Surrendered to the Berserkers by Lee Savino

Chapter 2

Rosalind

“Back? Where?”I asked, stupid for a moment. Then my wits caught up to my mouth. “To Berserker Mountain?” This was not the helper the witches had promised me. This was a Berserker. One of my former captors.

“The Highland pack’s land, yes. To safety. Come now.” He twitched his fingers in a come-hither motion, as if I was a dog to come when he called. I settled back on my heels so my boots sank further into the mud and leaf mold. “Back to safety. Did you not see the draugr lying in wait over that hill?”

“There’s a way around them.” I hoped that was true. But I could not hope to outrun or dodge past this warrior. He was huge, a brute, and looked the part. He’d shaved part of his scalp and tied the longer pieces of hair back in braids. His beard was cut short to frame his mouth. The blond stubble hid a hint of a smile, as if I amused him.

“Did the alphas send you?” I asked, stalling for time. “I am known as a troublemaker. I’m surprised they would not just let me go.”

“There are too few women for us to lose one. You are all precious to us.” His voice deepened to a murmur barely heard above the rippling brook, and when he tilted his head, his eyes flashed bright. Blue one second, gold the next.

My lip curled. “So that is why they care. I am to be a broodmare, like the others.”

“Not a mare, no. Not to be ridden in the same way—”

I could not run through him, or past him. So I turned and ran back up the hill, towards the draugr. If I had to choose between running towards the warrior or the evil undead, the Corpse King’s troops were the lesser risk.

My breath sawed through my chest as I pelted up the heights, great clumps of fallen leaves and hidden rocks tore away under my feet, threatening my balance. My ankle twinged and shot pains up my leg. But I made it to the flock of boulders where I’d lingered before, scouting my way forward. I was almost past the largest stone when a hard arm caught me around my chest, and a hand clamped over my mouth.

“Got you,” the warrior grunted, dragging me back. I fought, thrashing, clawing at his forearm, but it might as well have been an iron band around my middle.

The warrior dragged me back. My legs kicked wildly, the weights in my pouch banging against my thigh, bruising it.

“Be calm,” he growled. He was taking me back the wrong way. The quest would never be finished.

Each step west was one I’d have to retrace. My eyes burned, my throat closing. My ankle throbbed.

Damn this warrior. I could not fight him. I’d walked a day and a night, and my food was gone. My stomach was hollow and my limbs were weak, so weak. I could struggle all I wanted and he’d barely notice.

I forced my body to relax. As I stopped struggling, he slowly loosened his hold. A few more steps, and he dropped his hand from my mouth. His scent surrounded me, dry and fresh, with a touch of sweetness, like freshly chopped cedar wood.

“You’re making a mistake,” I said with calm I did not feel.

His steps didn’t falter. “It’s not safe for you to be out and about,” he murmured in my ear.

“I know that,” I snapped. Did he think I was stupid? “I must go on. Our lives depend on it.”

We were back by the stream, deeper into the thicket. He set me down, twitching my gown and cloak into place before I found my footing and could push him away.

“Our lives? Do tell.” His lips quirked under his beard.

Tell no one of your quest in the open air, lest the Corpse King hear you and learn our plans.

I opened my mouth anyway but the words caught in my throat. An invisible hand strangling me, garbling my ability to speak.

“I can’t tell you.” I touched my throat, as if my fingers could claw out the words stuck inside. It was no use. The fist around my neck loosened, and I panted for breath.

“Well, then, you’ll tell the alphas when we get to the pack lands.” Before I could get away, the warrior pulled me down to sit upon a moss-covered log. “Let me see your leg. You were favoring the one.”

I would have slapped at his hands, but he tugged my right leg forward, forcing me to grip the crumbling log for balance. While I was busy keeping myself steady, he folded up the hem of my gown and held my calf firm to slide off my boot.

He bowed his head, so close to mine I could make out the light pattern of freckles along his brow.

I sucked in a breath as his fingers traced along the unbroken skin.

He raised his head. “Does that hurt?”

I shook my head and tried again to pull my leg away. “It’s just tender.”

He didn’t release me but his hands were gentle. I bit my lip as he eased my foot in one direction, then the other. My leg was as pale as the underbelly of a mushroom compared to the golden tone of his strong hands.

“There’s some stiffness,” he murmured. “No sign of swelling.”

My breath hissed between my teeth as his touch explored my sore shin. “I landed on it wrong, up by the boulders.”

A short nod, and he took out a long strip of leather and bound my ankle. Both of our heads bent together and our breath mingled as he worked. Under his blond scruff, his face was well-shaped. I didn’t often stare at a Berserker long enough to admire his looks, but this one had caught my eye before. I remembered him from when I was imprisoned on Berserker Mountain. Even his slightly crooked nose added a harsh masculinity to his looks, making him more handsome.

No.Lusting after a warrior, even one so broad-chested and fine as this one, was not a luxury I could have. He was my captor, nothing more.

“You shouldn’t be out here, lass.” His voice was mild, but underneath was Damascus steel.

I rubbed my face. I was so tired. “I must continue on,” I said. “I cannot tell you why, but it is important.”

“All right, lass.” His blue eyes seemed sympathetic. “I am here to help you. You don’t want to be found by those walking corpses.” He shook his head, his large hands binding up my hurt with deft movements. He tucked my dress back down but didn’t let me rise. He kept hold of my leg and lifted it, examining my boots. “These are well made. Did a warrior give them to you?”

He was asking if one of his fellow Berserker warriors had wooed me with gifts.

“No.” I jerked my foot away and put my back to him. My chest tightened so it was hard to breathe. I was caught. All was lost.

Why hadn’t the witches warned the Berserker Alphas of their plans? Now my quest was over before it had truly begun.

A slight tug on my hair made me turn. The warrior had an unruly strand of my long hair between his thumb and forefinger, stroking the silky skein.

“So you’ve not been courted by any man?” That deep timber to his voice reverberated deep inside me.

“No,” I said, and yanked my hair from his grasp. He kept rubbing his thumb and finger together, looking thoughtful.

I forced myself to look away before he saw me admiring the nimbleness of his blunt fingers or his smoothly muscled forearms glinting with gold hair.

He’d asked if a man had courted me. “Why do you care?”

“You are a spaewife, a perfect mate for a Berserker warrior. It is high time you find a mate. Is that why you ran?”

“No.” I shut my eyes. “Yes.” Perhaps. All winter, I’d lain in the lodge of unmated spaewives, wishing for a way out. And now here it was, but it would lead to my death.

The warrior’s large fingers closed around my wrist. Though his fingers were calloused and would be strong as a shackle if I tested him, his grip was gentle.

“It’s all right, lass,” he said, “I’ll return you to the mountain, safe and sound.”

The warrior helped me to my feet and pulled me along after him. I followed, stumbling a little. The bindings on my ankle made it more sturdy, but I was so tired.

Back in the orphanage, my sister used to play with a doll made of corn stalks and straw. I felt as fragile as that hollow figure, made of bits of nothing. One wind would blow me away.

I followed the Berserker without protest. I could not fight him. I would have to find another way to escape.

“What’s your name?” I asked, my voice dull as the blade of the dagger hidden on the thong around my neck.

“Ragnar. And you are Rosalind.”

* * *

Ragnar

When I first saw Rosalind inthe forest, hair gleaming like a vein of gold, skin moon pale, I thought she was a goddess.

She looked tall for a woman, but was not truly of any great height. Her slenderness made her seem taller than she was. Rosalind was a blade of fine steel, tempered in fire, and ready to strike the first man who ventured close.

“You know my name.” Her mouth had its usual haughty curve. "What do you know of me?”

“Only what the Alphas told us. You were taken from the abbey the night it was destroyed. You are a spaewife of great beauty.” My voice thickened.

She shook her head and looked away, but her cheeks had pinked. She wasn’t immune to my interest.

I went on, a pleased note in my tone. “Your sister was rescued from the abbey with you.”

Rosalind sniffed but didn’t interrupt. I took her arm and guided her closer to the stream. There I crouched to fill my waterskin.

She looked up and down the bank, studying the black mud.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, handing her the waterskin and prodding it when she hesitated to drink.

“My footprints. They are gone.” Her mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile before she lifted the waterskin to her lips.

I held still as a hunter fixed on his prey, watching her throat work as she drank. I’d never seen Rosalind look happy—truly happy, rested and at peace. She’d gone about Berserker Mountain with a fixed expression. Some would call it haughty. I called it haunted.

“Something happened to you,” I mused. “Some terrible thing.”

She scoffed and wiped her mouth. “You could say that.”

It came to me. “I remember. On the way, you were lost, caught in the grip of the Corpse King. A storm of his making. His magic swirled all around you, creating a fog. The warriors defended you, and were attacked by the undead soldiers. They fought free and rescued all the spaewives they brought with them but you were lost for days, wandering in the fog.”

She handed back the waterskin and I crouched to refill it. While she thought I wasn’t looking, she smoothed the front of her gown. There was a shape of a small dagger outlined beneath it. Its blade must be dull enough for it to rest between her breasts. If so, it wouldn’t do much good against an attacker. Not that any weapons would deter a Berserker.

“I remember,” Rosalind whispered. She raised a trembling hand to her throat, but her voice held steady. “I held my sister’s hand, and prayed I could keep her safe.”

She had a sister, a young one, back on Berserker Mountain. I tried to recall the name. “Aspen,” I said, and bright rage flooded Rosalind’s face, washing her fear away.

“Aspen is an innocent. And you dragged us from the only home we’d known.” Her small fists clenched at her sides. Her body trembled with the force of her anger—and fatigue, and hunger. She’d been too long in these woods, alone, with no one to care for her. I’d found her just in time.

“We rescued you—”

“You put us in danger. In the Corpse King’s path—”

“He was coming for you anyway. You were easy prey in that abbey.”

Only a few inches separated us as she glared up at me from her slight height. Facing off with a warrior nearly thrice her size, with no hesitation or self-preservation.

Oh, there was fear in her scent, it had a bitter edge. But she was not afraid of me.

“You warriors took us in the night. Scared us half to death. And then on the way to Berserker Mountain, in the middle of the forest and despite the warriors surrounding us—the ones who should’ve made us safe—we were attacked.”

“That was a tragedy,” I admitted. “It should not have happened. I had packmates who died that night.” In the dark and confusion, the Corpse King had used his powers to make several of the Berserkers go mad. Several were lost to the beast, and had to be cut down. “It was a horrible time. I wish you had not gone through it. We failed you, lass, and for that, I apologize.”

Her lips parted, but she said nothing more. She was speechless, her cheeks flooded with color. Still holding onto her anger but silent, as if my apology had caught her off guard.

“But…” I rallied. “It ended well for you and the rest of the spaewives. You were found and brought to Berserker Mountain—”

“You imprisoned us!”

“And kept you in all comfort.”

“Comfort,” she spat. This woman would argue with a rock.

“Aye, Rosalind. Comfort. A warm lodge to live in. A dry place to lay your head. Meat and mead and anything your heart desired.”

“Except freedom.”

I wanted to shake her. “We rescued you.”

“You thought you rescued us,” she said, the anger dropping from her voice, leaving only a despair that made me ache. “But we were not safe.”

“The Corpse King could not reach you on Berserker Mountain.”

She dragged a hand over her brow. “His reach was further than you knew.”

The bitterness in her scent had a spiced tinge to it. Frankincense and clove—the scent of grave clothes. The scent of the Corpse King’s magic clung to Rosalind. The beast inside me roared. Something was wrong.

* * *

Rosalind

I spun on my foot,putting my back to the warrior as I rubbed the front of my gown. Would that I were a man as big and strong as he. Would that the dagger was a giant sword that could lop his head from his oversized shoulders. That would wipe the smug grin off his stupidly handsome face.

“What do you mean?” His voice thickened into a growl. He sounded like he cared, and something inside me ached, wishing that were true.

I held onto my anger. It was my only shield between me and despair. How dare he speak of the Berserkers’ plunder of the abbey as if it was a rescue? I remembered those days of wandering, my sister's hands small and cold in mine. Her trusting innocence resting like a boulder in my breast.

The warriors had dragged us from the only home we'd known. They thought they’d rescued us from the Corpse King, but his reach was longer than they knew. All winter, he’d spoken to me. He came to me in dreams, in visions, and ghostly whispers that echoed in my head until it ached. But this was a secret that no one knew, not even the witches.

I couldn’t tell anyone. Especially not this Berserker.

He was at my back, his heat seeping into me, warming my chilled bones. “Tell me, Rosalind.”

“It is not your concern.”

“But it is. You’re in my care now, lass. I’ll keep you fed and watered, and deliver you to safety.”

I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck, turning back. “Do what you must.” I would do my best to thwart him.

Ragnar tipped up the waterskin and drank deeply. A few water droplets clung to his beard. There was no denying it: this Berserker was particularly handsome. And he knew it.

Perhaps I could use his vanity, turn it to my purposes. Like most men who thought me beautiful, he would never guess my looks were a weapon I wielded to my advantage. He’d have no idea how I used my beauty to blind him, until it was too late.

“Do you wish for a mate?” I asked quietly, toying with my hair. Its golden color was not as bright and sunny as my sister’s but still drew the men's eyes like a torch. I knew without looking that Ragnar was watching me.

“Most of the pack does.” He squatted to fill the waterskin once more. “A favored few have found their mates but I must prove myself first. Fortunately, with the Corpse King rising against us, there will be many battles.”

Of course a Berserker would be pleased about the prospect of more battles. Brute.

“Do you have a warrior brother?”

“All my fellow warriors are brothers.” He shrugged.

“Doesn’t the bond grow between two warriors to help keep the Berserker madness at bay?” I knew the answer to my question. I’d learned much over the winter, during my time spent on Berserker mountain.

“It can help,” he answered shortly.

“I heard it said each warrior stabilizes the other.” I smoothed the lock of my hair and wrinkled my brow. “Does it worry you? That the madness that besets the Berserkers will fall more quickly upon you?”

I knew by the way he looked away from me, peering into the forest shadows with his jaw set like stone, that it did.

“Come,” he said more gruffly. “We must not tarry. I wish to be back by dawn.” He held out his hand.

I’d traveled most of two days and a night. It seemed he’d return me in half that time.

“I am tired,” I complained softly. Searching for sympathy.

“You should’ve thought of that before you ran.” He didn’t wait for me to take his hand, he leaned and grabbed mine and tugged me along. I gritted my teeth at his quickened pace.

“Will we walk all night?”

“If we have to.”

I huffed and let him half lead, half drag me deeper into the forest. At least my ankle no longer hurt. Not that I’d thank him for his help.

“Are you the only warrior they sent after me?”

“Does it matter?” he asked without turning. “I am the one who caught you.”

I caught the triumphant note in his voice. If I could pick at it, dig a little deeper, I might draw blood. “You’re proud of that.”

No answer. He held up a branch so I might duck under it.

I tried again. “You think the Alphas will give you a reward if you complete your task well.”

“The Alphas decreed the remaining spaewives may choose their mates.”

“But if you were to prove yourself in some extravagant service, some bravery, they might allow you to choose for yourself.” I made my voice soft and sultry, smooth as silk gliding over skin.

He ignored me. When he paused for a moment to sniff the wind, I let my hand hover at his back, an inch above the tanned plane of muscle. “But there’s no need to wait. You could have your reward right here, right now.” I couldn’t keep the tremor out of my voice. I didn’t know whom I’d be more annoyed with—him, if he fell for my blatant seduction, or myself, for secretly wanting him to.

He kept his face pointed to the sky, his jaw clenching. “What game are you playing?”

I withdrew my hand. “No game,” I lied. It was a simple plan: seduce him. Distract him from his quest. If he fell under my thrall, I could convince him to let me go, or at least stall him until I could slip away.

His head swiveled to skewer me with an icy gaze. “I know when you lie to me.”

I froze like a rabbit seen by the hunter. By the wolf. My pulse sped up but I forced myself to answer. My voice was breathless. “Perhaps I like games.”

He grunted and took my hand, pulling me along again. “You would not like the game I want to play.” His cheek curved under his beard. He was laughing at me. Laughing!

I snatched my hand from his grip. I couldn’t stop my rush of sharp words. “Perhaps the Alphas won’t reward you with a mate. Or perhaps they will, but it won’t be me. I will tell them I wish to take a mate, and I’ll make my choice, but it will be anyone but you. You’ll have to watch while I’m given to another.”

A growl ripped from his chest. I was winning.

“I know you noticed me back on Berserker Mountain,” I purred. “I know I’m the one you want. That’s why you worked so hard to track me before the rest. But you will never have me—”

Ragnar’s hand whipped out and closed over my arm. He swung me around and forced my feet to retreat until my back was against the wide trunk of an oak.

His huge chest heaved as he whispered, “Be careful, Rosalind. I pledged to save you. But I am a Berserker. And I have little patience. You’d do well to obey.”

Pressed up against the tree, my head tilted to look up at him, I felt the heavy length of his arousal, big as a club against my leg.

“You wouldn’t dare—”

He leaned in so close, my breasts brushed his bare chest. Even through my gown, the hard muscle abraded my sensitive nipples. Heat shot through me, blooming on my cheeks.

“Try me.” His whisper tickled my ear. “I’d love to make you behave.” The fine hairs on the back of my neck rose, but the rest of my body reacted like he’d promised me pleasure, not punishment. My belly tightened against the rush of nectar between my legs.

I swallowed my snarling response and nodded.

He held me fast for a few more heartbeats, then stepped back and took my hand again.

“Come. We have a long way to go.”

* * *

I heldmy peace the rest of the day. I looked for opportunities to escape, but Ragnar kept hold of me the whole time. Better to bide my time and reserve my strength for the right moment. But as the day gave way to darkness and the moon rose, I let my head bow. I was the picture of cowed obedience—too tired to show strength. It looked as if Ragnar would make us walk all night.

Then, when we entered a green space between the pines, he stopped and slung his pack at the foot of a tree. “Let us stop here for shelter.”

Finally. I raised my head. Night had settled upon us but the moon was almost full, casting enough light for me to see.

I headed for a tree to relieve my needs. Ragnar stopped me with a hard hand on my arm.

“I need a moment,” I snapped.

“So you can run away?”

I raised my chin. “I require privacy. I will not run. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to your promise.” He released me “If you run, Rosalind, I will hunt you. And you will not like the consequences.”

I held his eyes until I’d stepped behind a tree. I crouched for a moment, making sure I was hidden.

Back in the glade, Ragnar was making use of his axe to chop wood and build a fire.

Still bent in half, I slipped between the ferns, and ran.

I held my skirts up around my knees and cursed my heavy pouch. Even the dagger seemed heavier between my breasts.

My legs burned from the efforts of the day and my travels the day before but new energy shot through my body as I ran. My ankle protested my pace, but I could put my weight on it without pain. Ragnar had taken such care to bind my ankle, and now his care would help me escape him.

Leaves and branches whipped my face and hands. I crashed through the thick bushes. Dark, glossy leaves whipped my face. A branch sliced my cheek. It didn’t matter. I would run through a thorny briar patch if I had to. Anything to get away from the roaring monster who was chasing me. My rushing blood and heartbeat roared like a storm in my ears. Don’t look back.

My legs betrayed me, and I stumbled. I caught myself once before overbalancing and crashing to the forest floor. My hands scrabbled in the moss, ripping up chunks of earth as I hoisted myself up.

I staggered to my feet. The monster was almost upon me. I shied to the left, pressing myself against a trunk to catch my breath. Perhaps I could hide. Perhaps the monster’s senses would be confused, and I could dart away when it was not looking. Perhaps—

A beastly claw closed around my upper arm. Ragnar tugged me from my hiding place. I got a quick glimpse of the terrifying face—the wolf's snout, the fur sprouting black in tufts over his body. Half man, half beast, a sleek shape melded from both forms. Huge. Monstrous. Cloaked in black fur and darkness.

I shut my eyes.

The beast wrenched me onto my back. I lay vulnerable, palms up at my sides, as the monster drew over me. If the beast ripped out my throat, I would be powerless to stop it.

Hot breath hit my face. The monster’s weight pinned me down as he explored me, sniffing up my neck then down to my chest, where he drew back sharply. I couldn't help it. I opened my eyes. The dangerous beast hovering over me woke every elemental fear in me. His fur brushed my arms.

I licked my lips. “Ragnar,” I whispered, my voice a hoarse rasp. Maybe I could call the man back to himself.

“Quiet,” the monster muttered in Ragnar's voice. Maybe he hadn’t lost himself, yet. Golden eyes shone, bright torches in the night. The monstrous bulk of Ragnar was bigger than the man. Muscles bunched in his forearms, his elbows ending in tufts of black fur. The forearms were those of a wolf. A beast. The paws were as big as my head. The claws—monstrous black crescents—curved like skinning knives.

My teeth clacked together. Deep inside, this monster was a Berserker, and he desired me. Even now, his cock prodded my belly.

“Ragnar. Please.”

His body stiffened, arched backwards. The beast raised his head to the dark sky, and let out a half roar that ended in two melancholy notes. A long, chilling howl.

Last winter, I had lain at night in my bed and listened to the Berserkers howling. Celebrating the camaraderie of the pack. Mourning the loneliness of their existence. Hoping for a Berserker bride.

Now, the sound vibrated through me. I longed to scrub my arms free of goosebumps. But I dared not move.

“Rosalind,” the beast murmured, and his fur was receding. My fingers twitched. If I raised my hand, I could stroke the features and feel them emerge from the beast-like form. Feel the face taking shape—the wolf's snout receding, giving way to the long, human nose. Ragnar’s nose, broken at the top in some ancient brawl. The proud brow, the broad cheeks covered in stubble. For some reason, his beard looked shorter, as if it had been shorn off only a few days ago.

Finally, the bright blue eyes appeared, along with the half-shaved head and braids.

I did touch him then, tracing his brows, running my fingers over the shape of his mouth.

“You came back to me,” I said.

Ragnar was braced over me, his strong arms planted on either side of my body. His whole body shuddered.

“Yes. But it was close.” And he lowered his head, his beard scraping my face as he slanted his mouth across mine, kissing me with all the savagery of a monster. I tensed, and then something broke through my chest. I embraced him, my arms twining around his shoulders as I kissed him back with all the passion in me. Our tongues tangled and fought. And my body rose up to meet him. My core ached. If I could only press against him—

He wrenched away, leaving me shivering on the ground. He rose, still somehow clad in breeches, and the leather straps crisscrossing his chest. One was broken from the Change—the muscular bulk of the beast had strained and snapped it. He ripped it off and flung it away. Then he reached down and hoisted me up, tossing me over his shoulder. His hand smacked my rump and I let out a squawk.

“That's for lying.”

“Ragnar!” I kicked but couldn’t get free. He banded an arm around my legs and smacked my upturned bottom again. “Be still. Remember what I told you? You ran, now you face the consequences.”