Claw and Crown Bundle: A Gay Viking Historical Fantasy Shifter Romance Series

by Richard Lunch

  I leaned back and stared down into my cup.

  “It depends then, on how much our people are willing to sacrifice.”

  “Nothing, now, but safe people on the edge of fear want no change.”

  “And what if they wished a chance at escaping the rigid laws of my step-father? Do they want to be free men, like those of legend? Do they all want to hold sword and spear? Do they want to touch the sea?”

  “Those are not legends, boy. When I was a young beauty, all men were entitled to glory. We rode the seas and went to battle, women, too. We ranged and returned. We were not contained within these imagined borders, surrounded by patrols. We took care of our own disputes, and needed a king only to inspire, win favor with the gods, and take us onto further glory.”

  I frowned. Was a return to lawlessness a good answer to the stagnation of our kingdom? Was that what she meant?

  “Grandmother…”

  “Enough treason for you tonight boy, you have other questions. Drink up and pour grandmother another horn. We have the night, and my magic is strongest in the night. Throw more sticks on the fire.”

  I nodded and did so, draining my cup. I poured for us and went back to my spot. I stripped off my armor and piled it next to me. She jerked her chin at a fur lying to my side. I pulled it around my shoulders and under my rear, which was being chilled by the dirt floor.

  “So, tell me of your dreams.”

  I went red. It would have been easy to blame on the drink, but there was no telling falsehoods with someone like her. I looked at her again, at the creased skin, the shaking hands and the way she could drink mead like a man of thirty years. She finished her horn while mine was hardly touched and poured herself another, her shaking hand a sudden, strong fist on the clay handle of the pitcher.

  “I dream of a man. And I saw him.”

  “You saw him, or you think you did?”

  “No, I saw him.”

  She closed her eyes, “and you desire this man.”

  My throat tightened, “Yes.”

  “You will see him again. Beware of giving into passions that your people disapprove of,” she said and smiled, “although I don’t think you should listen to that. Give in. Change their minds, perhaps.”

  “I don’t even know if I will see him again.”

  “You dream of a man, nightly, for weeks, and you don’t think you will see him again? Why would the gods waste their time?”

  Her hand snapped out from her shawl, quick as a striking snake, and snapped me on the nose.

  “Ow!” My eyes watered. I pulled back and covered my face.

  “Idiot, boy. No wonder one dream wasn’t enough. Listen to the damn gods. They know what they’re talking about.”

  “And you would know, grandmother?”

  “I hope they didn’t keep me alive just to help you. Are you ready to not be so thick-headed?”

  “Yes, grandmother,” I bowed my head. My nose still stung.

  “And when you go, are you ready to seek your past? Will you make that pact with the gods?”

  I took a sip of mead and stared down into the golden liquid. The flicker of the fire reflected in it. This way, I had nothing. I could feel my fate drawing closer to Fundinn’s dungeon every day. He did not like me. How long would he tolerate a young, strong heir to the throne in his presence?

  “Well?” The old woman leaned forward, wrinkles hanging down.

  “Yes.”

  “Say it. Make your pact with the gods.”

  I got to me knees with a groan, and bent my head, “I swear it. I will seek my past, and I will act in the best interests of my people, come what may.”

  “Then finish your mead, get on your horse, and head in the direction of your home.”

  I nodded and drank the sweet drink. It made my head warm, and my limbs loose, but at least it would keep the chill off on the ride back. I put the horn down, empty. She nodded.

  “You would do well to send me a barrel for my good advice, when you next get the chance, prince. I don’t mind waiting.”

  “I’ll send you one as soon as I return to the castle.”

  “Mhm,” she nodded and waved me out, looking tired, “when you have the chance.”

  I bowed, feeling compelled despite being a prince, and left, helmet in hand. The rush of night air sobered me slightly. I looked to the stars. They were so bright and beautiful. Perhaps, I thought, I am not sobered at all. I meandered back to the gate. I woke the old guard, who flushed with embarrassment, and ran to get my horse.

  Setnar arrived, looking tired.

  “I’ll let you rest, yet, boy,” I said, and took his reins in my hand. It would not do to ride him unless necessary.

  The gates creaked open. I nodded to the guard, and walked my horse out into the night.

  Without the torchlight, the night was unfriendly. I patted him and resisted the urge to mount the saddle and ride back. I needed to walk off the mead, at any rate.

  The lights of the village faded, and the shadow of Mount Orr seemed to fall over me, so that despite the moon, everything was dark. I stumbled over a stone jutting out of the ground, losing hold of the horse and falling forward. I put an arm up to stop myself.

  But I did not fall. I hung, and something kept me suspended. I twisted with a shout and grappled for my sword. More hands seized my arms and pinned them behind my back. I jerked my head around to see my assailants at last.

  They were the men from the forest.

  “How did you…?”

  “Shh, prince cub,” said the man from my dream. He ran a hand along his chin, “you should not be out at night, alone, unmounted, and so easy to catch.”

  I spat on the ground and glared at him. He laughed. I flexed and twisted my arms. They were held fast by two men behind me. Despite all that, I felt a gladness in my heart at seeing the dream man, his name, I reminded myself, was Ulfvaldr.

  My childish feelings were quick to be ripped from me as the men behind me twisted my wrists. I grunted with pain. I steeled my eyes at Ulfvaldr.

  “What-?”

  “What do I want with you, little cub?”

  “Yes,” it came out more a growl than I had bargained for.

  He raised his eyebrows. His eyes crawled over me. I cursed the witch’s mead, making me slow, unwary. I cursed the horse, and then felt guilty. Setnar was a friend, and he trusted my judgment. If I did not fear, he did not. He was a warhorse, after all. I should have asked to stay in the gatehouse, shared a cup with the old guard, and slept on hay, not tried to make the journey back through territory where I’d only just spotted wolves.

  What then, made these men so self-assured in venturing through the wooded night? Was it their number?

  I looked around. The remainder of the thirteen emerged from the trees.

  “Speak, Ulfvaldr,” I returned my gaze to him, “You’d best have an explanation, or it will be your head for holding me.”

  “Threats from someone with his arms behind his back. That has to be a first for me,” Ulfvaldr grinned, his gold eyes flashing.

  He extended a long, tattooed arm and ran his thumb along my jaw. I drew back. My horse whinnied and made a run for it. None of the men stopped him.

  “He’ll likely die,” I said.

  “Very well,” Ulfvaldr reached out an arm. Two men ran, fast as lightning, and caught the running gelding. He bucked and whinnied, but they held him fast. The hair on my neck stood on end. These men were not natural men.

  “So,” Ulfvaldr drew his fingers along my jaw. My neck was craned as far as it would go, but I could not escape his touch. He ran them along the beads of sweat forming at the nape of my neck and then withdrew. I watched, mesmerized, as he lifted his fingers to his lips, and ran a red tongue along them.

  “Mmm,” he said, “your fear tastes delicious.”

  “Fear? Let me have my sword and I’ll taste yours.”

  “You tempt me, prince cub,” he stroked his braided and beaded beard, “but we will but be taking you, wh
ole and uncut by swords. Bind him.”

  I felt a crowd of men behind me. My arms were tied with rope that wound up and down my forearms and around my chest. They released my wrists and stepped away from me. I pulled, only to realize that I was tethered by four ropes, held taught by the men.

  “Four men to keep me? Are you certain you don’t want me to just end this with my sword?”

  “Brave prince cub,” said Ulfvaldr, “I did not come this night to shed blood. Not, yet.”

  At that, he reached to my side and unbuckled my sword belt. He slung it over his shoulder and nodded. His men walked us back towards the woods. One held the Setnar’s reins. He jerked his head and pulled at him, his eyes rolling white. I thought of the men catching him, the way they had moved too fast to see.

  We crossed the brush, and entered the heavy dark of the wood.

  Chapter 3

  Ulfvaldr

  The wood. It screamed with nighttime activity. Mice scurried beneath the brush, fast, making their way far from us. They sensed predators, but would do better to mind the owl waiting in a pine above for one to make a mistake, for one to dash from beneath the cover of leaves in a path too long to reach the next patch of cover.

  There the owl went. She soared downward on silent wings. The first sound she made was the scratch of her talon on the earth when she grasped the mouse. It squeaked for a moment before she extinguished its life.

  The prince cub marched with us. Did he not hear the racket his footfalls made? His feet were clumsy from the mead that clung, sweet, to his breath, to his sweat. His hair was a mess and his face hardened into anger. I ran my hand along the worn hilt of his sword. He would attack me the first chance he got. The thought tickled my lips, brought them into a smile. If he were king, perhaps we could have walked to the castle and spoken, face to face, but with King Fundinn, all this trickery was necessary, all this was needed to secure what was ours.

  I waved to two of my pack, Aögils and Dyrí. There was a deer some ways off. I pointed, and they faded into the dark to retrieve our meal. Their footfalls, unlike the prince’s, disturbed no leaf or twig. The wind, blocked by the thick trunks of ancient trees, made more clatter.

  The prince’s anger was fading, replaced with the scent of exhaustion. My men pushed him on. Excitement buzzed through them, despite their quiet faces and careful movements. This forest, this land was rich and fertile. Everywhere, it teamed with animal life, ready for the hunt. The sun shone warmly today and the mountains did little to banish the warmth of summer. The season had since changed in our homeland, if you could call it that. Frost and blight already trampled the foliage beneath their heavy feet. The animals had gone south, and we had followed. This winter, we would not be left to grow thin and lower in number. This winter, we would have our land back.

  “You are a coward, do you know that?” The prince craned his neck back around to look at me as he spoke.

  A flurry of animals dashed away from his harsh voice. My men ignored him.

  “I do not care, prince, if you think me a coward. I know who I am, and I know that I need you, preferably uninjured, and alive, so ye’ll be quiet now.”

  “You’re doing yourself no favors,” he muttered, and turned away.

  We walked on. The prince’s resistance grew less and less. The smell of smoke met my nostrils, and we continued for a time. It grew stronger and was joined with the sound of crackling flesh and scent of cooking meat. I could see the light of the fire. The prince jerked his head with sharp curiosity. No doubt, he counted the men waiting, and found we were now ten and seven, in total. That included Aögils and Dyrí, who had skinned and spitted their catch, and the four men who waited behind, to keep the fire, and in case we did not return. There was always a chance of that.

  “Will you let me go make water, at the least? Now that we’re here?” The prince sighed.

  “Not by yourself.”

  His face darkened. I took a rope from Irlor. He kept his lined face still as he guided the rest of the men to the edge of our camp.

  “You may make your water here,” I said, and watched his face.

  “You know I cannot.”

  “Do you require help?”

  “I require the use of my hands.”

  “Mine will have to suffice,” I said and slipped close to him.

  He took a step back to find himself pushed face-first into a tree. I had my hand pressed against the back of his head. I slipped my other hand around his waist and pressed against his back. His muscles rippled with rage.

  “Shh,” I whispered, “you know I cannot unbind you.”

  Still, the scent of the prince, of dark wood and ancient blood, brought something out in me. I took hold of his laces, allowing myself to be loose with my fingers, letting them trail unnecessarily over his lower abdomen, his hips, and his-

  “Sh-”

  It was a small hiss. It came from his lips as I reached into his clothing, past the laces. I curled my fingers around his cock, and drew it out into the cold. I let my hand give it a stroke. He quivered in my touch. I grinned and drew in his scent. There were hints of arousal darting off him like sparks. It was arousal and it was need. I drew it in, need so deep it felt like he had never been satisfied by another man, not once in his life. A low growl brewed in my throat. I gave his cock another jerk. He shuddered.

  “Stop,” it came from his mouth, quiet and desperate.

  “You should piss, now, prince.”

  He steadied his breathing. I pointed his dick, and listened as the pitter patter of droplets began. When his stream had ceased, I shook his member off, and tucked it back into his clothes. I laced him up, but before I withdrew, I nipped at the back of his neck. He only lowered his eyes and shivered. I tossed the rope to Geroth, who stood nearby, waiting, and strode toward the fire.

  “Tie him to a tree, in a warm spot, and feed him some meat. Make sure what he gets is cooked through. Geroth, you do it.”

  Geroth nodded his gray-streaked head. He never minded the extra duties. I walked to the spit, and ripped a choice cut of meat from the side of the deer. The prince gawked. I sat at the foot of a tree across the fire from him and winked. My men dug into the deer in their habitual order. The prince looked like he was going to be ill.

  Chapter 4

  Varghoss

  Revulsion and lust swam through my mind in equal measure. I turned my head away from the meat the gray-haired man offered me and watched Ulfvaldr. What manner of man could rip the flesh from an animal with such ease, and eat it, half cooked, half bloody? The man offered me the meat, again. I shook my head. He shrugged his shoulders and sat against the tree. He bit into the meat and chewed with relish. I closed my eyes.

  The ropes dug into my arms. I shifted. It only made them worse. It did not help that the stiffness in my groin remained. I could not look at that man, at the way he eyed me. What did he want?

  He wanted something from my stepfather. I wiggled my hands in the rope, but it was tied tight. Without a knife, there would be no getting these off. Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead. I had a knife in my boot. All I would have to do was wait until they fell asleep. I opened my eyes.

  Ulfvaldr had finished his meat. He met my eyes and licked the blood off his fingers, one at a time. I shuddered and turned my attention to staying awake and alert.

  ~

  After what seemed like hours, they had not slept. Sometimes, a man would get up and leave for a time. Once, one of them who had as much red hair on his arms as his head returned with a rabbit, dead and dripping, wrapped in his hand. He offered it to Ulfvaldr, who waived him off. The man proceeded to eat it, tearing the fur off with his teeth. The blood dripped down his face and mingled with his beard.

  Were these men so wild, so removed from civilization, that they saw no need to cook their meat? I would expect illness, but they were hale and healthy. They seemed to hardly need the fire, though every time it went down, Ulfvaldr’s eyes would fall on me and he would have his men, with a wave of hi
s hand, add wood to the fire.

  This, too, they seemed unaccustomed to. They threw green wood on the fire, the smoke nearly choked me at times. It curled in my nose and left me feeling hot, and so tired. How long would these men lie awake? I wanted to make my escape under cover of darkness. My eyes darted to Ulfvaldr. I could not help it.

  His eyes met mine. He stood, smooth. In seconds he’d crossed the clearing and leaned over me.

  “Why do you not rest?”

  “Why would I shut my eyes around you?”

  “If I’d wanted you dead, cub, you would be. Go to sleep.”

  His face was a hair’s width away from mine. I ran my eyes over his nose, his lips. He grinned. His teeth were sharp. I drew back.

  “I will not sleep this night. If we must journey on, let us.”

  I realized my stupidity as the words tumbled from my mouth. The men from the castle would not search for me, not for a day at least. I thanked the gods that these men traveled on foot.

  His hands were on me. My gratitude to the forces that be was short-lived as he untied the ropes that held me to the tree and dragged me to my feet.

  “Bring the gelding.”

  My horse was brought before me. Ulfvaldr, with the strength of three men, lifted me by my bindings and tossed me over the horse.

  “Umph,” I let out a grunt when the saddle slammed into my abdomen.

  “Put out the fire. We go to Wolfholm.”

  With that, they were leading me into the woods, with the sky already beginning to lighten at the edge and the moon sinking. I shifted my hips. For all the fear his strength should have inspired, Ulfvaldr’s show of power had only left me hard, and aching. I buried my head in the horse’s side and contemplated my shame.

  Chapter 5

  Varghoss

  I had slept. I must have slept. The sun was high, but it was cool beneath the leaves. They were turning. I watched one fall. A farmhouse, with a small barn, emerged in a clearing. I craned my neck to get a look. My joints cracked. My shoulders were stiff and cold from lying, slung facedown over a horse, for hours. We stopped. The hairy redheaded man dragged me from the horse. I tried to stand, but my legs had fallen asleep. I stumbled. He let me drop to the ground.