"What are you?" Ragnar asked Tibby, staring her down, trying his best to intimidate her.
"Your worst nightmare," She tried, biting her bottom lip.
"I doubt that." He laughed. "You do not look like my wife." Tibby tilted her head, ever so slightly, like a dog picking up a new noise. She could hear his heart racing.
"What are you?" He asked again, in the measured, careful way that he spoke. He reminded her that you could never be to careful.
"You know what I am. Think about it, and you know." Tibby said. She ran her tongue over her top teeth. She was fighting the urge to let her fangs slip out. Ragnar shook his head.
"That's impossible, you don't exist." He laughed. "And yet, here you are." He reached out and carefully dragged one finger down the side of her face. "Flesh," he cupped her jaw with his hand, "bone." He took a deep breath, pulling in her scent. "Human…enough," he added.
Tibby felt his hand on her face, his skin was calloused and rough, from years of hard, physical labor and combat. Ragnar Lothbrock was a combat warrior, and she wanted to make him the best he could possibly be, the best he could ever dream of.
That wasn't the Viking way, though, it was honorable to die in battle, to reach Valhalla, you had to be killed in an honorable way. Vikings feared old age. He'd never experience old age, though, if she was successful, and she would be successful!
"What is your name, girl." Ragnar asked. All this time, he hadn't even bothered asking her name.
"Sigyn." Tibby laughed, playfully. She knew that Ragnar respected the gods and goddesses above all else and it was one way to get him to bend to her wishes. He narrowed his eyes at her, doubting her words. "Would I lie?" She asked.
"You wouldn't leave Loki, and Loki cannot be free because it is not Ragnarok." Ragnar justified his disbelief.
"Haven't you ever wondered why you're named Ragnar?" She asked. "The Warrior of Judgement." She laughed. "You are Ragnarok, my great Warrior. You bring Ragnarok with you, wherever you go." At her words, Ragnar was suddenly overwhelmed with a detailed memory of every person he ever killed, Viking and English alike.
"You make a good argument, but you are not Sigyn." Ragnar concluded.
"Ok, fine, maybe I'm not." Tibby smiled.
"I know you are not." Ragnar said, he reached out and touched her again, on the cheek. This time she pressed against his touch, she knew that she could get him to do anything she wanted him to do if she let him think that he was in control. He absolutely was not in control, however. He was exactly where she wanted him to be—moments from entrapment. Ragnar took another deep breath, his hand had trailed down her cheek and was resting on her collar bone, his thumb was playfully, but innocently under the collar of her robe.
"If you really are Sigyn, I can have my way with you, and it is not cheating on my wife." Ragnar pointed out. Tibby nodded, agreeing with his almost ridiculous statement. She would never understand the Viking way—adultery was frowned upon, but taking two wives was okay, and it was okay to share your bed with another, unless the other was a god or goddess presenting themselves in human form. Of course, Tibby was not a goddess. What she knew about Sigyn, she had heard around a fire, while she traveled around the north.
"Do you want to have your way with me, Earl Ragnar?" She asked. It would make thigs easier if she could get to him in the throws of passion. In one swift movement, Ragnar ripped Tibby's robe away from her shoulder, exposing almost chalk white skin, answering her question. "Hmm, you are not ready." Tibby teased, stepping back and fixing her robe. "You're too eager, too needy." A smile twitched across her bright red lips.