by Selena Scott
Yet... there was something about him, something that awoke something primal inside me.
Ingrid’s gaze was on the horizon where mine had been before she’d joined me. “If your brother does stoop to trying to force a berserker on you, there are always... options.”
I glanced sharply at her. Surely, she couldn't mean...
“You mean leave?” Even after I said the words, I searched Ingrid’s face for signs that I’d misunderstood. Ingrid was the tamer of us two, the more careful one. For her to suggest something like that... “Just make our own way?”
“Maybe.” She shook her head briskly, then threw her arms around me. “Oh, I don't know what I'm saying. Just if Hildre tries to hand you over to a berserker—Dahlia, you're my best friend!”
With how tightly she was squeezing me, I could barely give her a timid pat and gasped out, “It won't come to that. I'm sure he was just...” I trailed off.
That was the thing. Hildre had inherited father's temper and sporadically vindictive nature.
Still, though… berserkers.
A shiver crept through me. Even though Father had been cruel on occasion, he had still been a loving father. Vicious to his enemies, adoring to his Hildre and me, all the more because Mother had succumbed to fever when we were still little.
My hand caught hers. “If it comes to that, then we'll do it,” I told her. “There'll be no other option then.”
“No other option then,” Ingrid echoed, her nervous blue eyes looking like she hoped to believe it more than she actually did.
An exhale that wasn’t hers or mine made me jump. Wheeling around, I stared.
The Muhgadreb was sitting on a rock behind us, as offhandedly if he'd been there all along. Which he definitely hadn’t been.
Ingrid backed away a step, although she tried to insert a cheery note into her voice. “Uh, hello?”
Aye, we were all a little afraid of the Muhgadreb.
Although he was nothing more than a young, bald boy with sightless eyes, a cane, and impossibly smooth skin, he was eerie. Mainly since, in all the years I’d known him, he didn’t seem to age. But also because he said things that were unsettlingly true. Who knows, maybe that came with the territory of being clan seer.
“Hello,” the Muhgadreb said. “You speak of leaving.”
“Oh no, that was just talk.” Aye, so I was backpedaling and hating myself for it. But I couldn’t risk Hildre finding out. “We would never actually leave.”
“I know that,” he uttered in a toneless voice. “Your brother needs you, after all.”
“To marry, you mean?” I grimaced instinctually.
Please, Thor, don’t let the Muhgadreb confirm that it must be.
Instead, the Muhgadreb said, “Your brother's life is in danger.”
Ingrid gasped and my hand flew to my mouth. “In danger—how?”
But already, the Muhgadreb was rising, ambling off towards the camp. “All will reveal itself in time.”
“Hey, wait!” I hurried after him. “What do you mean? And you can’t tell anyone what you overhead us saying, you understand?”
The Muhgadreb nodded and continued on.
Ingrid rushed beside me, her eyes wide and blinking with fear. “What could he be talking about? An upcoming battle? Or maybe it's this competition and letting in newcomers—it’s risky and we both know it!” She sighed, realizing she was worry babbling. “And what about you— how are you supposed to help him?”
We fell silent as someone else approached. I didn’t even have time to groan before Toke was there, his ugly, pock-marked face scrunching into a coy wink. “Saw you admiring the newcomers. Searching for the best one to throw your life and future away on?”
“How did you guess?” I snapped, stalking past him with Ingrid.
“Careful now,” Toke called after us. “Your brother won't tolerate your poor choices much longer.”
I stopped, stiffening. I was about to retort but Ingrid stopped me.
“Forget it,” she said, glaring daggers at him. “If Hildre hasn't seen that his head commander is a complete idiot yet, then he never will.”
Toke spat on the ground.
***
That night, it took me a while to get to sleep. When I finally drifted off, I awoke damp…
My eyes snapped open. Damp… in the marshes?
My heartbeat slammed against my chest.
What was I doing here?
All around me was black, save for the odd glisten of a moon shard on the grass and mud-flecked waters.
Squelch!
Something—or someone—had just moved. The moon shifted through the clouds, shining light on what was in front of me. What had moved. The bear shifter victor from the competition.
But now he was back in his human form, his wavy, blond hair swept off his face to reveal his hungry eyes. And below—oh—he was naked. His muscles rippled across his chest and below… gods, his pillar was rock hard.
I could only gape open-mouthed as he advanced towards me. I was mesmerized, couldn't move. Or did I not want to?
And the way the air was kissing my bareness—oh—aye, I was naked too.
Already, the stranger had reached me and had his arms out, was lifting me up and onto him.
It was so fast, I only realized it as joy flooded me.
That he was inside of me, and it was good. Insanely good, as if I were Valhalla and his cock the conquering, victorious hero.
My eyes snapped open.
I was back on my bed, but not. The joy had followed me, joy unlike any I'd ever known before—exploding through me. Blurring, swelling, igniting everything all at once. This was... ugh, yes. Paradise.
Who knows how long after it was when my heartbeat finally slowed, my breathing calmed. My gaze moved to my spread legs uneasily.
Was that what I’d heard tittered amongst the older women, of the great joy that came during union with a man if they were lucky?
How could it have been when I was alone here in my bed?
A nervous exhale fell out of me. I wrapped my arms around my legs and held them to me.
Whatever that had been, one thing was definite: that stranger was dangerous. Safest thing would be to keep far, far away from him.
CHAPTER FIVE – AARIC
Finally, today was the day. After the slow crawl of these past few days, this special ceremony was most welcome.
Even just remembering back to the past few days made me yawn—how my brothers and I had beaten just about everyone they threw at us, how we’d had to still wait outside the camp, not being permitted inside until all the victors were selected and announced in the special longhouse ceremony. How we’d failed to find any trace of Skarde, let alone any confirmation that he was in the camp itself.
And now, here we were.
Inside the longhouse, where the smoke from the fires wasn’t enough to drive away the dankness that set into your bones, or the determined horse flies. A smaller collection of Vikings were there, lining the walls, although none was the lusciously curved, hooded woman from the competition days back. I hadn’t been able to spot her since.
“And now,” a young man announced in a high voice, “the great King Hildre.”
My hands instinctively curved into fists.
King Hildre? What jest was this?
But other than my brothers and me, no one looked surprised.
I only half-listened as the head of the guard announced us to a politely bored, clapping audience; my mind was too busy working away on what we’d just heard.
Had Skarde perished before we could get to him?
It would explain a lot. Like why the once-mighty Waterpaws were scared, other than them being low on men.
Aye, Skarde was a brutally powerful bastard, and without him, the Waterpaws wouldn’t be as much of a force to be reckoned with. Though I didn't know much about this Hildre character.
At some point, I glanced to my brothers. Chuld wore the same baffled expression he had the time Gri
se had snuck Kraka’s dung in his socks, while Grise looked like his only respite would be punching something.
The ceremony was continuing; we were stepping forward when it was our turn to do so, followed by more politely bored clapping and the king himself offering us a bland congratulations. And then, finally, the whole overdone ordeal was over and it was time to eat.
Only once the men had set out silver platters overflowing with food and then left did we dig in.
“Have to admit,” Chuld remarked, happily chewing on an oddly hardened blackberry concoction, “the Waterpaws sure do food right. Ow!” he yelped.
Grise only smiled with a blandness that indicated he’d just kicked Chuld under the table.
First checking to ensure he wouldn't be overheard, Grise leaned in and hissed, “We're not here to enjoy the food.”
I nodded, leaning in too. Now was as good a time to bring it up as any. “Do you think Skarde is really dead?”
“Either that, or gravely ill,” Grise agreed. “Bastards were probably trying to keep it to themselves for as long as possible.”
“But doesn't that mean, that as far as our mission...” Chuld’s optimistic expression slid off his face when he spotted our looks.
My hand clenched into the end of the table, enjoying the hard press of the wood against my fingers. “Skarde might have given the orders to kill our family, but it was his men who carried them out, his people who supported them. Skarde has been going around killing everyone that got in his way for decades now. Just because he isn't here doesn't mean the rest of the Waterpaws are suddenly innocent.” My gaze roved around to the fat king, who was ordering a serving boy around with impatient clapping. “Remember, Skarde has children.”
Chuld dropped his spoon, he was so horrified. “Children?”
“Ow!” he yelped again, then grabbed his spoon with a glare at Grise. “Cut it out.”
“Then cut out being an idiot,” Grise replied. “Of course his children are no longer children. Some of them, anyway.”
“We won't kill any children,” I agreed. “As for the adult children, there’s the new king to think of.”
My brothers smiled grimly in agreement.
Just then, I fell silent, my eye having caught something.
Someone, to be precise.
Finally. The someone.
She was sitting at one of the tables near the door. She must have arrived only recently, which would explain why I hadn't noticed her before. But now, there was no doubting it—she had to be the cloaked woman. Even from here I could make out those unmistakable curves of hers, her round, full face. She had gorgeously auburn hair too.
Our eyes caught. Hers were forest-green and averted quickly. Her lips parted.
My mouth watered.
Damn, if I had just one night with the wench. Ten minutes, even...
A kick landed against my shin.
I turned to Grise with a snarl. “I swear, brother, if you make the mistake of doing that again—”
Grise’s voice was gruff, “What about the sister?”
“That's the sister?” I asked, swallowing hard as I ripped my gaze away.
“Who else would it be?” Chuld let out a wistful sigh. “Hair that stunningly auburn...”
I shoved a potato in my mouth and chewed angrily.
Bash my hunger for the wench. There were hordes and hordes of women in the world.
Aye, and out of all of them, I had the stupendously shit luck of wanting the one I couldn't have.
“We'll deal with her when the time comes,” I growled.
Grise was visibly cheered as he dug into one of my potatoes. “So, we’ll make the hit tonight?”
Chuld spat out the sour milk he had been drinking.
“Have you heeded nothing of what we’ve discussed?” I asked Grise with a fierce glare. “Of getting our best chance at this. A chance which won’t be gotten the night we’re welcomed into the band, when we know neither its layout nor its guards.”
“One that won’t be gotten either by waiting so long we’re discovered,” Grise argued, glaring back at me.
“We won't wait long,” I stated. “But we do need a bit of time. The Waterpaws aren't stupid. They're going to be suspicious of us newcomers, unless we genuinely integrate ourselves into the clan and build their trust in us. So that one day, they may even permit us a lone audience with the king.”
Grise hawked out a laugh. “How long were you planning on staying here, exactly? Years? Decades? The rest of our lives?”
“No,” I said. “But maybe a few months. We can discuss this again in a week’s time, and then determine where we stand. Perhaps then we will decide that the best thing is indeed to strike fast.”
Grise rose, his face contorted with rage. “I don't like this. This interminable waiting and waiting and waiting. How long have we waited?”
“I don’t like it either,” I growled, being careful to keep my voice low as I rose too. “But we can't rush into it headfirst, unprepared. We're not going to get another shot at this.”
“I know,” Grise snapped. “That's what I'm afraid of.”
With that, he stormed off.
“He'll come around,” Chuld said, still chewing on that berry something.
“He’d better.” I threw myself back onto the wooden bench I’d been sitting on. “We can't afford any of his impulsive antics.”
Although it was Grise’s impulsive, impatient nature that was the problem. He had nearly eaten us out of our food stores more times than I could count. While hunting, his instinct was always to go for the kill a few seconds too soon. Usually he was strong enough to still pull it off, but we couldn't rely on that here. There were too many of the Waterpaws and too few of us Fireclaws.
Although my gaze itched to go back to the curvy hooded woman, I focused on the entertainment between the tables instead. A musician blew out of some sort of goat horn instrument as a woman sung in a beautiful reedy voice.
A fork I hadn’t even realized I was holding cut into my hand, I was gripping it so hard.
Was this what they had been doing that night? Feasting and supping, playing, while my father and mother... my sister...
Aye, this was probably exactly what they did—and what they’d continue to do once they were replenished enough in soldiers to continue their Decade March. That was what the Waterpaws did. Unlike kings and bands beforehand, who had allowed villages to eke out a living for themselves, the Waterpaws were different. When they did visit once a decade, they took everything the villages had, and burned them to the ground if they dared try to defy them.
Aye, killing Skarde's descendants and putting down the Waterpaws would be for the best for every Viking village too.
The king’s sister—the hooded woman—snuck a glance at me, then rose and set out into the black night. An invitation—or a refusal?
I stared after her. Rage and want pumped through my veins.
Who knows what won out when I rose, told my brother farewell, and stalked out of there without as much as a glance back.
I paused, inhaled the night air. It was too dark to see much, even my hand right in front of me. Which meant it would be the best time to wander the brovin alone. It’d give me time to think.
So, I put up my hood and set off into the blackness. As I walked, the meadow grasses pressed against my legs, rustling.
Something pointy pressed into the back of my hood.
“Don't move,” a low female voice said.
CHAPTER SIX – DAHLIA
The shifter from my dream, the one they called Aaric, peered around to look at me, threw back his still-hooded, sandy-waved head, and laughed. Even his big teeth were alluringly vicious-looking.
“If you wanted me to ravage you,” he growled, “you should have just said so, no need for the sword.”
With a swift motion, he grabbed the knife away and pressed it to my throat. “Now how do you like it?”
My face reddened. “No one else wanders after dark. I tho
ught you could be—”
Shrugging, he withdrew the knife and tucked it into his trousers with an air of supreme indifference. But instead of leaving or apologizing, as any other man would be expected to, he stood there, undressing me with his eyes.
“What are you doing out here anyway?” I demanded.
My mind was racing in ten different directions at once.
Was he the danger that the Muhgadreb had been talking about? He certainly seemed dangerous enough. Or was I just feeling threatened because I wanted to both smack him and kiss him?
“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied.
“I'm the king's sister.” I rose to my full height, still, annoyingly, up to his armpit. “I have the freedom to wander where I please.”
Immediately after the words had left my mouth, I cringed. I had always loathed throwing my rank in people's faces, and avoided doing so as much as possible. So why had I done it now?
The man’s gaze still held mine. “As I've heard. Yet, does a free Viking shifter not hold the same rights?”
His question caught me off guard. I'd never thought about it before.
“I supposed so,” I allowed. “But with your hood up like that—”
He pulled off his hood and my mouth went dry.
Aye, the lethal shifter was even more handsome up close. A face rough and exquisite, as though carved out of granite, with hard coals for eyes, an almost-smiling mouth. A face that had seen hardship, but retained its nobility.
And those eyes… so sure of themselves, of what—who—they wanted.
Or maybe I was just extrapolating.
My mind fluttered around like a trapped bird, trying to find a safe thought on which to perch.
Did he remember me from the competition? He must have. He couldn't possibly know what was going on in my head, the dream I'd had the other night—could he?
I turned away. “You have no right.”
“Oh?” His voice was light. “I'm not allowed to wander after dark?”
