by Renee Rose
But when they touched me they were gentle. A hand brushed back my hair, then stroked my jaw. One steadied me from behind as the other cupped my head and turned my head this way and that. The one behind me gathered my hair behind me. I held my breath as the two massive warriors handled me.
I realized the smell of blood had fallen away, replaced by another scent, an animal musk that was much more pleasant.
A finger ran over my neck near the scar, and I sucked in a breath. The hands dropped away.
Their faces dipped close to mine, and I felt their breath on my skin as they took deep scents of my hair.
“So good,” one of them groaned.
I didn’t understand. I was afraid of them taking me, but I didn’t know why they weren’t.
“It’s working,” one murmured to the other. “The witch was right.”
As they dipped their heads and scented me, my heart beat faster in response to their proximity. Something stirred deep inside me. Desire. A few minutes alone with these men and I’d been more intimate with them than any other.
As one, they bent their heads to mine, nuzzling close to my neck, and a tingling spread over my skin.
I felt it then, unbidden, a stirring in my loins. Ever since I had come into womanhood, my desires were strong. Every month I fought the pull to find a man and join with him. I was hideous and destined to be an outcast and alone. But each full moon my body came alive, beset by waves of roiling lust until I felt desperate enough to grab the nearest man and beg him to give me sons.
The heat poured over me until I heard a gasp—one of the warriors jerked back and stepped away.
“She’s ready,” one growled. Instead of frightening, the sound excited me.
What was happening?
“Not here, brother,” the blond rasped.
Without answering, the dark-haired one pulled me on.
For a while we walked, pushing through the forest and forded a stream. The heat in me faded as I followed, weak with hunger and fear, eventually stumbling on exhaustion numbed feet.
The dark-haired warrior stopped, and I flinched, expecting him to bully me into continuing on.
Instead, he guided me to face him. Again his hands came to me, stroking back my hair. I winced when I realized what he was doing: looking at my scar.
Involuntarily my head jerked and he let my chin go, offering me water instead. He held the skin while I drank, and when I’d had my fill he offered me dried meat, feeding me from his hand. I stared into the strange golden eyes, unable to keep the questions off my face: Who are you? What are you going to do with me?
When I was done, he lay a hand on his chest and uttered a guttural sound I didn’t understand. He repeated it twice, then lay his hand on my chest.
“Brenna.” I could barely make out my name, but I nodded.
A shadow of a smile curved his full lips. Shrugging off the gray pelt he wore, he wrapped it around my shoulders before pulling me back into the circle of his strong arms.
My heart beat faster. The pelt’s warmth seeped into my tired body, and the big man held me steady. I still felt frightened, but waited obediently in the dark haired warrior’s embrace. I dared not struggle.
The brush around us rippled and the warriors surrounded us. I shrank towards my black-haired captor, but he held me fast, turning me so I faced the warrior who seemed to be their leader.
The blond was so huge, my neck had to tip back to see him. He moved forward and I couldn’t help trembling so hard I would’ve fallen if the dark haired warrior let me go. Every instinct in me screamed that this was a wild man, a beast, a dangerous monster and I needed to run.
He reached out and I flinched.
His hand halted.
He swallowed, as if trying to remember how to use his voice.
“Brenna.” My name was no more than a soft growl. “We mean you no harm.”
I studied him. As big as the warriors were, the blond was one of the largest. He walked lightly, muscles bulging. Long locks of blond hair brushed his broad shoulders. His face was rawboned and half covered in a beard, the defining feature his great gold eyebrows over those amazing eyes.
When his gaze caught mine, his eyes glowed.
His hands touched my face, a thumb stroking my lips. He tilted it to and fro. He pushed my hair away from my neck. I shut my eyes, knowing what he saw, the white weals and gnarled tissue, healed into a disfiguring scar that had taken my voice, and nearly taken my life.
I barely remembered the attack: a large dark shape rushing at me from the shadows, then pain. Lots of pain. My mother told me I lay near death for days. No one thought I would survive, but I did.
Some believed it would be better if I hadn’t. Even though I healed from the attack, the scars marked my face and my life. The boys used to chase me down the street, throwing things. I grew up learning to blend into the shadows. To move silently so I wouldn’t draw attention to myself. Later, when my mother married my stepfather, I learned to cower and hide.
“Her body is pretty enough,” my stepfather once said about me. “Just put a bag over her head so you can stand it.”
Now my new owner tipped my head this way and that, studying the scar. He nodded, looking satisfied. “The mark of the wolf,” he rasped.
A ripple went around the assembled men, and the other warriors pressed closer. The black haired man held me still, hefty arms around my body.
I wished I could ask what the blond warrior meant.
The men surrounded me, staring at my hideous scars.
My blond captor released my jaw and I ducked my head down again in shame. His large, rough hands caught my head again, and raised it, but this time he cupped my face.
I shut my eyes. I couldn’t even cry out. This man now owned me. I’d resigned myself to living life with a disfigured face, unwanted and unloved, but I’d never thought I’d become a slave.
“Brenna,” the command came in that rasping growl. “Look at me.”
Somehow I obeyed and met the leader’s steady gaze. Something in that golden glow mesmerized me, and I felt calmer.
“Do not be afraid.” His throat worked for a moment, as if he was trying to remember how to speak. “Is it true you cannot speak?”
I nodded.
“Can you read or write?”
I shook my head. This was the strangest conversation I’d had in my nineteen years.
He looked frustrated, exchanging glances with the warrior who held me.
A voice spoke at my ear, still rough and guttural, but a bit more clearly than before. “We would like to find a way to talk to ye.” The speaker turned me to face him, and I flinched as he brought his hand up, but he only examined the scars as the blond had.
By the time he was done, all warriors but the blond had melted away. Dark hair touched my cheek and I winced, realizing there was a bruise on my face from when my stepfather struck me.
The blond crowded closer, a sound rumbling in his great chest, not unlike a growl.
“Brenna,” he said. “We will not hurt you. I swear it. No one will ever hurt you again.”
Sold to the Beserkers
When Brenna's father sells her to a band of passing warriors, her only thought is to survive. She doesn't expect to be claimed by the two fearsome warriors who lead the Berserker clan. Kept in captivity, she is coddled and cared for, treated more like a savior than a slave. Can captivity lead to love? And when she discovers the truth behind the myth of the fearsome warriors, can she accept her place as the Berserkers' true mate?
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Other Titles by Renee Rose
Regency
The Darlington Incident
Humbled
The R
eddington Scandal
The Westerfield Affair
Pleasing the Colonel
Contemporary
Theirs to Punish
The Professor's Girl
The Don’s Daughter
Mob Mistress
The Bossman
Safe in his Arms
Saved
Coming to Terms
Milestones
The Elusive "O" (FREE)
Western
The Devil of Whiskey Row
The Outlaw's Bride
His Little Lapis
Medieval
Mercenary
Medieval Discipline
Lords and Ladies: Two Medieval Spanking Novellas
The Knight's Prisoner
Betrothed
Held for Ransom
The Knight's Seduction
The Conquered Brides (5 book box set)
Paranormal
His Captive Mortal
The Alpha’s Punishment
The Alpha’s Hunger
Deathless Love
Deathless Discipline (FREE)
The Winter Storm: An Ever After Chronicle
Renaissance
Loving Lucia
Courting Celia
Ageplay
Stepbrother’s Rules
Her Hollywood Daddy
His Little Lapis
BDSM under the name Darling Adams
Medical Play
Yes, Doctor
Master/Slave
Punishing Portia
About the Author
USA TODAY BEST SELLING AUTHOR RENEE ROSE is a naughty wordsmith who writes BDSM and spanking romance novels. Named Eroticon USA's Next Top Erotic Author in 2013, she has also won The Romance Reviews Best Historical Romance, and Spanking Romance Reviews' Best Historical, Best Erotic, Best Ageplay and favorite author. She's hit #1 on Amazon in the Erotic Paranormal, Western and Sci-fi categories in the U.S. and U.K., is often found on the list of Amazon's Top 100 Erotic Authors and is a regular columnist for Write Sex Right. She also pens BDSM stories under the name Darling Adams
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