Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
She cried out, he entered her so swiftly, not in pain but pure pleasure. She loved the feel of him inside her and the strength of his thrust that soared her passion with every plunge. She held tight to his arms and wrapped her legs around him to take him deeper inside her.
He released a growling groan of passion. “I can’t wait.”
“Either can I,” was her hurried response.
But still they lingered, letting the passion build, remaining part of each other, building in strength to a release that might shatter them both… and it did.
Ingrid didn’t hold back, she let out a scream that surely would be heard and Raff’s roar joined in. It thundered through the dwelling, slipping out the walls, and swirled upward to flow throughout the night sky to kiss the stars and seal their love in the heavens.
It took several moments for them both to catch their breath and for Raff to roll off her. They lay side by side, their fingertips touching, their chests heaving, both breathless.
“I love you, wife,” Raff said through heavy breaths.
Ingrid struggled to respond. “And… I you, husband.”
Sleep claimed Ingrid before Raff. He kept her wrapped snugly in his arms as he contemplated different things he could do to protect her. But he wasn’t a fool. One man against many wouldn’t fare well. So, he went over and over possibilities until he finally fell asleep knowing it would take more than just himself to save his wife.
CHAPTER 16
The sky hung heavy, a thick blanket of gray that pressed low over the village like a warning. The air smelled of wood smoke and distant frost. It was the kind of day that made folks restless, wary of shadows that might stretch longer than they should. Gossip of witch burnings spread faster than the fire that fed them, and even laughter seemed to have grown cautious.
Ingrid adjusted the shawl around her shoulders as she stepped outside her cottage. The chill bit harder than it had the day before, and she wondered if an early snow would fall while they were at market. Their last trip before winter set in. A quiet ache stirred in her—an odd mix of urgency and dread.
The commotion near the village edge pulled her steps forward. A man, muddied and staggering, had come from the woods. His clothes hung off him like they’d been soaked and dried too many times without care. His eyes were hollow, his cheeks sharp with hunger.
“I ask only for food,” he rasped, voice raw. “I will be on my way. I want no trouble.”
No one answered. Instead, people turned their backs, mumbled excuses, disappeared into doorways.
He tried again. “My wife had nothing more than a small mark since birth. They all loved her, until they feared her. I couldn’t stop them.” His voice cracked. “I buried what was left of her and ran.”
Still, no one moved. Even the few with compassion in their eyes dared not risk stepping forward.
Ingrid’s hands tightened into fists at her sides. She turned back toward her cottage, heart pounding. She gathered food—bread, dried meat, cheese—filling a sack and slipped it beneath her cloak along with two of her recently finished wool blankets.
She meant to follow the man before he vanished back into the forest, meant to offer him not just food but kindness, a sliver of decency in a world gone mad. But as she reached the edge of the trees, a hand caught her arm.
“I won’t let you go alone,” Raff said, his voice low but resolute. “Not now. Not with what’s out there.”
Ingrid opened her mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes held firm. Besides, she was relieved to have him by her side.
They followed the faint trail of broken brush and snapped branches into the woods. Ingrid clutched the cloth bundle and blankets to her chest, eyes scanning the gloom.
“He’s not far,” Raff murmured. “His steps were weak. He would not have made it far.”
They found him just beyond a copse of fir trees, huddled beside a fallen log. At first, it seemed he was alone, his arms wrapped protectively around something. But as Raff and Ingrid drew closer, the bundle shifted—a woman. Frail, her face smudged with dirt, her eyes glassy with exhaustion. She flinched at the sight of them.
The man rose quickly, shielding her behind him, though he looked ready to collapse. “I told you, she’s gone,” he said, voice cracking. “But I lied. I had to. I was desperate.”
Raff stepped forward, slow and steady. “We’re not here to harm you.”
“She’s not a witch,” the man said hoarsely. “It’s only a mark. She’s had it since she was a bairn. No more than a speck. But when fear takes root, folks forget who you are.”
Ingrid knelt and offered the food. The woman’s lips trembled as she reached for it.