Free Norse Jewel (Entangled Scandalous) by Gina Conkle

man-beast growled at new prey. Beady eyes glittered black within a hollow, decaying bear head. The rest of the hairy pelt draped down his back. Katla whimpered and crouched by a bush.
    “Helena…” Katla’s voice quavered. “My ankle…I twisted it.”
    Helena sucked in shallow breaths. “Can you run?”
    “I…I think so.”
    The man-beast’s unearthly stare swiveled from Katla to Helena. A slow, spittle-flecked smile formed within the bear’s head, revealing rotting teeth. He settled on Helena, and the knowledge pierced her bones with numbing iciness. He would go after her.
    “When he moves, run.”
    Katla pressed her shaking hands to the ground, a cat ready to spring. The creature weaved as if in a trance, watching Helena. Bending, she gripped a jagged rock but kept eye contact with the attacker. Her other hand searched dirt and curled over a palm-sized stone.
    “Katla…” Helena rose slowly.
    Their predator snorted. His boot pawed the ground as if he were a bull. The black hide-head tilted, and the bear snout pointed at her.
    “Run!” Helena threw the stone with all her might.
    Katla sprung up with a screech and ran.
    The man howled when the stone struck. Blood squirted from his face. A meaty fist covered his nose.
    Helena threw the second rock—and missed. Her breath bellowed from her chest. She turned to run. Green everywhere blurred her vision. The clearing’s edge was close, so close. Ahead…the barley field…the men…Halsten and the other thralls. But her feet failed her.
    Helena slammed onto dirt. Unforgiving ground jarred her bones. A sharp rock poked her thigh. Her cheek pressed cool earth, but she tasted blood and copper. Spread-eagle, she looked down: her foot was caught in a twisted root.
    Her fingers clawed dirt and weeds. She scrambled to her knees. Behind her, the brute laughed at his downed prey. Chills swept her skin. Grasping a tree, Helena scraped her palms on bark. She turned to see the giant swaying on his feet. A sickened unsteadiness replaced his predacious glee. His hands shook. The ax loosened in his grip and slid lower.
    Like grains of sand slipping through an hourglass, what happened next was but a breath of time.
    Metal glittered by her feet—bronze—a forgotten bucket, her last weapon. Desperate hands grabbed the bucket and hurled it.
    Thwack!
    The bucket banged his shoulder, knocking the bear-head askew. The man-beast wobbled and dropped, smashing a knee on rocky ground. Bone crunched, a loud crackling sound, and the attacker roared. His meaty hand slapped the earth. When he did, a yellow stone embedded in his armband broke off and rolled toward Helena’s feet.
    More noises. Behind her.
    Halsten and the thralls crashed through brush. Men brandished scythes and sticks at the fallen attacker. Helena slumped against the tree. The copper tang was stronger in her mouth. Every limb ached and shook.
    The menacing man-beast grabbed his ax and swung it at the band of men. The men danced a few steps back but held the clearing.
    Then the attacker roared, pushed himself upright, and fled into the shadows. Thundering, crashing sounds in the distance followed a fading, unnatural howl.
    Sweat trickled down Halsten’s face. Each man’s eyes darted from the darker forest to Halsten. No one wanted to give chase.
    Halsten swiped his forehead. “Let him go.”
    Helena’s fingers sifted the grass, finding the stone. The clouded yellow piece stuck to her palm—‘twas amber. She gathered her wits and breathed slowly. One of the thralls, Marc, a young ironworker of Normandy, touched her shoulder.
    “Are you hurt?” Concern filled his eyes. He crouched beside her and put an arm over her shoulders.
    “Aye, but not in the way you ask.” Her knees jerked and quivered under her skirt. She couldn’t stop shivering.
    Marc’s dark eyes were soft as he nodded, the unspoken bond of slavery between them. He brushed back hair that stuck to her sweat-damp cheek, but his hand dropped when Halsten