Claimed by the Vikings Read Online Free

Leo’s flesh, filling him as if he were a woman. Surely this was a horrible parody of sanctified love.
    Then the Viking pulled out, and a slick warm rush of seed dripped down Leo’s thighs, marking him with his sin. Marking him as a lustful, sinful, wretched, debauched creature, abandoned by God.
    Leo cringed, trying to crawl away from the Viking, but the brute grabbed him by his bound hands and jerked him up and around to face him.
    His wrist bones ground against each other. Whimpering at the sudden new pain, Leo stared up at the Viking’s grim face.
    The Viking leered down at him, his scabbed-over eye looking like a portent of evil, and Leo saw him lift the axe and braced himself for death.
    Then he saw a large shape appear behind the Viking, and a voice thundered: “Gorm!”
    The axe dropped to the floor, and Gorm spun around, startled.
    Blinking against the light of a second torch, Leo watched the newcomer step into the wash house. He was a giant of a man, bigger even than the one who had abused him, and he was so blond his long braids looked white in the torchlight. Like the other Viking, he wore armor, but he carried a longsword instead of an axe.
    The man’s jaw was set in a grim line, and his eyes were blue and fierce. Yet there was a nobility to his features that didn’t match up at all with the idea of Vikings as savages.
    In fact, Leo had never seen a man who looked so like his attempts to draw an angel.
    Leo found that he couldn’t tear himself away from those eyes as they raked his half-naked body, then turned to the Viking holding him - Gorm? Was that his name?
    The two men spoke together in their own tongue, a surprisingly musical language that Leo couldn’t understand a word of. Yet the tone of their conversation was clear enough: the newcomer was giving Gorm a reprimand, and Gorm was grudgingly offering an apology.
    Growling, apparently unhappy, Gorm dropped Leo to the floor with an unceremonious thud.
    “Please untie me,” Leo dared to say again, staring up pleadingly at the second Viking. Maybe this one would be capable of mercy. He could barely feel his fingers anymore.
    The huge Viking looked him over a second time, his fierce blue eyes lingering on Leo’s bare thighs and the slick wetness that marked his skin.
    Leo blushed helplessly. For a moment, dazzled by this Viking’s presence, he had forgotten his shame, but now he knew again what he had done. What had been done to him.
    But you liked it , a treacherous voice whispered in his ears, chilling him. In the end, you liked it. Slut. Whore.
    It sounded very like the old Abbot, whose standards were absolute and merciless.
    Leo shook his head slightly, trying to get rid of those wretched thoughts, and the Viking’s huge hand caught his chin and lifted his face up toward the light.
    “Your name,” the giant Viking said. It was not so much a question as a command.
    Leo gulped. The man spoke Saxon! And he was looking at Leo intently, waiting for his answer.
    “Leo,” he said, trying to find his voice. “Brother Leo.”
    The Viking looked perplexed. “Whose brother?”
    “I am a monk,” Leo tried to explain, baffled that even a Viking would not know this. “Brother is what we are called.”
    “Hm,” the Viking said, trading a dubious look with Gorm, who now stood behind him with his axe ready to hand. “Leo, then. You are my thrall from now on.”
    Now it was Leo’s turn to be baffled. “Thrall?”
    “Slave,” the Viking explained matter-of-factly. He drew a large, wicked-looking knife from his belt, and cut the leather around Leo’s wrists with one swift slice.
    Caught up in relief that he would not lose his hands, Leo flexed his fingers, feeling the blood slowly return to them. It tingled so strongly that it hurt, almost as though his fingers were on fire, but it was a good pain.
    Then the Viking looped something around his neck. A rope, strong and rough. Leo watched as he tied the other end to his belt, leaving a few feet of