Mastered by the Berserkers (Berserker Brides)

by Lee Savino

  But that was before I met the Berserkers.

  I finished with the food and trekked back to my own group. The unmated spaewives, as the Berserkers called us. But even among them, I didn’t belong.

  “Juliet,” Meadow waved at me and made room on the blanket for me to sit. The sun was sinking, but there was still enough light for games. A group of warriors played a violent game of some sort, dashing and darting, trying to catch a leather bound ball. Of course, the Berserkers played half naked. Only a scrap of leather covered their nethers.

  Some of the men didn’t even have that.

  Meadow’s eyes were huge. I resisted the urge to put my hands over her eyes, and scrubbed my own instead. Sleepless nights and smoke from the massive bonfire made my head ache.

  But it was more than that. Deep in my belly, I felt it brewing. The heat, rising in me. It had come on me before, but it was worse tonight than it’d ever been.

  Sage and Willow called it the fever. They and many of our sisters had felt it. From what they told me, the heat called to the Berserkers. It marked the women who could break their curse.

  And now it had come upon me.

  “The heat comes when the spaewife is ready to mate.” Fenrir had told me. I put a hand to my belly and gnawed my lip.

  Maybe I was a spaewife. Or maybe I was just wicked, and destined to burn. This sickness was the heat of hellfire, warning me to renounce all sin.

  A half-naked warrior strolled past me and Meadow gasped. On her corner of the blanket, Fern ducked her head to her knees, though she peeked out from time to time.

  Rosalind sat on a boulder some feet away from us. She sat straight and stiff, her honey gold hair streaming out behind her like a flag. Half the warriors blatantly stared at her. A few even tried to catch her attention. But she stared out at nothing, proud as a princess, refusing to acknowledge her captors.

  “Look,” Meadow nudged me. “The Alphas are here.”

  And so they were, taking their place on a crop of boulders nearer to the fire. Their women came with them, Brenna of the Berserkers, dark-haired and lovely in a white fur robe that trailed upon the grass. Sabine of the Lowland pack, tall and flanked by two warriors—one of whom had more tattoos than Jarl. Muriel and her hulking, scar-faced mate. A fourth slender, bright-haired woman who held a staff taller than her head. When she strode past us amid a tight pack of three warriors, I noticed the wood staff was carved with runes and topped with an eagle feather.

  The Alphas settled and the feasting began. As the warriors carved up the game, I found myself looking for a certain two Berserkers. But Jarl and Fenrir weren’t among the warriors.

  By the time the moon rose, we’d eaten our fill of the meat and sprawled out, half on the blanket, half on the grass. The younger ones dozed. I’d taken off my cloak to make a pillow for Aspen, Ivy, and Clover.

  Down by the fire, the Alphas still ate and drank. A few Berserkers rolled up huge casks of mead. When the first opened, the honey liquid spilled to the ground and the warriors sent up a cheer.

  That’s when I saw him, standing among his Berserker pack. Fenrir stood near the casks, sipping from a cup. A minute later Jarl joined him.

  I knew I shouldn’t stare, but I couldn’t help it. They bent toward one another, then Fenrir’s head snapped up as if he suddenly sensed something. Before I could look away, he turned and looked straight at me.

  I squirmed in my seat. Jarl looked up at me, too. His usual smirk spread across his face and he raised his horn of mead in a mock toast to me.

  I looked away. I didn’t know why I’d sought them out in the first place. They didn’t matter to me. I needed to remember that.

  Night had fallen. The bonfire had grown bigger, fed by whole trees. A single Berserker could fell a tree in seconds and carry it on their own. It seemed to be a competition among them, second only to competing to see who could drink a whole cask of mead.

  I sighed and hugged my knees to my chest. Soon our warrior guard would come and escort us back to our beds. But for now, we would sit and watch the wild revelry. It was a welcome change from the stuffy lodge.

  Then the drums began. First, a subtle throbbing, echoing over the hill. I did not know whence it came. The sound grew into a low pulse that seemed to shake the very ground from deep inside. The heartbeat of the earth.

  A group of people wearing cloaks were coming up the hill toward our gathering. They pushed back their hoods as they entered the circle of the bonfire’s light. Most were women, but not any I recognized. Some were old and bent, others had smooth, ageless faces. One tall woman carried a huge snowy owl on her outstretched arm.

  They were witches, I realized. The Alphas rose as one to greet them.

  The rhythm of the drums intensified.

  The newcomers settled into their own circle, some ways from the Alphas. The Berserkers were gathering in a larger circle around the witches and the whole bonfire. The firelight danced and licked over blonde heads and gleaming torcs, over axe heads and shields. The warrior’s dark tattoos seemed to come alive, the symbols writhing over the warriors’ skin.

  A ripple went through the gathered warriors. Sabine walked from the Alphas’ seat toward the witches, accompanied by her two mates. When she reached the witches’ circle, she let her cloak fall away. She’d been painted with woad, her face and bare arms covered in blue symbols. She wore a white shift and nothing else. Her feet were bare.

  The drums beat faster. The witch with the owl greeted Sabine, and raised her voice to the assembly. I couldn’t hear anything over the boom of the drums. Or maybe I didn’t want to hear.

  I licked my lips. Behind me, the younger girls had fallen asleep, lulled by the pagan rhythms. Rosalind was standing now, her face a pale mask bathed in moonlight. Beside me, Fern curled tighter into a ball, rocking slightly.

  In the circle of witches, Sabine began to dance. She twisted and turned, her bare feet striking the earth, her body dipping and flowing like a willow’s branches. At times, she raised her face and arms to the moon and the drums would pause, only to continue faster.

  The rhythms built and built, and as one, the Berserkers raised their weapons to the sky. The witches sent up a chant and the Berserkers echoed it. They beat their axes and swords against their shields, adding to the rhythm of the drums.

  A warrior entered the circle with Sabine. Ragnvald, one of the Alphas and one of her mates. He moved to her side. In a flash, he reached out and caught her, and drew her close with a fist in her bright hair. She stilled, rising on tiptoe to face him, her hands hanging by her sides, palms out turned.

  The warrior Ragnvald held Sabine fast. His face moved over hers, hovering as he scented along her hairline. Even from my distance, I could see her eyes close. She quivered in his grip.

  Slowly Ragnvald dipped his head and claimed her mouth. All the Berserker warriors broke into a war cry, shaking their weapons.

  I jerked at the clamor and looked around. Hazel sat watching the ritual beside a giant golden-haired warrior. A few feet away, higher on the hill, Willow sat between two warriors, one dark, one redhead. As I watched, the redhead cupped her face and kissed her.

  I gasped, a flush moving over me. A second went by, and another, but the kiss between Willow and her mate did not end. Beyond them, Laurel lay between her mates. Their large hands stroked back her hair and along the curve of her bosom.

  I rose to my feet, a wave of heat pulsing over me. Hazel was now in her warrior’s lap, her small dress-clad frame dwarfed by his. Her warrior giant played with the torc around her neck, tugging it to draw her closer and lying back so she could straddle him.

  I whirled to face the woods, my face burning. It was suddenly too hot. My nails scraped my chest as if I could peel out of my skin. My heartbeat boomed loud as the drums.

  “Juliet?” It was Fern, concern in her voice. I shook my head at her and tried to speak, but the drums filled my ears.

  The drums were driving me mad. I was nowhere near the bonfire, but my skin burn
ed like I was in the middle of its molten mouth. Sweat dripped into my eyes and my eyes blurred.

  I had to escape. There must be somewhere, anywhere I could hide.

  I turned and raced toward the woods. The ground seemed to roll under my feet as I reached the treeline. I wore new boots; boots I’d found by the lodge three nights ago. They were welcome then, but now seemed too heavy on my feet.

  I stumbled.

  “Juliet.” Fenrir stepped out from behind a tree and caught me as I fell. I was in his arms, surrounded by his scent. His long hair swept over me. I pushed at the fine tangle until our faces were clear.

  And then his mouth was on mine. His dark beard scratched my face. His hands cupped my jaw, turning my head this way and that as his tongue plundered. My arms went around his broad shoulders, gripping handfuls of his silky hair. Our bodies melded to each other. My aching breasts brushed his smooth chest.

  His mouth broke from mine. We were both gasping. He propped me against a tree trunk. My hair caught on the rough bark.

  Then Jarl was before me, shouldering Fenrir out of the way. He gripped my hair, hard. I gasped. He tugged my head back and sealed my lips with a brutal kiss. His mouth blazed a path down my neck. His teeth tested and gently bit my collarbone. He drew me away from the tree and Fenrir closed in again. Using my hair as a leash, Jarl turned my face to Fenrir’s for another soft kiss. Then back to his for a claiming one. Back and forth while the moon rose and the drumbeat throbbed between my legs. In a moment, they would drag me down and we’d tangle together on the ground. It would be so easy.

  I wrenched away. Jarl growled, but Fenrir stopped him from jerking me back. I stumbled a few paces and both warriors let me.

  “No,” I said, too soft for any man to hear. “I cannot.”

  “Juliet,” Fenrir called.

  I faced them with chin raised. “I have given my life to God.”

  “A nun. We know.”

  “Then you know that I am chaste.”

  “You are not chaste.” Jarl stepped close. I retreated from him, only to stop when my back hit a tree. The tip of his mouth curled upwards and his rough hand covered my breast. “You desire us. You always will.” He leaned close and his lips feathered up my neck.

  I was panting as if I’d run up the mountain. “You know me not at all.”

  “Give us time. We will know every part of you.” Jarl whispered into my ear. I could hear his smirk.

  I dashed his hands away. Jarl stepped back, chuckling.

  Fenrir came close then, his hands outspread. “Juliet.” Moonlight filtered across his face, gilding his beautiful features. Desire shot through me.

  I averted my face.

  “Juliet, look at me.” His palm cupped my cheek. It felt so good I shuddered.

  “You cannot touch me.” I told him. “I've dedicated my life to God.”

  “Which God?” Jarl asked.

  I frowned at him. “There is only one true God.”

  Jarl shrugged. “We have many.” He leaned against the tree, close to me. “Perhaps that is why your prayers don't work. For me, if one god is deaf, I pray to another.”

  “That is blasphemy,” I whispered. What was I doing, facing these men alone? I ducked past Fenrir and shouted over my shoulder, “Do not come near me again.”

  I was shaking when I returned to my group. Fern looked at me worriedly. I gathered a slumbering Clover onto my lap and fixed my eyes on the fire. I paid no attention when Jarl and Fenrir joined the rest of the warriors. They were nothing to me. I would never speak to them again. I would remain at the lodge and pray for my heat to pass.

  Surely, God would answer my prayers and drive the lust from my flesh, and when that happened, the fever would leave.

  But the fever did not leave. As seasons past and autumn gave way to winter, I grew to dread the full moon. My heat did not pass. It grew worse.

  And finally came the night when I sat shivering in frozen mud. The Berserkers had watched and waited, and now their patience was at an end.

  “This ends now,” Fenrir said, and my heart beat like a war drum.

  Jarl and Fenrir would allow me to resist no longer. They would claim me, and my suffering would be over.

  It would only come at the cost of my vows, and my pride.

  The warriors surrounded me, caging me between them. There was no escape.

  Jarl bent his head to mine. “We’re taking you this night.”

  And deep down, I felt relief.

  4

  Jarl

  The little nun shrank into herself. She didn’t fight other than try to tug her arm away. It took a mere fraction of my strength to hold her. She gave up and blinked at me. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight, and her pulse fluttered in her throat.

  I dipped my head down to whisper in the silken shell of her ear.

  “You’re suffering. You’ve been suffering so long you know no other life. But we can end it. You refuse to, so we will. We won't stand by and watch any longer.”

  “You can’t do this,” she whispered back.

  “We’re Berserkers,” I taunted back. “We’ll do as we wish.”

  Her eyes flashed and I straightened, smirking. The Juliet I knew would not cower before us. She’d fight back. Even frightened, she’d fight.

  Jarl, Fenrir spoke into my mind, through the mental bond all Berserkers shared. The changing of the guard is soon. We best be gone.

  “Come, little mother.” I caught her up in my arms, and strode away from the lodge. Fenrir followed.

  Juliet’s breathing grew sharp. I splayed a hand on her back to calm her, and picked up my speed. We flew into the forest. I cradled her close as I pushed through the thicket of hemlock branches. Juliet hid her face against my shoulder. Poor little spaewife.

  “What about the girls?” she muttered.

  “They will be safe,” Fenrir promised. “The spaewives will watch over them.”

  “But—”

  “Hush,” I murmured. “You think always of others, never of yourself.”

  Juliet tried to wrench herself away from me. When I would not let her, she pressed her lips together and glared up at me. If her gaze was an axe, it’d separate me from my head.

  I grinned. “No matter, little mother. We will take care of you.”

  When I broke from the trees, I linked to Fenrir, speaking mind to mind. She’s cold.

  Fenrir shrugged out of the fur robe he wore. It left his chest bare, but he was a Berserker. The magic that made us allowed us to ignore the cold.

  When Fenrir approached to drape the fur on Juliet, she roused.

  “No.” Juliet’s teeth chattered as she tried to talk. “You’ll freeze.”

  “Hush, little mother,” I cupped the back of her head, trying to ease her back against my chest.

  “I won’t freeze,” Fenrir told her. “I’m a Berserker.”

  Her brow creased, but she stopped fighting. We bundled her into the fur. She’d need it, as we crossed to the north side of the mountain. Branches and frosted grass crunched underfoot. Fenrir moved silently beside me. I could glide quietly as a wolf, but we wanted to leave a trail.

  When we came to a stream, we waded right in. I gritted my teeth against the numbing cold. An ordinary man would freeze, but the magic that healed us would stop any frostbite. Fenrir and I agreed to walk the stream to throw off our scent. It would not stop the Alphas from tracking us, but it would delay them a little.

  After a mile walking in the water, we came to the cliff where we’d built our lodge. The moonlight shone down on the lodge roof in silent blessing. We were on the other side of the mountain. Most Berserkers would not bring their mates so far from the safety of the pack, but we had no choice. Not if we were to claim her.

  Juliet was quiet, her breathing even. For a moment I thought she’d fallen asleep. Perhaps this would be easier than I thought.

  Then she raised her head.

  She was still shuddering, her small frame wracked with cold.

&nbs
p; “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “To our home.” I couldn’t keep the pride from my voice. We’d built this place for our mate, and now we were bringing her home.

  She sucked in a breath and blew it out in a frosty cloud. “This is a mistake. You shouldn’t have taken me.”

  There were a few large boulders in our path. I maneuvered around them and picked up my pace, climbing up the rise toward the lodge. “Why didn’t you scream for help?”

  “I didn’t want to disturb the girls. They’ve been through so much.”

  “They are safe now.”

  She snorted. “Safe,” she sneered.

  “They are safe,” I repeated.

  “They are my responsibility,” she said. “I don’t trust the Berserkers.”

  “We protect them. They are spaewives.”

  “Until they are of age to be brides?” she asked sharply. I loved that I held her in my arms and yet she wanted to argue with me.

  “They are spaewives.” I adjusted her closer. “Do you want them to suffer the fever, as you have?”

  “No.” She bit her lip and looked tormented. Another shiver ran through her.

  Fenrir eased into a stride beside me. He reached over to adjust the fur to cover Juliet more fully, then took her hand. “Do not worry for them. They have their own path. You have yours.”

  “And my path leads straight to your lodge?” She glowered at Fenrir, but I noticed she did not pull her hand away.

  I hitched her higher in my arms and their handhold broke. Maybe I did it on purpose, maybe it was a mistake.

  The path curved around another crop of boulders. Instead of following it, I leapt up, holding her tight in my arms. She gasped and clung to me.

  “Look down there,” I ordered. She did and squinted into the dark. I paced a little closer to the edge of the lichen covered rock.

  Jarl, Fenrir said my name in warning, speaking into my mind.