Kidnapped by the Berserkers

Thorbjorn

Thorbjorn

I waited in the sun-dappled shadows of the forest, my arms crossed over my chest and my warrior brother Rolf in wolf form at my side. We’d fought in many battles and knew the power of the moments preceding an attack. I’d checked and rechecked the hone of my axe, the tightness of my belt and boots. Everything sat in place. Now I breathed deep the gathering gloom and watched the abbey.

Two warriors trotted over, the redheaded one grinning like a fool.

“Leif, Brokk,” I greeted them.

“We met one of them—a spaewife. She is unmated.” Leif all but rubbed his hands together. Brokk sat back on his heels, quiet as usual, but there was a hint of eagerness in his otherwise reserved expression.

You idiots, the wolf at my side chastised via the pack bonds.

“Our orders were to remain unseen,” I said.

“Is that why you are hovering on the forest edge, hoping to catch a glimpse of a potential mate?” Leif raised his brow.

Neither Rolf nor I answered, or mentioned the slight woman we’d seen on the stone walkway before we’d retreated deeper into the forest to wait.

“You’d have done it too, if you found the one who calls to your beast,” Leif went on.

I shook my head. “What if she reports you to the holy man, and he alerts his master?”

“She won’t. She’s too frightened to tell anyone she saw us,” Brokk said, and a little of Leif’s good humor fell away.

“Brokk is right,” the redhead said. “Whatever they do to these women in the abbey she was more afraid of that than of us.”

“Or perhaps we frightened her,” Brokk said, and a shiver of anger went through Leif, his beast rising to the surface. Brokk put a hand on his warrior brother’s arm, and the moment his control bled into the redhead, Leif’s shoulders relaxed and the bright light in his eyes receded.

“Tell us more of the woman you met,” I said. It would be a shame for Leif to lose control of his beast this close to a chance at claiming a mate. We’d all waited so long for this moment. Leif was a good warrior, even if he spoke more than most of the Berserker pack combined.

“She is small, slight and perfect,” Leif said. “Willow. Her name is Willow.” He ended on a slight whine, an animal sound.

In wolf form, Rolf answered with a whine of his own, one of sympathy. Can they put a claim to her? He spoke directly to me, via our private brother bond. Leif is close to losing control. If another tries to take her…

We’re supposed to be rescuing the women, not fighting among ourselves. The Alphas had made it clear that any Berserker who lost control would die. We could not risk damaging any of the spaewives—the women who could tame our beast.

As one of the older, steadier wolves, I had right of dominance. The Alphas trusted me to lead.

I told Leif, “I will give the order—no other Berserker is to touch her. You and Brokk will approach from the south on the front lines. If you see your potential mate, you may take her.”

“Thank you,” Brokk said. To his warrior brother he said, “Let us leave now. We must be ready if we are to claim her.”

To approach from the south, he and Leif must travel a wide arc around the abbey lands, and creep up through the forest. Rolf and I planned to leap the wall close to where we stood, but the trek would do Leif good.

“We will claim the one called Willow. The beast chose her,” Leif insisted. “And you Thorbjorn? Rolf? Have you chosen which woman will be yours?”

I reached out to my warrior brother, a tentative touch to the bond that connected us, that had kept us alive for over a century. Whenever my beast raged, Rolf lent me his control. And I returned in kind.

“We sense her,” I answered for us both. “She is waiting for us.” Years of waiting and the curse would be broken. But Rolf and I had learned not to be quick to hope.

Soon, we will all have our mates, Rolf said, and his words rang out like prophecy.

“Tonight,” I said. “We take them tonight.”