Claimed by the Vikings Read Online Free Page A

slack between them, and he slowly began to comprehend what was happening to him.
    “I am Runolf, son of Ragnar,” the blond Viking said, a note of formality in his voice. “And I claim you for my household.”
    Behind him, Gorm scowled. Anything that took Leo away from Gorm could only be a good thing, Leo thought with a giddy sense of unreality.
    He was a slave.
    He was the slave of Runolf, son of Ragnar.
    As yet, he had no idea what that would mean. But he hoped it meant that he would not die today.
    Runolf tugged at the rope, and Leo realized that they were preparing to leave.
    From outside, he could hear screams, and the roaring of fire.
    Fear shot through him, and along with the fear came a desperate flash of courage. He was not safe here, and he would never be safe again. But perhaps he could still save the one thing that he had almost given his life for.
    Leo got up from the stone floor, his ruined robes and tunic dragging at his legs, until Runolf noticed and cut them away with another flashing slice of his long knife.
    Now Leo was entirely naked, his thighs still wet with Gorm’s seed, but he no longer felt the burning shame of it; his mind was too full of his one wish.
    “Please, oh I beg you, let me take the book,” he said, clasping his hands in a desperate plea to Runolf.
    Runolf blinked. “Book?”
    Then Gorm said something in their own language, and stooped to pick up the manuscript from the corner where he had thrown it. He opened it and showed it to Runolf with a laugh.
    Runolf looked at the intricate pictures with a baffled look in his eyes, as if wondering who on earth would bother to create such a strange thing, let alone save it from a burning monastery.
    Then he thrust the manuscript into Leo’s hands. “Keep it,” he said gruffly, and Leo almost collapsed with gratitude.
    He clutched the book to his naked chest, and left the wash house wearing nothing but the rope around his neck.
    They walked into what looked like the portals of Hell. The quiet, peaceful monastery was unrecognizable; fire licked at the straw roofs, and smoke hung heavy in the air, creating a foul-smelling fog so thick that Leo felt barely able to breathe.
    Runolf tugged at the rope again, and he stumbled forward into the smoke.
    Two monks ran past him, screaming, their robes flapping behind them, but before Leo could even call their names, they were cut down by a group of yelling Vikings wielding axes and swords.
    Blood fountained up, and the monks were trampled beneath Viking boots as if they were straw dolls.
    Leo gulped and rubbed his eyes against the stinging smoke, feeling tears escape and run down his cheeks. Fear and horror ran through him. Why was he still alive in this inferno? Was he being saved for a fate even worse than this?
    “Why?” he choked. “Why are you doing this?”
    He didn’t expect an answer, but Runolf said casually, “We don’t need old men. We can’t sell them, they can’t work, and they are no good for fucking.”
    Leo felt his cheeks blaze with renewed shame. He had never heard anyone say that word out loud before.
    “A-and me?” he asked, gathering all his courage. If they planned to slit his throat, surely they wouldn’t have bothered to let him keep the book, or to tie him.
    Runolf looked at him with surprise, then gave him a startlingly beautiful smile. “You are young and fit. Also, Gorm says you are a good fuck. Right, Gorm?”
    Gorm said something unintelligible but enthusiastic, and Runolf laughed. “We shall see.”
    Leo swallowed, his face hot, and tried not to think about his future.
    Runolf called out some orders, and the yelling Vikings ran past them, splitting up to round up more of the monks. Some of them were carrying objects that Leo recognized: the huge gold crucifix from the main altar, the holy dishes and cups used in ceremony, and even a couple of caskets of saintly relics.
    It was unbelievable. They carried these holy objects under their arms or in bags, even