The Berserker Brides Saga

by Lee Savino

  My new gown swirling about my legs, I strode into the Corpse King’s lair. My boldness lasted but a few steps, when I saw the long hall leading to a low dais, and a bed. Again, there was no sign of the Corpse King, but I slowed, my neck prickling. Someone was following me.

  Halfway to the bed, I caught sight of the silvery shapes of women surrounding me. If I turned to look, they’d disappear into the shadows. The former wives, all ghosts.

  Tonight, they were my companions, as well as a warning of what I could become.

  “You wore the gifts I sent you.” The rich voice in the dark, startled me. I stopped short. The king stepped into the room, wearing a mage’s robe and a crown on his head. I dropped into a curtsey, and he waved a hand to call me to him, but I could not will my feet to move.

  “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  “A queen. Worthy of a king.” This time he raised a hand and an unseen force drew me forward. My heart pounded but I was frozen in the grip of magic. “You will rule beside me, Yseult. And whole worlds will fall at our feet.”

  He touched me, and I was no longer in his chambers. I stood on the battlements again, watching the Berserkers fight. This time they were not sparring, but marching forward, advancing to the far corners of the earth while the king and I watched.

  The mage spoke in my ear, “With the power we have, none can stand in our way.”

  The vision fell away. The king turned me to face him, tipping my chin up. His touched burned a little, but in the face of his beauty, I was dazzled.

  Tristan. Someone whispered. Ivar. Lars. Magnus.

  Where did I know these names?

  As the king held me, the ghosts rippled the air around us. Our sons. They are our sons. Only you can save them. Women’s voices. The spaewives.

  “It is time,” the mage said. His deep voice rolled over me, pulling me under. He took my wrist, tugging me towards the bed. My mind rebelled even as my body followed.

  Yseult, the ghosts whispered. The necklace. Use the stone.

  Necklace? I’d forgotten. My free hand went to my breast where the stone lay nestled between them. Such a pretty stone, to pretty to be hidden.

  I touched the chain, and pain seared into my mind. Not pain, power. Like my old strength but magnified, more. Channeled perfectly through the stone. I was still Yseult, a spaewife. But, for a time, at least, I could reach my magic.

  Then the king took my other wrist. I lost hold of the stone and all my strength faded away.

  I struggled a moment, and he slapped me, hard.

  “You will obey me,” he ordered, and my spine turned to water. If he wasn’t holding my wrist, I would’ve collapsed.

  A second later he thrust me onto the bed. I rolled to get away, and he caught my ankle, his fingers burning my skin.

  I cried out. The ghosts rose up around the bed, faint hands reaching for me but unable to take hold.

  The stone, the stone.

  The king flipped me onto my back and slapped my hands away. Catching the front of the gown, he tore neck to midriff.

  Yes, the ghosts cried.

  At my breast, the moonstone flared.

  The king bellowed, throwing a hand over his face. I rose up, but a force tore the necklace from my throat and flung me away.

  I fell as if from a great height. When I raised myself up, I was curled at the foot of the stairs in the throne room, weak and shivering. My chest bore bruises, my golden gown was rent down the front.

  Gaul stood over me with a force of Berserker guards. “My liege, what orders do you have?”

  “Take her away,” the king ordered from his place high above on the dais. “Give her to the warriors for their satisfaction.”

  “My lord,” Tristan marched forward, Ivar and Lars behind him. They saluted.

  “A prize for you, commander,” the king jerked his chin at me.

  Ivar and Lars took my arms and towed me quickly out of the great hall.

  “Steady,” Lars whispered. Ahead, Magnus beckoned from the door.

  Hope surged in me. They would take me from the castle. They would help me run.

  We got so far as the outer courtyard, within sight of the yard, before a brace of warriors blocked our way.

  Gaul stepped out, his weapon in hand. “She is our prize. She will be given to all of us.”

  A slick sound as Tristan drew his sword.

  “Make way,” he said.

  None of the warriors moved.

  “Make way,” Tristan shouted, and the stones rang with his command, and the push of his authority. Sweat dripped down a few warrior’s faces. Gaul gritted his teeth but did not budge.

  Behind me, more weapons rang as they were unsheathed. Ivar, Lars, and Magnus would stand with their commander. Four against the rest. They would die.

  “Wait,” I rasped, and worked to clear my throat before repeating it, louder. When no one listened, I did the one thing I knew would bring their attention.

  I stripped off the gown and let the moonlight wash over my bare form. Even bruised, my body tempted.

  Amid the murmurs, I tossed the fine garment to the ground and stood naked before them.

  “I yield,” I told them. “Let it be as the king commands.”

  I walked past Tristan to the middle of the yard. By the time I reached the post that stood there, Magnus was at my side. Ivar and Lars joined us.

  “Here,” I grasped the rope hanging from the post.

  “Forgive me, lady,” Ivar murmured, and tied my hands above my head. I closed my eyes and waited for the Berserkers to come and claim me. I would be fodder for their lust and it would be the end. What remained of me at dawn would be given to the king for use as sacrifice.

  A breeze caressed my face. I tilted my face up to the moon and prayed. Goddess, let it be quick.

  I waited long moments, but nothing happened.

  I opened my eyes... and saw nothing but Magnus’ huge bulk before me. He stood poised, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to fight. Ivar and Lars stood on either side of him, their swords out. Tristan stood by, too, his long cloak fluttering in the wind. The minutes crawled by and they did not leave my side. I had no powers, but I had four protectors.

  Wind picked up and then the rain came, the Berserkers dispersed. Gaul led his away, muttering.

  “Lady,” Lars was at my side, untying me. As soon as my arms fell, I lurched forward, and was caught up in strong arms. Something soft and warm wrapped around my body. Red. Tristan’s cloak

  He carried me to the guard room where I’d eaten and set me on the table. He tsked as he examined my battered body and tucked the cloak tightly around me.

  “What now?” I asked him, willing my teeth not to chatter.

  “We will protect you. We will fight to get you free.”

  “The mage—I must—”

  “We will fight to defeat him. No,” he stopped my protest with fingers at my lips. “You cannot stop us. We will be your champions.”

  “Commander,” Magnus said at the door. When he stepped back, I braced myself for Gaul to enter, but instead, a warrior came in and removed his helm. I did not recognize him, but he gazed at me as if I was the Goddess incarnate.

  “What is it?” Tristan asked.

  “Speak, man.”

  “Lady,” the warrior said, and stopped.

  Ivar came forward and put a hand on the warrior’s back. “He wishes you to bless him.”

  I looked from Ivar to Magnus, but they said no more, so I beckoned the warrior forward.

  He knelt before me and I laid a hand on his brow, like a mother would with a son. “I bless you.” A whisper at my side and I knew his name. “Gavin. Remember your mother and the name she gave you.”

  “Lady,” he murmured and rose, and another took his place. And another. The warriors crowded into the room, huge hulking men all clad in armor, bearing weapons. They knelt before me and I named them all, aided by the whispers.

  At one point, Tristan paused the li
ne to hand me a cup of water. “Thank you for telling me their names.”

  His brow furrowed but another warrior came in and knelt, and I did not have time to ask him why he looked confused.

  My head bowed, my voice grew hoarse, but I blessed each man who came. A few did not appear—Gaul, and his followers.

  Another lull, and Tristan handed me my cup. “That was the last.”

  “Not quite.” Magnus strode from the door and sank to his knees. His head barely dipped below mine because of his great height.

  I smiled and lay my hand on his brow. “I bless you—”

  Magnus, someone at my right whispered. The voice did not belong to Tristan or Ivar or Lars. I turned in shock. A tall woman stood at my side, her features similar to the warrior at my feet. She seemed so solid, but a little movement of the candlelight and her essence shimmered. Magnus, the ghost repeated. Son of Berta.

  I found my voice and repeated what the woman said.

  Ivar son of Asta, a woman with dark, serious eyes came forward.

  And Lars. A red-cheeked woman with blonde braids down her back smiled at her son. Son of Hilde.

  Tristan son of Diana. The ghost of Tristan’s mother stood tall and regal. Light flickered at her neck where the moonstone would’ve rested.

  Tears pricked my eyes as I gazed at the waiting faces. The warriors ranged in front of me, and behind them, the ghosts of the king’s wives, their mother’s.

  I’d come all this way to this time, I’d failed my mission, but at least I’d freed them.

  “Lady,” Tristan said. “We are yours. You have but to command.”

  No. I could not ask them to die. In the morning I’d face the Corpse King and let him deal with me as he would, even if he sacrificed me to his power.

  But that was tomorrow. It was still not yet dawn.

  “We have one night,” I whispered. “I have only one wish. Not a command.”

  “Order us how you will.”

  It was only us, the ghosts had gone. I slipped off the table and let the cloak fall open. I stood before them, not a witch, not a maid, just myself. Yseult.

  “What do you want?” Tristan asked.

  “You,” I said to him and the three men beyond. “All of you.”

  Reaching back, I undid my braid and shook it out so the white flowers fell around me. I was nervous as a virgin, and perhaps I was, for this would be the first time I’d bared my heart to a man.

  “You would lay with us?” Magnus asked, his rough voice choked.

  “All of you.”

  “You honor us.” Tristan lay down his sword and undid his armor. I rose to help. His three brothers waited at his back.

  “Come. I need you.” I fell back and let my hair halo around me, pale as moonlight.

  I shuddered as I lay out before them, and again as the warriors clustered around to gaze on my prone form. Desire curled in my belly, coiled tight and ready to burst.

  “Lady—” Tristan breathed.

  “Just Yseult. Just myself.”

  “To us, you are everything.”

  Tristan moved first. His hand closed around my ankle, gentle, but possessive. He had a right to touch me.

  His hand skimmed upward, and I trembled. My hands reached for him. He leaned close and I drew him down so he lay over me, propping his weight on his muscled arms.

  When we sparred with wit and will, I forgot how much larger these men were than me. I was small and lithe compared to their hard-muscled bulk. He rested his large hand at my collarbone and slid it up to collar me. Blunt fingers played over my pulse, strong enough to snap my neck, but remaining gentle. His touch stoked the fire between my legs.

  “Commander,” I whispered, and his thumb touched my lips.

  “Call me Tristan.”

  We were as close as we could be. Tristan nuzzled at my breast, breathing in my scent.

  “Take me. I am yours.”

  My hands tugged at his shoulders until he took my wrists and pinned them on either side of my head. I arched under him, tilting my hips up, reveling in his strength.

  “I am ready.”

  “Tristan,” I sobbed, my hips rising dying for contact with him. “Tristan.”

  “Shhhhh, my lady.” Gentle hands turned my face to the side so Tristan could dip his head along mine and breathe in my scent.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  He touched me, his large hands stroking down my body, bringing it to life. I hooked my arms around his neck, tugged him closer, but he growled and pinned them again. He kissed down my body as I writhed in his hold.

  Then they were all there—all four—kissing and claiming me, marking me for their own. Lips caressed my ankles, my shoulders, my breasts. Tristan sampled my mouth, swallowed my moans. Fingers found the dew at my center and stroked in lazy circles.

  “Please,” my body went taut as a bowstring under that insistent touch.

  “Soon,” Tristan murmured into my ear. “We will fill you soon enough.”

  A finger slid inside, withdrew. “Now,” I panted.

  “No, not until we are ready.” And they proceeded to make me writhe. I was a woman, I was a goddess, and they worshipped me every way they knew how.

  Finally, finally, they deemed me ready. Tristan was first to fill me. His great body worked over mine. I ran my nails down his back and hooked my calf over his massive thigh, feeling the iron band of muscle flex as he rocked in and out of me.

  Pleasure rushed through me; I cried out and scored his back when he slowed his thrusts.

  “No—don’t stop.”

  He sped until the table shook under us. The storm caught me up again, sent me soaring. I came down, grounded under Tristan’s sated body. The great warrior held himself over me, keeping our hips joined. Ivar and Lars stood on either side, fondling my breasts, watching my face.

  Someone tugged my head backwards with fingers in my hair. Magnus. The giant warrior was naked at the head of the table. His bearded face descended, and his mouth claimed mine, surprisingly soft. I sighed against his lips as Tristan’s body left mine.

  Lars took his place and stroked my legs until I looked at him. “You’re sure?”

  I rolled and rose to hands and knees before backing towards him. He grasped my hips and pulled me flush to his hips. As his cock nudged into me, I ducked my head and took Magnus into my mouth. The large cock stretched my lips, barely fitting between them. I swirled my tongue over the head as Lars started to drive into my wet heat.

  When it was Ivar’s turn, they flipped me again. My head fell back so Magnus could dip his cock into my mouth, sliding it further in. Ivar propped my legs against his shoulders, folding me in half as he fucked me.

  “Lady,” he pulled me close. His mouth worked at my neck, sucking at one spot until I melted. His teeth pierced me, agony flashed through me, followed by ecstasy. I bucked in his arms. “Mine,” the swarthy warrior growled.

  “And mine,” Lars pressed into me from behind, lifting my hair and marking my shoulder.

  “Forever,” Tristan kissed me as I leaned against him, drunk with pleasure. His teeth scraped my opposite shoulder before delivering the mating bite.

  In this way, Berserkers claim their mates. The bond would grow between us, our lives entwined until my death, when they would follow me into the beyond.

  “Oh no,” I sobbed. “No.” I did not want to give them back their lives, just to end them.

  “Yes,” Tristan said. “So marked. So mated.”

  Ivar and Lars echoed his words, the blond adding, “We wish to be with you.”

  “Always,” Ivar nodded.

  “Our lady,” Magnus gathered me in his arms. For all his great size, he was so gentle as he arranged me on his lap. The iron bar of his cock lay between us. Grasping my hips, he slid me against him, drawing on my desire until my body wept for him. With fingers in my hair, he tipped my head back and laved his tongue over my pulse—once, twice. The third time he bit and sent me screaming into the heights.

&nb
sp; Yseult

  I woke wrapped in Tristan’s cloak. I lay on the table, still in the guardroom, but alone. The lingering darkness told me it was not yet dawn.

  As I sat up, the cloak fell away. My body shone pale in the darkness, all the marks and bruises healed. All except the tender spots at my neck where the Berserkers had marked me. I’d lost the moonstone necklace, but they made one of their own. Their bites collared my neck.

  They’d left my shift and boots beside a cup of water and honeycake. I dressed and stretched slowly, filled with the delicious ache. My men had claimed me.

  But now it was almost morning, and they were gone.

  After one bite of the honeycake, I heard a sound beyond the heavy silence. Sounds of battle. Sounds of death.

  No. I rushed to the door. Finding the yard empty, I ran to the open gate. Gathered in the pre-morning gloom beyond the castle, the practice field was full of Berserkers. They weren’t sparring. They were fighting, some holding the line, others driving forward, roaring. I spotted Ivar’s bearded face under his helm, and Lars’ bright head. A dark figure stood in shining armor on a hill beyond, overseeing the battle to destroy those loyal to the Corpse King. Brother fought brother and the grass was red.

  “Lady,” Magnus bellowed from his place fighting near the wall. “Get back!”

  I retreated, only to back into a knot of warriors.

  “This is your fault,” Gaul snarled, grasping my arm and tugging me into the castle.

  “No,” Magnus threw off his opponents and ran, but the gates slammed down, locking him out. Locking me in.

  Cursing, Gaul dragged me along. I fought to keep my feet.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the king.” Instead of leading me into a hall, he pulled me to the stairs. The mage stood amid a storm cloud of magic, his hands blurring as he worked spells.

  Oily power crawled over my skin, setting me shuddering.

  Ghosts clustered in the shadows of the wall.

  “Help me,” I pleaded.

  “There is no one to save you. The king has too much might. He will destroy his army and raise another, stronger, in its place.”

  Gaul thrust me onto the parapet.

  The king spared me not a glance, but I heard his voice in my head. Just in time. Watch your Berserkers die.