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

thoughts to even flicker through her head. She turned, she grasped the sword by the hilt, and she tore it from the wall. The blade flashed as she swung it out in front of her, holding it with both hands and pointing it directly at Grendel's chest as he lunged toward her. He stopped short, inches from impaling himself on the sword. She held it steady. He stepped back, his eyes focused and bright. Then he knelt down before her.
                  Whether he knelt for her or for the sword or for the fact that she was holding the sword, she couldn't tell. Her heart was still racing. She didn't care. All that mattered was that she had stopped him, that she wasn't dead. And the sword, she realized, felt surprisingly good in her hands.
                  "Go..." Her voice was hoarse, her breath ragged. "Go clean yourself, Grendel."
                  He snorted softly. Head hanging, he left the hall, disappearing into one of the passages that led to the hot springs. Her legs were shaking. She thought she might collapse. She leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Then she looked at the sword again. The blade gleamed. It was heavy, very heavy, and yet it felt natural in her grasp. She sliced it through the air in a wide, whistling arc. She switched from her two-handed grip to one, and it positively sang. "And to think," she marveled, "you've been waiting on the wall all this time. I think you've been waiting for me."
                  She still wasn't sure what to do. She still had a pit in her stomach over Grendel. This couldn't continue. But she suddenly felt a bit safer, whatever came next.
     
                  Sigrun knew that she had to leave.
                  It was a wrenching thought. She had grown strangely fond of her life amongst the monsters, and she had hoped to somehow unlock the secrets of the hall. She was still growing even in her understanding of herself. And yet she knew that she was running out of time. Grendel was set on a path to destruction, and one of them was sure to die as a result. She may have thought her death was a certainty when she first became Hrothgar's sacrificial queen, but now she had changed her mind. She preferred to live. Nor did she want to kill her dear Grendel. She wasn't even sure if she could. But with the giant blade in her hands, she felt increasingly that it was a strong possibility.
                  She had never practiced swordplay herself, but she had spent long hours while imprisoned at Heorot watching the warriors at practice. She had picked up a great deal of knowledge as a result, and now, with sword in hand, she found her body easily mimicking everything she had seen. She seemed to be a natural.
                  So, she would equip herself and run away. She would run far away and somehow find something to do. Maybe there were other sea dragons waiting in some other haunted mere, who would gladly take her in. She chuckled at that thought. She had no trust for mankind, but she was sure she could find some wild place where she could get by.
                  She began prowling the labyrinth of treasure chambers, searching for gear that would serve her. She felt a slight tremor of guilt at plundering the ancient hoard — was this thievery? And what of the sword? Was she wrong to make it hers? But, she reasoned to herself, consider this: Hrothgar had never given her a bridal gift. It was the price a husband was supposed to pay his wife to ensure her material security within her new home. Nor had Grendel, for that matter. A bride twice over, surely she was entitled to her security. So she would choose her gifts for herself.
                  Her dress, heavy and cumbersome, would not do. She needed to be agile. She searched through the rooms for better attire, but all the leather she found was stiff and cracked with age, the fabrics likewise fragile from the