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(Page 2 of 9) Damsel & the last berserker: Soulstone by Nathan Summersby
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A true Northman.
Krut looked across the table at her. Her emerald eyes looked boldly back at him, her darkly painted lashes lowering almost seductively as she pulled a strand of chocolate brown hair from out of her vision. Her small, perfectly formed lips curled up in a wickedly smug smile, shifting the freckles about her nose as she raised her hand up before him, her elbow resting on the table. Krut matched her stance with his own brawny arm, his rough-hewn features grave.
Their hands locked, her delicate fingers struggling to encompass his massive palms. Their eyes met over their clenched fists & she blew him a kiss. He responded with a tight half-smirk & without warning threw his strength against hers, his massively broad arm, knotted with muscle, wrestling against her toned, slender limb.
Her arm started to fall almost immediately & Krut smiled crookedly, easing the pressure teasingly before mercilessly driving her arm down again, leaving the back of her hand hovering inches above the tabletop. Chuckling at the manic struggle she put up he allowed her hand to slowly rise & press his knuckles almost to the table's surface, unleashing a booming guffaw as she cursed him, straining against his effortless defence.
Krut gasped in sudden shock as he felt the slender toe of her boot suddenly sliding up his inner thigh, the back of his hand thudding against the tabletop loudly as he lost his concentration.
"Ha!" The woman cried triumphantly, jumping up & dancing in her joy.
Krut watched her parade before him with growing ire, shoving himself to his feet as her continued cackling & gloating grew too much to bear.
"You cheated," he accused her. His voice, tainted only slightly by a northern accent, was dangerously low but plainly heard above the general noise & bustle of the tavern around them.
"You loved it," she returned with a bold wink.
Krut stepped towards her menacingly, hunching his brawny shoulders. He was by no means a giant; despite his northern heritage he topped only a little above average height, which accounted him as short by the standards of the monstrously built northern people of his icy homeland. He was, however, an extremely broad & stocky man, with a barrel body & heavy arms & shoulders. His face was set to an imposing & thunderous scowl, eyes the green-blue of a stormy ocean staring out from beneath a heavy brow & big mouth set into a firm line.
The woman stepped back from him, her features set into a mask of mock fear.
"You cheated," Krut repeated in firm accusation, flexing his huge hands.
"Oh please don't kill me, mighty Krut the Norskan, champion of the frozen North," the woman whimpered in a tone of blatant mock-terror, cringing back from him pathetically.
Krut grinned broadly in his lopsided manner & snorted his amusement as he turned towards the bar.
"The ale will be coming from my purse again, then," he conceded over one shoulder. "But you still cheated."
"Don't pretend that you didn't enjoy it," she returned with her usual flair, dancing over to stand beside him at the bar.
The pair cut a strange contrast.
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