Properly chastised, I shrink back in my seat as Erik abruptly rises and strides to the hearth. He retrieves the heavy iron pot suspended over the flames, steam billowing from its contents in fragrant tendrils. The Viking ladles out two heaping portions into wooden trenchers before carrying them back to the table.

One trencher is set before Aislin, the other placed squarely in front of my spot. But before I can so much as reach for the rough-hewn spoon, Erik scoops me up in one massive arm as easily as a babe. I squeak in surprise, instinctively clutching at his powerful shoulders as he deposits me on his lap.

"There now, little one," he rumbles, that deep voice seeming to vibrate through my very bones. "I aim to see you properly fed for once. You shall eat your fill from my own hand until that scrawny belly swells fit to burst."

With that, Erik plucks up the spoon and dips it into the steaming trencher. He brings the heaping utensil to my lips, his free arm snaking around my narrow waist to hold me steady. I have no choice but to part my jaws obediently, allowing the first mouthful of hearty stew to slide over my tongue.

Oh gods, the flavors! Rich, savory broth explodes across my palate, redolent with exotic spices and tender morsels of meat and vegetables. This is no bland peasant gruel, but a true delicacy worthy of a lord's table. I nearly moan aloud at the exquisite taste, swallowing greedily.

Erik chuckles indulgently at my obvious delight. "There's a good lass," he praises, already scooping up another spoonful. "Open wide and let me fill that scrawny belly properly."

And so the cycle continues - Erik patiently feeding me bite after bite of the sumptuous stew until my distended stomach aches deliciously. All the while, Aislin watches us with a wistful, almost pained expression. At one point, a solitary tear streaks down her hollow cheek, quickly swiped away.

I regard the woman over the rim of my latest mouthful, heart clenching at her quiet anguish. For all her faults and resigned brokenness, Aislin deserves so much better than the cruel hand this world has dealt her. She's a good soul at her core, worthy of far more than this squalid, abusive existence.

At last, Erik finally sets aside the empty trencher with a contented grunt. "There, I'd wager even a pig couldn't eat another bite after such a feast," he declares, patting my straining belly with surprising tenderness.

Sliding me from his lap, the Viking sets me on my feet before the table with a grunt. "Right then, little one - time to attend to that matted tangle you call hair. Can't have my future bride resembling some wild thing from the woods, now can I?"

Aislin watches raptly as Erik disappears through a doorway, returning moments later with a wicked pair of shears gripped in one massive fist. My eyes widen at the sight of those razor-sharp blades glinting in the morning light.

"Well now, this should prove interesting," the Viking rumbles, a feral grin splitting his bearded features. "I've not had call to ply the barber's trade in many a season. Let's see if these hands remember the motions, eh?"

Aislin leans forward, eyes alight with an emotion I can't quite place. "I cannot wait to see how my Lile appears once shorn like a lad," she murmurs, almost to herself. "To gaze upon the son I was denied for so many years..."

I frown at her wistful words, resenting this implication that my feminine form is somehow lesser or undesirable. But Erik simply chuckles again, leveling that piercing stare at Aislin.

"So you wished this scrawny waif had been born a strapping lad instead, did you?" he asks, a hint of dark amusement coloring his tone. "Speak true now, woman - you hoped and prayed for a son over another useless daughter, aye?"

Aislin's shoulders slump as she gives a jerky nod, unable to meet the Viking's stare. "Aye...aye milord, I did," she whispers brokenly. "I begged the Lord himself to grant me a hardy son to please Oisin, not another worthless female mouth to feed."

Erik simply grunts, already reaching out to grasp a hank of my lank blonde tresses. The shears open with a soft hiss as he brings the blades together...and my first shorn lock falls to the floor in a matted tangle.

As Erik's shears snip away at my matted blonde locks, I can't help but ponder Aislin's resigned acceptance of bearing this Viking's heir. The poor woman is so brainwashed by our primitive society that she sees getting knocked up by Erik as some twisted blessing - as if sprogging for a wandering stranger is infinitely preferable to enduring Oisin's drunken seed taking root again.

And she's probably right, I realize with a shudder. The moment Aislin's fertile tide returns, that bastard will no doubt mount her like a beast in rut, consequences to her health be damned. He'll pump his rancid seed into her raw, likely leaving the womb that birthed me a torn, bleeding wreck. I'm honestly not sure if her frail body could even survive another traumatic labor at this point.

Snip, snip. Another tangled lock falls to the floor as Erik's shears continue their work. I study the Viking from the corner of my eye, unable to shake a growing sense of unease. There's just something...off about this wandering "healer" and his casual opulence amidst our squalor.

Like those women he brought to clean our shithole, for instance. What species even has vivid pink hair and glowing ruby irises like that? They're clearly no ordinary peasant thralls, that's for damn sure. And now that I'm scrutinizing Erik himself, I can't help noticing the exotic slant to his emerald eyes, the faint golden undertones to his tanned skin. He and I share the same unnatural, almost glowing pallor that immediately marks us as something...other.

Oisin too, for that matter. Those eerie golden irises of his have always creeped me out in a way I could never articulate. Almost like staring into the eyes of a great predatory cat rather than a human being. No, there's definitely something preternatural lingering in our bloodlines, some ancient mystery my child's mind can't even begin to grasp.

Snip. Another hank of lank hair drifts to the floor as Erik's deft hands work. So what's this brute's real game here? He intends to breed not just Aislin, but me as well once I've "flowered" according to his words? Is he hoping to recreate some sort of depraved oyakodon scenario - siring children on both mother and daughter for maximum patriarchal domination?

The thought should revolt me. And yet...I can't deny the perverse thrill it sends coursing through my veins. The idea of being heavy with Erik's potent seed, my belly swollen alongside Aislin's as we nurture the Viking's feral brood together...it awakens strange, forbidden urges in the darkest corners of my psyche. We'd be like fecund breeding mares, existing solely to slake his endless carnal appetites and birthcountless get for the glory of his bloodline.

Wait, what the fuck am I even thinking right now? When did I develop this depraved breeding fetish? These deviant thoughts are clearly Erik's influence poisoning my mind, his masculine power and domineering presence stirring long-dormant urges in my childish form. Damn you, Erik Ragnarsson! I was an innocent until now!

Erik finishes snipping away the last matted strands of my lank blonde hair, the shears slicing through with a soft hiss. I watch, transfixed, as the shorn locks flutter to the hardwood in a tangled heap at my bare feet. With a disdainful snort, the Viking bends and scoops up the vile nest, striding over to hurl it directly into the crackling hearth.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

"There, those filthy lice deserve naught but death by fire," he rumbles, emerald eyes glittering with dark satisfaction as the flames eagerly consume my severed tresses. I can't help but giggle at his dramatics, earning a sidelong look and faint smirk from the imposing man.

"Well now, don't you look a proper lad with that shorn pelt," Aislin pipes up from the table, her own laughter joining mine in a rare moment of shared mirth. "Why, you're the very image of the son I was denied all these years!"

I bristle inwardly at her wistful words, resenting this implication that my feminine form is somehow lesser or undesirable. But Erik seems to pay her comment no mind, already turning that piercing stare upon me once more.

"The vermin infesting your hair were merely the start, I fear," he rumbles, crouching before me to run one powerful hand over my scalp. "We must examine the rest of your scrawny flesh thoroughly for any other parasites before proceeding."

With that, he straightens and fixes Aislin with an expectant look. "Well, woman? You heard me - strip the child down so I might inspect her properly."

I tense, instinctively clutching the tattered fabric of my dress tighter. But Aislin is already rising obediently from the bench, her expression one of grim resignation as she crosses to me. Her calloused fingers work deftly at the laces and ties holding the garment together until, with one final tug, the filthy rag pools at my bare feet.

I stand there shivering, painfully aware of my nakedness as Erik's smoldering emerald gaze rakes over my scrawny form in a slow, assessing sweep. There's no hint of desire or deviance in his stare, only the clinical detachment of a healer examining his charge. Still, I can't help but feel utterly exposed and vulnerable under that intense scrutiny.

"Turn around for me, little one," Erik rumbles, already crouching once more. "Let's ensure no foul beasts burrow betwixt your nether cheeks, shall we?"

Swallowing hard, I force my trembling limbs to obey, pivoting stiffly until my back is to the Viking. I feel the feather-light caress of his calloused fingertips tracing along my spine, down over the bony knobs of my hips and the cleft of my upturned rump. The touch is gentle yet firm, methodical in its exploration of my most intimate areas.

"Bend at the waist and present yourself fully," Erik commands, his deep voice a low rumble against my nape. "I'll need an unobstructed view to be certain."

With a shuddering inhalation, I comply - leaning forward to plant my hands on the floor as I thrust my narrow behind up and outward. The crude position leaves me utterly exposed and vulnerable. I can only pray the humiliation ends swiftly.

"Ah, there we are..." I hear Erik murmur, feeling the scorching heat of his stare boring into my most private crevice. "Just as I feared - you've a tick burrowed deep within your feminine flesh, little one."

My eyes widen in shock and no small amount of fear. A tick? Latched onto such a delicate area? Surely he jests!

But the Viking's tone remains grimly serious as he continues. "We must remove the foul thing at once before its venom takes full purchase in your veins. These forest parasites can prove quite deadly if left to feast unchecked."

I risk a glance over my shoulder to find him shaking his head, mouth set in a grim line. "You're fortunate to be unblooded still, child. Else I'd have no choice but to cut the tick out along with the surrounding flesh to prevent further infestation."

Aislin gasps sharply at that, one hand flying to cover her mouth in horror. But I simply squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself for the inevitable torment to come.

The creak of a door opening reaches my ears, followed by the soft tread of Erik's booted feet crossing the room. When he returns, I feel something cold and metallic prodding at the cleft of my nether regions.

"Hold still now," he murmurs, the heat of his breath caressing my nape. "This will like as not bring you no small anguish, but 'tis necessary if you wish to live."

Then, without any further warning, a searing lance of agony rips through my tender flesh as Erik deftly works the tweezers. I can't stifle my shrill scream of torment, body convulsing as I fight against the urge to flee. Distantly, I'm aware of Aislin crooning wordless platitudes, her hands fluttering uselessly at my sides.

The pain stretches into an eternity, white-hot and all-consuming. Just when I think I can bear no more, the piercing torment recedes to a dull, throbbing ache. I sag bonelessly, panting and drenched in a cold sweat as Erik straightens with a grunt of satisfaction.

"There, the foul thing is slain," he rumbles, tossing the tweezers aside with a clatter. "You may thank me for saving your life on the morrow, little one."

Scooping me up as easily as a babe, Erik turns to regard Aislin with an arched brow. "Well? You've born witness to the child's defilement first-hand. Shall we delay cleansing her tender flesh any longer?"

Aislin bobs her head mutely, seeming to shake off her stupor as she hurries toward the bathing chamber. I can only cling weakly to Erik's powerful shoulders, utterly spent from my ordeal as he follows in her wake.

The heat of the steaming copper tub envelops me in a blissful embrace as Erik lowers my limp form into the soothing waters. I sigh deeply, feeling the lingering aches and pains begin to leech away beneath the liquid caress.

"You too, woman," Erik rumbles, gesturing for Aislin to join me. "You reek nearly as foul as the child - best we drown those odors together for good."

For once, Aislin doesn't hesitate or demur. She simply shucks her tattered dress in one smooth motion before sinking into the tub beside me with a grateful moan. I can't help drinking in the sight of her naked form, studying the stretch marks and faded scars that map a lifetime of hardship across her slender frame.

"The washroom holds all manner of fragrant unguents to scour your filthy hides properly," Erik informs us, already turning on his booted heel. "I suggest you both make liberal use of them. I'll not have my cottage reeking of peasant stench a moment longer than need be."

With that, the Viking stalks away, leaving Aislin and I alone to contemplate our unexpected bathing reprieve.

Aislin begins lathering my scrawny body with a plethora of fragrant soaps and unguents - rose-scented castile bars, lavender oils, even some exotic spice blends that make my nostrils tingle. As her calloused hands work the rich lathers into a thick foam, I can't help but wonder how in the everloving fuck I didn't notice that vile tick burrowed between my folds these past three days?

She gently scrubs my nether regions, and I wince at the memory of Erik's thick fingers probing that delicate area so clinically. Good lord, if he hadn't discovered and removed that bloodsucking parasite, I could have legitimately died from the infestation! The very thought makes me shudder violently. How does one even contract such a horrific condition in the first place? Did I inadvertently brush against some tick-infested foliage while taking a roadside squat during our journey here? Or could the vile thing have somehow crawled up from the dirt while I slept?

Ugh, the possibilities are utterly revolting! I squeeze my eyes shut, trying in vain to banish the mental image of that engorged arachnid gorging itself on my life's essence, its wriggling legs tickling my most intimate petals. So disgusting, so foul, so...so...SO FUCKING DISGUSTING!

Aislin continues scrubbing, and I can't resist squirming uncomfortably at the thought of any woman enduring such a nauseating affliction. To have that loathsome parasite nestled in your most sacred place, feeding and breeding and shitting out offspring to further infest your womanly garden...and worst of all, not even realizing the horror unfolding between your thighs? It's the stuff of Lovecraftian nightmares, I tell you!

I almost instinctively make the sign of the cross despite my utter lack of belief in any higher power, so visceral is my revulsion. Fuck my life and this entire backwater mudhole of an existence! How did I go from being a modern man to a lice-ridden, tick-infested peasant waif in the span of a single death?

"Are you feeling alright, Lile?" Aislin asks, her voice laced with concern as she studies my face.

I offer her a reassuring smile, the warm bathwater soothing my battered body. "I've never felt better, truly." An understatement, but I know honesty would only worry her further.

Relief washes over her features as she pulls me into a fierce embrace. "Oh, my precious lamb, I love you so much." Her thin arms tighten almost painfully around my scrawny frame.

Relaxing into her comforting scent of wood smoke and lavender, I can't resist voicing the question burning in my mind. "Mama...do you really think things will ever get better for us?"

Aislin stiffens, then abruptly releases me from the hug. Her sunken eyes bore into mine with an intensity I've never witnessed before. Cupping my cheeks in her calloused palms, she regards me through a sheen of joyful tears. "Things will get better, my Lile," she vows fiercely. "For both of us, or else I'll--"

She cuts off with a violent coughing fit, doubling over as her slender frame shakes. When the spasms finally subside, Aislin straightens and swiftly scoops me up, lifting me from the copper tub with surprising strength for one so frail. Water sluices from my naked body, pooling on the tiled floor as she sets me down.

I shiver in the cool air, but Aislin is already bundling me in a soft linen cloth, gently patting me dry. Her ministrations are so tender, so at odds with the usual roughness of her calloused hands. I find myself leaning into her touch, savoring this rare moment of maternal affection.

Once I'm swaddled in the cloth, Aislin quickly dresses herself in the tattered rags she arrived in. Glancing toward the doorway, she calls out, "Master Erik? Shall I return Lile to her filthy shift, or would you have her garbed anew?"

A soft rap echoes from the other side. "You may enter," Aislin responds, her voice strangely subdued.[...]