Claimed by the Berserkers

Chapter 1

1

The Grey Man stood on the edge of the field, watching me. I’d seen his kind before—waiting and watching with the unblinking stillness of a snake. I called them ‘Grey Men’ because their skin was just that, grey and leathery. They were all tall and rail-thin, hunched forward with sunken eyes fixed on me.

I hadn’t seen one in almost a year, but it didn’t surprise me that one was stalking me now, when I was out at the market. In the past, they showed themselves when I was alone, without protection.

I wasn’t alone anymore.

Swallowing hard, I ducked between the rows of market stalls, putting distance between myself and the Grey Man. He might follow me, but he’d keep to the edge of the market. As long as I didn’t stray from the populated field, he wouldn’t come close.

My twin sister’s head bobbed ahead of me as she bent to examine one villager’s wares. As I headed for her, people averted their eyes or hurried out of my path, not for me, but for the massive warriors tailing me. My bodyguards: the huge warriors known as Berserkers.

“Look, Fleur,” my sister called. She also had a Berserker guard, a hulking giant who was also her mate. He hovered over her shoulder, casting a shadow, but she mostly ignored him, and I did the same to my two guards; tall and heavily-muscled men named Arne and Erik.

As my sister and I and the three Berserkers gathered at the table full of bright bits of cloth, the owner of the stall gulped and paled. Behind him, his wife shrank behind her loom, hiding herself and her children from us and making the sign of the cross.

Muriel didn’t seem to notice.

“This ribbon would be perfect for your hair.” She held up the shining spool in rich teal. Dutifully, I bent my head and let her study the color against my braid. I bit back the comment that nothing would help my dull, blonde hair—limp and thin after my last season of sickness.

“It’s lovely,” Muriel prattled on, and I agreed with less enthusiasm. I didn’t need new ribbons or finery—I lived in a mountain cave surrounded by a pack of brutish warriors, not a king’s court—but I pitied the vendor and his frightened family. A purchase would reward them for their trouble, even if it could not allay their fears.

Muriel’s mate loomed over her, his scarred face, shaved head, giant axe and glowering expression at odds with her sunny smile. Muriel was so happy to be out at market. A year had passed since we’d both been taken by the Berserkers, and this was the first time we’d been allowed a trip away from the warrior’s remote home. Even though she’d found her place in the pack with her new mates, Muriel had missed civilization.

“Such vivid color,” Muriel praised the stallman, who gripped the edge of his table as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling to his knees. “How do you do it?”

“‘Tis a secret recipe, made with spices from the east, and herbs from this very island.”

“Fascinating,” Muriel said. “And so beautiful, Fleur, with your light hair.” Even though Muriel and I were twins, she had dark hair like our eldest sister Brenna, while mine was mostly hay-colored like our sister Sabine. “We’ll take this for you, and the purple for me.” She pointed, but when the vendor moved close enough to hand her the spool, Muriel’s mate let out a growl.

The vendor dropped his offering onto the table with a clunk. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said in a shaking tone.

“It’s all right,” Muriel took up the spool and measured out how much she wanted herself. “My husband is protective.”

Flinching at the clink of the warrior’s weapons, the owner of the stall named his price.

We left the vendor a cowed, but richer man, and walked to another stall roasting large hanks of meat. Muriel skipped along, her fingers threaded with her mate’s huge ones. She chattered as if he weren’t glaring at every man who unwisely gazed too long at her soft beauty.

I stayed quiet, watching the Grey Man out of the corner of my eye. He’d moved around the field so he could keep me in his sights, but hadn’t come any closer. With the warriors surrounding me, I was safe, but my stomach twisted with a sense of foreboding. The Grey Men hadn’t dogged my steps since the Berserkers took me and Muriel. Before then, when my sisters and I lived alone in a hut on the edge of a small village, I’d see their ghostly forms all the time. I hid from them best I could, but their mere presence seemed to leave me sick and drained.

“Muriel,” I whispered when our three guards were distracted. “Do you see that man?”

“Where?” She kept her voice down.

“There, on the edge of the field. He’s looking at us.”

Muriel glanced back. “Beyond the butcher’s stall?”

“Yes, at the edge of the animal pen.” The cattle had all drifted to the far corner, away from the Grey Man. None of the villagers went near him, either. I described the strange watcher and Muriel frowned. “I see an old man leaning on the fence, and the cows in the pen, but no one with grey skin, like you described.”

The Grey Man was leaning on the fence. He straightened when he saw me glance back at him.

“Look away,” I hissed.

“Fleur, who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

I closed my eyes as Muriel set a hand to my forehead.

“No fever,” she said. “Are you sure you saw such a creature?”

“Yes. Never mind.” Drawing my sister’s attention to him would only put her in danger. Better for me to face my horrible vision alone.

I picked at the food our guards brought, unable to eat. Muriel went back to chatting with her mate, giving me worried looks from time to time. When I was young, I’d asked my mother and adults around me about the disturbing things I saw, and quickly learned that they weren’t real. Now I only asked Muriel, and swore her to secrecy. My two other sisters worried enough about my health.

As I sat, trying to ignore the Grey Man, my head pounding as if the sunlight was trying to break through my skull. My stomach rumbled but not with hunger.

“Something wrong, lass? Do ye not like the meat?” one of my guards leaned over me.

“‘Tis fine, sir,” I kept my eyes down. Rough, tattooed hands reached for my bowl, and my skin prickled as it always did around this Berserker. He was the first warrior I’d met when he burst into our hut and carried me off into the night--Erik, a Norseman who’d lived long enough on the island to pick up a light brogue. He had neatly trimmed black beard and tattoos running up his muscled arms.

“Something smells rotten. What do you think, Arne?” Erik passed my bowl to my second guard, a bronze-skinned warrior with a bald head and a hooked nose like the beak of an eagle. Arne was neither a Norseman or of Alba, but from far off lands I’d never heard of. With his dark coloring and exotic beauty, he stood out from the other pale-skinned warriors. A feather hung from his pierced ear.

“I smell it too. It’s not the meat.” Arne raised his head, scanning the market. My stomach clenched in panic. Instinct told me the Grey Man was dangerous, but I couldn’t allow the Berserkers to scent him--their violent rage would overtake them. If they faced an enemy here, in a crowded place, innocent people might die.

“Perhaps we should visit the other side of the market,” I blurted, and started walking. My back prickled; the Grey Man was still watching.

The wind shifted and the rotting smell mingled in the scent of roasting meat followed me, but faded when my two Berserker guards crowded closer.

“Is there anything else you wish to shop for?” Erik asked, falling into step next to me. I took two strides for his one.

“No, sir.” There was nothing I needed. My sisters all had mates—a pair of husbands each—to look pretty for. With my waifish form, and sickly complexion, I couldn’t look pretty anyway.

“Nothing at all? We have enough gold to buy ye anything ye need.” He swept out a hand to include the whole bustling market.

I sighed. I was supposed to choose cloth for a new gown. My sisters were making it for me. Midsummer approached. My last fever had ended a moon ago, and soon I would be expected to take a Berserker to mate. The Alphas were deciding who would claim me. Last time, they’d hosted a huge Games for my sister Muriel and she was given away. Fortunately, she seemed content with her two mates.

For some reason, Berserkers claimed their mates in pairs, and my sisters and I were the only women who could break the curse on these warriors. We had a gentle, latent magic that tamed the monstrous beast that gave the Berserkers their strength and took from them any chance of living in peace. The pack had been on the brink of going mad before they found us, but now they had hope of living a normal life.

Muriel, Sabine and Brenna had all been claimed. Soon it would be my turn.

If I lived long enough.

The Grey Man stalked around the edge of the field again, tracking me.

Picking up my pace, I rounded a corner and ran into a large black dog, a magnificent beast that came well up to my waist.

Not a dog. A wolf. Berserker.

The people around us quieted and moved quickly away. I didn’t know what made them more nervous: the great, brutish warriors frowning and handling their wares, or the massive wolf strolling between the stalls.

“Gunnr,” I smiled. This was the only Berserker I ever felt comfortable talking to. He was always in wolf form.

The warrior wolf butted against my legs gently, and I buried my hand in his thick fur. He didn’t move out of my way, so I knelt to look in his face and met his golden eyes, unlike any ordinary wolf. Unnatural and intelligent.

He stared at me as if he knew something was wrong.

“Fleur? Where were you going in such a hurry?” A shadow fell over me as Erik and Arne flanked me once more.

“Nowhere. I just thought I saw—” a pain pierced my head and I squinted against the sun. Something dripped down my face; I touched my nose and my finger came away red. Blood.

Gunnr whined.

I raised my head. The Grey Man stood not five feet away. He had flat, dull eyes. Dead man’s eyes. He raised a bony hand and pointed at me.

My skull throbbed again.

“Fleur, what is wrong?” My guards spoke over one another. “What is happening?” Metal rasped as they drew weapons.

“No, it’s nothing, don’t hurt anyone—” My stomach lurched as I mumbled the words. The world tilted, my feet no longer on firm ground. My legs buckled as the shakes took me.

I grabbed at Erik, opening my mouth at his wild expression, trying to tell him I was fine, I’d had these seizures before. My head flew back, my teeth knocking with each convulsion.

“Fleur!”

“Quick, grab her—”

Strong hands held my arms. A firm body was at my back, gentle arms caging me.

The shakes subsided. I was in Arne’s lap, head cradled in the crook of his elbow.

“What happened?” Muriel rushed up.

“She’s all right,” Erik said, smoothing my hair back.

“I’ve got her,” Arne echoed, and lifted me. “We’re leaving. This excursion is over.”