A Viking's Rage

Chapter 8

Aiya made it through her first day in her new surroundings, but she had no intention of settling in. This place, these people, were temporary. She would leave—somehow.

As evening fell, she found herself wandering the Great Hall, unwilling to return to Dagr's chambers. Servants were still busy tidying up, their exhaustion evident as they hurried to finish their tasks. A familiar figure caught her eye—Esma, walking briskly ahead. Aiya quickened her pace to catch up.

"Esma!" she called, her voice warm, relieved to see the girl.

Esma turned, but the sight that met Aiya stopped her in her tracks. Bruises darkened the girl’s face and neck, their stark contrast to her fair skin telling a grim story.

"What happened?" Aiya asked, her voice soft but urgent.

Esma avoided her gaze. "You should return to Dagr," she said firmly. "You do not want him to have to find you."

"No," Aiya replied, stepping closer. "Who did this to you?"

Esma hesitated, then whispered, "Dagr did this. And he’ll do the same to you if you anger him." Her tone was flat, resigned.

"I'm sorry," Aiya said, her voice barely audible.

Esma stiffened, then turned sharply and walked away without another word.

As Aiya watched her go, dread coiled in her stomach. Was Dagr responsible for the scar over Esma’s eye as well? Her thoughts swirled as she made her way back to his chambers. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on the walls, and each step felt heavier than the last.

When she reached the door, she paused, her hand on the latch. She took a deep breath and pushed it open, peering cautiously inside. Relief flooded her—Dagr wasn’t there. She stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Her eyes landed on a polished piece of metal on the grooming table. She moved closer, catching her reflection. Her hair shone in the dim light, falling in soft waves down her back. The dress, though simple, clung to her body and flattered her figure. But her gaze stopped at the bruise on her cheek, an ugly reminder of Dagr’s temper.

The sound of the door opening made her freeze. She turned to see Dagr stepping inside, his tall frame filling the doorway. He closed the door behind him, his expression unreadable.

He crossed the room slowly, his eyes fixed on her. He reached out, taking a strand of her blonde hair between his fingers, letting it slide through his hand.

"You are a clever witch," he murmured in Norse, his voice low and dangerous.

Before she could react, he grabbed her and flung her onto the bed. She gasped, scrambling to sit up, but he pushed her back down with ease, his weight pressing her into the soft blankets.

"Dagr, please..." she pleaded, her voice shaking.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against her cheek. "I have waited many weeks for this," he said, his tone quiet but laced with intent. His lips brushed her skin as she turned her face away.

For a moment, she feared the worst. But then, to her surprise, he rolled off her and lay on his back, folding his hands behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Stand at the foot of the bed," he ordered, his voice calm but commanding.

She hesitated, her heart pounding.

Slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She walked to the foot of the bed, feeling his eyes on her the entire way.

"Now," he said, rolling onto his side to face her, "remove your dress."

Aiya’s breath caught. Fear clawed at her, but she forced herself to remain composed. If she showed weakness, he would only enjoy it more.

She reached for one shoulder of her dress, sliding it down to reveal her bare skin. Then the other. She moved slowly, her mind racing. The fabric slipped lower, exposing her chest, but she kept her chin high, her gaze steady. Finally, the dress fell to the floor, pooling around her feet.

She stepped out of it and kicked it aside, standing tall despite her fear.

Dagr rose from the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he moved behind her. His fingers traced the scars on her back, his touch sending a shiver down her spine.

"Such soft skin," he murmured, almost to himself.

Aiya turned her head slightly, her voice cutting through the silence. "What you get from me is what you take, and never what I give."

Her words hit their mark. Dagr’s hand stilled, and he stepped back. His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides.

For a moment, she thought he might strike her. Instead, he sucked in a sharp breath and turned away. He moved to the table, grabbing his drinking horn. He began to pour himself ale, but his anger boiled over. With a growl, he hurled the half-filled horn across the room, sending its contents splattering against the wall.

He stormed toward the door, stopping only to glare at her over his shoulder.

"You’ll regret testing me," he said darkly before slamming the door behind him.

Aiya stood frozen, her heart racing. She crouched down to gather her dress, slipping it back over her trembling body. She didn’t understand why he had left her in peace, but she was grateful.

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Dagr stalked through the settlement, his thoughts in turmoil. Why had he walked away? Women begged to share his bed, and there were plenty who would gladly oblige. Why did this girl—the one who defied him—consume his thoughts?

He should have taken her by force, as he’d done with others. But something about her stayed his hand. He hated the power she seemed to hold over him, this strange, gnawing feeling that she might be his undoing.

For now, he needed to rid himself of the anger that burned through him. He’d find another woman to satisfy his desires. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Aiya would haunt him, no matter how hard he tried to push her away.