Owned by the Berserkers_A menage shifter romance

by Lee Savino

  “Is it so bad?” Another warrior with red hair spoke up from his place by the door. “Your friends found mates and are happy.”

  “At least in the abbey we had a choice. We did not have to take husbands, we could become nuns,” Rosalind snapped.

  “Yes, but now the abbey is no more. The Corpse King sent forces to take you and destroy it.”

  “So you say,” Rosalind sniped.

  “You know it is true,” the warrior raised his voice. “You were among the band of warriors that was routed. You and your sister were almost kidnapped. We penetrated the mage’s lair to free you—”

  “Enough,” Jarl ordered. “Tyr, we need more wood for the fire.”

  Shaking his head at Rosalind, the redhead warrior stalked off. Rosalind huffed and grabbed her sister’s hand, leading her to the back of the lodge, away from the warriors.

  An awkward silence followed.

  “The Berserkers want to protect us, right?” Meadow asked.

  “Right,” Jarl said with a bit of relief. “The Corpse King would claim you all if he could.”

  “Why?” Violet asked.

  Jarl shrugged. “The witches say he uses spaewives to feed his evil magic.”

  “But you are strong enough to beat him?”

  Firelight glinted off Jarl’s eyes as they turned gold. “We are. We will do everything in our power to keep you safe.” With that, he moved away from the hearth, heading out the way Juliet and Fenrir had gone.

  “Why do they call him the Corpse King?” Meadow asked one of the remaining warriors quietly, and he answered just as quietly. I strained to hear.

  “Because he raised an army of corpses to fight for him. More than that, some say he is a corpse himself.”

  A hand reaching from the mist. Bony fingers extending from a skeleton…

  I jolted out of my trance and blinked.

  “Fern?” Violet asked, and I turned away from the fire and my vision. I knew the figure who’d been haunting my dreams. Suddenly, I could not stand to be around anyone. Grabbing a bucket that we used to fetch water, I headed outside. Juliet stood with her back to the wall, looking up at both Jarl and Fenrir. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shot sparks as she argued with the two of them. Their voices didn’t carry, and they didn’t notice me hurrying past. Grasping a pelt tight about my shoulders, I stepped into the bitter cold. The wind numbed my face, but I welcomed it, knowing it was real and not a vision.

  Jarl was right. The warriors who took me from the abbey told me they keep me safe from the Corpse King. They did, too, until the madness took them, and the rest of the pack drove them away.

  By the time I’d finished filling the bucket with snow, the missing wolves were howling again. I could hear the loneliness in their voice.

  If I could find Dagg and Svein, they could help me. They could keep the dreams and visions at bay.

  I would leave and go to the banished ones. They were my last hope.

  11

  I woke just after dark. After breaking bread with us, the warriors had gathered outside the lodge. They built a fire large enough to withstand the snow and stood under the eaves sharing a jug of mead. The rest of the lodge was quiet. Juliet wasn’t abed, but that was just as well. Of all the girls, she would guess why I’d gone. Better she not see me leave, so she knew nothing if the Berserkers questioned her.

  Carrying only a sack of food and a few possessions, I snuck out the back. My boots were new and tied up my calves, oiled leather that would keep out the wet, but I still felt the cold when I stepped into the knee-high bank of snow. I hurried along the back path, making my way to the place where I left the bread for the banished warriors. For days now, I’d been tossing loaves over the mountain side, slipping out of the lodge under the pretense of looking for herbs. I was as silent and stealthy as I’d been in the abbey, and no one noticed me coming or going. I might as well have been a winter sparrow hopping over the drifts, a brown shawl covering my bright hair.

  The snow had stopped coming down. A few flakes danced in the air, blown off the snow-laden tree branches. The moon peeped out from behind a few clouds, but I knew the trail enough not to need to see it. I trekked down the mountain until I came to the lower ledge. There I searched for any sign that any warrior had come here but found nothing. Hours ago, the howling had stopped. I waited for a time, shivering in the deep snow drifts, hoping the wolves would start their lonely call again, and lead me in the right direction. Never had anyone been so eager to seek out two mad beasts. I almost smiled at myself.

  Finally, I gave up waiting. Facing the briars, I chose a direction, and started to find my way off the mountain.

  Halfway down, it started snowing. Clouds covered the moon and the flurries came fast and thick. I kept going through the blizzard but soon enough I was struggling through the drifts. But I dare not stop. After this storm, the banished ones would be driven away. I could not sleep until I had found them.

  After a time—could’ve been a few wearisome minutes or hours—the snow stopped. High above, I could see the light from the warrior guard’s fire. If they realized I was gone, they’d come for me, and I’d never have another chance to escape.

  I pushed on. At last the boulders gave way and trees took their place. I plowed between them, and the falling flakes quickly covered my tracks. My feet were numb, as were my hands. My cheeks ached with cold.

  Perhaps I had made a mistake. But I had to press on. All my life I’d been unwanted, unloved. Dagg and Svein had wanted me. I had to remember this.

  I stumbled and caught myself. Trudging to a tree, I rested against the trunk until my vision cleared and the world righted itself. That’s when I realized the land had leveled.

  I’d done it. I’d left the mountain.

  Behind me was a slight depression—my trail in the snow. A few more hours and the storm would obliterate it. The Berserkers would have trouble tracking me. Now I just had to survive long enough to find my former mates.

  When my legs grew too weary to press on, I crawled under a hemlock. There was no snow under the thick bower of branches. I pushed aside the twigs to lay down in the dark cocoon, a pocket of dry warmth under the weight of the snow. I wrapped my cloak around me and slept.

  12

  Svein

  Thick snow piled between the rows and rows of dark trees. My world was black and white, simple and clean. The cold muted all the smells of the world, except for the sharp sky scent of the falling flakes. I climbed a large rock and rested a while, letting the snow pile higher and higher. I’d woken early to mark my territory, going from tree to tree to splash my scent on the bark, leaving a clean border I’d defend unto death. My territory was all I had left.

  The black wolf trudged through the drifts, nose lowered as if he was on the hunt. I waited until he passed the pine grove and approached my standing stone before I raised my head and growled.

  The black wolf stopped and gazed at me. His golden eyes were clear, but I knew better. There, on the edge of his scent—the bitter smell of madness.

  It wouldn’t be long now. We’d spent many nights at the foot of the mountain, banished from safety but unable to leave it behind. How many moons had we greeted with voices entwined in a melancholy song? How many moons since he’d turned on me, snarling, and driven me off as an enemy? Now I carefully marked my territory and waited for the end.

  The black wolf cocked his head as if trying to recognize me. I knew him once, but not anymore. Now he was just another monster inhabiting these woods.

  I steeled myself for the fight, but in another moment, he huffed and trotted away. I continued on my route, waiting for a bird or a squirrel to venture into the snow and become an easy dinner. The cold didn’t penetrate my fur, but my bones remembered it from winters as a child. Blizzards here weren’t as mean, but a man wouldn’t last long.

  Good thing I was no longer a man.

  A part of me wished to follow the black wolf and attack. I resisted the urge. Wolves don’t fight for the
sake of fighting. In this way, they are not like men.

  The day would come when the battle lust would rule, but today was not that day.

  I leaped off the rock and sniffed my fellow wolf’s tracks. We would meet again, I was sure. Until then, I’d keep to my own territory.

  I made it as far as the mountain before stopping again. The snow was broken with fresh tracks. By the look of it, the trespasser was small, barely able to trudge through the gathering drifts. Whoever it was, they would not get far in this storm. Easy prey for a strong hunter.

  As I came closer, my nose filled with the smell of this prey. Human. Feminine. And something more.

  An intriguing scent. I bent my head and followed it.

  13

  Fern

  The cold seared my lungs as I crept out of my hiding place. It took me a few minutes to push aside the snow laden branches, but at last I stumbled out into a world of white. Working my stiff fingers, I ate some snow.

  A desolate landscape, white and barren, stretched before me and behind. I wished the wolves would howl again. Perhaps they were buried. Perhaps they’d died in despair.

  With that bleak thought, I pressed on.

  Svein

  Over the course of the hunt, I came to know my prey’s scent, fresh and strange, clearly distinct from the blue frost smell of the cold. Each footprint bore a faint whiff of wintergreen, along with the smoky tang of woodfire. Underneath, some enticing sweetness, almost floral. Like long forgotten springtime.

  By the time I caught up to my prey, I had fallen in the love with the scent. I was drunk with it.

  A shape moved ahead, dark and clumsy against the drifts. I slowed and slunk behind a few bushes, but there was no danger of getting caught. My prey was tired, flagging, step by faltering step.

  The hood fell from her head, and her hair blazed in the sunlight. Red, bright as a robin’s breast.

  She fell. Before I knew it, I’d broken cover and rushed to her side. As I drew close, I slowed, stalking my prey carefully.

  The young woman’s eyes were closed, but it was no mistaking her. She was the one Dagg and I took from the abbey, the one we’d claimed before—

  I bowed my head close to her. She was still alive. For a moment, she twitched a little as if she sensed me close. The snowflakes hit her cheeks. The first few melted, but then they began to gather.

  The Alphas told us they’d keep the spaewives safe. They’d promised. Why was she here? What drove her out in a blizzard?

  Her lips were turning blue. If she stayed out in the elements, it wouldn’t be long.

  I threw back my head and howled. Slowly, for the first time in months, I drew on my Berserker strength, and Changed.

  14

  Fern

  Pain rushed through my limbs and I cried out. Someone was cursing in a guttural voice, more growl than voice.

  “Damn this snow—”

  Cold air swept over my body, and I curled into a ball.

  “No, no,” the gruff voice ordered. Large hands caught my hands and chafed them. Slowly, my fingers uncurled. I moaned at the tingling pain.

  “You still have feeling in your limbs. A good sign. No, don’t fight me. You’re safe now.”

  I tried to speak, but my teeth started chattering. A second later, he tucked me somewhere warm. Bit by bit, the shivers left me. Again, I tried to mouth a name, but no sound came out.

  “Hush. Rest now, little dove.” I rested my head against a strong, smooth wall, and listened to the heart beat.

  “What were you thinking, coming out in the storm?” The rough voice sounded more human with each passing second.

  I snuggled closer to him and let sleep steal me away.

  When I woke again, I faced a crackling fire. Night had fallen again. The cold pressed in, the thin warmth from the fire barely holding it at bay.

  A shadow stirred at my back. “Lass? You awake?”

  I nodded

  A large hand roamed over me, finding my hand and squeezing it. “You’re too cold. I need to leave soon and get meat.”

  I fumbled with my clothes until I found the mouth of my sack. My fingers ached, but they worked. The warrior sucked in a breath as I drew out the hard tack.

  “Bread? You’ve been leaving it for us.”

  I nodded.

  Stubble brushed my face. “Oh, lass. What did we do to deserve you?”

  He took the supplies reverently. Too tired to eat, I lay back down, and my eyes fluttered closed.

  For long minutes I fought sleep, wanting to stay with my rescuer. Warmth crept into my limbs.

  It could’ve been minutes, or hours, but at last I climbed out of slumber and came back to myself enough to take stock of where I was. I lay on my side the warrior at my back, between the warrior and smooth rock. When I turned my head, his fingers tightened on my hip, but he seemed content for us to lie close together. His warmth seeped into me, giving me strength.

  “You gave me a scare,” he rumbled.

  I rose up and looked him in the eye. It was the light-haired warrior from the abbey, looking tired and more wild. His hair was longer, his light beard gnarled and matted. But it was him. Svein.

  I touched his face.

  He turned his head and nipped my fingers, then drew them into his mouth. “You should’ve at least wrapped your hands. I was afraid you’d lose a finger. You were so cold.”

  I lay back down, nestling into him.

  “I would not have found you, if not for your hair. Like fire in the snow. Bright as a robin’s breast.” He tugged a few locks, then smoothed them down. His body curled tighter around me. “Miss me?”

  I nodded.

  “You should not have come. We’ve been banished, Dagg and I. I don’t suppose you’re here to tell us the Alphas have given us pardon?”

  I shook my head.

  “I didn’t think so.” He sounded so weary, so different from the laughing warrior who’d carried me from the abbey. He’s always been more light-hearted of the pair.

  Where was Dagg? Even as I thought, a howl broke out. It came from close by.

  I raised my head and peered into the thicket.

  “He’ll not come close to the fire. His mind is gone. I’m sorry, lass.” Svein kept stroking my hair as if to bring me comfort. Something told me he did it to comfort himself as well. “If you wanted to see my warrior brother, you’ve come too late.”

  15

  Juliet

  Mornings in the lodge of unmated spaewives were much like ones in the abbey. As a former orphan turned nun, I’d often been tasked with watching over the abbey’s young charges. Only now I had giant, hulking Berserker warriors monitoring my every move, instead of the Mother Superior.

  It was day three of the bad blizzard, and the girls were restless.

  “I’m bored,” Meadow flopped on her bed, rumpling her dress. I bit my tongue.

  “Can we walk to Laurel’s?” Violet asked.

  “No, sweetheart,” I lifted her and set her beside Meadow. “It’s snowing too hard. Perhaps if you ask nicely, Meadow will plait your hair.”

  “She needs a wash first,” Meadow said, but dutifully sat up and started piecing out strands of the younger girl’s hair to braid.

  “Yes, when can we wash?” Rosalind spoke up. She sat in the corner with her sister, Aspen. The two blonde girls were as prim and still as dolls. Aspen’s plaits were perfect.

  “When the snow melts, dummy,” Meadow said.

  “Meadow,” I chastised her. “We can fetch snow and melt it in a tub.”

  “Why don’t we make the warrior’s do it?” Rosalind asked. “They are eager to help. Especially you, Juliet.”

  I paused, trying to detect any bitterness in Rosalind’s voice. She was a prickly one.

  “I’d rather not impose on our guards,” I said.

  “Why not?” Meadow asked. “They’d love to please you. Especially Jarl and—”

  “They have more important things to attend to,” I spoke firmly, and rose
and went to the hearth. Hopefully setting my back to the room would end the matter. The less I asked of the warriors, the better. I did not want to draw attention to myself.

  So far no one had noticed my absences. It was only a matter of time before the secret got out, and then everyone would know I suffered the spaewife fever.

  “It’s not fair,” Meadow muttered. “Sage and Willow and the others come and go as they please, and we’re stuck in here.”

  “Our friends don’t go as they please,” Rosalind argued. “They are mated.” The twist of her mouth told the room she thought this was a fate worse than death, or slavery.

  Meadow shrugged. “They have warriors who care for them and see to their every need. How is that so bad?”

  “Perhaps you should go entice the warriors to draw you a bath. You seem eager to have one claim you,” Rosalind sniffed.

  “Enough.” I turned from the hearth. “Meadow, finish Violet’s hair. The rest of us will tidy up the lodge. I’ll see about getting snow for washing.”

  “Curse this blizzard and this lodge,” Meadow grumbled. “I would be glad to mate a warrior if I could only leave.”

  “You could always sneak out at night,” Rosalind suggested. My skin prickled, and when I turned the older blonde sister was looking straight at me.

  “I wouldn’t advise that,” I said cooly. “Who knows what dangerous beasts lurk on this mountain?” Inside, I was shaking. Did Rosalind know my secret? Would she tell?

  “Did you send anyone to Laurel’s for bread this morning?” Violet cut in.

  “No,” I said, and stilled as the young girl pointed to an empty bed.

  “Then where’s Fern?”

  16

  Fern

  Svein and I lay close, watching the snow fall. He’d found a rocky ledge and tucked us under the overhang. His great body warmed me through and through.