Ok, so last month(!) I said I’d post some of the music that inspired me while writing my Viking story “Ásgeirr and the Tree of Life” (available in Conquests: an Anthology of Smoldering Viking Romance).
Clearly time got away from me! But I always keep my promises, so in this post I’ve embedded some of the songs that found their way onto my Viking playlist. As a bonus, I’ve included pictures of my main characters, and an excerpt from my story. Enjoy!
Wardruna’s sound best evokes the mood I was trying to create:
But there are some contemporary-style songs that resonated with me, too:
And here’s what my main characters look like:
Ásgeirr is a combination of these two attractive gentlemen:
…and Ashling looks like this:
Or like this, when she’s staring out to sea:
Source (Photo Credit: Alex Mazurov)
And now, as peace offering for my tardiness, I offer you a sexy excerpt!
ÁSGEIRR AND THE TREE OF LIFE
Danger and desire collide when a wounded Viking warrior washes ashore on a remote Irish island
…The island folk think all Northmen are fair-haired, but this one’s hair is dark. Closely cropped at the sides and back, longer on top and at the front, it falls at a rakish angle over his forehead. His dark beard, the hair curling over his chest and his forearms, all emphasize the natural paleness of his skin. Ashling cocks her head to the side, taking in the long lines of his back then letting her gaze travel lower. Over the dip at the base of his spine. Over the mounds of his arse. Over his powerful thighs, the back of his legs, his ankles, his long feet.
Ashling’s heart thuds as she circles to view him from the front, scandalized at the brazenness, the thoroughness, with which she examines him.
A line of hair bisects the sharply-defined muscles of his abdomen. The fine trail starts just above his umbilicus and leads all the way down to his member, which lies like a sleeping dragon along his thigh.
No, thinks Ashling. Not a dragon.
For etched into the sensitive skin just below his navel is another tattoo. A serpent, biting its tail. She drops to her knees beside the bed to get a better look and a shock pulses sharply, sensually, through her. Down, down, down the serpent writhes. Its scaled body coils intimately around its master’s cock, and then rears up again, tapering gradually to the fine point of a tail held between two sharp fangs.
Nothing can prevent Ashling from touching the Northman now, from tracing with her fingertips the tattoo’s serpentine progress. She undresses quickly, casting off her overdress and her léine, and lies down beside him.
His skin burns against hers. The fever that threatened earlier has taken hold. For a moment, she feels a pang of guilt. But then the voice of temptation speaks. He will not remember, it says. Or he will think it only a dream…