by Elle Thorne
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“They call me Halvar,” he growled. His scowl grew more ferocious. His face had blue paint, or perhaps tattoos, scattered about in patterns that drew attention to his hair, shaved on the sides, long on top and plaited close to his scalp. His brows were drawn, his lips curved down in a sneer. A wild beard hid the bottom half of his face.
“They call me—”
“Oh, we know who you are, my lady. Brenna. The one who will fill our coffers.”
A feeling of dread filled her, and she fought to retain her composure. This barbarian had clearly taken her captive. What happened to the rest of the village? To her cousins? To all the others?
“What do you mean?” she dared to ask, though fear threatened to close her throat.
The door rattled; it was being unlocked. Then it swung open.
Halvar appeared even more fierce than before. Furs enhanced his broad shoulders. His arms held more tattoos—intricate designs that spoke of a foreign culture. His eyes were a light blue color, but the irises were ringed with a golden hue.
Then another figure stepped in.
Another man. Just as large, just as fear-inspiring. His face also bearded, but trimmed. His hair, a dirty blond cropped short on the sides, longer on top and was also braided.
The second man’s eyes were also blue, but not the light color of Halvar’s. His eyes were a dark azure, ringed with the same golden flames. He wore no shirt, and a light blanket of even darker blond hair covered his chest.
But his eyes were different. There was something in them.
He looked directly into her gaze, and for a brief second that seemed to last an eternity, she was captured in that stare, unable to look away, unafraid.
“Halvar,” the newcomer said. “Are you frightening our guest?” He had an accent, just as the first one who had spoken.
At first, his voice was mesmerizing. A deep resonance, entirely male, one that matched his chiseled countenance.
But then it struck her.
Guest?
“If I am a guest, then I’m free to leave,” Brenna asserted, spearing him with a look that dared him to contradict her.
Halvar laughed, a deep sound that boomed in the small area and made her flinch.
“Calder, my brother,” Halvar said, still speaking in Brenna’s language. “I think she needs to be taught some subservience.”
Halvar reached for his loins, his large hand grasping between his legs.
Brenna gasped at the size of what he gripped, though hidden beneath his clothing. She backed up, crawling like the crabs the traders occasionally brought in for dinner, reaching for the wall behind her.
The newcomer—Calder, Halvar had called him—raised his fist and planted it in Halvar’s bicep with a resounding smack. “You’re scaring her. We agreed. She’d be untouched.”
“You agreed, brother.” Halvar crossed the space between them swiftly, quicker than Brenna would have thought, and bent, seizing the fabric of her tunic and wrenching her to her feet. Then using his other hand, he rent the fabric, ripping it clear to her waist.
Brenna squealed. One of her hands flew to cover her breasts while the other sought to raise the now shredded tunic. “Animal,” she hissed.
“I’ll show you an animal,” Halvar raised his hand.
Even more quickly than Halvar had moved, Calder was now standing next to him, his large hand wrapped around Halvar’s wrist. “Fine then, I agreed. And we lead this tribe equally.”
Halvar released a growl and whirled on Calder. “She’s a married woman. It is not as though we have to return her untouched. And her father is a lord, her husband a chieftain. Someone will pay her ransom.”
Calder jerked Halvar around to face him. “I said no.”
Halvar’s growl was low. “There are plenty of others.” He stomped off.
Brenna regarded the man in front of her. “Thank you,” she said, her voice low.
Chapter Two
Calder studied the woman before him. Her pale, faultless skin, red hair, and eyes of dark green. He fought the urge to return his gaze to the creamy rose-tipped breasts he’d been given a glimpse of when Halvar had ripped her tunic.
Taking a blanket from the floor, he wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’ll have one of the women bring you a change of clothing. You’d be better off not tempting my brother again. His lust is only surpassed by his pride. Women do not reject him.”
“I’ll reject him with my dying breath,” she hissed.
Calder laughed softly at her spirit. “Do not worry, lady; you’ll be returned to your husband very soon. He will pay the ransom for a prize like you.”
He’d almost said beauty. He gritted his teeth against that. He was not here to befriend her. She was a captive. She’d provide enough ransom to pay for several ships they’d lost in a storm a month ago.
“My husband—”
There was something in the way she said the words that caught his attention. He appraised her face, flawless, high cheekbones. Eyes wide set. Perhaps not flawless, but he found it to be sheer perfection.
“What of your husband?”
She shook her head and turned away, wrapping the fur tighter about herself.
He’d have sworn he saw a tear slip from those eyes.
Deep in his chest, his bear growled.
Calder ignored the bear. He’d been born a shifter, and his bear was a part of him. His bear was him, and by the same token, he was his bear. And yet…
He and his bear hadn’t always agreed.
But at this moment, he found he wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment his bear was making known. Both of them were attracted to this woman.
He should do as Halvar wanted to do. Plant his root deep in her body to get her out of his head.
He’d been there when Halvar knocked her on the head. Calder had watched over her for three days while she’d lain unconscious, her breathing shallow and her face pale.
In the middle of the night while all others slept, he’d sat next to her in this very cell and run his fingertips across her high cheekbones, her plump bottom lip, and thin upper lip.
He’d wondered about her name, wondered much about her. Was she a mother? Was she happy with her husband?
While she was unconscious, she didn’t speak, didn’t call out the name of any man. Wouldn’t she have called out the name of her husband if…
He pushed those fruitless thoughts away. He should not have spent those nights watching over her. He should not have let his bear begin to have feelings for her.
Yes, he should rut to get her out of his system. But he wasn’t sure that would do it. He’d only want her more, he suspected.
She turned to face him. “What of the others? From the village?”
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Brenna.”
“Brenna,” he repeated, liking the sound of it as it rolled off his tongue.
“The others? The villagers?”
He clenched his jaw. She would not like the answers, of that he was certain. “The men fought bravely.”
Her eyes widened. “You killed them?”
“They died in battle.”
She threw herself at him; her hands beat on his chest. Her fur had fallen, her breasts bounced with every strike she laid on him.
“You miserable—you barbarians. You killed all the men? The fathers? The sons?”
He grabbed her arms by the wrists and held them down, then pulled her against his chest, still holding her hands captive.
She struggled against him, deep sobs escaping from her chest.
He put his other hand on her head and let her cry, but refused to release the tiny hammers of her fists, certain they’d be on the attack again.
Finally, she sucked air in deeply and then dropped her head.
A gasp told him she’d discovered she’d lost the blanket covering her breasts, and the plump mounds were against his bare chest.
“If I release y
ou so you can cover yourself, will you stop the assault?”
She nodded, her tearstained cheeks rubbing on his chest.
He let go of her hands. She swooped down and pulled the blanket over her chest swiftly.
“What of the women in the village?”
“They did not perish.”
“Did they leave? Are they free or are they captives like me?”
Calder ran his fingers over one of the two braids on his crown that ran the length of his scalp then cascaded down his back. “They did not leave. And they are not captives like you. Not exactly.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, reddening it, making it look as though it had been freshly kissed. “Then exactly what are they?”
“They are here to serve us. They belong to us. You, Lady Brenna, are for ransom. As the visiting daughter of another chieftain—a chieftain from a wealthy area—and the wife of a chieftain, you will garner much silver for us.”
“My husband—” Again she stopped short. This time she shook her head. “I’ll need to take a bath. I’m filthy. I smell.”
“There is no one to attend to you or bring you hot water here,” Calder told her. “Tomorrow, you bathe in the river. Under guard, so that we do not lose a precious one like yourself.”
Chapter Three
Brenna didn’t sleep that night. Not a wink. A bit after dawn, her barred door cracked open a few fingers’ width. She couldn’t see who was entering and held her breath hoping it wasn’t that scoundrel Halvar, here to finish what he’d started the night before. She found herself wishing it was Calder, but then chastised herself for wanting that barbarian to come in as her savior.
Or more.
She exhaled in frustration at the thought and how much it bothered her.
The door opened farther.
“Astrid!” Brenna exclaimed, though she didn’t keep the excitement from her voice, she did keep the volume low. She jumped up from her furs, and wrapped herself in the blanket to preserve her modesty, then leapt into the arms of her cousin.
Astrid had been the one Brenna was visiting.
Astrid wrapped her arms around Brenna, and both women began to sob.
“What happened?” Brenna asked her. “I—I do not remember anything. I think someone hit me.”
“Two days ago,” Astrid said between sobs, “the raiders came and killed our men. They are ferocious man-beasts.”
More like beasts, plain and simple, Brenna thought. “They are animals,” she agreed with Astrid.
“Bears. All of them. Shapeshifters, all of them, each and every one.”
Brenna stared at her cousin. What was she saying? Did she mean… She didn’t want to think of this. By the gods, shapeshifters were the scourge of the north, shifting into an animal form at will. They were the creatures of mythology; tales used to scare children. They weren’t—they couldn’t be—real.
“No,” Brenna whispered. “No, that cannot be.”
“But we saw them with our very eyes.” Astrid put her hands on Brenna’s shoulders and stared into Brenna’s face. “Did you not see them? The way they attacked and killed men of the village?”
Brenna shook her head—a head that still ached from the knock she’d received. “I’ve been—they—someone—hit me. I have not been awake or aware.”
“I thought you were dead,” Astrid confessed. Tears rolled down her full cheeks. Her lower lip trembled, and her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
The horror was dawning on her, and yet, still in disbelief she began, “They did not…” Brenna couldn’t finish her sentence, couldn’t speak the horrible words aloud, but she knew the answer.
They had been attacked.
“By the gods,” Brenna whispered, “they will pay.”
“Who will make them pay? They are more powerful than our gods, or they wouldn’t be here doing what they are doing.” Astrid took a deep breath, then continued. “They kept the children in the thorn bush corral. They said if the women obey and do as needed, the children will be allowed to live.”
“Heathens,” Brenna whispered.
Astrid shook her head and was silent, the tears trailing down her face for a spell before she swiped them away with her fingertips. “They sent me in here to give you this.” She held out a tunic that Brenna hadn’t noticed in her hands. “And I’m to accompany you to the river to bathe.”
“They are holding me for ransom,” Brenna said.
“I know.” Astrid bit her lip. “Eerika told them not to kill you when you attacked one of them with a blade.”
“I did that?”
“You do not remember?”
“The last thing I remember, we were preparing for the feast.”
“That’s when they arrived,” Astrid told her with a grimace. “You went after one of them with a blade. Sliced his arm. Another one hit you on the head with the back of his axe. He was ready to strike you again, to kill you, when Eerika told him you were valuable. That your husband would pay a lot of money for your safe return.”
“And when the truth comes out?” Brenna whispered.
“Eerika was not thinking of that at that moment. Her only wish was to save you from certain death.”
Brenna nodded. “Tell her I thank her.”
There was a sound at the door, almost a knock, it seemed.
Brenna and Astrid both turned toward the noise.
Calder stood there, an axe in his hand.
Brenna shivered and wondered if he was the one who’d nearly killed her. And for some reason, she hoped not.
“Your bath, lady.”
Now she knew why he called her that. But yet, when he said it, it was as though there was mockery in his tone.
“You may bring her to help, if needed.” He turned away with a final word. “An assembly of guards will accompany you.”
Chapter Four
In the hut that held Brenna prisoner, Calder watched her interact with the other woman. He’d actually caught a portion of their conversation. He’d heard Brenna ask what would happen when the truth came out.
He’d not have heard it if he were a mortal man, but being a shifter meant his senses were amplified. He could hear better, see farther, move faster, smell subtleties that most humans couldn’t.
What did she mean about the truth coming out? What truth, he wondered.
The two women rose to their feet. The fur blanket was still wrapped around Brenna, in her hand she clutched a new tunic.
The other woman gathered several furs, murmuring, “You can wrap yourself with these while you dry; the river has not yet begun to warm.”
“Thank you, Astrid.”
“You’ll be going with her to assist,” Calder told the other woman.
She nodded after glancing at Brenna.
* * *
Calder, his best friend Gunnar, and Torsten—another close ally in the tribe he ruled with his brother, all followed slowly behind the two women as they made their way toward the river.
The path was wide enough for three men to walk shoulder to shoulder, the weeds brushing thighs encased in leggings. The women’s long skirts rustled the brush that covered the oft-used path.
Calder hadn’t told Halvar he was taking the statuesque red-haired beauty to bathe in the river. He knew that for one reason or another, his brother had a bone to pick with Brenna.
And Halvar was still ensconced in his hut, in the depths of sleep, an arm slung around each of the two village women who lay next to him, all three unclad.
The cabin smelled like sex, making Calder’s rod twitch. For too long, he’d been without a woman. It wasn’t that he had a problem with taking one of the captives as his own, to bury himself in deeply and release the tension that had built in him.
It was that every time he thought of sex, Brenna’s face flashed before his eyes. The image of her countenance while she’d been sleeping, the way her body had risen and dropped with every breath while she’d lain unconscious.
And now that he’d seen at least part o
f that body, a set of glorious breasts, he couldn’t scrub her from his mind. He’d entertained the idea of taking one—or two—of the women to his own hut, but every evening, predictably, after he’d had his dinner, he’d post himself near her door, sharpening his blade, his mind immersed in thoughts of her.
Gunnar elbowed him. “We’ll be catching a glimpse of her now, won’t we. I’d like to see if her hair is as red—”
Calder halted, whirled to face him. “You’ll do nothing to jeopardize our getting the ransom from her husband, you understand? Nothing.”
Gunnar took a step back from the viciousness in Calder’s tone. “I was not going to touch her. Just looking.” He held out his hands, palms up. “Just looking.”
Calder snorted, then continued to follow the two women. He was angry with himself for having reacted. Since when did he care what his men did with captives?
At the water’s edge, Brenna faced the water, away from the men while Astrid helped remove the fur from her shoulders.
Brenna turned to look at the men. “I’d like my privacy.”
Torsten guffawed. “She’d like her privacy,” he mimicked her.
“Turn around,” Calder said.
Gunnar slapped Torsten on the back. “Do as he says.” But he gave Calder a questioning look. “And if they run?”
“Where will two women run to that we can’t catch them?”
Gunnar laughed.
Calder gave him a pointed look and Gunnar turned his back on the women.
Brenna pierced Calder with a glare, apparently waiting for him to comply.
He scowled and turned.
The soft sounds of splashing told him that Brenna was washing and that he didn’t need to turn.
And yet, he did. He couldn’t resist. His bear couldn’t resist.
Brenna was facing away from him, submerged in water to her neck. Her rich red hair had darkened in the river.
Astrid was facing Brenna and therefore could see that he was watching, but she didn’t give him away.
He didn’t have a chance to wonder why she kept his secret because just then Brenna rose out of the water and his attention was transfixed. Her long hair covered her back and ended at a set of dimples that served as a crown over a rounded arse and a set of flaring hips.
