The Berserker Brides Saga

Hazel-1

Hazel

I woke to the sound of rushing water. Light drops bathed my face until the warm bulk under me shifted, moving me away from the wet spray. Soft fur rubbed my face, wiping it dry.

I opened my eyes. A few feet from me water fell in a thick, grey sheet, roaring past the crevice where I lay.

“You’re awake.”

A voice in the gloom made me shoot up to my feet. I staggered, slipping on the slick rocks between me and the waterfall. A hand clamped on my arm and pulled me back from the edge. Muscled arms closed around me.

“I would not move if I were you,” the warrior half spoke, half growled in my ear. He moved us both back to safety before he let me go. With his height, he had to bend a little in the small space. His wet blond locks hung about his face and his skin bore faint scratches from the branches I’d sent whipping into his path, plus more cuts and blade marks that hadn’t been there before.

He stayed still and quiet while I turned in a small circle, taking in the black, wet rock and the rushing water.

“What—where?” I stammered.

“We’re in a cave behind a waterfall, some leagues away from the mage’s cave and his servants. The enemy sent out a curse that touched your mind. You fainted and I carried you away.” His large hand drifted over my hair, brushing back the wet strands sticking to my face. “You’re safe here, with me.”

I wrapped my arms around my body, but didn’t retreat. His massive body was a source of welcome heat. He’d already rescued me several times and carried me in his arms to this hidden sanctuary. If he wanted to touch me now, I wouldn’t protest.

Besides, unless I edged closer to the waterfall, there wasn’t much space to run. The blond warrior seemed to take up every available inch with his hard-muscled body. He stood bare-chested in ripped breeches. When he turned, I gasped. A broken arrow stuck from his back, near his waist.

“You’re hurt.” I pointed to the thick bolt. He glanced down as if he hadn’t seen it before. With a grunt, he pulled it from his flesh and tossed it into the raging fall of water a few feet from us.

Blood gushed from the wound. Without thinking, I went and pressed my hands against it, trying to stem the flow.

His large hand closed over mine.

“It’s alright, lass. It’ll heal soon enough.”

“But—”

He lifted away my palm and showed me that the skin had already closed.

I jerked my hand away. “Who are you?” I asked in a shaky voice. “What are you?”

“Afraid, little one?”

I jerked my head yes, but realized it was a lie. After my initial shock, I felt calm in his presence, as if, deep down, I knew I was safe with him.

A grin creased his features, barely discernible in the gloom. “That’s right, little one. You have nothing to fear.”

My forehead creased. Was he reading my mind?

He took my hand and drew me down to sit on the rocks.

“I am called Knut. I am a warrior.”

“You’re a man…but…” I searched for a way to describe the monster he’d become before my eyes.

Sadness touched his mouth. “I am a man and more than a man. Long ago a witch gave me and my fellow warriors great power. The magic had…consequences.”

I shivered in the cool, damp air.

“Here.” He lifted a large white pelt and laid it over my shoulders.

“We won’t stay here long. You need warmth and care.” He touched my knee, drawing my attention to the scratches there. My shift was filthy, my feet dirty and cut.

“Why are we in this place?”

“The Grey Men do not seem to like water.”

“Are they here?” I half-started up in alarm.

“Easy,” he pulled me into his arms. “I believe they are tracking you. I ran in the river to make sure they would lose the trail, but the mage bespelled the weather. We will wait out the storm and then I will sneak us out.”

I huddled awkwardly in his lap, dwarfed by his broad body. My shoulders were hunched, but when he stroked my back, I naturally angled towards his muscled chest, allowing him to draw me further into his embrace.

Under my ear, his heart beat against the roar of the waterfall. Some light came in through the blue-grey sheet, enough for me to study the warrior’s face. Tall and blond, like the Viking raiders most villages still feared, though their dragon-headed ships hadn’t touched our shores for many years. His skin bore scars, his face lined with the weight of his years, yet he was handsome. Every word, every move spoke of authority. He was a man used to giving orders, and having them obeyed. Yet the way he looked at me…

My hands tugged on the pelt he’d tucked around my shoulders, drawing it tighter, but the fur was frail armor against the warrior’s penetrating gaze. He was studying me as I was him, a small smile on those firm lips.

“Tell me your name,” he said.

“Hazel,” I answered, obeying before I decided whether telling him my name was folly. My name and the clothes on my back, were the only things left in my possession.

“And how old are you?”

“Eighteen summers, sir. At least, that’s what the nuns at the abbey had told me. I was brought to the orphanage when I was a babe.”

Knut’s large hand came to cup my cheek. “So young to have such power over me.” His voice rumbled through me as his gaze fixated on my lips.

“How old are you?” I dared not knock his arm away, even as my heart beat faster, responding to his touch. My breasts felt heavy, swollen. Something inside me shifted, waking up, like a flower blooming and turning towards the light.

He chuckled, and it took years off his face. “I do not know my age. I was born thirteen summers before I pledged allegiance to my jarl, twenty summers before the jarl sent me to fight to make Harald Fairhair king of the North Lands. A few summers after that, I was chosen to be part of an elite group of men, selected to become the greatest of all warriors. The witch cursed us and my life as a man ended and my life as a Berserker began.”

A Berserker. I’d heard tales of such warriors, along with the stories of the Vikings who came to raid our shores. Warriors who feared nothing, shock troops that could destroy an entire army before their king sent the bulk of his forces into battle. Their inhuman violence and rage made them impervious to all harm. They’d fight until they dropped with exhaustion and nothing could stand in their way.

“I have not kept track of the years since then,” he mused. “It has been many moons.” He seemed more fascinated by my hair and weight on his lap, than telling me of his life. We were trapped behind the waterfall, with great danger lurking just outside, and yet he seemed content to have me sit in his lap, and examine every hair on my head with his worshipful gaze.

His great hand dropped to tug at mine, peeling my white-knuckled grip from the edge of the pelt. He studied my small fingers, my arm brown from days working in the sun.

Emboldened by the gentleness in his look and tone, I freed my hands and took his. Tingles spread through me as I stroked the fingers open, studied the scars and rough palms. The hands of a warrior.

Yet not long ago, they had been clawed and furred, a grotesque mix of human and wolf.

“Your hands, they were different when you were fighting the Grey Men.” I tried to summon my repulsion, but I couldn’t. “What are you?”

He set his finger against my lips and the simple touch sent warmth rushing through me. “Nothing you need fear.”

I was trembling again, against my will. I steeled my spine. “Why are you helping me then?”

He c****d his head, tucked a strand of wet hair behind my ear. “I have been waiting for you a long, long time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to, little one. Some things are beyond understanding, but they are still true.”

He tucked me under his chin. His bare chest emanated heat that seeped into my chilled body. At last, at long last, I could relax.

I closed my eyes. “I’m tired.”

“Sleep, little one. I will keep watch.”