Owned by the Berserkers : A menage shifter romance (Berserker Brides Book 5) Read online

  “They’re safe.” Svein’s voice rumbled through me. “My fellow warriors would fall on their swords before treating them ill.”

  My brows knotted together as I tried to understand. Why had these warriors come? What use did they have for a bunch of orphans?

  Svein cupped my chin.

  “So brave…” he murmured. “You’re afraid but you speak anyway.” His thumb stroked my cheek and I flinched away. His touch disturbed me—not because it hurt, but because it felt good. Sensation stirred deep within my body.

  Slowly, reverently, Svein stroked my hair back from my face. In the firelight my hair glowed like coals, dark as pitch with sparks of red fire. My hair often drew attention. Another reason I’d learned to hide.

  “Beautiful,” Svein said and I blinked. “Has no one ever told you that?”

  I jerked my head, once.

  “You are beautiful,” he repeated, and warmth rushed through me like a tide. I stared at him, not knowing what I felt.

  “She is the one,” Dagg half spoke, half growled. He sounded like a wild animal, but for some reason I wasn’t afraid. I met his dark gaze boldly and watched his irises light.

  “Yes,” Svein agreed softly. “She is ours.”

  Warriors stood around the fire, muttering, but the three of us were lost in our own world.

  I opened my mouth to speak again when a harsh wind blew over us, whipping through my hair. Both Dagg and Svein lifted their heads, muscles hardening with readiness.

  The air carried a stench that made me gag.

  The next moment, one of the warriors dashed out the fire.

  “The Corpse King comes. Run!”

  6

  I woke to the howling outside. My legs cramped as if ready to run. I forced myself to relax, muscle by muscle, as I listened to the howls. They were almost familiar, twining in harmony both beautiful and sad.

  A curtain still separated me from the others. On the other side, a girl cried softly. “Why do they howl so? Are they hurt?”

  “A warrior told me they lost their mate,” Juliet answered.

  “A mate would save them, right?” another girl asked.

  “Yes, but they can’t claim one now. Their minds are gone. They would hurt her.” Juliet said.

  At this I rose, and left my private spot in the lodge, heading to get a cup of water.

  “It’s so sad,” Meadow spoke up.

  “What is?” Juliet asked.

  “I heard some of the warriors saying that the Alphas don’t want the mad wolves so close. If the mad ones don’t leave in a few days, they’ll be driven away.”

  I couldn’t stop my sound of distress. Meadow glanced at me and I raised a cup to my lips to hide my expression.

  “That does seem cruel,” Juliet agreed.

  “It does, but the pack has no choice,” Meadow continued. “The Berserkers protect us.”

  Juliet sniffed.

  “Would you do it, Juliet?” Meadow asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Mate with a Berserker?”

  “I don’t know. I am... was a nun. I made a vow of celibacy.”

  “But what if it would save them?”

  The door opened, and Jarl walked in. His gaze fastened on Juliet, who flushed.

  Juliet cleared her throat and rose. “I best see what meat our guards have brought us tonight.” She hurried to Jarl, who raised a curious brow but followed her back outside.

  “You should not ask such questions, Meadow,” one of the older girls muttered.

  “But I truly want to know,” Meadow protested.

  “Then what about you? Would you mate with a Berserker, if it would save their life?”

  Meadow flushed brighter than Juliet had. “It depends.”

  “On what?” the girl asked sharply.

  “On whether the warriors wanted me or not. Two men who cherish you above all. Can you imagine it?”

  The blonde girl, Rosalind, gave a sharp shake of her head, not quite a negation. Her eyes suddenly sought mine. “Why don’t you ask Fern?”

  “What?” Meadow turned to me. “Why would you know?”

  Fumbling my cup, I gave a weak shrug, and escaped to the back of the lodge.

  7

  Then

  I lost track of how long the warriors carried me through the dark. Dagg and Svein soon separated from the rest of the band, forging ahead as the stinking wind swirled around us. Dagg disappeared for a time and Svein hunkered down to wait. Cold crept in, icy fingers penetrating my thin garments. When Dagg returned, he handed Svein a thick pelt. The narrow-faced warrior wrapped me in the fur before they continued on. Warm again, I pressed my face to the hollow of his throat and slept.

  I opened my eyes in the low light. Shifting a little, I peered out from the pelt into a close, dark space. A cave of some sort. Dagg crouched at the entrance, feeding a small fire. His big body shielded the fragile flame from the wind.

  “Sleep well?” Svein offered me a waterskin, and a bit of dried meat once I wet my throat.

  Dagg came and offered me another pelt, this one larger. He wrapped it about my shoulders and lifted my hair free. “So lovely,” he admired. “Little red.”

  I blinked at him and he lightly tugged an auburn lock. “No more words for us? No matter. We can wait for you to find your voice.”

  We sat in the cave and rested. Outside the mist swirled so thick, I didn’t know if it was night or day.

  “The Corpse King is a mage,” Svein explained to me. “He casts spells to control the weather, to drive us in confusion toward his lair. We’ll hide here and wait it out.”

  “He wants you,” Dagg said, and I believed him, even though it seemed too wild to be true. “He can’t have you. You belong to us, now.”

  For some reason, his claim didn’t make me afraid.

  As time went on, it grew darker. I stared into the mist until I saw shapes moving into the gloom. I tried to jerk out of my trance, but the shadows sharpened, became a giant skeleton extending a bony hand toward me...

  Bolting upright, I screamed.

  A dark shape loomed in front of me, breaking the vision. Dagg.

  Large hands came to either side of my face. Svein’s worried expression came into focus.

  “Lass? What was it, what did you see?”

  I clung to him. The vision was gone. He’d pulled me back somehow.

  “It’s all right. You’re safe now. We won’t let the Corpse King have you.”

  8

  The Corpse King. I came awake, trying to piece together my dreams and memories. The skeleton hand reaching from the mist—it seemed so real.

  It was night. The rest of the lodge lay in slumber. I listened for the lonely howls of the banished warriors. The wind whistled in the eaves, but that was all.

  I dozed, drifting.

  I walked through a castle, a great hall and a long line of women watching me silently. A king waited on a dais far ahead, but every step I took weighed me down. I wore a gown, and a necklace—a simple chain and a milky white stone. My steps grew heavy, the jewel a weight around my neck. By the time I reached the stairs to the dais, I felt like I was pushing through water. The women watched, but none moved to help me. Finally, I looked up and saw the king—and he was made of bones.

  I stumbled back, and the jewel on my breast flared hot. I grabbed it in my hand.

  “Yes,” the ghost women murmured. But the king approached quickly, murder on his monstrous face. The women around me faded.

  “Don’t speak,” the king’s terrible voice echoed in my head. The jewel in my hand pulsed hot enough to burn.

  Then the king was looming in front of me. I opened my mouth to cry out and no noise came.

  “Fern?”

  I startled awake, gasping for breath.

  “Easy,” Juliet said. “you were crying out.”

  It was still dark in the lodge and everyone else was sleeping. Juliet had drawn back the curtain separating me from the rest. In the firelight, she looked t
ired.

  “What was it? A dream?”

  A terrible weight pressed on my chest. Don’t speak. Don’t speak. I gritted my teeth until tears pricked my eyes.

  “Oh, Fern,” Juliet hugged me. “You are suffering so. It pains me to see it.” Her scent enveloped me, the light fragrance of rosewater. Back in the abbey, she’d tended a whole garden of roses and distilled their essence. Even here, the scent clung to her.

  I sighed, deeply, and pulled away, touching her face in thanks. She was kind, but I could not burden her.

  There was only one time I was free from the visions. I would give anything to return to that time again.

  9

  After the castle dream, I could not stop the visions anymore. They came unbidden, haunting my days. I dared not look into the water in my cup, or the caldron of broth, or stare at the fire. The younger girls grew used to me falling into a trance and made a joke of it. Juliet watched me more closely, worry written on her face. Of all my friends, she was the only one who guessed what was happening. She helped me hide it from our Berserker guard. It was easy, because the weather had turned bad and we no longer left the lodge.

  “How long have you had visions?” Juliet asked me quietly one afternoon. We sat in the corner. I’d been tending the fire when the trance come over me. It lasted but a moment, but I’d slipped and burned my hand.

  I watched Juliet’s fine, white fingers dab salve on my burn, and did not answer her.

  “They are nothing to be ashamed of. I know the nuns threatened you when you would speak.”

  They’d done more than threaten. Back at the abbey, the nuns had locked me up when they caught me in a trance, even beaten me. I learned to hide, to stay silent. But what would happen when my words burst from my mouth?

  “Fern,” Juliet finished bandaging my hand but gripped my good one. “I think we’re truly safe here. The Alphas consult with witches. Their mates train with one… Perhaps you could talk to them—”

  I shook my head. My visions were of the devil. I’d be labeled demon spawn and cast out—or worse. The warriors might not tolerate a sick woman in their midst, around their precious mates.

  “I am worried about you, Fern.” Juliet stroked my hair for a moment and added thoughtfully. “Your hair is so beautiful. You should wear it uncovered more.”

  I had red hair like my mother’s. “A whore’s color,” I rasped.

  “Did the nuns tell you that?”

  I nodded.

  “That was unkind.” She frowned.

  “You were a nun,” I reminded her gently, surprised she didn’t share the same morality as my tormentors.

  “I was an orphan first, and even after I took vows, I was the youngest of them and never a very good nun.”

  I disagreed silently. Juliet had always been pious, and kind, even when she wore the habit. She was a better nun than the rest of them.

  “It doesn’t matter now does it. I’m no longer one. Even I could not escape my fate.”

  Did she mean the fate of a spaewife—the kidnapping or the fever?

  “God has abandoned me. Or perhaps he never cared.”

  I touched her hand.

  “Oh Fern, what am I to do?” She turned her face to the wall, hiding carefully from the others. It was my turn to comfort her, but I had no advice. The more she went into the mating heat, the more likely it was a warrior would discover her secret. Even though she’d been a nun, Juliet was young and lovely. She was a spaewife, and those were in short supply. When the heat came fully upon her not even a thousand bundles of wintergreen could cover her scent. The Berserkers would find out, and they wouldn’t ever let her go.

  The door to the lodge opened, and men’s voices echoed on the other side of the hearth. Juliet ducked her head and wiped her eyes just before Jarl appeared. His gaze swept over the room, moving until it found and fastened onto Juliet. The former nun raised her chin and met his gaze with a glare.

  “What do you want?” Her voice was cool, with none of the tremor it had just moments ago.

  “We have supplies. Provisions. Snow’s coming. A blizzard.”

  “Will we be stuck here?” Meadow piped up.

  “Perhaps, perhaps not,” Jarl answered her, but it didn’t take long for his gaze to drift back to Juliet. “We’ll be prepared. We’re stacking extra wood outside.”

  “What about bread?” Juliet asked. “Should we visit Laurel while we still can?”

  “I’ll get it. The flurries are already coming down. Could pick up quickly, and then it’s hard to see. Easy to get lost and fall right off the mountain.”

  “Will you get lost?” Violet asked.

  Jarl smiled and squatted so he could look the young one in the face. “No, I’ll be fine. Berserkers have more senses than just our eyes.”

  “What about the missing warriors?”

  “The missing?” Jarl questioned, and his eyes met Juliet’s over Violet’s head.

  “The wolves who aren’t on the mountain,” the nun reminded him. “The ones who howl.”

  “Ah. Them. We told the Alphas of the howling. We have orders to drive them away, as soon as the snow stops.”

  As if they knew we spoke of them, the howling began again. I relaxed, realizing I’d been waiting for the sound to reassure me.

  Jarl left soon after, and I crept to the door to peer out. Sure enough, the sky was grey, and white flakes already drifted through the air.

  A memory hovered, surfaced. Dagg and Svein carrying me through the mist. I’d braced myself against visions of the haunting skeleton specter, but they hadn’t returned. Dagg and Svein kept the visions away. It was the last time I felt safe.

  “Those poor warriors,” Juliet murmured. She gave me a pelt to tuck around my shoulders and left me to watch the falling snow.

  10

  True to his word, Jarl returned with baskets of bread and meat pies. He and a few fellow warriors went in and out with armfuls of wood for the great hearth, stomping snow from their boots each time they entered. When the blaze was built up, Meadow and a few girls invited the warriors to stay and warm themselves. Juliet gave them a sharp look but did not object.

  “For a little while, then we must return to our post.”

  “The Alphas won’t expect you to stand guard in a blizzard?” Meadow asked as she and Violet served the warriors hot tea.

  “We’re used to snow,” Jarl told her. “We came from the Northlands, a land of ice and mountains.”

  “How did you come here?”

  “On dragon headed ships that fly over the water.” Jarl winked at Violet and accepted a roll from one of Laurel’s baskets.

  “Really?” the young one asked.

  “It’s true. Do you know how the Berserkers came to be?” When she shook her head, he settled in to tell the tale, speaking loud enough for the entire lodge of warriors and young women to hear.

  “Long ago, a great king wished to rule the land. He assembled an army of warriors. The best he sent on a special quest.”

  “How did he determine the best?” This came from Rosalind.

  “The king set challenges for all the warriors. We fought in mock battles and competed for his favor. The best of us were sent to a witch who cast a spell over us, giving us great power and even greater fighting skill.”

  “The witch Yseult?” Meadow asked.

  “A different witch. This was over a hundred years ago.”

  “So long ago? But how are you still alive?” Rosalind scowled as if their long life was a personal affront to her.

  Jarl mock bowed. “Magic, my lady. The spell the witch wrought gave us superior strength and speed. We fought for the king and won him a kingdom. But our power came with a price. The magic awoke a beast within, and it grows restless in peace times. If we are not careful, it will drive us mad.”

  “Many Berserkers have already succumbed,” one of Jarl’s friends, Fenrir, added. A tall man with a thin scar on his cheek, Fenrir spoke little, but seemed to see everything. Like, Jarl, hi
s gaze often fell on Juliet. The nun ignored both of them, focused on braiding her long, dark, curly hair.

  “The magic that made us allows us to form bonds between each other. Pack bonds, as well as a brother bond with another warrior to support each other when the battle rage comes. That is how some of us survived. But it is best for us all to soon claim a mate.” Now Jarl looked boldly at Juliet.

  “Two men with one woman?” Juliet raised her chin in challenge. “Tell me how that is right in the eyes of God.”

  “We don’t believe in one god,” Jarl answered.

  “That is blasphemy.”

  “Not to us.” he cocked his head. “Are you upset that we don’t worship yours? Tell us his name, and we will add him to our faith. We have many gods. There is room for one more.”

  Juliet pressed her lips together and looked away.

  “I think it is all right for two to claim one mate,” Meadow said thoughtfully, “as long as the woman is content. Our friends seem happy.”

  Juliet rose and left the room. Jarl signaled and Fenrir followed her.

  “Is it true the Alphas will force us to take a mate?” Meadow asked.

  Jarl paused before he answered. “The Alphas don’t wish to force anyone—”

  “But they will, won’t they?” Rosalind spoke bitterly. “Once we come into heat we will be forced to take a mate.”

  Jarl spoke carefully. “It’s more a matter of what you will desire. The Alphas will protect you from the pack, but the spaewife fever is difficult to withstand.”

  “And if we get the fever, but still don’t wish to take a mate?” Rosalind probed.

  “The Alphas do not want you to suffer,” Jarl murmured.

  Rosalind leaned forward. Her young sister, Aspen, a girl about Violet’s age, sat close by. “So they will match us with warriors?”

  “They will... encourage you to choose mates, yet. For the good of the pack, as well as for your own relief.”

  Rosalind snorted. She sat stiff and straight, her long golden hair flowing over her shoulders like a cape. Many Berserkers noticed her, but she ignored them all.