by Elle Thorne
Astrid leaned in. “Last night, they asked Eerika where your husband was. She told them to the east.”
Brenna sucked in air. “But—”
Astrid frowned at her. “I know. This will buy time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time for you to live. To escape.”
“Escape? Did you miss that I am kept behind a locked door in a building made of stone?” Not to mention, she knew Calder had been nearby last night while she’d tried to sleep.
“I did not miss that. We will have to be crafty to set you free. Or pray these men are struck down.”
Again, with the striking down part. Brenna exhaled. “Indeed,” she said. She had no interest in telling Astrid that no god would be sending lightning bolts to smite their captors.
“Will you get the blanket and hold it for me?” Modesty reigned, and she had no interest in sharing her body with these men. Nor of sharing her secret either.
“Eerika’s misdirection will grant us at least ten days. Five for them to arrive at the place she told them you live with your husband, and five to return.”
“And then they will know of the treachery.”
Astrid nodded.
By the gods, now I have ten days or less to escape these heathens.
Chapter Six
Calder considered the almost-setting sun. Three days ago, Halvar had sent six men to Brenna’s husband to get the ransom. While Brenna had been unconscious the second day, Halvar had cut a lock of her hair and removed a ring from her finger. The six men had taken them as proof so her husband could pay the ransom.
He’d avoided being alone with Brenna since the morning of her bath. The desire in him to ask her about those scars was great. The scars were still angry. Calder visited the healer in his hut, a hut taken over from one of the local villagers.
“Rangan,” Calder smiled at the wizened man. “I’m seeking tea tree oil.”
“Have you a scar that needs tending?” Rangan frowned. “Let me take care of it.”
“No. I’ll do it. Do you have any?”
Rangan rummaged through a scarred, old oak chest, then popped up like a rodent from a hole in the ground, a small clay pot in his hands. “Here you are, brother of Halvar.”
“I’ll return it in a few days.”
Calder unlocked the door to the small stone room that doubled as Brenna’s cell. He rapped on the door softly with his knuckles before he opened it a crack.
Her “Enter” came seconds later.
She looked at him. Her eyes were clear and vividly green, like precious gems, but glittering as though angry.
“Remove your tunic,” he told her softly.
“I will not.” She glared at him.
He held up the pot. She frowned.
“For your scars.”
Her eyes narrowed even more. “While I bathed. You looked.”
He nodded. “I saw nothing. Only the scars.” He didn’t mention the glimpse of her plump ass or the ivory hips that tempted a man to want to hold them during the act.
She scowled. “I don’t believe you.”
He shook his head. “Believe what you will.” He tilted the pot back and forth. “But this is to help with your scars.”
“Leave it with me. I’ll have Astrid help me with it tomorrow.”
“I can’t leave it. If they know I helped you—”
“Then why are you?” Her tone was hostile.
I have no idea.
“Do you want my help or not? Because I will not leave the pot here.”
She nodded. “But even more… I’d like your help with…” She chewed on her bottom lip, worrying it so that Calder was sure it would chafe.
He raised his hand and placed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip and freed it from her teeth. It returned to its place, plump and red.
“Help with what, lady?”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Don’t call you lady? What do your husband’s servants call you?
She shook her head. “Don’t call me that.”
“I shall not, then. What do you want help with?”
“It is close to the solstice, a time I make a wreath in remembrance.”
“In remembrance of what?”
“My mother. She passed two years ago.”
Calder scowled. He had no idea where to find any such thing as a wreath. “And you want me to fetch you a wreath?”
“I need to collect the plants myself, weave it myself.”
Calder pondered this. “It’s almost dark. I’ll have to bind you to me. I can’t have you running off into the night.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, making the green hue glitter more. “I will not run. You can bind me.”
He slipped the pot into a pouch at his waist, went outside, securing the cell door behind him then procured a leather strap from near the oxen shed, and returned to Brenna’s cell.
“Put your hand out.”
He bound her wrist with the strap, then attached it to his own.
He tapped the axe affixed to his belt. “Let this serve as a reminder. Do not try anything, lad—” what was he to call her if not lady? “—woman.”
She nodded as though woman was better. Then she said, “My name is Brenna. You know this.”
“Brenna,” he said her name aloud, the second time ever, though he’d said it in his mind more times than there were stars about.
His reward was a small lift to her lips, a ghost of a smile.
By the time the sun had fully set, Brenna had an armful of flowers and leaves for the wreath she’d be weaving. Calder had walked about with her, patiently attached at the wrists with the strap he’d placed there.
It had occurred to Calder as they’d moved about that it reminded him of a commitment ceremony. His mother had told him his father had been in a commitment ceremony with Halvar’s mother first, but she’d died from the winter storm one year, shivering and at the same time burning with a fever, and less than a year later, Aevar had a commitment ceremony with Calder’s mother.
Calder’s mother died when he was ten, but Calder could remember the stories she’d told him of how she’d met his father, and how they’d been soulspliced. He’d asked her what that was. She said that one day, he’d know. One day, he’d find that woman whose soul was spliced to his.
Calder had grimaced that day and stuck his tongue out as if tasting the most bitter of meads. His mother had laughed. Her laughter brought his father into their great hall to find out the cause of her mirth.
She’d told Aevar that their son found the idea of soulsplicing to be repulsive. Aevar had kissed her on the lips, his eyes gleaming, the ring of gold in his eyes caused by his bear had flickered like firelight.
“One day, he’ll know,” Aevar had said.
Now both of his parents were gone, and the only one left of his immediate family was Halvar. An older brother whom Calder loved, but had an on and off tenuous and rivalrous existence with, at best.
At that moment, Calder realized that Brenna had stopped moving. She’d been still, and was staring at him.
He locked gazes with her and wished he knew what was on her mind.
Chapter Seven
Brenna couldn’t take her gaze from the man before her. Calder was nothing like the others he traveled with. What was he doing with them? Why did he seem so different?
She studied him.
Was it true he could turn into a bear?
“You have enough for your wreath?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you for letting me collect them.”
“The moon is rising.” He pointed toward the horizon.
“It’s a blood moon.” A shiver crossed over her spine.
“Cold?” He raised a brow, took a fur off his shoulders and wrapped it around her.
“Thank you.” Brenna didn’t want to tell him that the blood moon was a harbinger of bad. Her worry was that it did not bode well. She knew they’d sent the warriors to find her husband and claim
her ransom. She’d noticed her hair had been cut close to her scalp at the nape of her neck. She’d also noticed her missing ring.
After Astrid told her they’d taken proof of her abduction, Brenna quickly put together the pieces. She’d not made a fuss, not wanting to attract any more attention from Halvar. She’d kept her presence quiet around Calder’s older and more temperamental brother.
“You look worried.” Calder tied the fur beneath her chin.
“I am fine.”
“Let’s get you back. I will apply the tea tree oil, then you can get to your wreath-making.”
“Calder?” She touched his shoulder where a tattoo of a large bird met with this chest.
“Hmmm?” He turned to face her, his eyes glowing in the red moon’s rays.
“Is it true that you can become a bear?”
He frowned.
“They told me you could.”
“Me?” He put a finger on a chest that was broad, muscular, tattooed and scarred. The expression on his face was fearsome.
Brenna swallowed a gulp at the scowl he presented her with.
“I do not know if they said you personally, but you, your group—your men.”
Calder nodded. “That’s what your village women told you. Do you believe in such foolishness? That men can become beasts? That witches exist?”
She frowned. “Witches do exist. They do. Helga’s mother is a powerful witch.”
He smirked. “If that be so, then why did your witch not save you? Not save any of you? Not save the men?”
“Freyja is not here. She is out of the village.”
“I see.”
“Calder!” A voice called from the other side of the brush.
Brenna recognized Halvar’s growling, gravelly voice. She flinched and lowered herself closer to the bushes, hiding behind Calder.
Calder gave her a look and slipped the leather strap from his wrist. “Do not go anywhere.” He raised a brow then turned toward the sound of Halvar’s voice.
“Here, Halvar. Can a man not take a piss without being followed?”
Raucous laughter sounded as Calder headed away from Brenna.
She looked around at the brush, the forest.
Dare she?
The farther away Calder’s footsteps sounded, the more her certainty wavered.
It was now or never.
She clutched the wreath’s makings close to her chest and ran toward the trees.
She ran and ran, unsure how long she’d run, until she was in such a dense thickness of forest that she could no longer see the moon, nor use its light to guide her.
Winded, with a stitch in her side that was relentless, she leaned against a tree.
“Pssst.” A small whistling sound caught her attention.
She looked around the area. Who would be doing that?
Surely it wasn’t one of the marauders. They’d have certainly recaptured her, rather than use subtle means to get her attention.
“Who is it?” she whispered into the darkness.
“Is my daughter still safe? I haven’t seen her in a day.”
“Who are you?”
“Freyja.”
“You’re back from your trip.”
“Keep your voice down, child.”
“Sorry. Yes, she is fine. She fell and twisted her ankle. Astrid said she’s staying in the cooking hut, keeping the fire going.”
“Good. Tell her that in three days, vengeance will be ours. The women are to pick up any weapon they can and attack.”
“How will they know when?”
“They’ll know.”
“Wait, no. I can’t go back. I can’t. They will kill me when they find out that Eerika—”
A growling, snuffling sound came from nearby.
Brenna gasped. Was that a wolf? A boar? She clung to the tree and gauged the distance to the lowest branch. Could she climb it before the animal attacked her?
She never had a chance to find out.
A hand encircled her wrist.
“I told you to stay put,” Calder’s voice held admonition. “You could get yourself killed out here. You could have gotten me in trouble.” His fingers found purchase on the leather strap and pulled on it.
Brenna was speechless, her mind a flurry of activity, first from Freyja’s announcement, then the growling in the trees, and now being recaptured by Calder.
She jerked on the strap. “You don’t understand.” She hoped Freyja was listening in and could see that one of the enemy was so close.
Enemy? Was he her enemy? Yes, she reminded herself. He was her enemy as well as the enemy of her people.
Then why didn’t she feel fear with him?
“What don’t I understand? That you tried to run away?”
“Your men will kill me when they return from their sojourn.”
“And why would that be?”
Tears threatened and then started a treacherous trip down her cheeks.
“They will.”
“We’ll talk about this after I get you back to your cell. I can’t have them noticing that you’re missing.”
Brenna looked back toward the direction of Freyja but saw nothing. Had Calder not seen or heard them?
He took a step forward, then looked back at her and tugged on the strap.
Chapter Eight
Calder situated Brenna in her cell. He hadn’t said a word to her on their trek back. She’d stumbled the entire walk as they returned, and even asked once why he didn’t.
He hadn’t been about to tell her that shifters could see in the dark.
She sat in the corner, on a pile of rugs, and sorted through the plant life she’d collected for her wreath making, then she began to plait and weave the components. Brenna never once looked up at him.
Calder dragged a seat to the opposite corner, one where he could see who would enter before they could see him. And he watched her, this strong, silent beauty who’d dared to run. Why had she returned so easily? Why hadn’t she struggled or tried to escape? He pondered these questions while his bear paced relentlessly in Calder’s mind.
At long last, he asked her a question. “Who put those scars on your back? What did you do to merit them?”
Brenna’s head rose slowly from her task at hand, and her eyes took his full measure, then they narrowed, gleaming dangerously in the dim light cast by the candle he’d lit for her. “Who said I merited the scars?”
He tilted his head and pondered her question though she didn’t take her gaze from his face. “Who did that to you?”
Her lips turned tight, the bottom lip no longer plump and kissable, but rather a formidable line drawn in the sand.
She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the door flinging open and crashing against the wall.
Three men entered. Three of Halvar’s men, not the ones that followed Calder.
“Precious bloom,” one of the men slurred.
Calder noted that it didn’t take shifter super smelling to scent the odors that wafted from the three intruders. They smelled strongly of ale, and their stumbling was testimony to the amounts they must have consumed.
“Let’s see what you have that would make your husband want you back,” another one said. His profile was a portrait of pure lust.
“My husband?” Brenna asked. “Did he send word? Did your messengers return?”
The third man laughed. “They shouldn’t be back for another two days. Plenty of time for you to heal from tonight’s pleasures. Plenty of time.” His laugh was raucous and menacing.
“Stay away from me.” Brenna pushed herself against the wall and reached for a branch leaning in the corner. She lifted it and was poised, ready to strike.
“Silly wench,” the first man said and stepped into the line of fire.
“I will hurt you. I promise.”
He stepped even closer.
Probably close enough for her to smell his breath.
Calder was in an awkward position. He knew defending her an
d hurting his brother’s top men would not go over well, but he’d not let this happen.
Seemed his bear had decided the same, but had also determined to take the upper hand.
The man put his hand on Brenna’s shoulder and pulled her close.
She struck with the branch, but the man only laughed and yanked it from her.
At this point, Calder couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to as his bear was in the throes of morphing from Calder’s human form into a large dark brown bear.
His muscles stretched, his bones yielded to the shift with a creak.
The men whirled around, hearing his transformation.
It was too late for them to shift into their own bears, though it would have been tight quarters if they had.
Calder rushed them, claws outstretch, he slashed flesh, left, right, back and forth repeatedly. Blood spurted as the men collapsed, all three on the verge of death, bleeding out while Calder’s bear stood over them, snarling.
He looked up at Brenna.
She’d fainted and was on the bundle of furs, face up.
Calder pushed against his bear to let him return to his human form, but the bear wouldn’t budge. It absolutely refused to yield control to Calder.
So, in his bear form, albeit reluctantly, Calder stood over Brenna, guarding her. He shoved his bear nose against her shoulder and inhaled deeply, his broad bear chest expanding.
Chapter Nine
Brenna opened her eyes. The world before her was dark brown fur.
Fur?
Fur!
A soft growling sound made her heart stop. She froze, motionless, trying to remember.
The fur moved back slightly. Before her on all fours, waited the largest bear she’d ever seen. Bigger than she even thought bears could get.
She wouldn’t scream. No, she wouldn’t. Screaming might make it attack her.
Then it occurred to her. The bear wasn’t acting aggressively. It stood there, watching her. She couldn’t help but notice that its eyes, a roasted brown hue had a dark blue ring of flames surrounding the iris.
Just like Calder’s but in reverse.