In her vision, the fires of a battlefield raged, while the scent of death hovered around them. Bodies littered the ground and the carrion birds swooped overhead. The Viking warrior rode towards her, searching. His helm covered his face and his armour was stained with the blood of his enemies. He was like a god of war, coming to claim her. The warrior’s eyes locked upon her as he rode through the carnage. He reached down and Elena went willingly, knowing that she was his prize of war. Her heart pounded when he drew her up in front of him on the horse. From behind her, she could feel the iron muscles of his chest, the powerful thighs surrounding her legs. His body held the caged restlessness of a predator, and he rode hard across the field, taking her miles away from the battle. Until they were alone. The small thatched hut was hardly any shelter at all, but when she went inside, hot coals glowed in the hearth.
