The Summit

by K. A Knight

  “Fuck me,” comes a whisper from behind me and I can’t do anything but nod.

  The room is filled with dead Seekers, no, not dead––massacred Seekers. Body parts are littered everywhere, and it would take weeks to find out where they all belonged, but there must be over twenty bodies in here. Blood is splattered on the walls, like buckets of it were thrown against the bland white, standing out as it drips down. The marble floor is covered in red, splashes and slides of it everywhere your eyes look. I spot the odd dead Berserker but not nearly enough. They wiped through them, it’s obvious by the room they weren’t expecting them. They had set up for dinner, the flies now feast on the rotting food. Every time I run my eyes around the room, I notice something I didn’t the last time, like my mind is trying to reject the horror before me and protect me. I couldn’t even make out where the parts went at first or what the bits of bodies were, but now I can, and I have to swallow hard. On the floor near a table leg I spy a young girl’s face, and over on the other side of the room I see the half cut up face of an older women. They didn’t just kill the men, the warriors, they butchered everyone.

  “This isn’t everyone,” Dray rumbles, his voice freezing cold.

  “How can you be sure?” I ask, my voice even and numb.

  “I know,” is all he replies as he carefully walks further into the room.

  I turn to see the anger and pain on the Seekers’ faces behind me and I feel stupid for not thinking about the fact these people were probably their friends, their brothers or sisters, wives, children. They have lost nearly everything, yet they stand strong and proud looking at Dray to tell them what to do.

  Most people faced with the sight before them would wither away, they would freeze in shock and be nothing but a numb shell. Dray is different. He pushes that all away and focuses on being a leader, a warrior. Pride fills my chest as he turns to face us, his strength is astounding even when met with the potential end of his people.

  “We need to find the others. We will check upstairs before we check the basement. We stick together and watch each other’s backs. They will not get the better of us again!” he screams the last and picks up a chair, throwing it at a wall where it smashes. His chest heaves as his face turns animalistic, his rage taking over.

  “You heard him. Let’s go and stay low, Berserkers love going for the throat.” That makes me freeze and I quickly look back at the bodies, seeing the lack of heads I close my eyes. “Be on the lookout for the piked missing heads, they will be somewhere unless they took them back to Ivar as a trophy.”

  We do as Dray ordered, we stick together and work our way slowly through both upper levels, but they are untouched, and we find no evidence of anyone. When we gather back in the entrance, Dray turns to a section of wall and I watch in rapt interest as he pushes on a panel that looks no different from any of the others. A section of the wall slides away to reveal a set of stairs going down.

  Grabbing a lit torch from the stone wall, he starts descending to the bowels of the mansion and I quickly follow, unwilling to leave him to face whatever awaits us down there alone. All you can hear as we stomp down the stone stairs is our breathing and footsteps, anyone down here listening hard enough will know we are coming. Dray stops suddenly and holds his arm out to stop me. I do so silently, tilting my head to the side to listen to whatever has alerted him. When he lets out a laugh, I eye him worriedly. Has he finally lost his mind?

  I suppose the death of your people would do that to someone, especially seeing as though he wasn’t the most stable of people before.

  “They are safe,” he declares and before I can caution him, he reaches out and runs his fingers along a wire which was invisible until he pointed it out.

  “Boobytraps?” I ask. He nods and quickly ducks under the wire, waiting he holds it for me and I slip under. He drops it again and the Seeker behind me swears as he tries to find it again.

  “How many are there?” Looking around I am extra careful.

  “That tripwire, which drops blades from the ceiling, a mine at the bottom of the stairs, and flamethrowers a couple of feet down,” Dray answers as he carries on, a renewed urgency in his steps.

  “Well aren’t you fucking prepared,” I mutter incredulously. Who the hell boobytraps their home with mines and flamethrowers? Oh, that’s right. The psychopath in front of me.

  I like the idea of the blades though. I reckon I could rig something similar up for my room. There is no such thing as overkill when you have a fucked-up Berserker King hunting you.

  Once Dray knows the booby traps are still set, we move even quicker, bypassing them until we reach the bottom of the steps where he turns and, without asking, lifts me over a normal looking stone tile and puts me down on the floor next to him. Turning to the others I point out the mine, just in case they didn’t see, and follow after Dray as he strides down the hallway. When he reaches a corner, he throws himself around it just as an arrow goes flying by where his head would have been. He plucks it out of the wall and laughs.

  “Too slow, I thought I taught you better,” he jokes as a mammoth sized man lumbers around the corner, clutching a crossbow delicately. He’s huge, his bald head shining in the light and his ridiculous arms bulging. His face is square and angry looking, only highlighted by his Seeker scar he wears.

  “‘Bout fookin time,” he rumbles, shuffling to put his crossbow away over his back.

  “What happened?” Dray demands, all signs of joking gone.

  “Fookin’ scraggly haired fucks attacked as we sat down for suppa. Started slaughtering everyone, I managed to grab as many as I could and get em locked down here. Bastards stayed for hours, sounded like they were searching the place for somethin.” Looking at Dray seriously, he steps closer. “Why the fook are those pigs attacking us?”

  “They want a war,” Dray answers simply.

  I grind my teeth, but something doesn’t sit right with me. Why come all this way, kill half the Seekers then just up and leave? They didn’t even leave anyone behind by the looks of it. So why?

  “Did you see a man with a skull crown, a giant sword strapped to his back who was surrounded by a snake looking man, and a man the same size as you?” I question, trying to add up in my head why this feels so wrong.

  The man turns towards me, throwing Dray a look that says ‘who the fuck is this’ but he answers anyway. “No, only those fookin rats.” He jerks his head upstairs. So, that means Ivar and his closest men weren’t here, so, where were they? And why did they send Berserkers to attack the Seekers? Questions pile up, but Dray distracts me as he speaks.

  “Get everyone back upstairs, sweep the camp. Bring any of those bastards to me alive. Then we honour our dead.” The man nods before slamming his fist to his chest. Dray returns the gesture and turns back to me as the man lumbers around the corner, his voice booming out to the remaining Seekers I am guessing.

  “Something doesn’t feel right,” I spit out, a sick feeling forming in my stomach.

  “I know, I feel it too. Let’s get back upstairs, soulmate.”

  Sex and Bubbles

  My men and I join the Seekers in searching the camp. I stay near the house and within two hours a horn sounds to ring the all clear. My shoulders slump at that, even though I know I have to go back and help sort the bodies. My mind has been running a mile a minute trying to figure out why this attack doesn’t sit right with me, but I just can’t grasp why.

  There were more Seekers who survived than I thought and I give added respect to the sneaky bastards. Men, woman, and children all came out of hiding and started working together to achieve Dray’s goals. I watch the way they look at him, with reverence and respect. The men gather around him asking for advice and showing him things they have found. Whereas some of the women giggle and blush when he looks at them, some are hardened warriors like the men and don’t even seem to bat an eye at the half naked man candy that is Dray.

  I catch one of the female warriors watching Maxen though, and I debate
killing her, especially when her eyes drop to his arse and she licks her lips.

  “Such a jealous little thing, aren’t you?” Maxen laughs, making me jump and my glare turns away from the woman to his face.

  “Fuck yes. You better remember that, and I have violent tendencies and stab first, ask questions later,” I growl out, narrowing my eyes at him. Smug bastard just winks at me.

  Growling, I turn back to picking up a torn off arm and adding it to the wheelbarrow we are sharing. Maxen jokes and pokes at me as we work, trying to keep the mood light, and it works.

  Three hours later and I am exhausted. My arms ache, my back is killing me, and my head is pounding, but the room is finally cleared of bodies. I follow the silent parade of Seekers outside to watch them honour their dead. I’ve only ever seen a normal burial and a Berserker honouring, so I am curious as Dray leaps up onto the hill out back where all the bodies are. Standing there like some avenging god, he takes in his people.

  “Today we lost many. Those animals came onto our land, they broke the peace and shed blood in our home. They will pay, we will ensure that, but first we say goodbye to our fallen. Tonight we lay you to rest, may the next life be kinder to you and welcome you with open arms. To the fallen!” he shouts, thumping his chest.

  A chanting starts up as the Seekers stomp their feet. Singing soon joins in as Dray leaps down and accepts a torch from the man next to him. Turning, he lets everyone see before tossing it onto the pile of bodies. It lights with a whoosh, and he steps back and watches the flames dance. The singing lasts until the last flame dies out, and nothing but char and the smell remains. It goes quiet, then and a soulful, heart-wrenching voice takes up the song. Blinking in shock, I look at Dray as he sings about loss and death until his voice tapers off. Only then do the Seekers start to break up and walk away, each with a look of peace on their face even as the scent of death and decay linger on the air, but I can’t take my eyes away from Dray. Turning, he walks towards us, his eyes only for me.

  “We rest now, today has been long. Pick any rooms on the third floor, they are reserved only for my generals and me. Tomorrow we figure out our plan.” His eyes stay locked on me even as his words are meant for my men. “Champion, you are with me.” I arch my eyebrow at that, but he walks away, striding towards the mansion’s back door.

  “He needs you tonight, angel,” Jax says softly before kissing my lips and walking away. Drax kisses me and offers me a sad smile before running to catch up with his brother. I turn back to Maxen and Thorn.

  “He’s right, we will see you in the morning, Mi Alma. Try not to kill him.” Maxen kisses me softly, setting my tired body alight and steps away to let Thorn move in and hug me. His arms wrap around me and I snuggle into his heat, wishing I could stay here, but they are right. I saw the look in Dray’s eyes; this should be interesting. Thorn steps back and drops a kiss on my forehead before him and Maxen wanders away. When I look back towards the mansion, I see Dray’s shadow at the window. Taking a deep breath, I set off to find out what he wants from me.

  When I step through the back door, I see his back disappearing around the corner and I jog after him. I end up chasing him up some wooden back stairs that I didn’t spot before. When I reach the third floor, I stop and look around, wondering where he went. The walls on this floor are a deep red, almost blood coloured, and there are six doors. A black leather couch sits under a window at the end of the corridor and the rest of the floor is bare. Only one door stands open, at the very end of the corridor and set back from the others. Rolling my eyes at his dramatics, I stride through it and stop, blinking into the darkness. The sound of running water has me tilting my head. Relying on my hearing, I follow the sound through the room, stumbling over furniture every now and again until I see the light peeking out of a door just ahead. When I push it open, I take in the bathroom before me.

  Bigger than my room back at Nan’s and double the size of the one at The Ring, the room screams money. It was probably some rich bastard banker’s holiday home before everything went to shit. A tub, square and huge, sits on a raised area at the very back of the room. Big enough to fit at least three people, it spans the whole end of the bathroom. A toilet, two sinks and a mirror run down the left-hand side of the room. A marble table is to the right where Dray stands with his naked back to me, dried blood coating it and highlighting his scars.

  Music fills the room and I look back at Dray as he steps away from the table to reveal an old style gramophone. Some old school jazz fills the room and I watch curiously as Dray strips off, laying his weapons on the table, until he is completely naked before me. Still not saying a word or looking at me, he climbs into the running bath and slides down the side. Finally, he tilts his head until his eyes reach me, they look haunted and downright sad, and I automatically take a step forward.

  “Stay with me?” he asks, his voice quiet. I don’t even bother to answer as I copy him. I strip off my weapons and lay them next to his before dropping my clothes and slipping into the tub to sit at the opposite end. His head turns again, his eyes tracking me, watching me without speaking.

  I drink in the sight of him as we soak peacefully, the water turning red with the blood of his people. Without questioning, I pull the plug and run it again to get rid of the blood. Laying back once more, I watch him.

  “Where did you get the scar?” I ask, the jazz music relaxing me and making me ask things I usually wouldn’t. His scars are his business, sands below I have enough myself, but I find myself asking anyway.

  “My father.” Just when I think he won’t say any more, he sighs and leans his head back. “The man was pure evil. He lived to torture my brother and me, his people also. They hated him but were too scared. When I was thirteen, he held a meal. Everyone knew that meant bad news. It was during the main course that he flipped. He just started attacking people, cutting them up. None of the guards knew what to do, they couldn’t stop him––he was their leader. Blood was flying, and people were dying, and no one was doing anything...so I did.” He blows out a breath and closes his eyes as if remembering. “I jumped in, weaponless and scared as hell, I deflected his blows. Using my body, I took the brunt of his bloodlust and anger, cut after cut until I stumbled and fell, my arms ripped open down to the bones. I couldn’t even lift them to protect myself as he raised his blade once more. He ripped through my face and stood over me as reason came back to him. He cleaned his blade and turned his back on me, left me there bleeding to death, screaming as I held my face.” He opens his eyes again and stares at the ceiling. “A woman saved me, her name was Maria. Her husband was one of the men I had jumped in to save. She stitched me back together and took care of me, even when I wouldn’t let her.”

  "Why do your men wear one?” I ask, my body relaxing further into the warm water.

  “Stories spread at what I had done, I had saved my people from my own father. They remembered that, so when I killed him and my brother, it became a sign of great honour to wear the scar.”

  Shrugging, he moves the water, causing it to lap at my skin. “It started with Maria’s husband, he said it was the only way to honour my sacrifice and it caught on.” His eyes land on me again. “Does it bother you, the scar?” His voice is vulnerable, and I can tell my response will hit him deep. For someone so scary and powerful, he sure does have a lot of emotions still, more than I ever imagined.

  “No,” I reply honestly. “I love it, it was the first thing I noticed about you. I don’t know why but it made me feel better, I had so many scars and when I saw yours I thought to myself, there is someone who knows suffering and pain like me. Now every time I look at it, I will remember how brave you are.”

  He stops moving, his eyes locked on me, and he doesn’t even breathe. I jerk back as he bursts into movement, flinging himself across the tub, the water splashing with him, until he stops right in front of me.

  “That is because we are the same, we are survivors but more than that. We are warriors.” I nod, and he moves between
my legs. Turning around, he leans his back against my chest and I cup him with my thighs and wrap my arms around him, just holding him.

  “Will you tell me about your brother and father?” I ask softly, I need to know. I have this insane urge to know everything about him, about all my men, and this is the first time he has shown me any weakness and really opened up, after coming to his home I feel like I know him better than ever.

  “What do you want to know?” he replies.

  “Anything, everything. What happened?” Leaving one of my hands on his chest I start to play with his hair.

  “Me and my brother were never close. He was weak, always bending to my dad’s will and he let him shape him until all that was left was a shell, a copy of my father.” His hand lands on my thigh underwater as he strokes my skin and I shiver.

  “You killed them,” I say the statement casually as I grab the cloth from next to the bath and start washing the blood from everywhere I can reach on him.

  “Yes. I would do it over and over again if I could.” He sighs as I run the cloth down his chest before wetting it again and washing his shoulders.

  “You were really young to run a clan, did they not challenge you? I see the devotion they have now, but surely it wasn’t always that way?”

  “It was rough at first, constant fights for strength, but when the cannibals came down from the mountain and attacked us in force, I showed them I was exactly what they needed,” he murmurs, relaxing into me, a soft peaceful look on his face, one I have never seen before. It sends a thrill through me and I falter before carrying on washing him.

  “You’re not who I thought you would be,” I say conversationally, dropping the cloth on the side when I can’t reach anymore.