Given to the Berserkers: A menage shifter romance (Berserker Saga Book 4) Page 4

  On the field, one of the warriors slammed into the one who held the ball. As the man fell, the pigskin flew up in the air. Fergus sprang from the ground, seeming to fly as he reached out and caught it. When he landed, a group of the other team was waiting. They pounced and the red-head disappeared under a pile of warriors intent on crushing whoever held the ball. Dust flew; bodies disappeared in a knot of flailing limbs.

  Gasping, I rose to my feet. Could Fergus, or any warrior, survive under the weight of so many Berserkers? My stomach churned but I could not look away.

  Maddox ran at the pile, waving his hands and shouting. A great roar rang out, and blood sprayed in the dirt.

  "Foul play," Daegan muttered. "Some of the warriors let the beast take them. I best help Maddox." Uncoiling from his crouch by my side, he leapt from the dais and ran to the dogpile that had turned into a brawl. Without hesitating, he and Maddox waded in, grabbing Berserkers and tossing them out of the fight. Some of the hulking warriors looked like monsters, their hands tipped with vicious claws, their muscles half covered with fur. The air crackled with magic and the hair on my arms stood on end.

  "Muriel," Sabine laid her hand on my arm. "It's all right. The Alphas will sort it out. You don't have to watch if you don't want to."

  "I must," I whispered. One of these men would be my husband. I'd thought so much of wedding Fergus, I didn't realize I'd be joined to a Berserker, a brute with the strength of a hundred men, and a rage that burned constantly. A rage only I could cool;or so the prophecy told.

  The strange wind of magic died as the Alphas did their work quelling the beast's rage. On the field the knot of men unraveled, half of the players limping away. I relaxed when I saw Fergus' head bobbing with the rest. He ran to his side with the rest of his teammates; they threw their fists in the air and cheered.

  "It's over," Ragnvald said. "The team that kept control of their beast, and the ball, won. Those that took beast form are disqualified."

  Fergus' team lifted him on their shoulders. Their triumphant bellows shook the mountain.

  I sagged in my seat in relief, and pressed a hand to my belly. Nerves kept me from eating much the past few days, but my stomach clenched. If I wasn't careful, I'd prove myself as weak as Fleur, my twin sister, and put the Games at risk. Sabine would insist the Alphas cancel the tournament for my illness. These Berserkers had waited so long for a chance at a bride. A delay would strain fragile peace between the packs.

  No, I had to be strong. If my future husband could endure this brutal play, I could stand to watch.

  My gut twisted further as the field cleared for the next game. Maddox left Daegan to oversee the players, and returned. Blood dripped down Maddox’s tattooed chest, but I could not tell if it was his.

  Sabine rose as if she would jump from the dais and rush to him.

  "Stay, little witch," he called to her. "It is only a flesh wound." A single leap, and he stood on the dais beside her. Ignoring the dust caked over his muscles, she pressed close to him to examine his wound.

  "How do you like the contest, Muriel?" Maddox asked. My eyes caught the tear on his neck, the wound Sabine clucked over even as it healed rapidly.

  The stench of blood and sweat and Berserker magic overwhelmed me and I had to turn my head away for a breath of clean air.

  “Muriel?"

  "I'm sorry," I choked out, and gestured to the sun. "The heat of the day is too much."

  "Ragnvald, perhaps you could take Muriel for a walk out of the sun," Sabine suggested. "This is not the only field set for play."

  "The others are practice fields," Maddox said. "The warriors wanted Muriel here, so she could see them fight."

  "They will not miss her for a short time. I will stay and watch with Maddox so when the players look to the dais they will see a woman. Most of these warriors are so lust crazed, they cannot tell one woman from another, and certainly can't tell two sisters apart."

  "They'd better," Maddox growled and pulled Sabine fully against him. "I will kill the wolf who touches my woman."

  Sabine tsked but I could tell she was pleased.

  "Come, little sister," Ragnvald beckoned. We walked from the field to the next, passing clumps of warriors waiting for their turn at the games. I covered my hair with a scarf and kept my eyes lowered so as not to draw attention, but it was no use.

  As we passed the warriors turned and stared at me until my cheeks must have been bright red.

  “The wolves are eager to compete for your hand.” Ragnvald swept a hand to indicate I should precede him. He hovered at my side, escorting me through the Berserkers.

  There were many different types of games. Some ran obstacle courses in wolf form. Others climbed a sheer rock face with no rope or anything to soften their landing if they fell.

  We came around the bend where the ground shook with a noise like thunder, to find warriors hefting boulders and heaving them as far as they could. They tossed and cheered like boys with rocks—only the rocks were two or three times their size.

  At another station, two Berserkers wrestled on a large stone slab, their muscles bulging with the strain. Sweat ran in rivulets down their hardened chests.

  “They try to push one another off the rock. Three times makes a winner.”

  As I watched, one of the warriors gnashed his teeth, threatening to bite his opponent. His claws grew and bit into the corded muscle of the man. Blood poured and the opponent roared.

  “Why do you not cry ‘halt’?” Ragnvald asked of a watching man. “Drawing blood is cheating. No assuming beast form.”

  “They’re just practicing,” the watcher answered with a shrug.

  A few of the onlookers tried to catch my eye, so I stared hard at the fighting two instead.

  I took a deep breath. How would Fergus even survive this?

  “Any warrior turning into his beast will be automatically disqualified. Part of the games is proving their control. It would not do for us to reward a berserker with a mate, only to find he is too far gone to be saved.”

  I read the thinly veiled meaning: a Berserker who could not control his beast couldn't be trusted with a bride. If the beast broke free, I would not survive the wedding night.

  “The final battle will be a one on one fight,” Ragnvald continued. “Hand to hand combat. We will allow beast form then. Winner takes all."

  Winner takes you, he meant. In all my eighteen years, I would never had guessed life would lead to this, a tournament of brutal games where I was the final prize. I'd expected to live my life in a village and take a farmer to marry. He would love me, but not covet me, like a dying man desperate for the cure.

  With a hand hovering at my elbow, Ragnvald escorted me back to the dais. “ Do not be surprised if your future mate takes the opportunity to put down his opponent. These Games count as a challenge for dominance.” He may as well have been discussing the details of a hunt, but I understood the warning. The final contest would be a fight to the death.

  *

  I watched and listened to the Alphas explain the tournaments as best they could, but could not keep my hands from clasping tighter in my lap. Fergus won a foot race, and managed to qualify in a ridiculous challenge that involved ripping up a sapling by its roots and throwing it like a spear at a target painted on a standing stone. He excelled at the group games, where his speed made him an asset to his team, and a target to the opposing one. I held my breath as he raced up and down a field, kicking a round ball. Berserkers tried to stop him, crashing into each other.

  For a moment I had a wild hope that my redhead warrior might beat out the rest and win, but disaster struck halfway through the team sport. A few of the opposing team made it a point to target Fergus and run him down. He ducked and dodged, and reached the goal, where, triumphant, he spiked the ball.

  He didn’t see his attacker coming, not until the man hit him like a boulder. Fergus’ head and torso snapped back, the ball flew from his hands. The next thing I knew, I was on my feet. Fergus’ attacke
r strode off, leaving the redhead crumpled on the ground.

  “Foul play,” muttered Ragnvald. “The goal was already gotten.”

  “They’re giving him a penalty for it,” Maddox said, “but that will not help the little wolf.”

  “Fergus, his name is Fergus,” Daegan pointed to the fallen warrior. “It’s all right, Muriel. He changes into wolf form to heal faster.”

  “Will he be all right?” The red and white feathered tail disappeared into the forest. I craned my head but couldn’t see him slink away.

  “He’ll be fine. Berserkers can withstand most wounds.”

  “Will he come back?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  “No,” Maddox said after a pause. “He is disqualified.”

  I gave a stiff nod and settled back to watch the field, even though I barely saw the action. Sabine kept casting worried looks in my direction.

  The field blurred once or twice, but I pretended it was the setting sun blinding me.

  Finally, two warriors remained. They took their place on the field. I realized with a jolt that both were familiar—Siebold, the blond bully, and Wulfgar, the scarred warrior who’d stood watch over me.

  “Who are these wolves?” Sabine asked. She’d moved her seat closer to me. Ragnvald sat beside her, and Maddox stood at the foot of the dais, ready to rush to oversee the games, if needed.

  “The scarred hulk is called Wulfgar. He came from Norway with the rest of the pack,” Ragnvald said.

  “I know Wulfgar. He is a good warrior,” Maddox said. “Possibly the greatest fighter in the pack. They call him ‘The Enforcer.’”

  “Why?” Sabine asked, her eyes still fixed on the warrior with the shaved head.

  “Because when the Highland Alphas need to bring order to the pack, they call on him. He’s good at killing wolves.”

  “The only thing that can kill a Berserker is another Berserker,” Ragnvald muttered.

  “I see,” Sabine said sharply, after glancing at me. “And who is the other?”

  “The other’s name is Siebold. He...” Maddox grimaced, shook his head.

  Ragnvald spoke instead, “Pray that Wulfgar wins.”

  I sent my prayers to the goddess. Daegan raised a red cloth and let it fall—the signal for the final tournament to begin. Time slowed and my heartbeat thudded hard in my chest as the two opponents circled each other. Magic rippled the air, and the warriors were men no longer, but great beasts, hulking with furred limbs and large paws tipped with ferocious claws.

  The monsters ripped at each other. I knew not which was which. A claw caught one of the beast’s shoulders, slicing through flesh. Blood sprayed on the ground and I flinched. The warriors howled.

  “First blood, Siebold,” Maddox said.

  After that I didn’t bother looking any more. Let them think I was too weak and squeamish to look. I’d bound wounds before, and helped Sabine set a broken bone but I could not stand the senseless violence of this final Game. All this gore just to win my hand.

  If peace hadn’t hung in the balance, I would’ve stood and left. As it was, I took deep steadying breaths, and told my flopping stomach to behave.

  I startled when a tall warrior crouched before me. Samuel, a Viking of old, Alpha of the Highland Pack, and one of my sister Brenna’s consorts. He leaned close, as if to offer me a horn of water.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he said. He looked unhappy.

  At my side, Sabine gripped my arm harder.

  “What do you mean?” she asked for me.

  “When the Games are over, we can call for a new Gathering. The winner will feel cheated, but they will come around.”

  I’d heard that Brenna’s mate Samuel had moments of tenderheartedness.

  “Will that mean war?” I asked. My voice sounded hoarse. “Among the packs?”

  He hesitated. “These men mean well. They’ve fought their beast for so long, but the presence of you and your sisters has brought hope. It may be enough to tide them over until we find more women who can mate with them. Brenna has argued with me these past few weeks, telling me there are better ways to choose a mate for you.”

  I stared at him, wondering why he waited until now, with the sounds of the final tournament ringing out under a sunset sky, to give me a choice. To absolve him of his guilt? What would happen if I agreed? Another Gathering, more strain on these brave warrior’s patience, their tenuous hold on their feral nature? At the worst, a few might lose control, and then what? A great fight? People would die. Fergus could die.

  “Did you hear him, Muriel? You don’t have to take the winner as your mate against your will,” Sabine encouraged.

  Somehow I found the strength to speak. “Yes, I do. You know I do.”

  “Muriel...” Sabine started, and I cut her off.

  “No, sister. I will do my duty, if not for the good of the pack, then for you and Brenna, and your future children.” Peace must be kept, at any price. Even at the cost of my heart.

  My sister fell silent.

  Samuel regarded me solemnly. Sabine had told me about him, that the Viking was the wisest of the Berserkers, a leader and a scholar, as well as a deadly fighter. I felt I would shatter under his stare.

  Finally, he nodded and offered me the horn, which I took and drank to slake my thirst. It wasn’t water, but mead and it burned all the way down.

  Another roar from the crowd. I tried not to hear the desperate grunts and growls and sick, wet sound of teeth and claws ripping flesh.

  I clutched the horn, risking only one more glance at the field. Billows of dust obscured the two grappling forms. The flowers would all be gone, I noted, crushed under the battle. Would grass ever grow again where the ground was soaked with blood?

  A great roar and a clang of an ax on blade. My fingers were white knuckled on the horn.

  “We have a winner,” Daegan announced. “Come forth warrior, and claim your prize.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sabine rise. Her mouth opened, and I knew she was going to try to call a halt to the Games on my behalf. Everything would be lost.

  I shot to my feet before she could say anything.

  “To the victor go the spoils,” I shouted, holding the horn high. To my surprise, the Berserker warriors took up my proclamation.

  Goosebumps ran up and down my arms as they responded in eerie unison. “To the victor go the spoils.”

  Ignoring the shivers in my body brought on by a strange wind, I strode for the dais steps, and would’ve tumbled off if Maddox wasn’t there to help me to the ground. Once there, I almost lost my nerve, but one glance at the Alphas standing on the dais and I knew I could not return to their protection. Somehow I’d invoked pack magic, and now I was caught in a ritual. I dared not break the spell, and risk stripping the last bit of ceremony from these violent men.

  With the wind at my back, I let my feet carry me onto the field. The throng of warriors parted for me to pass. Some were in beast form, I was sure, though I dared not look closely as I passed. The stench of blood hung in the air.

  Between the ranks of Berserker warriors, I saw a crumpled shape on the ground, obscured by the dust of the fight. As I grew closer, I still couldn’t recognize the misshapen mess of skin, wounds and fur. One giant hand extended from the bloody bundle, with three long and vicious claws. The fourth was broken.

  I swallowed down bile at the sight, and the faint wheezing sound. The warrior was not dead, but almost. As Ragnvald predicted, defeat came at a high cost.

  Then I saw the victor.

  Wulfgar stood with head bowed and chest heaving. His opponent had ripped a bloody gash from shoulder to opposite hip, tearing the muscle. The slash mark matched the old scar marring his blunt features. His short hair was caked with dirt and sweat. Yet he was standing.

  Behind me, Maddox announced, “I declare Wulfgar the rightful winner of the games.” Dust rose again as the warriors stomped their feet and cheered. I ignored them all.

  Clutching th
e horn like a talisman of protection, I walked straight up to the giant warrior. Sweat slicked his features and his great muscles.

  “Your prize, my lord.” My hands shook a little as I raised the horn, but my voice sounded sure.

  This time, Wulfgar did not hesitate to take what I offered. Wrapping one large hand over my own, he lifted the horn,I stretched to tip toe,and drank. He never took his eyes from mine.

  When the horn was drained the triumphant roar of the Berserkers finally reached my ears and I swayed. He touched my arm and steadied me.

  “My lady.”

  His hand settled at my nape, and caressed it gently. His rough fingers slid over my smooth skin with gentle reverence, and under my numbed emotions I felt a flicker of life.

  If the Alphas gave speeches, I did not hear them. I barely saw the faces of the warriors who faced us, or heard their cries. All the triumph and defeat drained away to silence in the protective shadow of the giant warrior who was now my mate.

  With a hand at my waist, he led me away, and the warriors parted before him. I dared not look left or right until we reached the edge of the field,and then I erred. I peered into the forest and saw the ripple in the underbrush where a familiar red wolf slipped away.

  My boot caught the train of my fine gown, and I stumbled.

  Without pause, Wulfgar caught me up in his mighty arms. Curled against his powerful chest, I clutched at one great arm and forced myself not to tremble as I caught sight of his stern countenance. Had I already displeased him? He probably didn’t want me looking at other wolves. I waited, but he didn’t speak. Cradling me gently, he didn’t break his stride as he plunged into the darkness between the trees.

  *

  We reached a cabin in the woods just as the last light of day faded. Torches tipped with pitch burned outside its doors. Wulfgar carried me over the doorstep and only then set me down on the rough hewn boards that made the floor.

  In addition to the torches outside, the inside of the dwelling had been made ready for us. The hearth fire burned with a pungent smoke and beside it sat skins of wine and a pot filled with stew. I even saw a kit of healing herbs I could use to clean Wulfgar’s wounds.