Surrendered to the Berserkers by Lee Savino

Chapter 3

Rosalind

Ragnar tossedme down next to a pile of sticks and brush he’d gathered, and went back to building a fire. Calmly, as if nothing had happened.

I shifted to my hip. My rump still stung from his swats. My backside probably bore the imprint of his hand. I crossed my legs and started pulling leaves and twigs out of my hair. “I had to try.”

“Why?” he growled. “There’s nothing out there for you. Only danger. Here is safety. Why would you run?”

“To be free,” I burst out.

His shadow fell over me but he only set the waterskin down beside me. “What is freedom if it kills you?”

“Spoken like someone who's never known a cage,” I snapped back, shifting on my sore rear.

“We all live in cages. Big and small, mostly of our own making. There's no power so infinite that you can escape everything you hate.”

“I can try,” I muttered, digging my heels into the dirt. “At least I'll escape you.”

“There is no escaping me.”

He got the fire going and pulled out a leaf-wrapped packet of dried meat. When he held a strip of jerky in front of my face, I set my jaw, ignoring my gurgling stomach.

“No.” I wrapped my arms around my knees.

“Yes, Rosalind. You must eat to keep up your strength. Especially if you plan to keep fighting me.”

He was right. I swiped the meat from his hand and chewed sullenly.

The fire crackled between us. He gave me more meat, as I needed, and we passed the waterskin between us.

“It will not be so bad, back on the mountain,” he said softly. “You will be safe.”

“Have you ever been a captive?”

“Not in the same way.”

He got up to chop more wood to replenish the dimming fire. In his absence, I considered what he meant. The Berserker madness was a sort of captivity. What would it be like to live for so many years, so powerful, never knowing when your own mind would betray you?

“I’m sorry,” I said when he returned. “It was cruel to mention the madness.”

“You’re forgiven.” He finished stacking the logs on the blaze and dusted off his hands. “Are you finished eating?”

I took one more pull from the waterskin and wiped my mouth. “Yes, thank you.”

“Good girl.” He shrugged out of the leather straps, laying them aside along with his sheathed weapons. “Now,” he said. “There's the matter of your punishment.”

My last mouthful of meat turned to sand. “Punishment?”

“You disobeyed me.”

I swallowed. “I never promised I would obey.”

“You will submit to my word as law until we reach our home.”

“The mountain is not my home,” I snapped. “I have no home.”

That gave him pause. “Still.” He patted his knee.

I raised my chin. “If you think I'm going to crawl to you for my punishment—”

“You need not crawl,” he purred, “unless you wish it.”

His arm snapped forward and grabbed my wrist. In a swift move, he’d hauled me over his lap.

I kicked as he tossed up my skirts, but his arm pinned me and I couldn’t escape. The air hit my bare skin and I went still. My lower half was totally exposed, vulnerable.

“Is this wise?” I asked, raising my head. I was face down, my hair hanging into the dirt. He took care to gather the blonde strands back, and fussed with it as I had before, picking out the leaves as I lay with my bare bottom in the wind.

“Is what wise?” His voice rasped like a knife scraping against a whetstone.

“Is it wise to toy with me this way?” I kept my voice even. “If the beast is so close to the surface…”

“It pleases the beast to punish you.” His hand settled on my bare rear and I jumped. “Now be still.”

I tensed as he caressed my bottom. Ragnar’s knees and the muscles of his thigh were hard under my torso, but his hand was gentle as he rubbed my sensitive skin.

“Will you get it over with?” I made my voice sharp but it came out breathy.

He chuckled. “You test a man's mettle.” He stroked a finger lower, between my legs. “Your cunny, unlike your mouth, does not lie. You like this, Rosalind.”

Heat curled through me at his touch. “I do not like this,” I denied. “I do not want this. You are in danger of turning into the beast—”

“You should have thought of that before you ran.” Then his hand crashed down on my bare flesh. A warning strike, more sound than sting. I yelped and wriggled. His opposite hand settled into the small of my back to steady me. “These are consequences,” he said. “Do not run from me again.”

“And if I do?” I could not stop myself from challenging.

“If you do, I will teach you this lesson again.” And his hand crashed down, spanking me soundly, his palm connecting with each buttock in turn.

I bit my lip so I would not cry out. I would not give him the satisfaction. Then his fingers snuck between my legs, and I gasped.

“Ragnar!” I thrashed a little, and he smacked my bottom hard enough to make me blink.

“Be still,” he ordered. “I am in control. This is your punishment.”

His hand cupped the heated flush of my bottom. It throbbed, the flesh molten. Would that it would sear his palm!

“It would please me, Rosalind,” he purred, “if you run again.” And he slipped two fingers between my legs to rest atop my folds. I almost cried out because it would only take a few strokes and I would find relief. Desire pooled in my belly.

My bottom twitched but I dared not move.

“This is unfair,” I ground out. I was on a quest not of my own making. I’d been promised help and Ragnar was the opposite, sent by the Alphas out of a misunderstanding.

“Life's not fair, little runaway.” His fingers moved very slightly, tapping my labia. If only he would delve deeper into the folds and find the slippery nubbin between them.

I had never felt desire like this blazing into every corner of my body. My sex was dripping. The scent of it flared around me. Ragnar inhaled, and a rumble rose from deep in his chest. The sound settled into my bones.

A curious sensation came over me, and I went limp over his lap. A sort of surrender.

Who knew that surrender would be so sweet?

“That’s it,” he murmured, a mere whisper.

He moved his fingers, touching me deftly. He stroked my folds, finding my soaked entrance and exploring the edge of it.

“Rosalind.” His hand moved away and I heard him lick his fingers. Under my belly, his cock was rigid. “Rosalind, I never knew…” His fingers went to my folds again, teasing, touching, dancing lightly around my pleasure spots. Pushing me to the brink. If I could wriggle my hips, I would go over but when I moved, Ragnar took his hand away from the delicious doings between my legs to smack my bottom again.

“Who's in control?”

I hung my head. “You are.”

“And who will you obey?”

“You.” My voice cracked. For now.

As if he could hear my defiance, Ragnar commanded, “Say it again.”

“I will obey you,” I shouted, my voice tense, defiant.

“That's right. And if you run, you will be punished. But if you obey…”

I held my breath. His palm slid over my chastised bottom and delved between my legs.

“Eventually, you will find reward.” His fingers nudged at a sweet spot deep in my folds. Pleasure flared in a faint golden arc through my body, promising a richer sensation to come.

But he withdrew his fingers.

“Not tonight. You have not earned it.”

I grit my teeth so I wouldn’t cry out. There was a storm rising in me, a gale of need and savage longing. And frustration. I wanted to howl.

He drew me up, straightening my clothes. I clenched my fists to keep from slapping him away. He brushed my face where a tear had escaped to slide down my cheek. “Are you well?”

“I'm fine,” I snapped. He let me stalk to my side of the campfire. “I hate you.”

“You didn't like me before. I’ve suffered no loss.” He licked his fingers again, then banked the fire and laid out a thick cloak. “Come.” He held out a hand to me.

I glowered at him.

“Rosalind. If I had my way, I would’ve journeyed all night, carrying you when you could go no further. Is that what you wish to do?”

“No.”

“Then come.” His beard hid the amused tilt to his mouth.

My feet dragged the whole way. “I don’t wish to lie next to you.”

“Consider it part of your punishment.” He tugged me down and took both my wrists to wrap a leather thong around them, tight.

I ground my teeth, and his lips quirked enough to flash a white fang.

“Punishment, little runaway.”

He rolled me to my side and tucked me against him. I lay curled in the strong shelter of his powerful body. One large hand reached around to check the ties around my wrist, then slid to cup my hip. My backside prickled with the memory of his hard palm. I could fight and try to wrestle him away on principle, but it would do nothing. His muscular legs were like tree trucks compared to mine.

“Sleep, now,” he ordered. “We will travel home in the morning.”

“It’s not my home. I’ve never had a home.” Only cages, some larger, some smaller, but none big enough to allow me to breathe.

His voice, when it came, was far away. “I’m sorry, little runaway.” But I was too far gone in the grip of sleep to answer.

* * *

I would not have succumbedto sleep so easily if I had known what was waiting for me. In my dream, I lay blanketed in a pool of mist. Huge pines towered over me. Beyond them, dark shapes ran through the forest—Berserkers fighting unseen enemies.

A ghostly form rose up before me, the mist blowing away until only a hooded shape remained. A cloaked man, tall and thin, with bone-white hands. The fingers stretched towards me. Rosalind…

In the distance, a raven cawed. Follow the Raven, the crone’s voice prompted. But I couldn’t see or hear where the bird had gone, much less follow. My legs were stuck as if the thick mist was a mire.

The cloaked man snapped his long fingers, and we were standing on a cliff. Below us, stretching for miles like a silvery sea, was an army in shining armor. Rank upon rank of helmeted troops, standing in eerie silence. Beyond them rose a castle made of obsidian stone. Its gate was tall as a mountain, and its turrets disappeared into the clouds.

All of this will be yours, the cloaked man told me. Make your choice.

The wind whipped at my skirts. “Take off your hood,” I ordered with frozen lips.

The man raised his pale hands and pushed back his hood. The face he revealed was a skeleton. I opened my mouth to scream—

A low rumble jolted me awake. I lay on my side, Ragnar at my back. The moon hung high above us, a bright coin, almost perfectly round.

My body was enveloped in heat. My neck was bent, and fur brushed my bare skin.

“Ragnar?” I slurred, disoriented.

A paw slid into my line of sight, reaching for me. Moonlight glinted on the long claws. I flinched away but the monster caught my shoulder and rolled me onto my back.

“Rosalind.” Ragnar’s voice was swallowed in the guttural growl of a beast. His dark bulk loomed over me, covered in fur.

My body stiffened, my heart booming out of my chest.

This was not Ragnar. This was a Berserker out of control. The beast was upon him.

“Rosalind,” he rasped.

“What happened?” I whispered. Perhaps there was enough of Ragnar to answer. Perhaps I could keep him talking, keep him reasoning with me…

“Your presence wakes the beast.”

I was going to die. I started to struggle, but my hands were bound.

“No, be still. I will not hurt you.” The dark shape of his head lowered. Black fur, glinting teeth shining like daggers.

I closed my eyes.

The beast who was also Ragnar nuzzled my neck. “The beast is hungry for you.” Something brushed my shoulder—a tooth? A claw? “Be still,” Ragnar muttered, his breath hot on my face. “Be very still.”

The monster braced over me, huge, fur-covered arms on either side of my head. Heat shimmered between us. Sweat trickled down my temple, and lower down… need flared between my legs.

He lowered his head and scented along my jawline. So close, so hot. He still smelled like Ragnar, like fresh cedar shavings. A calming scent.

Something changed between us—energy shifting. Like a crackle of lightning, unseen but enough to raise the hair on my arms. Fear tipping into anticipation.

I shifted my hips very slightly. For some unknown reason, my breasts were swollen, aching.

The monster nudged further down my body. One lunge, and its teeth could be at my throat, ripping out my heart. Fur brushed the sensitive skin over my collarbone. The beast’s head hovered over my chest, nuzzling there. When it nosed the dagger, the moonstone flared and the creature flinched as if it had bitten him.

I tensed. The return of fear washed all my desire away. “Ragnar,” I whispered. “Come back to me.”

“I’m here,” he answered in a slow, lazy voice. He’d reared back, his dark shape blocking out the sky. I lay in his shadow, the only light the glow of his eyes.

I licked my lips. “What do I do?”

“Do not fight. Do not run. Do not fear.”

I swallowed. Each breath I took felt heavy going down. “I cannot help how I feel,” I said. I always spoke when I was afraid, as if my words would ward off my terror.

“You have no need to fear me.” He sounded drunk. Moonlight flooded my eyes as he lurched off me. The weight of the beast left me, but the heat remained. He settled behind me again.

I lay next to the mountain of fur and fangs, wondering when the beast would transform and give me back Ragnar. Afraid to check behind me to see.

When he spoke again, his voice was clear. “Peace, Rosalind. You please the beast.”

My limbs relaxed. I sprawled on my side. When Ragnar’s furred arm came around to grip me tighter to him, I was too tired to care. The bulk beside me was warm as a banked fire, and soft as a wolf’s pelt.

It shouldn’t have soothed me but it did.

This monster was the strongest thing in the forest tonight. There was no need to be afraid. Sheltered in the beast’s hold, I was safe from everything.

Even my darkest dreams.