Savage Want (Wicked Wants, #3)

by Annice Sands

  I was relieved to see the soft glow in the windows of the manor. Cecil stood just outside of the torchlight’s reach and surprised a girlish squeal from me as he wrapped his arms around my waist. His lips ascended my neck. His cheeks just slightly scratchy with end-of-day stubble. The sensation of roughness against my skin warmed my cheeks, despite the chill, and I gave no resistance as I was led inside, my hand in his.

  Cecil had no interest in where I’d been. He was a dutiful son and much like me, did not question anything the Duke wished to do with his or my time. Cecil pulled me into his rooms. Our mouths met in a rather clumsy and wet kiss. His hardness jutted into my hip before he turned us so my back was against the wall.

  “I have been thinking of you ever since I’ve had you back again.” His voice was a hushed, hoarse whisper, sending a weak pang of concern through me.

  “It is good to be back in your arms,” I said between his hungry kisses, jumping a bit as his hands cupped my breasts through my dress. It was the same pressure I’d used on myself and my body seemed to be still primed for the taking. But my mind was unmade. Why was he doing that? Did he mean to make me his even before our wedding ceremony? As much as a man inside me would feel wonderful, I couldn’t allow it. Cecil was narrow; he should have as well stirred his cock around in the tunnel that Torsten had driven into me.

  Cecil would not relent. His hands clamped around my wrists and pinned them over my head. His gentle kisses strengthened into aggressive nips until he finally bit the flesh of my breast that spilled over the top of my bodice.

  “Ow! Cecil!” I instinctively drove a knee into his groin, which caused him to release me and fall back instantly. As he went to the floor, doubled-over, I left his rooms and retreated to mine.

  There was no servant in my rooms, the fire hadn’t even been lit yet, though all I needed to do was give the request and Celise or another would scurry to fill my wishes. I rifled through the things brought back with me, noting that the dress Torsten had given me had disappeared. The dagger was concealed within the folds of that dress. No one—not even Cecil’s father would stand up for my wish to wait for sex until Cecil and I were married. A part of me hoped that a new development in Torsten’s favor would remove the need to be married right then altogether. I carried ridiculous hopes for many things and Torsten’s freedom in order to carry me away with him being the fondest one.

  Perhaps Celise had noticed the dagger, for I finally found the weapon nestled in a little drawer of the table between my bed and the farthest wall from the door. Relief flooded through me at the sight of the stolen blade, the last vestige I had of my time among the Northmen.

  Torsten must’ve had some fear for death, else he wouldn’t have lied. His laying a hand on me would spell death for certain, but since we both were denying anything beyond a capture and enslavement had taken place...The bands of Northmen already razed and pillaged the lands, but a war between kingdoms would be ten-times worse.

  I held Torsten’s dagger in my hand, liking the feel of the metal blade biting into my skin. The rounded handle fit my grip perfectly. I had no other control over what my life was or was yet to become, but as long as I had the dagger, I felt safe.

  A pounding sounded at my door, startling me. I quickly concealed the weapon in the sleeve of my gown before opening the door. Cecil stood there, red-faced and quite angry.

  “How...dare you,” he snipped, and shoved me backwards into my room.

  The sound of the door closing behind us was louder than it should have been. I swallowed a lump of panic and kept my calm.

  “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to harm you.”

  “Harm me? My lady, nothing you have done to me can compare to what I can do to you. But you must understand your position as a woman and my future wife.”

  Cecil gripped my arms and shoved me to the bed on my back. I shrieked, but he pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling my sounds. His hands snaked under my dress, ruffling it up around my waist.

  “Why must women wear so much clothing?” he muttered and jerked me towards him.

  I was slid down until my ass was off the bed. His body filled the space between my thighs.

  I tried to turn and get away, but he was stronger than me. For every inch I pulled away, he would reclaim the space, until the hot flesh of his cock nudged at my entrance.

  “What’s the matter? Do you not want me?” He laughed. “There is nothing to fear, my lady.”

  I cried out as he clamped his hand over my mound through my dress fabric.

  “You are mine!” Cecil’s words sprayed spittle in my face, and I slapped him.

  The moment of surprise I gave him allowed me to creep upwards to get away from him.

  “Why are you so afraid? Has the Northman already tasted your pleasures?”

  I shook my head and clawed the duvet. Tears brimmed in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks.

  Cecil stopped struggling with me, a new, cold look in his eyes. “That’s it. You’re in love with the animal.”

  “No, I love only you.” My own words sounded hollow in my head. They were lies. Cecil would see right through them.

  Cecil pushed me into the bed cushions. “Little whore. Your insides have probably welcomed half the Northmen’s camp by now. You are despicable. Vile.”

  He stopped his attack and I lay still, afraid to breathe. I couldn’t say anything. I wouldn’t. All Cecil had were accusations. There was no need for me to confirm his suspicions. I relaxed a little beneath him.

  “Whore!” he shouted and pushed off me.

  Tears came, unbidden. No decent man would ever come near me again if I was marked as a barbarian left-over.

  “Was it the Prince that impaled you?” Cecil’s breath was fiery, like a dragon’s. “No, couldn’t just be one. And even a barbarian royal wouldn’t concede to worthless trash as yourself.”

  He pounced on me and gripped my wrists, hard. His hot breath drew cold sweat in the places it touched on me. My bodice ripped as he tore it with only enraged strength, exposing my breasts to him. I tried in vain to cover my shame, but he only backhanded me. Stars fluttered in my vision.

  “I thought you were the most beautiful woman on earth.”

  His spittle sprayed across the bridge of my nose and I whimpered, afraid.

  “Now I know your beauty hides the hideous countenance of a demon.” Cecil bent his head to pinch the skin of my cheek between his teeth.

  The dagger pricked my arm, reminding me that I was not without option. I managed to get my hand loose to draw the blade in an arc, slicing from his ear to his chin. He and I both screamed as he opened his jaw to release my face from the bite.

  “Bitch!” he roared, one hand clasped to his bleeding cheek.

  Hot splashes of red struck me in the face and I pushed him off me with all of my might. Cecil landed on his backside, his eyes afire with pure rage.

  “I’ll kill you, cunt! Do you hear me? Guards!”

  Cecil bellowed for the guards over and over, until they fell into the door, spilling over almost like a deck of cards. I’d backed myself against the wall and had nowhere to go.

  The men took one look at their master’s son’s face, my bloodied barbarian’s dagger, and took me by both arms. Cecil was led out by Celise, who looked back at me in astonishment.

  The stairs glided beneath my feet for the most part, as I was hefted and dropped on the floor. I dared peek upwards and saw men’s feet. Of course they belonged to Duke Penbroke and my father. I sobbed openly as the account of my attack was recanted, in Cecil’s favor, of course. The kingdom considered me already a possession, a pretty pet. I should be grateful that Cecil was willing to stick his thing into me at all. I shook my head, disputing his words.

  My clothes were ripped, held to my body only because I remained bent at the waist, afraid to look at the faces that belonged to the angry voices. Names washed over me like bitter rain. I couldn’t hold back my tears and, despite how guilty I would appear, sobbed openly.

&nbs
p; “Well, what would you have me do with her?” my father asked, his voice barely restrained.

  I’d disgraced the family. I’d failed my father. I’d cut up the face of the man I was supposed to love. My heart felt as if it were bleeding all over the floor.

  “If she wants to behave like the animal that took her, then let her suffer the same fate as he.”

  I looked up at the Duke’s words. Did he mean...death? Imprisonment? Stoning? Hanging? Dozens of unpleasant endings for me raced through my mind.

  Duke Penbroke turned to his guards. “I want the little bitch out of my sight. Take her to a cell while we decide what to do with her.”

  Arms hooked under mine to lift me up. Why wasn’t my father stopping this? Didn’t they care that Cecil had tried to force himself on me? What had I done wrong?

  I gripped the fabric of my dress tighter, but it was pulled from my hands. Half-naked, I was then dragged out the front doors before the entire manor and thrown into a cart usually reserved for swine when taken to market. The beautiful irony that Torsten’s blade had drawn Cecil’s blood after all was not lost on me.

  Chapter Seven

  I was fitted with an iron collar that was nearly too big for me, as it was fashioned for a man’s neck. The metal was cold, heavy and the rusted bits dug into my neck almost immediately. The warden was a large brutish sort of creature, trapped halfway between swine and human, it seemed. His meaty hands lingered longer on my body than they should have, but it did not matter. With Cecil, I was protected. As his attacker, I was more vulnerable than ever before. By being a woman, I was lost.

  The smell of the cell pen reeked, familiar to my nose from only a few nights before. Now, it was I who was marched in like a common criminal, not even granted the opportunity to have proper covering. My beautiful dress had been ripped to shreds and stained with blood. More than once, my hair was pulled to steer me a direction or another, instead of given verbal command.

  Across the corridor, if it could be called that, was Torsten’s cell. Perhaps it was a special cruelty paid upon me by the Penbrokes, for to look upon a man who had once been a power leader and warrior, brought to his knees in chains and starved, was a special kind of hell.

  I dared not speak to him until the cells had fallen silent and the guard was patrolling elsewhere. Torsten had finally been relieved of his time in the stocks and now lay on his side, facing away from me. His dark hair trickled over one sweating, heaving shoulder, but he made no sound.

  I called his name again, but he still did not answer. Even in our pathetic, desperate situation, the torches kissed his bronzed skin with masculine beauty. His wolf tattoo stood out in stark contrast, little red flame-tongue just within view. My heart fluttered at the memory of nights together, seemingly lost forever. He might not die, but I surely would be relieved of my head or worse, once the bedlam had died down in the manor. Fright gripped me for certain, but hurt was far more prevalent in my person. My father had not defended me. He’d hardly said a word in my favor, except to ask what was expected of him. As if what I’d done was his responsibility. The question remained seared in my head, how could I be his responsibility if I belonged to Cecil?

  In a hushed whisper that I hoped only Torsten could hear, I told him what I’d done. When I’d finished my story, he moved slowly to roll onto his back to stare at the low ceiling. His profile stood in sharp contrast to the back wall and he licked his cracked and split lips.

  Why wouldn’t he respond? Had he given up on me as well? Had I risked everything for nothing? Perhaps I had just been a fun playmate for him as his Northmen destroyed villages. I highly doubted much of my beauty was intact, especially after the treatment suffered at the hands of Penbroke’s awful men. Perhaps the Penbrokes should have flown the banner of the Needle. I laughed nervously. My mind was breaking already.

  Torsten cleared his throat, the first sound to come from him since I’d arrived. I froze, waiting for him to speak. When he did, it was only in two words, uttered hoarsely.

  “Patience, woman,” he said.

  Through the bars of the tiny window my cell afforded to the sky, the moon gazed down in indignant and cold beauty, nearly full. Hearing nothing further from the Northman, I drifted off to a troubled sleep filled with dreams of blood and pointed teeth.

  Morning brought cold rain, which freshened the smell of shit and piss in the yard. My morning meal was a lukewarm bowl of gray gruel. I ate despite my stomach’s objections because of what Torsten had said. Had he wanted to merely brush off my inquiries? Did he actually have a plan in the works? I couldn’t see how he could think he would escape. The bars on the cell doors and windows were thick and looked to be old already. Torsten had strength, but he wasn’t Herculean. Perhaps reinforcements were dispatched in order to free him. But Eron had said that Torsten’s camp was considered the backup.

  I would not be kept in the pen for long, the law wouldn’t allow it. Either I would face punishment or I would be put to death for what I had done to Cecil’s face. I wanted to be afraid. Any woman in my place surely would have feared for losing her life. Somehow, being free meant everything to me. Freedom was even worth dying for. To never have to be at Cecil’s or the Duke’s every whim any longer and to love who I wanted, in all honesty and heart. My love for Torsten felt real, more valid than any other fleeting ardent crush I’d had in my past. His body fit with mine, even better than Phillip’s had, rest his soul. Torsten and I went together as if we were two pieces of an intricate but rough-cut mosaic. I needed him to be alive and I’d do anything to be within reach of his existence. For the first time, I fully understood what need felt like. Aside from my father, I hadn’t felt real care for another, not beyond standard societal expectation.

  Torsten was a massive, long-haired and bearded insurgent. I imagined his flesh had never lain upon fine bedding or worn satin and frills. The furs he wore, strapped to his body in no real discernible order, suited him best. He was a wild man, ferocious in heart, granite in the mind and...

  I smiled to myself as I thought of his hardest feature. The memory compelled me to look around for his easily-recognized bulk, but he had not been permitted to walk about the pen. Even though I stood ankle-deep in mud and filth, under the rather invasive watch of the guards, I could look up at the sun and see the sky. Day had meaning for me, even though I could be spending my last minutes in life. My former hopes and wishes blew away like drifting sands in a desert, exposing the true value in life: Self-fulfillment. What would make me happy?

  Perhaps a song sang in the rain. A ride through a mysterious but beautiful forest. Holding my first-born child. Bathing in the moonlight. In each of those scenarios, I imagined Torsten at my side as my eternal partner.

  And before, I’d been so intent on ending his life. I was rather embarrassed at my ignorance. Magus may have considered me Torsten’s charge, but Torsten did not. The words he said to me while inside me were not of a warden to his prisoner. His face softened towards me even though his words were indifferent at times.

  “Time to go back to your cell, my lady,” a gruff voice said behind me, rattling me from my internal debates.

  I glanced back at the guard, a young man, paid well-enough that his armor was in good repair and his allegiance to the Penbroke family was still intact. Yet being a lady meant I could expect small things as courtesy and a nearly-biased portion of privileges. Repayment would most likely be expected later. I chose not to think of such things as we walked back into the low structure where Torsten waited like a caged beast.

  * * *

  The guards allowed Torsten to have water that night and he drank from the cup offered to his lips in great draughts. I recalled how heartily he’d partaken of his mead and ale. His breaths were ragged though he refused to speak, as if he couldn’t take in enough air. Once he had taken his fill of drink, he was left alone, as were the rest of us. Still no word on what was to be my fate. I could not worry too much about such things, as they were well out of my control.


  I watched Torsten move around in his little cell, dragging a length of chain behind him. He did not look at or speak to me. So intent were his gestures, I couldn't find the courage to call for attention from him. I only sat in the corner of my cell with my dirty arms wrapped around my knees. When I tired of watching Torsten, I let my eyes slide closed.

  Time passed. The moon glided to her peak in the sky and loosely-woven clouds slipped over her luminescent face. I dozed in a half-dream, mists swirling around my aether-feet as I walked the lands of Morpheus. A ticking sound nudged me back into the realm of consciousness.

  An owl, walking sideways in my window, large eyes dilated in the deep shadows, golden rings of irises catching the slightest light of the torch that burned outside Torsten’s cell. The owl bobbed its head and regarded me with an uncanny wisdom. Its feathered feet displayed talons, long and black.

  Torsten whispered a name across the way, and the owl flew to him, nimbly avoiding collision with any obstacle, to land on his outstretched hand. Torsten’s eyes met mine as he mouthed words to the bird that even I could not hear, then he released the creature. The owl passed back through the way it’d come, to fly out into the stars.

  Torsten smiled at me and pressed a finger to his lips.

  He began with a low hum, making strange sounds from his throat, not yet loud enough to wake the other prisoners.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, but he ignored me, his words louder, strange and deep.

  Beyond my window, what sounded like a pack of wolves howled.

  “I was not fully honest with you, Elena.” Torsten stood in the center of his cell, eyes aglow as he looked at me. “I am berserkin.”

  He smiled, his pupils wide like the owl’s. “I talk to animals. When the moon is right, I may use their power.”

  I rose to my feet, pressed against the corner of my cage. Torsten’s eyes were golden. The howls from outside were getting closer. Berserkin? Had I not been seeing what I was, I’d never have believed such a thing. People infused with magic from the same animals they could call and use for various purposes. My heart gave a little jump as Torsten’s eyes rolled upwards. Beyond the walls of our prison, I heard terrible screams. Wolves, I was certain. Sweat trickled from my brow, but I felt cold in the presence of such an ancient power. Torsten’s eyes focused on me again.