Bjorn Ragnar Novels & Stories

I said it before, he was the male version of Medusa. I swiveled on the balls of my feet, instantly meeting Gunnar's green-brown eyes. They were more brown with blotches of green swirling through the irises this morning and they were hooded with days worth of exhaustion. Thick stubble coated his jaw, framing the impeccable slice of it. His chocolate brown locks were snarled in every direction; tufts sticking out and begging for me to run my fingers through. I fisted my hands, quickly shaking the thought out of my head.

Rasmus lightly shook his head in negative. "You think you'll get a..away after killing me?" Richard spoke with difficulty as he wheezed for air. Rasmus paid no heed to him. His sole attention was on Catherine. "You're giving him an easy death. I have prepared something special for him." Rasmus said as his eyes darted towards the other door which opened and a huge guy emerged out of it. He was a black guy. Tall and all muscular. He looked scary with a scar running from his eyebrow to his jaw.

Remember each other's faces and I think you'll be at least half dead by the time you leave this place, unless you're very special. Ragnar felt a shiver run down his spine. The boss sword contained an unsettling truth. The wind blows outside the hall. It was like being inside an ice cave. Candidates lie on a pallet yearning for fire. There was a fireplace in one corner, but no trees. Each group gathered and placed the pallets next to each other. Ragnar's group had an empty palette for Strybjorn. Ragnar lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the day's events. continuing studies. Another word for Hakon. I do a lot of heavy exercise. Foods like porridge, turnips and lard. "Old Ha

My home burned behind us, but my spirit refused to break. Three figures stood out among the crew, their presence commanding the very air around them. Jarl Ragnar Bloodaxe, the leader, was a giant of a man with braided blond hair, a beard woven with silver rings, and eyes the color of storm-tossed seas. His muscular frame, covered in furs and leather, bore the scars of countless battles. Beside him stood his brother, Thorsten the Stormcaller, leaner but no less imposing, with wild red hair and tattoos of ravens covering his arms—marks of his connection to the gods. And then there was young Bjorn Ironfist, the jarl’s closest shield-brother, with sharp features, dark hair, and a body honed like

“There’s more to the story though, much more. I would encourage you to visit my bookstore soon so we can discuss in detail.” “You see,” Mr. Pendergast added, “I need your assistance, Mr. Haraldsson. My daughter’s life may depend on it.” Bjorn, befuddled, swung his eyes from one man to the other. Mr. Rosewood then added, “Mr. Haraldsson, you come from a long line of Vikings, famous Nordic warriors of old. They lived at a time when people believed in magic, powerful gods, and dangerous monsters. Nearly every Viking was a fierce warrior. The question before us is, are you a warrior as well?”

“I am not going to go through all those troubles to just get an i/diot to sit on the throne.” “I won’t be ruling the kingdom, Lennie,” Ragnar said, “I’ve told you from the beginning. After it’s done, I will go back to the human world. I am not staying for anything. I hate it here.” “Not even for your little girlfriend?” Lennie asked. “She’s a wolf too. So I guess you hate her also?” Ragnar pressed his lips. “It’s none of your business,” he said. “And you shouldn’t have dragged her into this. She got hurt because of your engagement. And how could you brand her with a slave mark?!”

It was a day like any other, as long as you take it seriously that he had a male harem at his disposal, among the four women of his dreams, who accepted that he was the man of their dreams, in a different way, of course. He was around a group of prim rich people, the famous prince of Lovecraft County. Ragnar had blue eyes, long white hair, muscular body, slanted eyes and a mix between Japanese and Nordic descent, beautiful eyes and a blue like ice, his body was defined, with a red silk suit, an Armani, with an expensive shoe, a set of more than two thousand dollars, with the lines of her body defined. - You've had your share of women since you were 14 years old, don't worry too much about it

Finn looked back and forth between me and Ragnar and teased, “Ragnar, your wife is made of sugar and spice and everything nice. She can’t stand your torture, can she? Be more of a gentleman, eh?” My face grew even redder. I hurriedly tried to defend myself. “It wasn’t him. I accidentally scratched my neck myself.” “No way. It’s obvious that it’s a bite mark, isn’t it?” “Finn,” Ragnar said as he blinked his eyes, “cut it out. Stop teasing them.” Hazel bumped her elbow against Finn’s, smiling. “I’m just curious.” “I was the one who made it,” the silent Ragnar suddenly spat out, then he put down the glass in his hand and stared at Finn. “Why are you so curious? Do you want to learn how to do it

I watched Rhyker standing behind the counter and flipped the scrambled eggs with his pan, he was shirtless and wore a white apron with black joggers. He had one particular tattoo on the back of his neck, it's a drawing of a crown, the crown of Rosla. He whistled while making scrambled eggs. "Are you awake Hemilia? I'm sorry I wasn't in our bed, I wanted to make breakfast for you." He said not looking at me, I gawked at his strong and broad back that is able to give comforting hugs from him. "What's the special occasion?" I chuckled and walked toward him, he turned around and smiled.

Hunn? He kneeled a foot away from me, I was curious so I just slowly looked at him, I am still scared that he will suddenly kick me like other humans. But he smiled at me. Frey told me to back away, but my eyes were already watching that man, from his black boots to his shiny black hair. I'd never seen a man who looked so beautiful, but I was scared, Frey was too. She curled further into a ball, pushing herself to feel the back of my head on her back. I wanted to curl like her too. It's cold. The man suddenly looked sad as he watched my face, but then he smiled again, "Hello, my name is Ragnar. What's yours?" He asked gently.