Freya Save Me!

Author's note -- This is my first time writing something quite this gritty. I hope it isn't too much! As always, I appreciate any/all feedback!

Frigid fingers scratched desperately at her hair, trying in vain to hide away her wild, golden locks beneath a hooded cloak. If she was spotted she'd be dragged back and bound to that blasphemous altar once more. She'd been given a tiny sliver of hope when her father had cut her bindings. Try as she might, she couldn't let it go. If only he'd brought her boots as well as the cloak. The frozen ground tore at her bare feet as she ran aimlessly, unsure of where to go or what to do.

She knew she was a dead woman. Knowing neither where she should, nor could go. Yet something compelled her forward. She willed herself to keep moving, dressed in nothing but a thin ceremonial shift dress and a ragged wool cloak, the frosty chill of the winter's night seeping through and nipping at her slender body.

Moonlight illuminated her path during this midnight hour. It'd be another week before it was full. This would have been an especially auspicious Yule, but not this year, not for her. And all because of that vile woman and those spineless fools.

She couldn't think of them now. No more burning tears would she tolerate to fall. She had permitted plenty when the last of her village left her bound to that altar. They'd offered her as a sacrifice to Freya in nothing but that thin, white dress. It was to Freya that

she

had called out as those tears had fallen. It was to Freya that she beseeched mercy as her fear and rage and hurt flowed from her. It had been ages since her village had made unwilling human sacrifices, and everyone knew why she'd been chosen.

Her goddess Freya had nothing to do with it.

Regardless of the cold, she was simply numb now, inside and out. How much farther she could wander she did not know. But wander on she did.

When the first howl came from over the farthest hill, she'd frozen in fear for but a moment before hurrying onward. Now their calls were closer, and she could no longer identify where they were coming from. One moment they were in front of her, the next they were behind. Now they'd stopped completely, making her all the more fearful.

She pulled the cloak tighter against her slender, shaking frame, mostly from fear, but also futilely trying to guard against the chill. A nearby rustling to her left stopped her in her tracks. She turned to face it. Nothing. A few more reticent steps and another din sounded behind her. This time she spared no glance, quickening her pace as her aching feet burned from the cold. Her stinging and weary muscles screamed for respite, but their plea went unheeded. Her heart raced and her chest heaved with every strained breath. Her heavy panting made clouds about her as she again pleaded for Freya to save her. Not that it would do much good, not now anyway.

A flash of movement in front of her, large and growling. Its lips snarled back, teeth bared, a massive wolf crept methodically towards her. More rustling from her left, though she dare not take her eyes off of the danger before her. A roar pierced through the uncaring night as a bare chested man, adorned with the skin of a great bear upon his head and back, barreled towards the wolf.

She might have screamed, but no one would have heard it, or no one would have cared. The village was celebrating the beginning of Yule inside their warm longhouses and the chieftain's safe great hall alike. The cheers of merriment filled their heads and homes as they filled their bellies, emptied their balls, and celebrated the season- hoping the gods approved of their sacrifices. Here, in the dead of the night and miles away from any warmth, the man tore into the wolf with reckless abandon as two more beasts appeared to aid their alpha.

The young woman could see that life had quickly left the first wolf; its frayed body lay in a pool of its own blood. The man seemed to sense the impending attack from the two new wolves behind him. Before either could even scrape him he had turned, lunging at the first, the second coming after him from the side. Its bite landed, deep. Teeth piercing flesh as it latched onto the man, moving with his movements. The man seemed only bothered by how the attached wolf slowed his actions.

Terrified by right, the young woman began to frantically look around, desperate to help despite her frailty. A large branch lay on the other side of the man-wolf tangle. She ran by the ensnared trio, having abandoned the last of her sense. Awkwardly picking up the branch, she turned and swiftly brought it down onto the third wolf's back. As the beast yelped, he released his hold on the man. The creature turned to attack the young woman, but the mad man lunged atop it, wildly trying to snap its neck.

The wolf was determined as it crawled and dove towards her, even with this mad man clinging to it. As the young woman backed away she tripped on the long ceremonial dress. The wolf inched closer, and she likewise frantically inched away, her eyes bulging in fear. She held up her forearm as a meager shield against the threat, and it very nearly found purchase there.

A quick snap, a loud crack, and the wolf's lifeless body fell at her feet. The man rose slowly, his eyes wild, lost to a bloodlust daze, his fiery beard and face now painted with blood. She stared up at him with a mixture of reverence and trepidation filling her chest and mind. She had not time to consider what he may be before, or perhaps she had simply feared the answer. But now, underneath the light of Máni- the moon god, on this first night of Yule, surrounded by the three dead beasts, the scent of iron filling the crisp air, she knew.

Her savior was a berserker.

She had a fleeting moment of wonder about his presence. What had he been doing out here? They generally didn't venture this near to the main village except to pick up supplies, or the women, they were owed by the chieftain for their services. And here he was, her bear of a savior.

How long he'd stay her savior was what concerned her. Berserkers were her people's most savage warriors. In the heat of their fury they could not tell friend from foe. They would slay everything, everyone, in their path. Now she lay in his path, his eyes still too animalistic for there to be any modicum of humanity left behind them.

Some scent caught his attention, and he sniffed the air between them eagerly. All she could smell in the crisp air was the fresh blood. But the berserker was after something else. He moved over the dead wolf at her feet, approaching her like a wild beast. Reaching her torn feet he pressed his nose to her ankles, inhaling deeply before rubbing his face up alongside her legs. She should have been terrified, but all she could think about was how shockingly warm he felt. He was on top of her, and she couldn't manage to find her voice. It wouldn't have mattered. The man behind the bear was still lost to this world as he moved up her body, inhaling feverishly before diving his face into the crook of her neck and again inhaling deeply. Her ample chest heaved against him as adrenaline spread warmth to every morsel of her body. A wide tongue licked the sensitive part of her neck, making her body shudder and letting loose a small moan from between her pouty lips. He buried his nose into her hair and a deep, low growl reverberated from his chest.

It was clear what he wanted from her. To say that she was not herself attracted or somewhat aroused would be amiss. After all, coming that close to death can do odd things to a person. But even that didn't matter to her. He had saved her life and she was indeed indebted to him. She had nothing else to give him. Her life belonged to him now. She'd been sacrificed, if found she'd either be killed or cast back out into this night. Either way, she had nowhere else to go. Perhaps this was Freya saving her after all. It only made sense that her goddess would send one of Odin's men to aid her.

And in that instant she knew the truth of it in her bones. As if the goddess had nestled her message of deliverance into the very soul of the woman herself. The berserker was indeed her path to salvation. But first, she needed to make a tribute of herself.

He flipped her body over in one swift moment, crudely placing her on her hands and knees. She knew what was to come and wouldn't deny him, she wasn't even sure if she wanted to. Grateful didn't begin to describe how she felt, and she had pathetic little left to lose. His large hands pulled at her cloak and dress; the sound of fabric ripping tore through the still night air. A glacial breeze washed bitingly over her now bared ass and exposed mound as she held the position she'd been planted in, presenting herself for him.

He stuck his nose forcefully into her cunt, again inhaling deeply before ravenously licking her folds, letting his tongue press into her deeply. Her legs shook as ripples of unexpected pleasure ran through her. And still she held her position for him. Another beat and his cock slid crudely, completely into her. With a grunt she fell forward from the unexpected force behind her. Before she could right herself for him he zealously grabbed her hips, fingers digging into flesh as he pulled her up to him. Plunging himself into her fully before letting her fall off of him from the force. He continued this with a steady pace as she worked to again support herself with her arms. This was no easy feat as his thrusts dazed her with an overwhelmingly full feeling that had before been unknown to her.

Once she was able to manage the more solid position, he leaned over her, his bare chest against the thin fabric on her back, his thrusts becoming more forceful and frenzied. His teeth on her shoulder, breaking the skin just so until he could taste her blood. The sensation was new to her, but not unwelcome. He licked every drop he'd drawn from her as he continued to firmly and forcefully breed her.

They continued on this way for quite a time, far longer than she'd ever experienced before. His pace showed no sign of slowing as her arms began to wobble and her knees ached from the frozen ground. She slowly lowered herself, letting her flushed chest rest against the cold of the earth. She hadn't realized how warm she'd become until the chill hit her, giving her some much needed relief. The change of angle would soon bring a different kind of relief of its own. As he continued his persistent and frenzied taking of her, she could now feel something deep inside of her heating up.

She was no innocent, but this

heat

too was new to her. Her years were still young, but she'd always been admired by many men. (Much to the chagrin of her father.) It was the chieftain's eldest son that had caught her attention and eventually won the affections of her heart. But that boy had been just as young and inexperienced as she was. Even though her whole body was now sore, this warming, building sensation was novel, and despite her fears and apprehensions, it was immensely pleasurable. She was excited and desperate to find out what it was building to.

It didn't take long with the force and pace of his throbbing cock inside her tightness. His grunts and groans grew louder as her legs began to spasm. Her warm, slippery walls began spasming, clenching down on his aching cock as she let out lewd, wailing moans into the night as she finally came. A few more hard and hasty thrusts and he let out a bawdy growl of his own, his head thrown back in a roar of ecstasy.

Their bodies stilled. The only sound in the night was their heavy panting as his cock continued to twitch within her, her own body riding its glorious orgasmic aftershocks. He said nothing as he stood, his cock slipping from her pussy, leaving it with a woefully empty feeling. A massive load of his cum following and falling to the ground.

She stayed as still as she could, her breathing slowly returning to normal despite her nervousness, unsure of what was now to come. She dared not look at him as she wondered if Odin's fury still held, or if the man underneath had surfaced. He grabbed her and effortlessly lifted her over his shoulder. Still she did not say a word as he took off, leaving the carnage of the night behind them.

They traveled a fair distance before he finally stopped. Placing her down on the ground with a soft thud, he turned and walked into a small hut of a house with earth built up along its sides. The moon had nearly gone, hiding much from her view. She did however see him go inside, without her. She stood for a moment, wondering what she was to do. Carefully she followed inside, uncertainty consuming her.

She slowly opened the door to his cold and dark home. The barest of an ember glowed from the pit at the center of the room. Carefully, she shut the door behind her. Rushing to the firepit, she placed a few dried twigs into the coals and waited for them to catch. As the flicker of light began to illuminate the room, she saw him passed out on the lowered bench along the wall. A rather sparse bed, but it seemed to suit him. A moment of relief as she gradually built up a solid fire, warming the place quickly.

Task at hand completed, she worked up the nerve to check on him. The third wolf had landed quite a blow, and now that his rage and fury were gone, his wounds could be a danger. He was cold to the touch but breathing well. She was astonished to find his wounds looking like meager puncture marks, the dried blood coating him decidedly not his own. She gently placed the bear skin he'd dropped over his unconscious body. He'd warm soon enough. Safe, for now. Warm, for now. She thanked Freya as she laid down on the other side of the fire, across the room from him, and finally found rest.

She slept soundly considering the day, and night, she'd had. Not waking until the sun was high above. He was still fast asleep and hadn't moved in the slightest. His kind required rest for an extended amount of time after their rage and fury took them. There was no way for her to know when he might wake. She didn't even know if he'd remember her, or their evening before.

She stood, feeling more of him slowly drip from her and down her thigh. Looking around with a refreshed mind, she was surprised at the sparseness of the room. Only the one bench along the wall where he lay passed out. The bear skin she'd placed over him was the only one. Scant smoked meats hung in a corner. A few weapons leaned up against another. One wall lined with firewood. She found little else to speak of for a home. But it was enough.

A rooster crowed nearby, daring her to venture outside. Sure enough there were a handful of chickens roosting alongside the house. The sound of running water made her painfully aware of her thirst and she followed it, grabbing a pail that lay just outside the door as she went. A steady stream was just out of sight of the house. She drank the icy water to her heart's content before filling the container and setting it aside. Then she waded, frosty though the air was, into the freezing water, letting her cut and calloused feet be cleansed. She hiked up the dress to her waist, careful to keep it dry, and knelt down, letting the arctic water act as a salve for her sore and blissfully defiled womanhood.

Satisfied and clean, albeit cold, she hurried back. Gathering a handful of eggs she went inside. He was still unconscious, and so she sat down to busy herself with the eggs. She used one of his daggers to make small openings in the top of the eggs before settling them down upright in some of the hot ashes to cook. They wouldn't take long. She wondered how he ever made anything for himself, giving the distinct lack of cooking necessities. Still he slept. She was starving and, unaware of when he might wake, she devoured them herself, throwing the eggshells onto the fire.

She watched him for another couple of hours. Watched his breathing and watched his face turn into a grimace too severe for her liking. He was covered in dried blood, and she thought she may as well make herself useful. She ripped some of the length off of her dress and dipped it into the bucket of warmed water. She could easily fetch fresh water for him when he woke. Slowly and with determination she began to clean the blood from him. Her hands shook for quite a time before she began to feel comfortable at her task. She'd started with his face but quickly moved away before finishing, his grimaces frightening her so. His broad chest and shoulders had a plethora of scars that she couldn't help but wonder at. She took extra care to be gentle around his newest markings. When she had nothing left to clean she moved back to his face. Kneeling beside him she rinsed the cloth again and brought it back to his face. He was a rough man, his nose must have broken a time or two, but in his ruggedness she couldn't help but notice the handsome man underneath her fingers.

About halfway done a hand shot up to grab her wrist tightly- too tightly, as his eyes bore daggers into hers. His dark eyes looked up to see her frightened face hovering above him, though she did not try to free herself or back away. Seeing her fear, he released her immediately. She resumed her task, braving a hint of a smile on a kind face. Wordlessly and with an unreadable expression, he watched her at her work.

"I hurt you." His voice was gravelly and more than a bit rough itself. She shook her head, denying the assertion. She was being mostly truthful, after all. "Don't lie to me, girl. I was not in control, but I

do

remember."

Her cheeks flushed crimson, the accent of color adding to her beauty as her bright blue eyes stared at him in shock. "You didn't, sir. I swear it. Nothing that hadn't already been done. You saved my life, three fold."

Eyeing her, he grunted his response, refusing her gratitude and refusing to believe he hadn't hurt her. She finished her undertaking with his constant eyes on her before heading outside for fresh water and to find more eggs. She returned with both and knelt by the fire to prepare the eggs for him. He sat up and continued to unabashedly stare at her as she worked.

"I'll take you back to your village and pay for whatever damage I caused."

She instinctively scowled at him. She was no maiden, nor was she the evening before. The idea of paying for stealing something like that didn't sit well with her, as though he thought he'd forced her or that money could fix such a thing if he had. Regardless, there was a bigger issue at hand. Returning her to the village would be her death sentence.

"You may as well have left me with the wolves last night then," her tone somber as she stared into the fire.

He thought about her words a moment, letting their weight settle. "You're the girl the idiots were sacrificing to Freya." He wasn't asking. Her eyes met his, her face flooded with fear. "That kind of sacrifice at Yule hasn't been demanded of a god since well before my time, let alone yours. It's blasphemous, and wasteful. I'm guessing that wasn't the whole of it either."

"No, I suppose it wasn't."

He scoffed at her curtness. "Funny thing that. The chieftain's new wife receiving that message from the gods. Giving the most beautiful maiden for Freya, lest she grow jealous and vengeful."

The young woman made a dismissive noise at such a silly notion.

"There's more to

that

story. Isn't there, girl?"

"I am not a girl," she stated tensely, more than a little exasperated at the moniker. "And yes, I expect there is." She had no intention of sharing the story.

"Well, go on then." He had no intention of leaving it at that.

"It matters not. The end of it is that I am a dead woman to my people."

"It matters, young one. Speak."

She sighed deeply and glared at him a moment before looking away, shame marring her lovely features. "The chieftain's oldest son and I.... The chieftain's new wife is yet to give him any children. His health is failing, and she feels her position is threatened. His oldest son will take his seat soon, and she has her eyes on him, hoping to have the son after the father. His eyes have always been on me, and when he asked for my father's blessing, agreed to pay my bride price, and take me as his own, the whole village cheered for us.