. She scowled at it now from the edge of the woods, marking the pattern of the watchmen who circled the perimeter. Hrothgar's fabled hall was only the centerpiece of a larger compound, a stronghold on an elevated ring, circled by thick, sloping turf walls which were themselves surrounded and topped by fences of sharply pointed wooden stakes. The high fence was a newer addition, a futile measure against Grendel. What a shame, she thought, remembering long hours spent staring out the small window of her turf prison-hut; the newest fortifications surely blocked the view of the woods.
                  There were few guards on watch, and Sigrun could hear sounds of merrymaking coming from the hall. She had followed the trail of Grendel's blood to confirm that this was where he had suffered that terrible, life-ending wound; the denizens of Heorot probably thought they had no further need for vigilance, now that the monster was beaten. She gritted her teeth at their celebrations. She would show them that they were not safe yet.
                  Her dragon skin garb blended with the shadows, and she had smeared her face with dark soil. She had braided and wrapped her bright, silver-white hair, so that other than the flash of her eyes and the faint metallic glint of her helmet, she was nearly invisible if she kept out of the light. She easily vaulted over the perimeter fence, scaled the steep turf slope, and pulled herself up and over the interior wall. Her physical abilities had long since surpassed those of any mere human. Whatever it was that she had become as Grendel's bride, she was not one to be repelled by the puny safety measures of common men. She kept to the shadows of the outbuildings, but the compound seemed almost deserted. Clearly everyone had gathered in the hall.
                  As she drew near the mead hall, she stifled a sob. Grendel's arm had been nailed up on the wall above the front entrance door. Her rage surged.
                  Thick, slanted beams extended from the heavily shingled golden roof all the way to the ground, creating a sort of shaded gallery along the sides of the mead hall. Sigrun darted across the open space to the shelter of the beams and moved from there along the wall to the entrance vestibule. There was little need to be quiet,