Desert Viking

By Rea Renee

Viking Geira travels to Egypt for trading. However, a powerful man has set his sights on her to add to his collection. When Geira's brother and father are murdered, she vows to return and collect retribution.

When Geira is captured and sold as a slave, she didn't expect to fall for Zahid the handsome desert dweller. But will he sacrifice his life and family to save her from the madman who killed her family? 
 

Warning: Violence, Graphic scenes 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rea Renee
• Release date: Jan 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386979425

Rea Renee

Rea Renee is pen name of self-published author of historical romance. Always love, but sometimes history is darker than sugar-coated stories.  Rea's stories are dark, adventurous, and captivating. Sign up for her newsletter and receive advance notice of sales, contests, new releases and more:  http://eepurl.com/brhxVb

Book preview

Chapter 2

After the others left , the servants filled their wine goblets. On the edge of his chair, Dalkr felt sweat roll down his neck, into the silk tunic he wore.

They should be done with trade and leave. Why did Aban drag this procession on?

Aban called for entertainment. Three girls strode forward and danced to sensual music. One tied a thin scarf around Avaldi’s neck as men played the drums, horn, and a stringed instrument.

Aban leaned forward, his onyx eyes narrowed into daggers. Payment is your daughter.

Dalkr choked on his wine. What?

Your daughter. I want her. He wetted his lips. And I’ll have her.

Nay. His fist slammed on the table. He’d promised his love, her mother, she’d marry happily. Not arranged for land or titles.

Perhaps you misunderstand me. My intentions are honorable. Aban twisted a ring off his finger and slid it across the table toward Dalkr. I will marry her—she’ll be my wife.

That’s not for you to choose. I made a promise to her mother. Aban’s ring held a ruby emblem shaped like a dragon, mounted in silver. Geira will choose who she’ll marry.

She’d never marry. Avaldi stroked the dancing girl’s back, and she twirled away from him. Don’t think she even knows she’s a girl.

Stay out of this, Dalkr warned. Didn’t his son realize the anger bubbling under the surface? Aban was a dangerous man. Damn. He should have left the moment the blasted servant demanded they not bring their weapons into the dining chambers.

Aban leaned forward. She’s exquisite and would add to my collection. I’ve many women here, but none with her coloring, or want of breaking. His lips narrowed into a taut line. I will own her.

Never.

I’ll take her, with or without your consent. He replaced the ring. Or since you force me, marriage vows.

Dalkr’s chair fell over when he leaped up. You’ll need to kill me and my men first. He shouted for his men.

They can’t hear you. Aban snapped his fingers and five guards rushed forward. Two held Dalkr back, another held a spear a breath from his throat. The other two pinned Avaldi. Aban brushed a hand over the front of his blue robes. They’re already dead.

You lie. He swallowed when the spear tip pricked his skin.

No? All of them were given poisoned wine in their chambers. Female slaves let each man drink a full glass, and lay with them. He accepted a thin pipe from a servant’s outstretched hands. Aban took a drag. The smoke accentuated his words. A comforting death, I assure you.

Murderer. An honorable man would fight with a sword, not kill a man in his sleep. Valhalla was now out of reach for his men. Bastard deserved to die.

Aban slapped his hand on the wooden table and leaned forward. And you’re barbarians. Your daughter will live like a queen. He straightened his silk robes. And not among dogs and pigs.

IVAR WATCHED THE SERVANT girl, Bahij, eagerly push the golden cup filled with wine to his lips.

Perhaps later. He removed the cup from her hand, setting it down on the marble table beside the bed. Then he shooed her out the door. Coupling was the last thing on his mind.

When would Dalkr return? The knots in his stomach festered. He tangled his fingers through his hair, still damp from the bath. His jaw clenched.

Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. This was no time for a headache.

What was keeping Dalkr?

He stalked to the door. He flexed and straightened his arms. Opening the door, he nodded to two guards posted outside. Dressed in black silk trousers and vests, they stood at attention. Blue sashes were tied around their waists.

Since he couldn’t wait, he addressed the guards. I’d like the girl back—Bahij? he asked in their language.

One of the guards walked toward the women’s quarters. When the departing guard disappeared around the corner, Ivar seized the other guard and broke his neck.

He dragged the dead guard inside his quarters.

After checking the hallway was empty, he closed the door, concealing the dead guard inside.

Ivar crept down the hall. Ducking behind a pillar, he waited until a cluster of guards disappeared. He fingered the hilt of the knife he took from the meal and cursed under his breath. He needed his sword. The guards’ footsteps on the marble floor faded.

After two more turns, an abandoned chamber lay ahead, and he climbed out its open window. Ducking behind bushes, he made his way to peer into one of the dining chamber windows. Perhaps if he could see his uncle, the sharp edge of fear clawing at his insides would cease.

After climbing a cedar tree, he stared through one of the windows and crouched low in the tree. The guards held someone down on the floor.

His heart stuck in his throat. Avaldi lay on the floor, blood oozing out of him in a jagged pool. They had cut him open. He screamed as they continued to slice at his flesh.

Gripping the knife in his fist, Ivar searched for his uncle. With blood, they’d pay. How many guards were in there? When he shifted to leap through the window, his uncle met his eye and shook his head no once. But why did he not want Ivar to attack?

Guards forced Dalkr onto his knees. His red-stained eyes locked on Ivar’s. My men will save my daughter.

Your men are dead. Aban spun around, his knife dripping blood. Now, give me your daughter, and you and your son may still live.

Never. I’d make my men swear to protect her until they died even if there was only one left. I’d tell them to leave me and my son. It’s too late for us. His gaze turned to his son, but his voice smacked Ivar. But never surrender my daughter to you.

Aban laughed as he delivered the deathblow to Avaldi, whose horror froze on his face. With a swirl of blue robes, Aban grabbed an ax from a guard and hacked at the dead man’s neck until his head rolled across the marble floor.

Ivar turned away, his stomach lurching. With the blade between his teeth, he climbed down the cedar.

He crept along the outer wall until he spotted an open window. Peering inside, he saw one of his comrades sprawled out across the pillows.

Satisfied no guard watched, Ivar clambered through the open window. The man was cold to the touch. A silver goblet drunk dry lay on the pillow beside him. So it was true. The wine was poisoned, and if he knew his crewmates, none would have passed up the chance for free wine and a wench to bed.

Every sense heightened. Only moments at best to find Geira and escape before he was missed. The image of his cousin Avaldi’s face frozen in death burned into his thoughts.

He opened the chamber door. No guards.

Who would need to guard a dead man? If only he had his sword and the rest of the crew. Thank Odin Dalkr only brought a handful of men with him. Otherwise, he and Geira would have to steer the ship alone.

Hiding in the shadows, he made his way through the corridor. A servant girl strolled past and he lunged for her. He pushed her against the wall and covered her scream with his hand before she exhaled.

The tip of his knife thrust against her throat. Take me to her. He lifted his fingers a fraction, and his gaze warned he’d plunge the blade deeper if she tried to call out.

The servant girl winced. Only if you take me with you to Constantinople. If you leave me here, he’ll do worse than killing to me.

A few feet away, the leather boots of the guards marched in syncopation, moving closer. He had no choice. Agreeing, he let her go and she led him to a corner bookshelf. Wait here.

His hand clenched her arm. Was she trying to trick him? But the grating of metal resonated as she swung back the bookshelf and revealed a hidden chamber.

Men are forbidden to enter the women’s quarters. Unless you’re a eunuch? She raised an eyebrow.

He waved her forward.

The servant girl vanished behind red velvet curtains.

GEIRA TOSSED ANOTHER grape into her mouth. What was taking her father and Avaldi so long?

A servant girl entered the room. The Grand Master requests the blond girl be escorted to his bedchambers immediately.

I will not. Geira rose, her hands clenched.

The Master, she pulled Geira away from the eunuch guards’ guarding the women. And your father, order it.

My father would never. She jerked her arm away.

The servant girl paled. Come now, or the Master will have you beaten. She pushed Geira past the velvet curtain.

Geira shook her head, but then she caught sight of Ivar. What’s this about?

When she was in reaching distance, Ivar clasped his hand hard over her arm and she winced. Can’t explain now. Just trust me.

Where are father and Avaldi?

Sweat beaded across his suntanned forehead. Th-they want you onboard with them and the others now. It’s not safe here.

The servant’s hands shook as she took them down hidden staircases and past the mansion’s walls and guards. They followed the servant out of the house.

At the stables, they took two horses after Ivar knocked out the stable hand. The two women shared one horse. Ivar watched their back as the three raced to the water.

Uneasiness radiated from Ivar like heated coals in winter.

When they arrived at the pier, Ivar yelled out in Norse, Kill the Arabs.

Their crewman grabbed their swords without question. They sliced the Egyptian guards stationed on the ship. In the distance, behind them, Aban’s guards pursued.

Palace guards, the servant girl whimpered.

Get to the ship. Ivar reined his horse to a stop, then leaped into the water. He trudged through the waist-high water, shouting for a crewman to throw him a weapon. As if in answer, a guard flew into the water, dead with an ax wedged into his back. Thanks, Ivar grunted to his crewman on the ship, who dodged another enemy.

Ivar jerked the ax from the corpse, then turned to face the others.

Another crewman pried a sword loose from a dead comrade’s hand and tossed the blade to Geira. She caught the hilt, spun the blade around, and struck down a guard to her left. The servant screamed as blood splattered across her face. Her arms clung tight enough around Geira to crush ribs.

Next to the ship, Geira maneuvered their horse in the water. She kicked an Egyptian in the face as he tried to yank her off.

The water lapped at the horse’s flanks. Geira slid off the horse and yelled over her shoulder to the girl as two of Aban’s men swam toward her. Get onboard and get below.

Quickly, the servant girl clambered up the ladder rope onto the ship, her face pale with terror. She trembled as she held onto the wood railing, shuffling her way below deck, but Geira knew the woman was safe. For the moment.

The stench of fresh blood like burning copper choked the air. More guards rode across the desert sand like a swarm of black locusts.

Geira fought, losing count of how many enemies fell by her hand. She sliced off one man’s arm. With a shriek, he passed out face down into the water.

Bloody water covered her legs. Ivar lost his footing and slipped under the murky water. Her voice raked across the air. Ivar!

Another guard took advantage and thrust his lance forward underwater where her cousin sunk. Ivar sputtered from the water, but he countered too late. The head of the lance pierced into his upper shoulder.

As though enraged, he roared, holding the lance with his injured arm. Bracing, he jerked the weapon out with a grunt.

The guard backed away at the fury in Ivar’s eyes.

Too late, the man turned to swim back to shore and away from her cousin. Ivar dragged his ax forward with his good arm and flung it through the air. The blade found its mark, plunging into the back of the man’s head. Water churned red around him.

Three guards, who had witnessed the scene, hastily swam back to shore. Others continued to fight the Norsemen.

Against an attack, Geira strained to keep her sword up, and her gaze swept the sea for her cousin.

Ivar wrenched his ax from the dead man and threw it, nailing her assailant in the neck. Blood gurgled on the man’s lips and he vanished beneath the bloody waves.

Cringing, Ivar swam toward her. Their men killed the remainder of Aban’s guards on the ship. The approaching militia swarmed closer, and she could make out the determination on their faces

Ivar grasped her around the waist with his good arm, helping her to the rope ladder. With the help of the others onboard, they heaved her onto the ship.

Hoist sail! Ivar raced up the rope after her, using his uninjured arm. Sweat poured over his face. Row, men. Row. He took an open seat next to an oar. Pushed with one arm and his chest.

Sweat dripped into his eyes. With a shake of his head, he yanked the oar back again.

Geira rushed over to him. Your shoulder.

Feels like my arm’s severed and ripped out of socket. Your punches hurt more. He winked.

Aban stood at the edge of the pier. Girl, come to me if you want your father to live.

She straightened and drew in a sharp breath at seeing Avaldi’s head driven onto a spike. Her father bound and bloody carried her brother’s head on a spike. Her fingernails dug into her palms. Ivar had lied to her. Her brother was dead, and her father held a weary look about him. His shoulders hunched. Blood streamed down his face and onto his silk tunic.

Come and be my wife. Unless you want your father to suffer the same fate as your brother.

She stepped forward. Ivar grabbed her arm, but she jerked away.

Tears clouded her vision. She’d failed Avaldi. Her father lost his beloved wife because of her. Her mother died during labor because of her.

Geira had always wondered if her mother would’ve lived had she not carried twins. Not carried her. Now Avaldi was dead. Despair and rage coursed through her. What say you, father? I’ll obey any command you give me.

Dalkr wet his cracked lips. Always know I love you. He locked eyes with her. She tried to give him her strength through that stare, but then he shouted, Leave. Never return here.

Aban’s face colored red with rage. Without waiting, he carved his knife into her father, spilling blood and intestines as her father screamed at