Nena by Ann Boelter (digital book reader txt) 📕

he was at least smart enough to be calculating. With the field seeming to be narrowed down to these two suitors, Nena knew she should just choose Gentok and get it over with. Putting off the inevitable was foolish—and it was inevitable.

Her thoughts skipped ahead to moving into Gentok’s tent—to sharing his furs. Her stomach clenched and she felt a small wave of nausea. But even that was a vast improvement over the gut-wrenching torment of her dreams.

NENA’S DREAMS ALWAYS started the same. She felt the luxurious softness of Jarl’s furs against her naked back. Sweat mingled between their bare torsos as the roar of her pulse in her ears slowly subsided. Jarl was still locked inside her, but had propped himself up on his elbows to better look into her eyes. His eyes were emerald green as he leaned down and tenderly kissed her lips. Nena was overwhelmed by the intensity of the bond she felt between them.

The intimate moment was shattered by the rattle of the entry boards. The guard outside announced the arrival of the slaver, Piltor. Jarl rolled off to the side, but seemed only mildly frustrated by the interruption. That was strange. Normally, Jarl bristled with animosity at the mere mention of Piltor’s name. Nena stood and stepped from the furs to retrieve her dress from where it had been discarded earlier in their haste, halfway across the tent. She had just reached it when Jarl beckoned for Piltor to enter. She scrambled to pull the dress up and cover herself, though not before she felt Piltor’s cold slimy eyes on her bare skin. She spun around to face Jarl, shocked at his oversight, but he had stood and was pulling on his trousers, utterly unconcerned with Piltor’s roving gaze. She would have to take it up with him later.

“Jarl, my friend,” the slaver said with a smile.

“Piltor,” Jarl responded. The two men clasped hands in a hearty handshake, the red silk of Piltor’s gown swirling against the bare skin of Jarl’s arm. Gone was any evidence of the thick tension that normally choked the air between them.

Nena’s earlier anxiety at what she had perceived to be Jarl’s simple oversight grew into a distinct deep unease. This wasn’t right. Nothing was right. She retreated back to the furs as the two men moved to conduct their business at Jarl’s table. When they had finished, Jarl produced a bottle of wine and poured them each a cup while they continued to visit.

“You know, I must ask again, Jarl. It has been a long time, and I’ve made you a rich man many times over. Surely I am due for an extra reward. Will I be allowed to share furs with her this time?”

Nena waited for Jarl to explode, to reach across the table and grab Piltor by the throat before dragging him to the door. But Jarl only took another swallow and stroked his chin as he considered Piltor’s request.

“The words you speak are true, my friend. You’ve been very patient and I’ve been greedy. Apologies.” Jarl was smiling. He was not angry. Not upset. Not anything.

“No apologies necessary, my dear Jarl. I can only imagine the pleasure of the experience—and I have done so many times, I must admit,” he chuckled. “Especially when I saw how much she had affected a great man such as yourself.”

Jarl shook his head. “I don’t know what came over me. It is true, I could not get enough of her for the longest time. When I first captured her, it was almost as if I were under some spell. But now…well, now time has passed and you know…” He shrugged. “ I will have her sent to the baths and then to your tent.”

The slaver looked back at her, his eyes filled with sadistic longing and triumph.

No! The voice inside Nena’s head screamed. No! No! This couldn’t be happening!

“And,” Jarl added. “I will send Altene as well, to make her willing. Nena was a handful when I first captured her, and I would hate for her to harm you. Altene assures me that with initial restraint, she can make any woman willing.”

The slaver’s eyes gleamed with sick excitement. “Jarl, my friend, you honor me too greatly.”

“Nonsense. This has been a long time coming. You deserve it.” Jarl stood and moved to the tent flap. He summoned the guards. “Take Nena to the baths and then to Piltor’s tent. Make sure she is well secured there before you leave.”

“Yes sir.” The first guard entered and moved toward her.

Nena frantically searched the area around her for a weapon, but nothing was close. She looked back at the guard. She did not need a weapon. She was Teclan! Her own body was weapon enough—her teeth, her thumbs. The guard grabbed her hand. She twisted her body and brought her other elbow down hard on his wrist, sure that the blow would break his hold. She waited to hear his grunt of pain, but he never even flinched. Instead he laughed, and his grip remained on her like iron. Nena swung her fist at his chin, but before it could reach its mark, he grabbed it, too. She kicked at his shins, but felt the feeble blows doing no damage. Though Nena fought with all her might to free herself, in her dream she had no more strength than a small child.

“I won’t need any help, sir,” the guard said to Jarl as he began to drag her effortlessly toward the door.

“Jarl!” She screamed his name. “Jarl, please! Please don’t do this!”

Jarl had been watching the scene with mild interest, but turned his handsome face away to better hear something the slaver was saying, utterly unmoved by her pleas. The guard dragged her out into the blazing sunlight.

Nena awoke in a pool of sweat. Her breath came in short ragged gasps. She was in her aunt’s tent. She was home. She was safe. She lay for many minutes in