Savage Want (Wicked Wants, #3)

by Annice Sands

  Another crackle of twigs. Something was out in the woods with me. Most likely small game, a plump fowl rustling its powdery-white wings as it roused in sleep. But the howl had been no bird. A wolf was nearby, possibly more dangerous than Torsten, and I faltered on my southward path. A crunch of snow behind me. I turned to look. Nothing. Padded footsteps to the fore. No, the side. Behind me again.

  I was being circled, by either one wolf or a small pack of them, I couldn’t be sure. A tiny squeak of terror escaped me as I quickened my pace, but still the sounds of pursuit could be heard. The wolves would attack, tear me apart and leave my gutted corpse to freeze solid in this strange land. Tears threatened again, but I wiped them away and broke into a run. The padded steps surrounding me followed.

  My breath was raw in my chest. My fingers were nearly numb from the cold. I rounded one bent silver-bark tree and was hooked around the neck by an outstretched arm. I screamed and the arm tightened.

  “Quiet, woman.”

  I knew the voice. Torsten. I clung to his arm and struggled to get away at the same time.

  “Late for a walk, hm?” He laughed heartily and released me.

  I immediately backed away from him, my hands outstretched. “Leave me alone!”

  “Many vicious beasts live in these woods.” His eyes reflected his smile. This seemed to be an enjoyable game for him.

  “Many vicious beasts live in your camp, Wulf.” It was all the same to me. Die at the hands of the Northmen, or die in the jaws of an animal.

  “Come on.” He waved me on and turned to walk back towards the barely perceptible light of his camp.

  I frowned. He was leaving the choice up to me? My mouth dropped open.

  Torsten stepped steadily away, leaving me to the sounds of the night. My heart thundered in my ears. He was right. The woods were dangerous, too dangerous. And hadn’t Torsten done all he could to keep me comfortable, despite the undeniable fact that I was still his prisoner?

  My mind was torn. Face the night creatures alone, or return to camp with him to better plot my escape? Would he beat me for trying to leave?

  I made a pained squeal and ambled after him, head down, feet heavy suddenly with snow. I didn’t want to be left alone. I would have to find another way.

  We returned to camp amidst gales of laughter. A foolish woman was I, the barbarians’ faces seemed to tell me. The nearest city could be days away, as far as I knew. I’d almost certainly die from exposure before I could reach any hope of help.

  But I did have hope, once we’d returned to his tent and he sat in front of the fire, not saying a single word. Nor did he beat me. His general demeanor seemed that of disappointment and possibly, hurt? Nonsense. I’d seen what his kind were capable of. It was difficult to believe that one of them could be conquered simply by the want for a woman.

  But it did seem that he reserved feelings for me. His men had stormed my city and torn it apart and the man whom apparently was their leader was in love with me. I could work this to my advantage, should I play my hand well.

  I could let him cater to me, tempt him with my beauty, and when he was at his weakest moment, plunge a dagger into his damned black heart. I’d never killed anyone, but to take his life would be right. He and all his men deserved the same fate as had befallen my people. I would extinguish the Wulf and leave his tent in the night as his men slept in their drunken stupor or laid with their stolen women turned to whores. Then I would find my father.

  Chapter Four

  The Wulf had other plans for me. Following the days of taking over what had once been a familiar place to me, they moved on to the next village. After that, the warriors gave an animated recount of how they’d brought the larger city of Aasherd, to its groveling knees. The Northmen moved fast as they drove a trench through the land and filled it with, what was much of, innocent blood.

  When the day was done, the men would set up a circle of tents, with Wulf’s being in the center, and patrol in ever widening circles to keep wary watch on those who were sleeping or merry with drink. And drink they did. Each conquered sign of civilization was razed to the ground—but not before the entire supply of wine and ale was greedily looted.

  The other ten women were from previous town raids, frightened, pretty things that dared not to talk to me, only gave timid glances in my direction as I enjoyed the most freedom of any captive in the camp. These women were daughters, wives, possibly mothers of lost children and they were treated like dogs. One frail thing, dark haired and wild-eyed tried to escape just as I had, and suffered for her efforts. Her captor bound her hands and kept her within arm’s reach. I took that his name was Ogar, and I asked Torsten about the young woman.

  “What of it?” Torsten asked in response. “Are you not comfortable?”

  “I cannot bear to see her suffer so.” I pulled away from what I’m sure he intended to be a reassuring embrace.

  “She is Ogar’s. As you are mine.”

  I scowled. “You do not own me. He does not own her.”

  Torsten let out a deep sigh and sat with his feet planted apart, his big hands upon his knees. “Your concern for her is understandable.”

  “Are you not the leader of these men?”

  He nodded once. “Ja, but all treasure goes to the Jarl.”

  I glared at him. “Am I treasure?”

  “You are. But not like you think.”

  He fell into silence, despite my continued attempts to question the savage ways. Why was I any different than Davina? Or the other timid women whom I had not yet met? Why were they treated so poorly while I enjoyed relative comfort?

  Other oddities ensued. The men, gruff as they were, tended to avoid me. I did not attempt to engage them in conversation. They did not speak English. The ill-tempered crone that I’d first awoken to was the one who brought me food and whatever else I needed. When I left the tent, hard gazes followed me wherever I went. Grizzled warriors kept watch as I made my business outside of the tent, a distance away from the camp. Sometimes I was permitted to lie by the central fire and to observe the other women as they toiled for their captors. Not once was I commanded to cook or mend clothing. Never was I struck by any man, even though the other poor captives endured stinging slaps to the cheek or being tugged around by only their hair.

  The barbarians had a preference for long-haired maidens, most of which I’d have wagered were proper ladies, snatched away from one estate or another. But gradually, as the days grew ever shorter and winter, harsher, I noticed that the men ceased to abuse them.

  Had Torsten spoken to the warriors because of what I’d said to him?

  The men still barked in their own language, nudging the slaves to their assigned tasks. The eyes of the women held a note of gratitude towards Torsten, striking a chord of possessive jealousy in me. I carried no doubt in my mind that should Torsten’s eye wander, that I would soon take a slave’s place in the camp’s chores.

  One night, I caught a glimpse of a strange lupine beast with copper eyes circling the tents. Odd that the watchmen hadn’t discovered it and chased it off. The full moon glinted off the ruff of black hairs down its back, giving me the impression of the animal’s true size. On silent paws it stalked just out of reach of firelight, pointed ears turning this way and that. Its eyes glimmered in the camp’s firelight. I dared not move in fear that it might attack, but it didn’t. Instead, our gazes met for an uneasy moment before the beast melted back into the night’s deep shadows.

  Torsten returned to his tent long after my meeting with the wild dog, but I made no mention of it. The rope that held me the first night might’ve vanished, but enough men guarded Torsten’s belongings, me included, that I could not dare to escape again for the time being. Besides, there was that monstrous wolf out there, somewhere.

  Admittedly, Torsten Wulf was very generous in bringing me a choice trinket or fine clothes from his plundering’s. And his darker silence, the one only I observed, as he sat and stared into the fire was enough to intrigue me. I
think he often forgot I was even there, as he drank his horn of mead or some other intoxicating liquid. Then, his breath heavy with sleepiness, he would find his way into the bed. At first, I always left the bed, preferring the company of the hard ground to his warm killer’s body. But as the nights grew colder, I instead stayed there and sometimes, he would rest his leaden arm over my middle as he slumbered.

  I should kill him. Kill him before anyone else dies by his sword.

  My eyes fell upon the blade in its sheath, and I rose from bed as quietly as a cat towards the weapon. Would it be stained with blood? The weapon was heavy. With some difficulty, I managed to draw the sword halfway, enough to lay eyes upon the metal.

  No blood.

  My gaze turned to the fearsome monster sleeping in the bed. My bed? His bed? And what was he waiting for? He hadn’t taken my virtue, much as his other countrymen had their captives. He’d hardly spoken a full sentence to me on most days. Did he think me a pet of some sort?

  My mind eased somewhat that his blade was clean, I crept back into bed. Strong fingers grasped my side, and he rose up with a flash of anger in his dark eyes.

  “What do you think you are doing?” He growled. “Stealing from me?”

  “No...” I faltered, unsure of what to call him. “My lord, I only wanted to see your blade.”

  Our gazes held steady for a moment, as did my heart in my chest, but then he laughed.

  “Woman, if you’d wanted to see my blade, you only needed to have asked.”

  I blinked, unsure of the significance of his response, but then a deep heat blossomed in my cheeks.

  “I did not mean...”

  His smile was undeniably beautiful, with strong, white teeth. I’d almost expected to see fangs in his mouth, from all the references to him. Torsten, the Wulf. And here I was, a victim of what I was beginning to understand was a rather filthy joke.

  I recovered my composure and snorted. “Are all men so eager to show their blades, then?”

  He laughed again and rolled to his back on the bed. “Only to enemies and women.”

  “Some enemies have been women.”

  He blinked. “Ja, in the heat of battle.”

  “Your men. They should watch where they swing their sword, sir. You are savages and barbarians, slashing your way through our lives.”

  “Will nothing make you happy?”

  He sat up so fast, I was unable to stop him from kissing me.

  His beard was softer against my chin than I would have imagined, his hands, callused and hot as they cupped my cheeks. My tongue battled with his, despite my intentions, until my mind finally won over and I planted my hands against his chest to shove him away.

  “You’re drunk.” My insides were aflutter and my body trembled.

  “You’re beautiful.” His gaze was unreadable.

  I scrubbed my face with the heels of my hands and shook my head.

  He took me by the wrists and pulled me closer. This was it. The taking I’d feared since the day I’d been brought into his tent. I tensed, anticipating roughness, but he only sought another gentle kiss. I gave in to him.

  After a bout of tongue-play, Torsten slid from the bed to pour us each a drink. I eyed him suspiciously. Did he hope to drug me again?

  “You are safe,” he said, disputing my unspoken doubts. “Drink.”

  I took a sip, and instantly, a flood of warmth cascaded from my mouth in a fall to my belly, where the heat curled up like a docile cat. I drank more, for the taste was sweet and bitter and very comforting, and I was more than nervous about having this man in my presence.

  He was a simple yet incredibly complex man. A dangerous man. A man whom I intended to kill, only I needed to prepare myself for the moment. Must be able to get away after the deed was done and—

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, draining his cup.

  I smiled innocently. “Nothing, my lord.”

  “My lord. I like it. Lord Wulf. Lord Torsten.”

  With a wicked burst of laughter, he pounced on me, our lips meeting again and again. He smelled of leaves in winter, and woods in summer. Smoke. A bit of the mead we’d just shared. And his body was hard under his mantle, and my fingers rebelled against me in order to feel the rippled tautness of his stomach. I closed my eyes. His muscles bunched at my touch, but he made no move to either stop or encourage me from what I was doing. Cecil had been a lord, but he was softer, smaller. Torsten was living rock under a man’s hide. I lay my head against his chest and heard the galloping heart within. His breaths were shallow, rapid, and I realized mine had become the same.

  Our gazes met then my view rolled over his rugged, haired cheeks and chin, the bow-shape of his lips, the infinite deepness of his eyes.

  “Elena,” he whispered.

  I swooned, head lightened by the mead, body heated molten by an unanswered desire to know Torsten’s danger. To see his blade. I smiled.

  “My lord.”

  He slid my gown down over my shoulders, and set to work unbuttoning all the tiny shell buttons. His hair slid from his shoulders, a dark curtain shrouding his arms. Once he’d completed his task, my clothes were parted to reveal my small breasts. My nipples stood erect, almost as if reaching for his attention. He bowed his head to my breast and sucked the hardened peak of my nipple.

  My eyes squeezed shut. I’d never felt anything like it before.

  I found myself rolled supine, the back of my head against the bed, facing the fire as I heard a rustle of fabric. Torsten climbed on me again, this time, bare-assed. His cock seared against my thigh, and my hips rose to meet his body. His lips covered mine, my hair tugged by his eager fingers, my hip squeezed by his strong hand and I moaned into his mouth without meaning to.

  His skin was warm against mine, his kisses hungry and wandering as he trailed his beard along my cheek to my neck, where he nipped gently. I squirmed, unsure of where to touch, what to do, as he took control and led the way to what seemed like a wicked sort of heaven.

  His fingers pulled my hair tighter as his lips danced up my throat. Wonderful tickles of his beard made me want to giggle, but the heat between us pushed a deep moan from me instead. I reached for his cock and held its warm girth. So much bigger than Cecil’s had been. His hips pivoted and then I understood. A small smile graced my lips as I pumped his shaft, my breaths tight. I could hardly breathe at all. What little air I had, he stole with a fierce kiss.

  Yes, I would kill him, surely. Just not yet. I closed my eyes as he slid down my body to lick and suck my nipples and belly, then he touched me in a place that I never knew could be so sensitive.

  My womanhood. Gods. He played me like a musical instrument, his fingers kneading, demanding, not resting until I called out his name and gasped as if I were in pain. I was to give my heart to Cecil, my future husband, not some barbaric beast like Torsten, but in a way, it seemed right. It was blameless, a mutual joining of two opposing forces, his kingdom against mine. His hand cupped my mound and squeezed as he rose to kiss me again.

  “You are wet, Elena. The hottest river I have crossed.”

  His whispered words tickled my ear and I giggled.

  He gripped my thigh and seated the head of his cock against my cunt. Kisses. Pressure. A splitting of worlds, leaving one behind to face another. Savage lust. A white-hot flash of lightning deep inside my cleft, then done. A monstrous sensation of fulfillment, as if he himself would crawl into my small space. I clung to his bare shoulders and cried out against the dark hairs of his throat. How could a man so evil feel so good?

  We rocked as if on a ship tossed in waves of liquid ecstasy. The mead had lightened my head only a bit, but as he worked us both towards the final outcome, that feeling returned again, borne naturally as our bodies whispered and moaned in unison. I slid my hands from his shoulders to his arms, loving how the muscles flexed beneath his skin. We opened our eyes at the same time, and in his, I saw something that must have scared us both. A tiny flame of...what?

  Was th
is what love felt like?

  A scream ripped free from my throat as he rutted deep, grinding his body into mine, until I felt that I would be crushed to powder, only I exploded instead in orgasm. My lungs sawed with tangy air, his sweat rushed against my flesh, melting with mine as our cries mingled. It was animalistic and wild, that orgasm. A shared breath of higher grace, bestowed upon our humble human bodies, and I was in love with at least that much.

  His weight settled over me, heavy. I allowed it, though my ribs would surely be crushed if he did not take heed and move from me. I laughed, even though I had hardly any air to spare. His head rose and he regarded me with amused bewilderment.

  “What do you find funny in this moment?”

  I retained a smile. “Only that...my lord is heavy as a horse...possibly.” I gasped, still coming down from the rush, that and his considerable size.

  “A horse?” He lifted off me enough so that I could draw a proper breath then dug his fingers in my side, apparently intending to tickle me. “Woman, men have died for less of an insult.”

  “Perhaps not a horse. Smaller? A donkey, then.” I grinned and shrieked when he tickled me all the more vigorously.

  “I should whip you and strap you astride a mount, with your pink naked arse for all to see!”

  “Such promises from a beast.”

  His eyebrows lifted higher. “Did you intend to offend me the entire night?”

  “Only as long as you’re enjoying it.”

  We shared laughter. He slapped my ass and stood to reach for more mead. I spent the time admiring his backside even while mine stung from the power in his hand. His inked wolf bared fangs and breathed its little flame. He was like fire. Despite the risks of being hurt, I’d reached for him, and now it seemed the future lay wide open. A pang of guilt surfaced in my breast as I wagered whether he would or should die by my hand, even. My father would know what to do. But my father was most likely no longer even among the living. As Torsten turned, his phallus hanging over his dark-curled sac, my breath quickened. This would not be the last time our bodies would find one another, I was certain of it.