by Jenika Snow
Evernight Publishing ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2015 Jenika Snow
ISBN: 978-1-77233-310-7
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Karyn White
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
Just because it seems improbable doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
—Anonymous
RAVISH HER COMPLETELY
Jenika Snow
Copyright © 2015
Author’s Note
Please note this story is not a historical romance. This author believes in love at first sight, even if the circumstances are a little unbelievable. She also believes in happily ever afters, always, no matter how out of this world it may seem to be. This story is fiction, sometimes grim and raw in content, not conventional, and because of that it does not follow any specific rules or guidelines. The content within the story, the language, setting, details, are fiction and not fact, so please bear that in mind when going into it. If you’re looking for a book filled with facts pertaining to the past and culture that I mention in Ravish Her Completely, this one probably isn’t for you. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
Chapter One
Agata Yosef stood in the center of the Grand Hotel in Oslo, Norway. She had just finished her meeting with a group of executives. They’d signed paperwork on a merger with her US based company, and although she’d just arrived earlier today, was suffering from jetlag, and had the desire to just sleep the day away, she had been forced to make sure everything was settled concerning business.
Although most of the documents had been signed electronically, it was imperative that these final ones be notarized and taken directly to the officials so they could be filed. So she’d been tasked to come over here and handle the business, and what she did with her remaining time was her choice.
She was only in Norway and on this business trip for another day, and although she could have slept in her hotel room for the rest of her trip, she wanted to check out the fall festival that was happening in the small, secluded town of Adgnabrok, which was only a few hours away. It happened once a year, and this was the only time she’d be able to experience it. With her family’s Scandinavian ancestry, she’d jumped at the chance to come on this trip and experience some of her bloodline’s history.
She might be tired, but tonight she’d be enjoying herself. Sleep was overrated anyway, especially when she was in this incredible country. Heck, she even thought about finding her a hunky, blond haired, blue eyed man that could help her brush up on her Norwegian.
She knew enough of the language to get her through minimal, daily conversation, had studied it in school for the sole purpose of having this feeling of being connected with that part of her. It had been one of the reasons she’d been chosen to come here, because she’d been able to communicate in their business partners’ native tongue, and her boss had seen how hard she’d been working to start going on these trips. She’d worked her ass off, and this was the first step to her really making her stamp at her company.
She stared at all of the people moving in and out of the hotel, looked beyond the glass doors at the city just at her fingertips, and wanted so desperately to explore. But the festival wasn’t until later this evening, and although it was several hours off, she was going to board the train that could take her there.
As soon as she’d stepped off the plane she’d felt something move through her, like a ripple when a rock was dropped into a pool of water. It was strange, so very strange that she’d tried to shake it off. Energy had moved through her, as if stepping into this Nordic land had awakened something inside of her.
It sounded so foolish when she thought of it that way, but it was the truth. Maybe it was the fact she had no one in this world, had no kin that could give her the answers she had always sought. Being adopted when she was very young, she didn’t know much about her birth parents. Until she’d found her permanent home she’d jumped from foster homes. That had proved disheartening.
The only thing she’d learned about her biological parents was that her mother had been young when she had Agata, her father older. Her mother had been American, whereas her father had been Scandinavian. But they’d died, the details of their death not told to Agata.
She wasn’t such a fool as to think she’d find out more than the adoption agency or the genealogy tests she’d done could provide. This was a big world, and her hopes of finding a place where she belonged, where she’d come from, were pretty slim.
****
The small, almost folk inspired town of Adgnabrok seemed like she’d stepped off the train into a time that was long gone. The outfits, stands, even the foods right in front of her looked as though she was transported back to where life was much simpler ... in a sense. This wasn’t an advertised gathering that tourists were invited to, but Agata had done research before this trip, and had planned on sightseeing when she got here.
This festival was mainly for the people of this small community, but for some reason she felt connected, welcomed even. They didn’t shun her even though she clearly wasn’t from here, but welcomed her as they offered her foods and drinks, and even danced in front of her, their smiles big.
She stayed off to the side and watched a young woman moving seductively to the beat of a drum. Agata felt the power in the dance, felt herself getting lost in the sway of the woman’s body, in the way her blonde hair moved around her waist, tempting yet warning.
“You are not from here.”
The thickly accented voice came from behind Agata, and she turned around and stared at an older woman. She wore robes of linen, cream and white, with hints of red woven in the fabric. Her salt and pepper colored hair was made up into several long braids, but it was the creamy obliqueness of her eyes and the scars that surrounded them that had Agata turning fully and staring at her.
“You are from across the sea, yet have the blood of our people running deep in your veins.”
Agata nodded, even though it was clear this woman was blind. But she didn’t seem like she was unable to see, and in fact stared right at Agata as if she could make out the very pores on her flesh.
“But I sense something deeper inside of you, child.” The blind woman placed a hand right over her heart and closed her eyes. “You are from a city of metal and glass, surrounded by people, and yet you are isolated. Your heart yearns for rock and Earth, of being alone yet cared for.”
Agata was shocked, stunned that this woman knew anything about her.
“Come with me.” She turned and started moving through the crowd, and Agata looked around. The woman stopped, but didn’t look back, and Agata moved forward.
This was insane, but she was curious as to what the woman wanted to talk to her about, curious as to how she knew she wasn’t from this country when Agata hadn’t said one word to her. But she found herself moving closer, and when the old woman started walking again Agata followed her into this small straw hut that looked like it had been erected for this evening. It fit the whole old world feel the entire village had been going for tonight. In the center of the hut sat a small fire. Rocks surrounded the flames; hides were thrown over chairs, and feathers hung from the ceiling.
“Sit, child.” The older woman gestured to one of th
e seats, and when Agata was sitting across from her the older woman held her hands out. “Let me touch your flesh, see the lines in your palm, and tell you what I know.”
This had to be something they did when they spotted tourists. Hell, Agata had spoken to a few people when she’d first gotten to the village. Maybe the older woman had been watching her then? Agata held her hands out, playing along. The older woman grabbed her wrists and placed her hands palm up. Then she leaned forward, stared at her hand, ran her finger along the crease of Agata’s palm, and inhaled deeply. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back slightly.
“You are not happy, are you, my child?”
Agata looked behind her, seeing the party still commencing, and wondered how far she’d let this go. Although she didn’t know if she believed in fortunetellers, or seers, she knew that the people in this region, in this area of the country and world, practiced different beliefs that they followed with their whole souls. “I’m sure most people are not happy.”
She set her hands in her lap and looked down at the flames, letting the old woman’s words play through her head. The truth was she wasn’t happy. Agata didn’t think she’d ever really been happy before. She’d moved through life, doing what she had to do, what she needed to do. She was utterly alone in this world despite being surrounded by people all the time. Coworkers were not friends, not ones she’d grown up with, formed bonds with. Maybe it was her own doing, where her life was now, and maybe that was reflected outward.
“No, you are not, and no need to tell me. I can see it written across your face, and pouring from you like blood from an open wound.” The old woman leaned forward again, and when she waved her hand in front of the fire a sweet smelling smoke started to rise up. Had she dropped something into the flames to cause such a scent and sight? It certainly would make sense.
“You are not made for this life, for this time, child.” She reached to the side and grabbed a small satchel. It was dark leather, scarred and worn, and when the woman emptied the herb contents out in her hand and gave it to Agata, she was hesitant.
“What is it?”
“There is the In-Between.” She took Agata’s wrist again, turned her hand over and dumped the contents in her palm. “There is a world where past and present meet, an alternative universe of such.” She took a glass of water, made Agata dump the contents into the cup, and gestured for her to drink it.
“I don’t know what this is. I can’t drink it.”
“Child, if you want change, want to live, then you must. It won’t harm you, and will only bring you closer to who you are meant to be, meant to be with.” The old woman placed her fingers on the bottom of the cup and pushed it toward Agata’s mouth. “If you are not happy, then place your trust in the gods.”
Agata stared at the woman’s eyes, at the way they seemed to watch her, study her.
“You must ask the gods to show you where your path is, how it will be revealed, and learn from that. Open your arms, your heart, and accept it.” The woman started chanting in an old Scandinavian dialect, one Agata wasn’t familiar with, but could pick up on a few words. It was almost like three separate countries’ languages put together, melded into one unique sound.
“Drink. Now, child,” the woman said with urgency in her voice.
Agata found herself in a trance, knowing she shouldn’t trust this woman, but unable to stop herself from feeling the power in the old lady’s words and presence. She lifted the glass to her mouth and drank the contents without even realizing what she’d just done. When she’d swallowed it all and set the glass down she was sickened at the thought she’d actually drunk that. She didn’t know what was in it or if it would hurt her, yet she’d gone in here with a woman she didn’t know, and consumed a concoction.
“The night is still young, and the herbs will show you to your path. You must go now.” The older woman stared right at Agata, and shooed her along as if she were a petulant child.
Agata found herself outside of the hut, staring at the lights, smoke, and listening to the sounds created by the festival. The lights started to become blurry, the sounds more distant. She tightened her hold on her purse, and tried to walk forward, but her movements became sluggish, her steps seeming like she wasn’t moving forward, but instead backward.
She placed her hand on the tree nearby, closed her eyes, and breathed out. When she opened them again after the world stopped spinning, she looked over her shoulder, but the hut was gone. In its place was a food vendor stand, a young woman standing behind it giving out sweets and baked goods.
“What’s going on?” she said to herself, and moved away from the tree. Agata pushed away from the trunk, trying to say something that could be understood, but the sounds that came from her were jumbled. She fell forward, the roots coming up from the ground causing her to go down the short decline of the hill quickly. She reached the bottom, her head cracking on the large boulder at the base of the hill, and everything faded to black.
Chapter Two
Stian Dagmar moved through the forest, his bow and arrow forward, his eyes scanning the surroundings in hopes of finding dinner tonight. Winter was coming, and he needed to stock up on supplies. Being away from the rest of the village had its benefits and disadvantages, but in the end he preferred his solitary existence, and preferred to be known as the Beast of Northbrook. He didn’t try to socialize with his people, didn’t help or fight when they needed. They made sure to keep him at a distance, and he made sure to stay away.
The sound of a bird overhead had him crouching, scanning the treetops, and listening. He scented the change of the seasons in the air, felt it as the coldness in the air that skated down his spine. He lifted his bow when he saw a Blue Skalla in the treetops, the massive bird flapping its wings and opening its beak to let out a loud noise. The Blue Skalla was plentiful in this part of the region, but they were hard to catch, swift in the air and had superior eyesight and hearing. But Stian was skilled in taking down these birds.
Stian aimed the arrow at the bird, and in a swift, soundless move let the arrow go. It landed right in the bird’s massive chest, and the creature fell to the forest floor. He moved over the brush and thick roots of the spruce trees that littered these parts of the forest. After picking up the carcass he turned to head back to his hut, which was far away from the other villagers. He was already far too close to the village for his comfort. But it was necessary as he had to hunt and eat, and stocking up on provisions meant he needed to go anywhere and everywhere that was necessary.
He was about to leave, but the sight of a motionless body on the ground, of brightly colored clothing covering the form atop the fallen leaves, had him stilling. He crouched once more. He waited for movement, knowing it was a human. Seeing the strange coloring of the clothing it wore led Stian to believe it was not someone from this area.
When no movement occurred for several moments he stood, grabbed the ax at his side, and walked toward the form. He stopped a few feet from it, and stared down at what he realized was a young female. Her skin was a pale, creamy color, and her long blonde hair was matted with dirt and leaves. She lay right in the middle of a mud patch, and her clothing was torn and dirty. He looked at her, stared at the strange, colorful things she wore, and the small satchel type bag that lay just a few feet from her.
Stian should have left her, but she would have surely die, especially when the sun set and the temperature dropped. It was frigid at night, especially with no fire to heat her. But something inside of Stian wouldn’t move away, wouldn’t forget about this stranger that was not from the neighboring village.
He glanced up, could see the very tops of the huts in the village just a short distance away, and told himself someone would surely come out hunting and find her. He turned, took a step away from her, but stopped. Stian turned around again and crouched before her. He sheathed his ax at his hip once more, reached out, and pushed a strand of her hair away.
She had a nasty wound on her forehead, dried
blood on her flesh and hair, and a bruise starting to form. He scanned the rest of her body, took in the garments she wore, and picked at the material. The fabric was like nothing he’d ever felt or seen, seemingly to be poorly made. She wore no leathers and had no weapons. Who was this woman? Surely the gods had not dropped her here to die?
He looked at her face again. She was a beautiful woman, even if she was hurt, filthy, and clearly not of his people. But maybe that was a good thing. His people had shunned him, forced him out because they feared him. Stian welcomed that fear in them, though. It made them wary, made them smarter. She ate well, that he could tell by the thickness of her body, and the curves he could see through her filthy, wet clothing.
He lifted her easily into his arms. She was small, much shorter than his towering height. He could have left her to die, but instead he’d bring her back to his hut and make her his. He was in need of a wife, a bed partner, and what a perfect gift from the gods for a monster like him. Whoever she was didn’t matter anymore, because now she was the wife of Stian Dagmar.
****
Agata opened her eyes. The lighting was dim, and not painful as she looked at the ceiling. Her head throbbed, but the feeling of a warm, wet cloth on her forehead was pleasing. How had she gotten back to the hotel? She closed her eyes again, lifted her hand to rub her aching head, and breathed out. She couldn’t remember much, didn’t think she’d even had any alcohol at the festival, but she had to have gotten drunk to be feeling this way, right?
Opening her eyes again, she blinked at the ceiling, and then knitted her brows. That wasn’t the ceiling in her hotel room, not with those crude wooden beams, and what was that? Hay? When she pushed herself up a wince and gasp left her as her arm gave out from her weight. Looking down, she noticed a white bandage wrapped around her forearm, but it was the thick animal hides and fur she was on that had her confused. Was she still at the festival, maybe in one of the novelty huts?