Coming March 16 from Samhain Publishing.
I repeat that each time because all the marketers say repetition is necessary. ![]()
I’ve been thinking about the story and how I sometimes stumble when trying to describe it. Yes, it’s erotica and I’m not shy about that but I also think that, deep down, it’s a story of faith: faith in whatever one calls higher powers and faith in each other.
I’ve been choosing bits and pieces that might make some sense out of context and also have the flavor of the story.
Here’s a little bit of Sif with Gunnhilda, the priestess of sorts for the tribe.
****************************************
“Some say that Ragnor’s reluctance to kill Leif makes him weak.” Was Gunnhilda one of those?
“Then they are looking for an excuse, something to complain about,” Gunnhilda said sharply. “I didn’t think Ragnor would be a good leader, but he is. It was a miracle how he managed to get us all here in winter, then set up the village during the time we were in the caves. But even he has limits. There’s been too much bad luck.”
“I think Freya is showing me a way,” Sif said. “I fear I will have to do more than plant squash, however. Plant something else, I think. Or be planted.”
Gunnhilda snorted. “It’s good you married Ragnor. You and Gerhard would have killed each other by now. Too much bluntness in both of you.” She sighed. “What other signs have you seen, besides Mykle and the others, and the cougar that saved Ragnor?”
Sif told of her discovery of the spring, of leading Ragnor to it and the appearance of the three cats after their lovemaking.
“Three?” Gunnhilda dropped the rake.
Sif nodded.
“That is…”
“Yes.”
“Three. That is a new number for Freya. You must worship there again, as you did with Ragnor. But when you go back, there must be three of you.”
Sif paled. Confirmation of her own fear. “You think I should do what Bera did?”
Gunnhilda shook her head. “Freya asks for a sacrifice, not wantonness. It must be as a ritual before the goddess.”

“Gunnhilda spoke to me of a ritual,” Gerhard said.
Ragnor nodded. “What of it?”
Speak, Gerhard. Tell me why you think you are deserving of my wife’s touch. Or the touch of the goddess.
“I told Gunnhilda that she was mad.”
“I told Sif the same.”
Gerhard sat on the far side of the rock. Ragnor still did not look at him. Gerhard sighed. “Gunnhilda pointed out the signs of the goddess. The spring. The cat who—”
“Saved my life.” Ragnor finally lifted his head. Gerhard seemed honestly reluctant. Why? Wouldn’t any man want to get hands on Sif? And then perhaps seize leadership?
“The cougar also saved the lives of several in that hunting party,” Gerhard said. “We feasted, instead of mourning.” Gerhard tapped his foot against the ground, over and over. “I grow sick of mourning.”
“We all do.”
Gerhard stood and walked in front of Ragnor to face him. Ragnor stared, trying to read the man’s face. Gerhard had always kept his own counsel, save for his late wife. A fine woman, if a bit too quiet and too thin for Ragnor’s taste.
“You are considering this?” Gerhard said.
Freya damn him, he was. Sif was right. The fight between Torger and Mykle would not be the last. The next one could end in death. And Ragnor kept flashing back to how the great cat had watched him. Judged him.
“Yes.” Ragnor stared past Gerhard. “I am chief. That means my life belongs to the tribe. As does Sif’s life. I consider it.”
“Ragnor,” she whispered. “Look up, at the top of the rocks. But don’t move.”
Without moving his head, he looked up and nearly jumped out of his skin.
The cougar.
It stood at the top of the rock, silhouetted against the sun. It might even be the same cat that had saved him. It was not looking at them but instead was looking into the sky. Ragnor tried to keep from breathing. He dared to hope that this was another goddess blessing and not a prelude to an attack. He could not save Sif without weapons.
Ragnor’s face did not change expression as he saw her. He set the axe down carefully against the side of the longhouse. “Sif. You wake early today.”
“I am feeling better.” Sif almost reached out to lay her hand on his chest. He smelled so sweet, so musky, so much like he did after lovemaking. She still found him irresistible. But she’d always known he’d welcome her attention before.
“Good.” Ragnor nodded.
Behind Ragnor, men carrying spears, bows and arrows gathered in the square.
“A hunting party?” she asked.
“It will do the men good.”
Meaning that it would be something to occupy him. “Yes, it will.” Her tongue nearly caught in her throat.
He set his hand on her hip. “Sif.”
“Ragnor.” She felt her face flush and fought the urge to fall at his feet and beg for him to touch her further.
A chief’s wife does not beg.
The bear rose on two feet, enraged, and resumed its charge.
The men beside Ragnor scattered or reached for arrows or spears stuck in the dead bear. Ragnor pulled at his spear but it was wedged in the carcass. His heart pounded, his stomach turned over in panic.
No time.
He bent his knees to make ready for the impact. He would go down fighting. There were worse fates. But what would happen to Sif when he was dead?
A flash of light brown from above, a howl, a glimpse of white teeth and claws and then suddenly the charging bear was engulfed in snarling…cat?
Ragnor could hardly breathe and his throat was so dry that he couldn’t swallow.
A cougar!
A cougar as large as a man had leapt on the bear from above. The two great animals rolled in the dirt, roaring and biting, the victor uncertain.
The hunting party scattered into the deeper brush. Ragnor backed off, to escape, but his foot hit the dead bear and he stopped, unwilling to move again and attract the attention of either of the combatants. He rubbed the crude wooden cougar through the pouch at his waist, sending prayers to Freya. Sif, I should have touched you these past days. I am sorry.
Roars and the clash of claws and teeth, a high-pitched yowl and the two animals stopped moving. It was over. Ragnor bent low, knife at the ready to face the victor.
The bear stayed down. The cat had ripped its throat out.
The cougar rose to full height, snarling, put a paw on its prey and screamed at Ragnor. All the blood drained from his face. ********************
Once, Ragnor’s powerful hands had held her, gentle, loving and passionate. He would seize her, laughing, lift her off her feet and kiss her until she could not think. He would toss aside her clothes and run his mouth and his fingers all over her until she quivered with the need for him. They would take each other, and then they would do it all over again…
She hugged herself, chilled. That had not happened for far too long. It might never happen.
![]() |
You are viewing Create a LiveJournal Account Learn more | Explore LJ: Life Entertainment Music Culture News & Politics Technology |