by Jill Monroe
“Time for bed,” he told his brothers without breaking his stare.
“What?”
“It’s still early.”
Osborn sighed heavily. “You’ll need your rest if I decide you can go into the village. If.”
The brothers scrambled to clear the table and head into the room where she’d found the three beds earlier, and in just a few moments, she was alone with him. Again.
“Join me by the fire,” he said. It wasn’t much of a request, and when he offered her his hand, there was no way it could be disguised as courtly manners. She was going to sit next to him by the fire and she would be telling him everything he wanted to know.
Every great hall held a large fireplace, and even though the cottage was small, Osborn’s hearth seemed to dominate one entire wall. An inviting, fluffy rug lay before the large, flat stones in front of the firebox. She sank down on the throw, seeking its softness. It was thick enough to be a sleeping pallet. Osborn’s brothers had added extra blankets. At home, most people slept before the fire, warmed their hands near the flames and danced in front of it during celebrations and heated their ale over it. Osborn seemed to prefer to stare into it. Glare.
“You’ll be leaving here at first light.”
Was he telling her or himself? He’d already announced he’d be taking her to the village in the morning. It was all decided. Wasn’t it?
“Already things are changing, and you’ve only been here a few hours. My brothers are unused to the gentleness a woman brings into a home. They’re wanting things. Things that are impossible.” His expression grew grimmer as he continued to peer into the flames. “You have to go.”
Yes, yes. He’d already said that.
“No matter how many times you ask to stay.”
Breena hadn’t asked. Her heartbeat quickened, and she felt a little tingle all the way down to her toes. She was doing a pretty poor job of reading the strong man in front of her. She couldn’t fathom his thoughts. No, she’d missed understanding his thoughts again.
Breena left the warmth of the rug and stood beside him. His height dwarfed her. The broadness of his shoulders filled her vision. She placed her hand in the middle of his back, and felt his muscles contract under her fingertips.
“Are you wanting me to ask, Osborn?”
He turned then, catching her off guard and imprisoning her hand between his. “I need to know what dangers you have brought here. Tell me how you got here.”
The solid strength of his hand was exactly what she yearned for after wandering around hungry and tired and full of fear. “I don’t really know. It’s the truth.” Half-truth. Why did she still feel the need to keep all of what she knew to herself? Survive. Some instinct told her to tell Osborn only what he needed to know so he’d help her.
“Then tell me what you do know.”
“My home was attacked, the details are fuzzy. I woke up in this strange land.”
“So you didn’t see the markers telling you to keep out?” he asked, his voice filled with hostility and disbelief. His eyes scanned her face, searching for truth.
“I saw the bear skulls, so I figured I was on Ursa land, but they all died out. Years ago. So I assumed I was alone.”
“Not all,” he said, taking his gaze from her face and returning it to the fire.
Now Osborn’s suspicious nature and overprotectiveness of his brothers made sense. They were the last of their kind. The last of the Ursans. Would she be the last of her people? Was she? A tragic trait to have in common.
But at least she had hope. Hope that her brothers and some of the people of Elden had escaped. Osborn had none. “I’m sorry” seemed so insignificant to say about his loss, but she told him, anyway.
His throat tightened. “You’re the first person to tell me that.”
Sensing that was all the acknowledgment Osborn wanted to give to the tragedy that took his family, she went on with her story. “My people are magical. Not blood magic. Never. But my mother’s powers are very strong. I believe she cast me from our kingdom.”
“Why here?”
“Maybe something inside me chose the location. We’d been connecting through our dreams…?.”
His gaze burned for her as hot as the fire warming her cheek. Then his eyes narrowed. “You said you lost your powers, but you defeated the blood magic scout.”
“You remembered that.” Since he hadn’t mentioned it, she thought he’d forgotten she’d told him her magic no longer worked.
“Another one of your lies?”
She shook her head. “When I woke up here, there were just two thoughts in my mind. To survive and to kill. Avenge. My magic was gone and whenever I try to concentrate and really remember what happened in my home…all I get is pain. It’s like something is stabbing me behind the eyes, it hurts so bad. Believe me, if I could have used my powers when I was wandering around in that forest with no shoes and nothing to eat, I would have.”
The corner of Osborn’s lip turned up in a half smile.
“When your home was attacked, did you hear the cries we heard today? Creatures of blood magic?”
Breena closed her eyes, and tried to remember what she could before the pain hit her. All around her had been confused commotion. The sounds of battle and the wails of the wounded and dying. A flash of something sinister. A creature with razors for hands. A thing more skeletal than man. She sagged to the floor, and drew her knees up close to her chest.
“Yes, it was blood magic.”
Osborn’s breath came out in a heavy growl.
She looked up at him quickly, his face as harsh as it had been at the lake. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to bring danger to you or to your brothers.”
He swallowed, closed and opened his fists a few times, then he nodded. “I know you didn’t. Tomorrow I take you to the village. The scouts will be coming after you again. I don’t want you leading them here.”
“You really won’t help me?” she asked, more for her benefit rather than needing confirmation from him. She needed to say the words, so she could know she was truly alone. So her heart could accept the truth, and even the tiniest of hope she still held within her would die.
His silence was her answer.
“I’m sorry I brought all this down over your head. You are not the man I should be dream sharing with. I guess my magic got it wrong,” she told him with a shrug. “I really thought you were the one for me.”
Osborn pushed himself away from the hearth with a hard shove. She was surprised the cottage wall didn’t give way. “I’ll find you a pillow,” he said, and stalked toward the chest in the corner where they kept the extra winter bedding.
HIS BROTHER WAS ON HIM the moment he entered the room. “She should sleep in here,” Bernt told him, his glance roaming to the door. “It doesn’t feel right. She’s a girl. She shouldn’t have to sleep on the cold floor.”
Osborn sighed at his brother’s misplaced gallantry. “You set out enough blankets to rival a mattress. She’ll be comfortable enough in front of the fire. Besides, you willing to give up your bed?”
Bernt squared his shoulder. “Yes.”
“I’m not.”
“I just said I’d sleep out there.”
Osborn shook his head. “And her sleep in here with two males? That’s even worse.” He tossed his shirt at the foot of the bed and made a show of stretching his length along his mattress. “Either the three of us sleep out there or the three of us sleep in the comfort of our own beds. You know what I’ll choose.”
Bernt’s breath came out in a huff. His little brother knew when he’d been beat. And he didn’t like it. He slowly peeled his shirt up and over his head and then slid beneath the pelts covering his bed. Osborn blew out the candle, and darkness surrounded them. He felt his brother’s uneasiness. It would keep the boy awake all night.
“You worried about her being a girl, think what sleeping in the house with us unchaperoned will do to her. Far worse than sleeping on a pile of blankets in front
of a warm fire. The sooner she’s out of here the better.”
Soon the even breathing of his brother’s sleep filled the room, but Osborn couldn’t force his muscles to relax. If anything he grew more tense.
I really thought you were the one for me.
Her words were like a deep cut.
When he dreamed with Breena, he was someone else. When she admitted she put herself into his dreams he wrestled with temptation. He wanted to be the man in the dream for her.
But in his dreams, his blood never covered her hands. She’d brought this danger, but he brought much more. His dream girl didn’t belong with him. But for the first time, Osborn wished he could mean something to someone.
What he’d told his brothers was the truth. The sooner Breena was gone, the better it would be. For all of them.
BREENA AWOKE IN THE morning in front of the dying fire. Dawn crept over the line of the trees, and she heard a few birds begin their morning song. So normal. So idyllic.
She glanced down at her hands. They looked the same as they always did. Same nails. Still the same little freckle on the back of her hand. Her pinky finger stretched just a tiny bit crooked at the end.
But with her hands she wielded powerful magic. She pointed in the corner. Nothing. With her hands she wielded powerful magic sometimes.
Why did her magic power suddenly appear—now? Why not days ago when she could have put the power to use helping her family? What had changed?
Osborn. He was what changed. Did his presence have something to do with their onset? Would they grow stronger the longer she stayed? Or was it all coincidence? Would her powers eventually have appeared?
Breena stretched her arms high above her head. Her neck was stiff, and her back ached, but it felt good to be alive. She glanced around the tiny cottage.
Loud whispers echoed in the bedroom, and she knew the three Ursan men were awake. It had seemed so perfect when she’d stumbled upon them yesterday. She kicked the covers off, and began folding the blanket. Breena didn’t want to be accused of dawdling. The door opened, and Osborn stepped out of the bedroom. “You’re up.”
Turning, she made herself busy straightening the blanket. She wanted to avoid seeing his handsome face. Now that she knew he wasn’t her warrior, she didn’t want to…
She didn’t want to still desire him.
Bernt and Torben pushed themselves past their brother, fully dressed and ready for travel. “I didn’t think you were coming with us,” she said, thrilled there’d be some kind of buffer between her and Osborn.
“I don’t want the boys alone in case any more of those creatures come here.”
Cold. Logical. “I’m ready,” she told him, unwilling to meet his gaze.
After she used the privacy area, the four of them set out after a simple breakfast. Despite the boys’ attempts to cajole her into sharing more stories, the camaraderie of the evening before was definitely over.
“How long does it take before we get to the village?” she asked Bernt after they were well into their walk.
“We can usually arrive by noon,” Osborn answered instead.
Some time later she stumbled over a dead tree limb hidden in the brush. Three different male hands offered assistance. She grabbed for Torben’s and Bernt’s. Osborn’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at his brothers.
Around midmorning, they stopped to take a break around an old fire ring obviously used by travelers. The boys ran off for privacy while she plopped herself on a wooden stump as far away from Osborn as she could get.
A large figure blocked the sun. A shadow fell across her lap as she was rubbing her feet. An Osborn-shaped shadow. But she didn’t look up. “You’ve been avoiding me all morning. Why?”
Her shoulders slumped, and instead of feeling lighter that Osborn would soon be out of her life for good, the knowledge weighed on her heavily. She understood his reasons for not helping her, but she wasn’t going to make it easy on him.
He wore his longish hair tied back for their trip to town. Black seemed to be his color of choice; he wore it again today. He kept his appearance modest, but there was nothing simple about the huge sword strapped to his side. All together Osborn was devastating to her senses. Never had a man looked so strong, so powerful and so capable to her than the warrior. And right now she needed all of those things. Desperately. How could she not respond to him physically? Emotionally? And now he wanted some kind of explanation about her avoidance of him.
After steeling herself against the pull of his dark brown eyes, she met his gaze. “What do you want from me? I came to you for help. To find my family, to avenge their deaths. You won’t give it to me—I can accept that—but I don’t plan to sit around and discuss the weather or something with you now.”
He glared down at her. “You tried to get your magic to trap me.”
“If that’s how you want to view it,” she told him, her voice tired. If that’s how he still thought of her, she’d never convince him otherwise.
“I won’t be used. Ever again. By anyone.”
“Good for you, Osborn. In fact, go back to your cottage and just seal yourself from the rest of the world. Forget how to live, and die alone because you’ll eventually run your brothers off, too. Just point me in the direction of town, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“I’m taking you,” he said between clenched teeth.
She put the uncomfortable shoes back on her feet. “Then let’s not waste any more time here. The sooner you discard me at the village, the sooner you can be away from me.”
Breena began walking in the direction they were originally headed, and when Osborn’s brothers fell along beside her, she let out a small sigh of relief. After her big talk to their brother, she’d hate looking foolish by having to turn around and walk a different direction.
The sun was almost directly overhead when they crested a small hill. Below them a green valley stretched to the horizon, and there, nestled at the bottom, was a village. Having always been kept behind castle walls, the idea of exploring, even for just a few moments, took away the gloom of Osborn leaving her and what she must surely face in the coming days.
“Let’s go,” she told the boys, and they looped arms and charged down the hill, laughing all the way. Osborn followed behind, his hand never leaving his pack, his gaze constantly scanning around them.
The village was charming; the houses were similar to Osborn’s cottage but sanded and painted bright colors. A central road divided the small town, and booths and stalls invited her with enticing smells and beautiful fabrics. She remembered a story her mother once told of a boy made of wood tempted by all he saw in the village. The sights and the smells in town awed the boy, but he was also not careful and lost his money to a crafty fox and cat. The need for caution rang true now more than ever, but so did the lure of all there was to see and explore.
“What do you want to do first?” she asked.
“Eat,” both boys replied in unison.
She laughed until Osborn’s booming voice interrupted her. “Bernt, Torben, you go along. Breena stays with me.”
Torben looked like he might want to argue with his older brother, but the temptation to explore was just too great.
“Back in two hours.”
With a quick wave, both boys abandoned her. In a flash they were out of sight, and she felt the heavy presence of their brother at her side.
“I have a little money. It’s not much, but it should keep you from stealing anyone’s breakfast,” he said, his voice almost kind.
Breena smiled despite not wanting to. Why did he have to be nice? She really wanted to dislike him. It would make his leaving her so much easier.
“Thanks,” she managed to mumble. This would be the last time she would see him. She’d never dream of him again. Wouldn’t let herself. She began to stare at the booths, hoping he’d just leave.
“Breena—” he said, then stopped.
His voice was so raw, so full of yearning, she couldn’t help but
meet his gaze. “Breena, I—”
Raising up on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “Me, too,” Breena whispered in his ear, then she turned from him, and charged into the crowd.
HE WATCHED HER WALK AWAY. Forced himself to spy the back of her blond head until she was swallowed up by the people of the village bargaining for deals at the various stalls lining the dirt-packed road.
Osborn stood searching the crowd for her, but finally turned his back. Breena was gone.
He might as well enjoy himself while he was here. Eat something neither he nor his brothers cooked. Maybe find a woman to drive his thoughts of Breena out of his mind.
The idea of it made him shudder, and he knew thoughts of her would always be close by. His hands turned to fists. He’d tasted something close to perfect. Held her in his arms, felt her soft body respond to his touch, his kisses. Her nipples hardened in his palms with just the barest caress. And she was walking away from him? The berserkergang in him raged, turned protective. Going to find herself another warrior?
Not. Going. To. Happen.
“Breena,” he called, but received no response. He was taller than most of the villagers, so it was easy to scan the crowd, but many of the women here sported blond hair. He quickly passed by each stall, bumping shoulders with some, sending others scurrying out of his way. Nothing on the right. He crossed the street and began his search on the left side of the booths. He almost missed the narrow alley between buildings, but something drew his eye.
Maybe it was that his eyes automatically locked on anything blond.
Perhaps it was the glint of the sunlight off a knife blade.
Whatever it was, he turned down the alley to spy Breena, surrounded by three burly-looking men.
“Breena,” he called, growing anxious.
That’s when he saw the knife at her throat.
A swift chill invaded his arms and legs and his gaze narrowed into a tunnel. Every emotion—all his desire for Breena, the aching need for whatever it was she offered that had lodged in his chest—focused into anger. His berserkergang stirred and in less time it took for the man with his blade at Breena’s throat to take a breath, Osborn’s Bärenhaut lay around his shoulders with the knife removed from his boot and at the man’s throat.
