Ravager Read Online Karina Halle

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Erotic Tags Authors: Karina Halle Advertisement1

Advertisement2

There was no question, however, that people were dying—fast. The ground continued to rumble as their cries rang out, and the screams filled the nearby forest until birds flew from the trees. I looked over my shoulder and saw the Fornier and Duval families emerging from their dwellings on the hill. They looked confused, brushing off their slumber—until they saw the flames. The realization of what was happening sank in.

I steadied myself and took a deep breath, turning my attention back to the fire creeping toward our home. I had no idea where my family had gone, didn’t know if everyone I knew was alive or dead. For the first time, I felt like my destiny was in my hands, and I toyed with it carefully, measuring the weight. To run toward the flames would surely mean death. I wasn’t a soldier. I was an eighteen-year old girl armed only with the muscles cultivated from years working the fields.

I didn’t know how to fight; I barely knew how to live.

I could turn and run toward the hill. I could borrow Guillame’s horse and ride to the manor to alert the Lord. The Lord was sworn to protect the serfs; that was the whole basis of the feudal agreement. We slaved for him, he provided protection. But our dwellings, so close to the shore, were unprotected, and it would take a while for the army to arrive. Could I hide until then? Or could I help the others and try to fight, even though it would be futile?

I doubted my family would extend the courtesy toward me. Maybe Odette would, perhaps even Giselle, but my mother wouldn’t.

I curled my hands into tight balls and quickly released them. It didn’t matter in the end. I wasn’t a coward, and the life I had been living wouldn’t be too sad to lose. There was also the matter of Marc—someone I couldn’t just forget about, no matter how complicated my feelings for him were.

With as much courage as I could gather, I pumped my arms, sprinting through the field until I reached our home, nearly slamming into the wall from the momentum. I spent a second gripping the hard, splintered wood, its familiarity providing a brief respite of comfort. Then, I hurried inside and looked around for a weapon.

It was obvious my sisters and mother had left in a hurry. Hay from the beds was scattered about my feet, and a knocked-over jug of water had sank into the dirt. There was a butcher knife sticking out of the wall in the kitchen area, something I’d used the night before to slice the head off a chicken. That was about it. My mind raced; I had that gnawing feeling I was missing something.

Of course! My mother’s room! I flung open the door, and there it was. Perched in the corner of the sagging wall was the dull silver gleam of my father’s old sword. It was the one possession of his that had been returned to the family.

When I was younger, my father would try to show me the sword in jest. I’d feel the cool metal under my little fingers and then giggle and run away, as though it had the power to hurt me, even when lying innocuously in his hands. Now, I could feel the sword for what it was—a heavy, long object of great power and understated beauty. I had no idea how to wield it in battle, but I had no choice.

I grasped the molded handle and held it out in front of me, my forearms straining. It would have to do. I maneuvered it out of the hut and into the open.

I had hardly been inside for more than three minutes, but in that time, the dawn had turned to dusk as plumes of black smoke filled the sky. A low hedge along the fence prevented me from seeing the full scene and provided me with a bit of cover. I crept over to the hedge and slinked along it, the branches catching at my coat.

Feeling too encumbered, I slipped my coat off until I was only in my night shift and boots. I was cold and completely indecent, but this wasn’t the time for comfort. The screams had died down, and that was both a relief and a worry. I thought I was going mad hearing them over and over, but now that they were gone, I had to wonder if anyone was left alive. My heart fluttered with the image of brutal Vikings slinking toward me, axes drawn, ready to drink blood from my skull. They could be just on the other side of the hedge, waiting for me with the eyes of madmen.

I tightened my grip on the sword, already slick with sweat from my palms, and in one awkward motion, I leaped around the hedge and out into the open.


Advertisement3

Advertisement4