Rebirth Of The Heiress And The Tycoon's Lover (Alina) novel Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

RAGNAR’S POV

The first light of dawn painted the sky blood red, and I took it as a good sign. My war horn echoed across the valley as my longships cut through the morning mist like wolves through snow. The village ahead had no idea what was coming for them.

I gripped the carved dragon head at the bow of my ship, feeling the familiar thrill of battle burning in my chest. This raid would be different from the others. This wasn’t just about gold or slaves. This was about sending a message that would echo through every settlement from here to the northern seas.

My men were ready. I could hear them behind me, checking their weapons one last time, their breath forming clouds in the cold air. We’d been planning this for weeks, watching the patterns of the village guards, learning when they were weakest. Dawn was always the best time to strike. People were still drowsy, still believing they were safe in their beds.

The village walls came into view, and I felt my lips pull back in a grin that had nothing kind about it. These people had been living too peacefully for too long. They’d forgotten what real fear looked like. I was about to remind them.

My ship’s hull scraped against the rocky shore with a sound like grinding bones. The noise cut through the morning silence, and I saw the first guard on the wall turn toward us.

His mouth opened in shock, but before he could sound the alarm, my arrow found his throat. He toppled backward without a sound.

I leaped from the ship, my boots hitting the wet sand with a splash. My men followed, their war cries splitting the air like thunder.

The village gates were sturdy, but not sturdy enough. My biggest warriors charged forward with the battering ram we’d brought, and within moments, the wooden bars splintered like kindling.

The real chaos began then. People poured from their homes like ants from a kicked hill, screaming and running in all directions. Some tried to fight, but they were farmers and fishermen, not warriors. My men cut through them like a scythe through wheat.

I walked through the smoke and flames, my sword dripping red, looking for the one building that mattered most.

Every village had one – the place where they kept their most precious things. Not gold or silver, but the sick, the old, the children. The healing house.

Fire danced around me as I moved deeper into the village. The acrid smoke stung my eyes, but I’d breathed worse air in my time. A young man rushed at me with a pitchfork, brave but stupid.

I knocked the weapon aside and drove my sword through his chest in one smooth motion. He looked surprised as he fell, like he couldn’t believe this was really happening.

That’s when I saw it – a low stone building with a red cloth hanging from the door. The healing house. My target.

I kicked the door open with enough force to send it crashing against the wall. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of herbs and fear.

A woman stood in the center of the room, her arms spread wide, shielding a group of children and elderly people who cowered behind her.

She was not what I expected.

Most women would have been on their knees by now, begging for mercy. This one stood tall, her chin raised, her green eyes blazing with defiance.

Her dark hair was braided back, and she wore a simple healer’s dress, but there was nothing simple about the way she faced me. Her body was full and curvy—broad hips, thick thighs, heavy breasts. She had the kind of figure that didn’t hide under loose fabric, no matter how plain the dress.

“You will not touch them,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos around us. “I won’t let you.”

I almost laughed. Here was this slip of a woman, probably not even twenty summers old, thinking she could stand against me.

Against Ragnar Thornegrim, the wolf of the Northern seas. But something about her made me pause. There was steel in her backbone that I recognized. The kind of strength that couldn’t be broken easily.

“And who are you to stop me?” I asked, stepping closer. My sword was still in my hand, still slick with blood.

“I am Astrid, daughter of Bjorn the Wise, and I will die before I let you harm these people.”

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify