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Nova sits criss-cross by my feet, playing with twigs and rocks that lay between us. She explains everything that’s happened to her in the past year. I listen to her for hours while she goes into every detail about the trauma she’s recovering from: the island, Roger -whom I know by another name- and now this man.
I give her my full attention. I know from her file, she was taken and tortured, but I didn't know how or to what extent. Hearing it come out of her mouth– from her personal experience, renders me speechless. I stare at her. Odin is right. She isn’t just fucked up from the island. She’s fucked up because of Tyr. He was her saving grace. He made her feel safe, and then everything in the hospital happened. Even now, he torments her. Now, this is something I can fix.
I watch Nova intently. I see the way she bites her lips as if they are the last meal she will ever get. I am so close to begging her for a taste. She’s nervous, as is her right to be. The amount of trauma that one person can go through is harrowing.
I know The Boss wants me to keep an eye on her and not get too involved. But the way her eyes flutter closed as she remembers all the dehumanizing things that were done to her makes my cock hard. How I would give anything to have my hands wrapped around her neck, shoving my cock down her throat while her eyes water and cry for me.
I want to see her bent over my knee and wiggling against my cock while I spank that impeccable ass. I want to shove my fingers inside of her and feel how much her pussy weeps for me. I want to hear her moans and screams. The mental imagery that I call upon needs to stop if I want to keep this professional, and I need to keep my dick in my pants.
"Holy shit. No wonder you keep having panic attacks and losing your shit." I keep my eyes focused on her every move and every twitch of her body. I am trying hard to listen to her instead of bending her over right here.
"That's why I keep it to myself. I know he just wants to knock me down as far as he can and enjoy the fact that I can't get up."
"I'm sure that's not his goal. Maybe he is recovering from his own trauma or something. Who knows, Min Stjärna, I sure as fuck don't. I just hope that whatever is happening will stop."
“Why do you keep calling me that, and what does it mean? I don’t even know what language that is.”
“I’ll explain another day. It’s too much right now.”
Nova sighs and rubs the tops of her legs. I wish it were my hands rubbing her thighs. Keeping her legs warm for when I get in between them.
Ugh. I can’t stand not touching her for much longer.
"Here, I figured after all the talking and how long we've been here… You're probably hungry. I happen to have a bag of homemade jerky… If you want some." I hand her the ziplock bag, watching as she shoves some in her mouth, chewing absentmindedly. I smile, acknowledging how much she enjoys it. I watch her throat as she swallows.
"Before you go back, I want to give you something. Remember?"
She nods and stands up, following me as I lead her to my car. I open the door and reach in to grab the tiny paper crane that I made for her.
"Here, this is for you. Every time you get nervous or need to talk and no one is there, just rub its wings between your fingers and think of me." I smile as she takes the crane as delicately as possible.
"Thank you, Alek. It means a lot to me. Thank you for answering me when I needed you and coming here."
"Anytime, Nova, anytime. I just need you to wake up, beautiful." I pull her to my chest, hugging her close to me, even as the confusion blankets her pretty features. Her breasts squish into my chest, and I lean the lower half of my body slightly away. I don’t need her to know how hard she makes me.
Fuck, I can’t wait for her to wrap her flawless lips around my cock. I’m going to have to do it soon, or else I might hurt her when we fuck for the first time.
Rituals
I look at my reflection in the mirror and admire the job I’ve just done. Below my eyes, I'm adorned with Norse Viking face paint. I’ve designed a couple of runes using a new-age kohl eyeliner, an algiz rune for protection, and a kaunan rune, which roughly translates to knowledge and intellect. Using the liner, I shade my entire forehead black, making it look like it’s dripping down my face. My hair is braided on top of my head, and I have intertwined Viking beads into every other stitch. The braid ends between my shoulder blades, tickling my neck and swaying against my inked skin every time I move.
I wear a cream-colored tunic that hangs just below my ass. The neckline is laced with leather cording, and the Valknut is plastered in the center of the chest. We don’t have to dress in full attire, so I’m wearing my black jeans underneath.
Most people outside actual Nordic descendants and religious followers think that the Vikings wore helmets with horns on them. That’s downright wrong. Helmets are used for special occasions, and they don’t have any horns. The only horns Vikings usually carried were drinking horns, and mine is attached to my hip by my belt.
The Society holds all rituals and Blóts in an old desecrated church that’s long ago been secularized. Since we don’t have access to a proper longhouse, we make do with what we have access to.
The church is located at the end of a long dirt road behind a multi-hued green thicket. Most drivers don’t notice the entrance. It’s difficult to locate unless you’re a part of The Society. The church’s roof is sunken in, which I assume happened from the hurricanes that bless this area occasionally.
I walk into the improvised ‘longhouse’ and glance around. There are members everywhere. Some practically tremble with excitement while others shift back and forth in nervousness. Several of the stained glass windows are cracked or broken, making the fire from the braziers lining the walls flicker and dance, creating blazes above and shadows below. Smoke rises in tendrils and swirls into billowing clouds that cling to the rafters.
It’s exactly how I remember it from my naming ceremony.
Now, where’s Marcus’s bitch-ass?
The naked young woman that lies upon the altar has already been injected with cocaine and cantharidin, both very stimulating aphrodisiacs. Her ankles are tied down with rope while her arms are fastened above her head, resulting in her tits becoming even perkier than they already are. The girl’s nipples are perfect points, and I know that when we slice into her, they will be the first to go.
She’s smaller than usual, but it looks like it’ll be enough meat for all of us. We each get two slices. Some will eat as soon as they cut, but a few of us enjoy saving them for our own ritualistic dinners at home.
