Bjorn knew himself to be blessed by the Gods. Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls now bore the title wife. His wife. She no longer cavorted before him just beyond his reach. No, she now filled his arms. Their vow reaffirmed. Even now he felt the familiar tug of the threads which bound their paths as one. His hold around her tightened. Her curvy form writhed against him. His prick swelled. Thoughts of burying himself within the hot clench of her sheathe forced his mouth to pool. Gods how he wanted to forego their marriage feast. Especially since the only thing he wanted to feast upon lay beneath her ceremonial attire.

Revelers and well-wishers filled the longhouse. Bodies twirled about the hall to the rhythm of the lutes, and the bard's song. Raucous jeers sounded about them as warrior shared ale and boorish tales among each other. The festive atmosphere engaged many. Yet he was minded of none of the bustle. The silken feel of his wife's gilded bronze skin beneath the calloused pads of his fingers ensnared the whole of his attention. The weight of her mouth distracted him to the end of mindlessness. While the honied taste of her tongue consumed him.

Once again his lips fell upon hers. She wrapped her arms about his neck to pull him closer. He deepened the mouth caress. Her nails bit into the nape of his neck as he swallowed several of her curses. Laughter rumbled his chest. Her lust rivaled his own. If he could, he'd forego their wedding feast. For she was by far more favorable than anything the great table offered. It mattered not how gut disturbing the roasted venison smelt. He doubted if any fodder tasted more delightful than his Mystical One's muff.

Bonnie tore her lips from his to regard him through a heavy lidded stare. "This is unacceptable, Bjorn," she panted as her gaze left his to dart about the hall. "What kind of hosts neglect to attend their guests?"

"The thoroughly besotted ones. Your beauty this rising shall be song for summers to come." His hands left her waist to cradle her face.

"Can you believe it? We're married!" Unfathomable emotions smelted her eyes as a hint of a smile dallied with her lips. "It doesn't feel real, does it?"

"There isn't anything more actual than the bonds of our vows. You are indeed my wife, Mystical One. A verity I mean to spend many turns of the hour glass proving to you this eve." His thumb grazed the hollow of her cheek. Even after summers of being held in her sight, gazing into her verdant stare still fell him better than any blade to the chest. "So I say we seek out our leave and you allow me to greet our moon of honey feasting upon your womanly saps."

Heat pooled in her cheeks as her jeweled tone stare loss a bit of its keenness. "I-um-I—well, um, if you doubt anyone will m-mind."

"Mind!" He pressed himself into her, making sure she attended well the rigid swell of his manstand. "Who here would begrudge a king the right to plow his wife?" A frown tore across her face, jerked her neck backwards, and then cocked her head. Sighting her shift in moods, he attempted to appease. "Or begrudge a husband his just due to pleasure his wife beyond the state of addled mindedness?"

She wrenched her gaze from his to cast another eye over the festive hall. Revelers continued to move about drinking and feasting without lending them a care. "Well it does look as if we won't be missed."

"They shan't even notice we've gone," he whispered, grinding his manstand into her stomach.

"Bjorn!" She gasped, settling him with a pleading glare.

Sensing a wavering in her need to be the amiable host, he turned her towards the great hall's doors. For the next several grains of sand they threaded themselves through the bumbling horde of well-wishers. Paces from the door his former wife and intended thwarted their well plotted path. A crude word tangled itself in his gullet as the sight of them alone forced him to pinch the bridge of his nose. Ingrid offered him a loathsome glare before settling a venerating eye upon Bonnie.

"Supreme," Gunnhild said as her stare moved from Bonnie to him and back. "It's time we readied you for your marriage eve."

"There is no need for that," he spat with a wave of the hand.

"Customs will be observed, King Bjorn! Or," Ingrid spat back, returning his wave of the hand with a flapping one, "The Gods will reject your vows and all of this shall be for naught."

A scoff twisted his face about. For he'd never allow the Gods or Fate to cleave Bonnie from his side. Not after all he'd endeavored to secure her there. He opened his mouth to speak just that but Bonnie spoke first.

"Of course we'll heed the customs, Ingrid. In fact, we were just coming to find you. Right, Bjorn?" When he took too long to bear witness to her canard she jabbed him in the side.

"Right," he grunted through the clench of his teeth.

"Come," Gunnhild bid to Bonnie with an out stretched hand.

Bonnie turned, and then balanced herself on the tips of her toes to press a lingering mouth caress to the corner of his lips. "Rest up, Viking. For when next we meet you won't rest at all."

Bonnie allowed Gunnhild and Ingrid to lead her from the hall. The sight of her leave taking, incited him. Yet Ingrid hadn't spoken false. All customs had to be observed or their vows be damned. With his manstand weighted from fever and lust, he stalked over to the great table where tankards of ale sat. After pouring himself a chalice full, he claimed his seat at the head of the table. Discontent to wait for his wife.

"With a treasure as precious as our Supreme, it'd be a shame before the sight of the Gods if impending threats disrupts your moon of honey," King Harald said, claiming the seat to his right.

"Agreed." He growled as he raised his chalice to Harald. "Yet because of such threats, Bonnie and I shall only indulge our honied moon for half a fortnight."

"Ah." Harald's brow rose as he took a sip from his chalice. After he swallowed his head bobbed. "Perhaps it's just as well."

"Oh?" Bjorn angled his head to consider him full on.

A smile lacking in glee but plentiful in teeth settled itself upon Harald sketched face. "There's been sightings of raiding parties, and also isolated attacks along Vestfold's smaller outposts. I fear this threat won't delay itself for the duration of an entire moon."

Harald's admission bled bitterness across Bjorn's tongue. He took another sip from his chalice to cleanse the sour after taste of truth. For he wanted nothing more than to indulge the full span of their honied phase. Yet he knew without deliberation Harald indeed had the right of it. Blood would be shed before the waning of their honied moon.

****

"Allow me to do the speaking with Prince Oleg," Ivar said in a lowered voice as they followed the palace guard to attend said Prince. "He's volatile and unpredictable when provoked."

Hvitserk dipped his head. "Of course." He had no desire to engage one who possessed a temperament likened to Ivar's.

"You should also prepare yourself before becoming acquainted with Princess-,"

The guard pushed open two oddly fashioned double doors and bellowed. "King Ivar the Boneless, Prince Oleg."

Alongside Ivar, Hvitserk entered the Prince's throne room. His stare moved about their surroundings. Every piece of carpentry and wall hanging about the chambers appeared garishly hued and needless. An unrelenting verity which could be spoken of the entire palace.

Paces ahead of them a spirited face man with a feral stare regarded them from the perch of his baroque throne. Yet it was the wraith which sat at his side that pilfered Hvitserk's notice. She was a crow head woman who bore a striking resemblance to Freydis. The lowliest of whores! An exacting part of him stirred. An over powering urge to spit out his disgust bore down on him. His glare hurtled to Ivar who in turn offered him a remorseful but pointed gaze. Following Ivar's instruction he retrained his stare on Prince Oleg. Upon second sight he knew he'd loath the man by the time their acquaintance met its end.

Ivar offered the prince a halfhearted bow, and then looked to Hvitserk to do the same. Reluctantly, he inclined his head as well. Ivar's mouth folded into a false smile as he extended his hand towards him. "Prince Oleg, this is my brother Hvitserk. He's a great warrior-,"

"Did the raids achieve the aim we sought?" The prince demanded nigh sparing him a glance.

"Yes, I believe we were successful," Ivar said, dropping his hand to clasp it with the other behind his back. "There are also several battle strategies I'd employ were I offered leave to do so."

"Battle strategies, ah? I look forward to discussing this with you over dinner," Oleg settled back in his throne. "For now, seek out a moment of respite for yourself. You've done well."

"I'm sure you must be weary after your travels," The crow head woman with a pilfered face added.

The sound of her voice unsettled the potent essence that resided within the crevices of his mind. An urge to hurl an ax at the cradle of her breasts provoked his hands to twitch.

"Yes," Ivar agreed as he offered the woman a brief glance, before inclining his head once more to Oleg. "Prince Oleg."

To Hvitserk's great relief, they then turned to search out their leave.

****

Bonnie reclined upon a bed overran with satin pillows and supple furs. She waited for her Bjorn in a cabin deep in the forest. Clandestine lodgings she'd named as theirs years before the civil wars ripped Kattegat asunder. Her body tingled from scalp to the arches of her feet. Ingrid and Gunnhild had oiled and massaged her limbs in preparation of a damn nearing. So much so, all Bjorn needed to do was breathe on her good-good to send her tumbling over several ledges.

Not having to wait long for her demise, she soon heard the heavy foot falls of her husband. Her husband! The label flamed her to the essence just thinking of him as such. The door to the cabin creaked open, and Bjorn stepped inside. He glanced about the room, his eyes wide and searching. When his stare collided with hers, he allowed the door to slip close as he crossed the room in a few strides.

Bonnie shot to her knees ready to tumble into whatever thirst trap he thought to serve up. She braced herself for a collide. A collide which never came. For he froze paces from her, his foot mid fall. Instead of putting them both out of their fuckstration, his stare roamed over her Saint Laurent lingerie clad body. For a full two minutes the pale pink peek-a-boo French lace held his wits in a chokehold.

The longer he stared, the more unsure of her sexy she became. A nerve inspired smile twitched her lips as she balanced her weight on the heels of her feet. "A-Are you gonna worship the package all night or do you plan on coming over here and unwrapping me?"

As she searched his face for displeasure, she allowed the sheer robe she donned to slip from a shoulder. Invitation accepted. Utilizing a speed she only attributed to freak nasty hybrids and randy Originals, Bjorn decimated the distance remaining between them. Instead of his lips crashing down on hers for which her mouth watered, he leaned down to run his nose along the side of her neck. As he slowly breathed her in he snatched each one of her breaths with every dawdling inhale. Her nipples tightened, while her good-good drooled. Damn, and he hadn't even touched her yet.

"Not even the Gods can behold such a sight as you in this..." His essence stealing glare ensnared hers as he pushed the gossamer material from her other shoulder. "This deviltry and still be minded of his actions."

Her heart pummeled her sternum. "Tell me all about these actions, Viking?" She mouthed in a rasp more dry of throat than Harald's. "Better yet, show me!"

"In due time, Wife," he murmured. In a swift tug, he tore the delicate lingerie from her body as if it bore the same consistency of a spider's web.

Oh, she motherfucking knew he didn't—moist sinewy flesh took hold of one of her nipples. Stunned to foolishness, air rushed from her lungs. Bjorn's sneak attack came kissing cousins close to caving her chest. Black spots peppered her field of vision. Swaying from side to side, Bonnie took several sips of oxygen.

As she attempted to drag herself back from the brink of oblivion one of his hands slid down her belly. The appendage slipped between her parted thighs to cradle the weeping entrance of her core. Her breath caught, while her eyes rolled backwards to have a shaming gander at the most uninhibited part of her brain. Oh goddess he owned her ass. And he owned her without the benefit of penetration. Just as the thought bumped a nasty grind across her mind, skilled fingers skimmed the seams of her slit. Senseless and baser instinct driven, she ground her pearl tongue into the heal of his hand. Fiery tongues licked her core walls. Her body bucked. Moans tore themselves from the depths of her chest.

"Bjorn!" She grabbed hold of his head with both hands as molten frustration set fire to her tear ducts. "Please..." Fuck him for making her beg!

"You've taken me unawares, Mystical One," he uttered, before running his tongue around the puckered skin at her nipple. "Who would've believed bunnies could purr?"

Oh, now he meant to mock her. "What a clever boy you are, Viking," she growled. "Let's see how clever you are when the lid goes back on the jar."

He chortled, and then plunged two digits knuckles deep into her quaking walls. With a curl of a finger he fucked her control. A Mariah whistle wrenched itself from the bases of her lungs. Her vocal range soared to the heights of a shrieking G-7. Every muscle in her body locked as her thighs shook. He snatched his fingers from her pussy, and then thrust the dripping digits in her mouth. An exceptional tang ignited her taste buds. The flavor burst her head wide. In several tongue swirling suckles she licked his digits clean. Groans rumbled his throat as he watched her work. His stare squinted and his jaw clenched.

Sloppy bitch wasted on her own juices, she tore his tunic from his body and shoved his trousers down his hips. A twitching leaky weapon capable of destruction on massive levels aimed itself at her. Drool dribbled from the corners of her lips as she imagined what his happy ending tasted like. The thought of swallowing every last dripping inch of him provoked her pussy to throb.

Unable to stand one more second without him being inside of her, she snatched his arm and slung him on the bed. When he landed across the mattress on his back, she moved to mount the towering pink slab of graciousness, but he curved her. Gripping her by the waist, he plopped her on his face. The move yoked her cross-eyed and did the absolute fool on her back bone. Soon she rode his face like a Ducati treaded asphalt, grip tight and ratchet.

Bjorn grabbed her ass cheeks and spread them wide. He sucked on her still thrumming clit as he plunged two fingers back in her slit. Once again he had her circling the fucking drain. Falling forward, she grabbed the edge of the head board to brace herself and beat back her end. When she believed she might survive his oral play, he snatched his digits from her pussy and shoved one in her ass.

"Unholy fuckery!" She screamed. Her entire frame bucked and seized. "What the shits are you doing to me?"

The fucking goat of all orgasms tore from her lower abdomen and damn near blew out her walls. Cum gushed from her Super Soaker Snapper 300 (trademark still pending LMFAO!) like water from a busted fire hydrant. Instead of him running from the flood rushing from her golden gates, he shoved his tongue in her slit and attempted to suck her dry as he finger fucked her ass. The wooden headboard crumbled to dust in her hands as all fifty-eleven of her lives flashed before her eyes.

Bonnie's next end hurtled towards her at the warp speed of a space shuttle. Before she could embrace a well-earned death, he flipped her on her stomach and entered her from behind. She froze. Every thick rigid inch of his length stretched and filled her to stinging proportions. Damn his dick hurt so fucking good! The blessed pipe had her pussy falling harder than Niagara. Gripping her waist in one hand and her hair in the other, he fed her the dick in long slow strokes.

"Odin's fucking eye!" He growled.

Snatching her head back by the hair, he fucked her like a savage. Running her the work the same way Drogo served it to Daenerys. Beads of sweat dripped from him onto her back. Her moans, his groans, and the slapping of their skins filled the room. The scent of their love making thickened the air. She breathed them in gasping pants. This was too much...he was too much...it all was fucking too much! Screams tore from her throat and shredded her vocal chords. His stroke game was so fucking vicious she started worshiping the dick in Latin.

"Valhalla take me, for this is the battle that shall end me!" He rasped as she threw it back at him in a circle. Not there for her p-popping tricks, he drove his meat into her chest. Her backbone caved. "So this is what you thought to deny us?" He reached out and gripped her neck in a firm hold, while increasing the speed and force of his thrusts. "Never again will you refuse us this."

His grip on her neck tightened. Her vision tunneled, but she somehow managed to sputter, "N-Never a-again."

As if moved by a force greater than her, she opened her wrist and lifted the gushing extremity to him in offering. Without urging, he latched on and drunk. Not allowing a drop of her to escape his lips. Still holding her in a chokehold, he offered her his free wrist. By thought alone, she split open his forearm. With the same energy she exuded, he pressed his wound to her mouth. His essence exploded on her tongue as a brilliant light torched her sight. Flashes of her life hurtled towards her in light speed. From her L's to her triumphs. They were all their in 4K. When the glaring glow faded, visions of Bjorn's twelve year old self flickered into existence. He lay under the stars next to a fire with Ragnar.

"Did you dream of Lagertha before you knew her?" Bjorn whispered as he stared into the heavens.

"No." Ragnar smiled, his gaze fixed on the fire before them. "But I dreamed of nothing else but Lagertha after I first sighted her. Why do you ask?"

"Because I too have dreamed of the woman I shall marry," Bjorn answered, tearing his stare from the sky to regard his father. "She's as brave as Lagertha and perhaps a more formidable warrior than even Uncle Rollo."

Ragnar laughed. "And who is this fierce shieldmaiden I'm destined to call daughter?"

"Bonnie Bennett of Mystic Falls."

Bjorn's answer collapsed her lungs, while damn near turning Ragnar translucent. "B-Bonnie Bennett?"

"Yes." Bjorn returned his gaze to the stars. "She's a witch...the town's witch, or so she claims."