Lord of Rage & Primal Instincts (16 page)

Because she asked you.

And Osborn would do anything Breena requested of him. But not that again, he vowed. Never again. The idea of causing her harm made him hurt.

He watched her, helpless as she suffered through dinner. She had no stories to share at the campfire. By evening he was filled with guilt over his weakness. Osborn had to fix it. He followed her to her room that evening.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” he said as he joined her in the bed. She hadn’t told him to go and leave her alone, so he took that as a good sign.

“I was thinking about how happy I am.”

A rush of relief almost made him shake. Osborn laced his fingers with hers. “That’s a good thing.”

Breena shook her head. “No, it’s not. I shouldn’t be happy. Not when my people are suffering. When my parents are dead.”

Cold streaked through him. Not the kind that signaled the return of his
berserkergang,
but from panic. It was happening. He’d feared Breena would become guilt plagued…like him. It would eat at her now that it had taken root. The blame she’d heap on herself would tear at her soul, leaving her anguished and filled with regret.

He wanted to take her into his arms, and assure her that the death of her family was not her fault. Smooth the line forming between her brows, and tell her she had nothing to feel guilty over.

But he didn’t, because he knew she wouldn’t believe him. Just as he didn’t believe those same things about his own life.

They didn’t make love that night. Instead, they lay side by side, barely touching.

H
E AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING
with that same feeling of doom.

Osborn disentangled himself from the bedcoverings, and stared down at Breena’s beautiful face. He’d never grow tired of gazing at her. Even if he were privileged enough to grow old with her, see lines fanning from her eyes, and more gray than blond strands in her silky hair. It wasn’t her features that made her beautiful to him. It was her spirit. Her capacity to love, both him and his brothers, despite all that had been ripped from her life. Breena hadn’t feared the
berserker
in him. That’s when it all changed for him. She wasn’t afraid of anything.

While he was filled with fear.

He’d lose her. He knew it to be true now. Osborn had probably held on to her a little too long already.

After slipping out of her bed, he quickly dressed. He could no longer put off journeying into the village and seeking news of Elden. That was what loomed in the distance. Breena’s revenge and her dreams of seeing her brothers, if they were still alive, restored to the throne. It was time for her to fulfill and silence the commands—no, the curses—her parents instilled in her mind. Survive and avenge…survive
to
avenge.

The village was quiet as he crested the hill, most of its residents still asleep. All but the merchants. Osborn found the spice man unpacking his wares, and arranging the items for optimal display. The man smiled at his approach. “I told you to stock up on olive oil before my supply dried up. Now it’s all gone. Elden is a fortress.”

“What I need is information.”

The merchant only smiled. “The cost is the same. I’m a businessman, after all.”

Osborn dug in his pack, and handed over the coin.

“I’m afraid the news is not good, my friend. Can’t
get anything in and out of Elden now. There’s talk the land is cursed by blood.” The merchant shuddered. “I will not go back, not even for the fortune I’d make.”

Cursed by blood. The snake scout made by blood magic. It all confirmed Breena’s dream memory. The Blood Sorcerer was behind the attacks on Elden. “What of Elden’s people?”

The spice man shook his head. “Of them I know even less, although with such little information, I’d suspect they were all dead.”

Osborn had suspected as much, too. Breena’s beloved brothers…Nicolai, Dayn and little Micah.

“There are rumors of a resistance.”

Finally.
Some good news. “What?”

The merchant held up his empty palms. Clever ploy. Dropping his story at its most suspenseful.

Osborn slid more coins the spice man’s way. “If I learn your talk was all lies to gain my money, you’ll find yourself joining the dead of Elden.”

“No, my information is solid. Those loyal to Elden’s memory are gathering in an outbuilding along the border. Each day more return to gather arms and plan an attack. A fool’s last stand, if you ask me.”

And Breena should be there to lead her people.

Osborn had still been foolish enough to hold a small sliver of hope that Breena would stay. Hadn’t realized it until that hope just died. He should have known better. In the stories she shared around the firelight at night, the princess never remained in the cottage in the woods.

On his way out of the valley, Osborn secured the provisions they’d need for their travel to Elden. To the place where her people gathered, very likely awaiting a
leader. He’d learned the positions of the stars as a child, and could easily lead her home.

The walk through the tree-lined path that would lead him back to Breena did not take long. With a quick knock to her bedroom door, he stepped inside. She smiled up at him, and stretched her morning sleep away.

“I was just wondering where you’d gone.” She scooted to the side and flipped back the bedcovering. “Now you can come back to bed.”

He did not move.

Her welcoming smile faded. “Osborn, what is it?”

“I have news of your people.”

Her beautiful green eyes widened.

“They’re forming a resistance. They hope to take back the castle.”

Breena squeezed her eyes tight. “Yes.” Then she whirled off the bed, quickly retrieving fresh clothes. “We’ve got to get there as soon as possible.”

“I’ve readied our packs.”

“I must gather my things. Do they know that I’m still alive? What a foolish question. Of course not. How would they even know? I wonder who’s leading them? And I’m talking so fast you can’t catch up.”

His lips turned up in a grin despite his souring mood. “You’re excited. It’s okay.”

Breena gripped his elbow. “It
is
going to be okay, isn’t it? I can feel it.”

“Finish packing what you need. I’m going to give some instructions to my brothers.”

Bernt flashed Osborn an accusatory glare when he stepped outside, blinking under the sun.

“I want to keep her,” Torben told him, sounding more boy than man.

“She doesn’t belong to us,” he tried to explain.

Bernt shook his head. “But you could make her stay. Tell her what she wants to hear.”

I love you.

Please stay.

I’m dying inside at the thought of you leaving me.

He ground his back teeth. “This is her path. We’ve always known that.”

“What about after? She’d come back if you asked her to.”

“I have no right to ask. Besides, she’s a princess. Princesses belong in castles.”

Bernt turned on his heel and stalked into the wilderness. There’d be no goodbyes from his younger brother.

T
HEY TRAVELED FOR THREE
days. Osborn didn’t want to rush their pace, despite Breena’s urge to run.

“At the end of this journey there
will
be a battle, Breena. We can’t afford to be worn out before the first strike,” he warned.

At night they made love where they camped, their couplings sometimes fierce, sometimes savoring, but always tinged with a touch of desperation. Osborn would hold her long after she fell asleep, staring up at the stars.

“What are you doing?” she’d ask sleepily.

“Willing time to slow.”

Sometime after their noon meal on the third day, he discovered the whereabouts of the outbuilding. Breena gasped when she spotted tents dotting the area and her people milling about—families, soldiers, workers of the castle.

“My people,” she whispered, filled with so much relief and love she could hardly breathe.

“There’s Rolfe,” she nearly shouted, and Breena rushed toward him before Osborn could stop her.

Breena charged across the field with new energy, the breeze lifting her hair and cooling her face. The people working outside stopped to stare, their jaws dropping open in shock and their eyes filling with tears. Her people crowded her, welcoming her.

“Word of my brothers? Has anyone heard anything of them?” she shouted above the din.

But the Eldens continued to rejoice that one of the heirs had been returned to them.

“Rolfe,” she called.

The man turned at the sound of his name. Rolfe had once been an important member of their household, part of the security that guarded her parents. Age had crept over him since she last saw him. He looked drawn and defeated. His eyes grew larger and joy touched the edges of his face when he recognized her. Then his face drained of color.

Guilt. She knew that emotion well.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she rushed to assure him. “How could a small personal force defeat the Blood Sorcerer?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he warned.

How silly for Rolfe to be worried about propriety right now. “Nonsense. These are my people. This is exactly where I belong.”

“How’d you get here?” Rolfe’s gaze searched the crowd, spotting the other newcomer, Osborn. “You—” he pointed “—get her out of here.”

Osborn’s hand immediately went to the hilt of his sword.

The door of the outbuilding opened, and out stepped a man, and the crowd hushed. Breena recognized him as a member of the group who’d once protected Elden’s perimeters. “What’s all this commotion?” he shouted. It was a loud booming voice coming from someone so gaunt.

Instantly the Eldens began to shrink away and cower.

“Why are you yelling when all they are doing is enjoying the day?” she asked, her voice stern.

“Cedric has been, uh, leading the people.”

Breena suppressed a shudder. Cedric had always seemed a particularly nasty sort, but then war made strange allies, and she glanced at Osborn. He was scanning the crowd, his hand remaining on his weapon.

“Sometimes a little force is needed to quiet and keep things orderly. You understand, I’m sure.”

No, she didn’t understand.

“I want no more of it. These people are scared. They’ve lost loved ones and fear for what’s in the future. We need no more strife and anger.”

Cedric’s lips curled over his teeth in what she supposed was to be a smile. It looked more like a snarl.

“Thank you for all that you’ve accomplished, Cedric. Your deeds will not go unnoticed,” she added. And warned.

Osborn stepped forward. “Tell me your resources.”

Cedric stiffened, as if he was about to argue, then his gaze took in the strength and breadth of Osborn’s shoulders, and the massive sword at his hip.

“Nicolai is gathering a vast force in the south.”

The joy and relief of hearing that news almost made her double over. “My brother is alive?”

Cedric nodded. “Dayn, too. He’s leading an army, as well. Word is the Blood Sorcerer’s hold on Elden is already weakening. These will be our lands again,” he said, loud enough for the entire crowd to hear.

A great cheer sounded, and Breena understood why they followed Cedric. Perhaps her first impression of him was wrong. Times of trouble could often bring out character in a person, and add inner strength. With her, it brought out a fighter.

Cedric’s glance fell to Osborn. “Thank you for escorting the princess back to her homeland. You will be
greatly rewarded for your troubles. Rolfe, bring me the gold we’d set aside. We feared if you’d been captured, we’d have to pay a ransom.”

She glanced at Osborn, whose eyes had narrowed, his stance on alert.

“I’ll have you escorted away from here in a few moments. I’m sure you can’t wait to be on your way. There’s a village half a day’s walk to the east. I’m sure you’re anxious to spend your coin.”

“You’re confusing Osborn for a mercenary,” she told him. “He didn’t bring me here for a reward.”

“But you
are
a mercenary, aren’t you?”

Osborn nodded slowly.

Rolfe returned with a purse heavy with gold. Cedric grabbed the bag and tossed it at Osborn, who caught it against his chest.

She glanced toward her warrior but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. His stare was locked on the man who’d just called him a mercenary.

Cedric grabbed the shoulder of a passing boy. “Fetch Asher and Gavin.” Cedric met Osborn’s stare. “They’re our two best soldiers. They’ll escort you off Elden lands immediately.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “Of course Osborn is staying.”

“Are you staying, mercenary? With a princess?” His question was more of a sneer. Cedric was making Osborn sound like an opportunist. One only out for himself.

Her stomach began to tense. “Osborn?”

“She’s with her people now. Two great armies are on their way. There’s no reason for you to be here.”

Tense silence stretched between them. This was so very silly. She opened her mouth to tell—

“No. There’s no reason for me to stay.”

“What?” she asked, hurt and confused. This had to be a strategy, some kind of ruse Osborn employed to test the security.

“Here come our soldiers now,” Cedric announced, his voice betraying his delight.

“I’ll have a word in private with my mercenary,” she informed them all.

Cedric looked like he wanted to argue, but then bowed his head in acquiescence.

Osborn followed her to a tree away from Cedric and Rolfe. “What’s your plan?” she asked.

Her warrior scrubbed his hand down his face. “Walk back home. Train my brothers.”

She felt sick. “You really
are
leaving?”

Osborn angled his head around camp. “They seem to have everything in order here. Your brothers are coming.”

“And you’re just leaving me here?”

His nod was her answer.

“But…but you’re my warrior. You belong with me.”

He gripped her arms. “You’ve built me up in your mind, made me something I’m not. You’ve made me into one of your fairy-tale heroes.” His dark eyes burned into hers. “But I’m just a man. A man who wanted you any way he could have you.”

“Like a soul mate?”

At least that sounded romantic.

But Osborn the warrior only shook his head. “I don’t believe in soul mates. I don’t believe in anything but pleasure and passion.”

Her body began to tremble. She didn’t want to look at him. “I’ve just been fooling myself that you care, haven’t I?”

Osborn swallowed and his gaze clashed with hers. He looked like he wanted to argue with her words.
Please argue. Please tell me I’m wrong.

“We’ve enjoyed each other. Now it’s over.”

Breena would not cry in front of this man. She would not cry over him. Ever. “Go,” she told him, turning her back.

He waited a moment, and she almost turned around to grab his hand. But then she heard his boots rustle in the fallen leaves. Osborn was leaving her.

“And, mercenary…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t come back.”

After gulping in several large breaths, Breena turned toward Cedric and Rolfe.

“Come inside, princess,” Cedric invited. “See what’s been prepared for your family’s return to the castle.”

With a nod, she followed him into the outbuilding. Dayn had told her this had been the original keep of Elden, when their realm was new and not so vast. The ceiling only topped to a second floor, so much smaller than the high-beamed castle that was her home. Would be her home again…until she was matched with a suitable marriage prospect. Her heart tightened, knowing that it would not be Osborn at her side. In her bed.

Made of stone and wood, the walls of the outbuilding were stained black from the years of fires in the hearth. A fire now blazed once more for the people who’d sought refuge here. Over the years, this had become a storage house, filled with the casks of wines and oils produced on their lands and sold.

“I’ve brought you a gift,” Cedric told someone in the shadows.

“Is that what all that cheering was about outside?”

Breena shuddered. Goose bumps raised on her arms and along the back of her neck. That voice induced chills. Evil. It was all she could think.

“Leyek, I present Breena, the princess of Elden.”

“Alive, how delightful,” the voice said, still hidden in the shadows.

Cedric was working for the Blood Sorcerer. His gaunt appearance made sense now. How the Blood Sorcerer’s minions were able to break their outer walls—the area Cedric protected. Now she understood Rolfe’s words when he first spotted her.
You shouldn’t be here.

The people she thought warming themselves by the fire were tied to hooks in the floor. Men and women and two small girls not much older than four, their faces frightened. Their fate was a blood draining.

“That vast army you spoke of, it’s a lie, isn’t it?” she asked. But she knew the answer. No one would be coming to save her or her people. The saving was all up to her.

“Your brothers are as dead as your parents,” Cedric sneered, and spat on the ground. “I rule here now.”

“As a minion. And to the Blood Sorcerer. Both of you.”

“Take the princess,” Leyek ordered, still not coming out of the shadows. Demonstrating his low opinion of Elden. “Tie her. She’ll make a delicious meal for our Blood Lord.”

She truly valued Osborn’s insistence she practice sliding her sword from her scabbard over and over again. The only time she could make a stand would be now. It would be her one chance.

Her fingers gripped the hilt.

W
HY THE HELL WAS HE GOING
?

These were new times. Different and desperate
times. A menace threatened their world—all the realms. It could be years or only days away, but soon they’d all face the reckoning. There may be little left after the battle. What pleasure, what
love,
anyone could grab…
he’d
grab that now with both hands. It didn’t matter that she was a princess, and even if it did…he wouldn’t care. Osborn would offer anything of himself she’d take. Breena was his pleasure. His love.

Those responsible for the deaths of his mother and sister and father, and the people of his village…he may never know their identity.

Something ripped inside him. A painful acknowledgment that there may never be an opportunity for him to avenge his family. That understanding hurt so fiercely, so brutally, that he almost keened over the loss of what had been his steady companion since returning from his Bärenjagd. Osborn gulped in deep breaths, forcing his heart to slow, his stomach to settle.

But there was still a chance for Breena.

Still a chance for her to free her people. To find her brothers. To do something,
anything,
to shake the ever-present need for revenge.

Why would he leave her now? He would fight alongside her. Fight to bring peace to her land or die, sword in hand at her flank.

But Osborn didn’t plan on dying.

Osborn turned on his heel, ready to charge into the outbuilding where he’d left her. Ready to seal his fate to hers.

The steel clang of Breena sliding her sword from its scabbard slowed his step. He
knew
it was Breena’s sword. He’d heard that sound many, many times. Made her practice often enough until her movements were fluid and smooth.
So that she’d draw her sword quickly enough to spring a surprise hit.

Why would she be drawing it now? Among her welcoming people?

Cold began to creep up his legs and spread throughout his body. He dropped everything but his sword and his pelt. His
berserkergang
was alert and anxious for a fight. Osborn slipped into the outbuilding through a side door. He spotted Breena as she stood in battle stance, her sword protecting her body, her eyes alert. She was magnificent.

And she was
his
.

The man who’d welcomed his princess back so heartily a few minutes ago, gave Osborn gold to leave, now raised his weapon to her.

Rage pounded in his chest. Anger flashed white-hot in front of his eyes. With the cry of his
berserker
rage, Osborn raised his sword and charged. In less than a heartbeat, the man’s sword clanged to the floor, his body not much farther behind.

Osborn stalked in front of Breena and raised his sword. “Who dies next?” he asked.

A low whistle sounded in the back of the room. Osborn felt Breena stiffen, and knew whoever made that sound was the threat.

“Show yourself,” Osborn commanded.

“Or you’ll what? Kill these fine Elden citizens? Do it. You’d be saving me the effort. Although…”

The slow scrape of a chair across the floor alerted Osborn he was about to see who’d tried to harm Breena.

“I do like the idea of you getting a good look at my face—as it will be the last thing you see.” A tall, thin shell of a man walked out of the shadows. Osborn’s
berserker
stirred again. He’d heard the ru
mors of what blood sorcery would do to a person. Drain them of what once made them human. First their senses, until they craved hearing only the agonized cries of others and hungered solely for the taste of near death. Then all emotion would flee from their souls—first empathy, then remorse, until finally only hostility and greed remained. Lastly, their bodies would change. The curves and planes and every range of compassionate expressions of the face vanished until finally only a walking, breathing carcass remained.