Rescued by the Berserker

Hazel's Punishment

"The one you now possess?"

"Yes," she reached for it, and I allowed her to grasp it and set it between us. "The friar broke it over his knee, but it magically appeared at our time of need."

"Fleur was rescued holding a piece," I told her what I'd learned from the pack bonds, before the storm and distance disrupted them. "She nearly killed the Corpse King with it. He lives," I cautioned as hope dawned on her face, "but he is weakened. You were meant to be his bride."

"What is he?"

"An ancient evil, a king who committed acts of atrocity I dare not speak of." I gathered her close, gratified when she pressed against me. Her body responded to me, even if she was still deciding if I could be trusted. "The mage is everything unnatural and his servants belong amongst the dead."

"Necromancy?"

I nodded. "It takes great sacrifice to sustain such awful power. Human sacrifice."

"He killed Sari. Who knows how many of my abbey sisters also died to feed him."

I did not tell her what my warriors had reported: a pile of bones stacked outside the cave.

Instead I cupped her chin. "Do not think of it, Hazel. You escaped and when we return to the mountain, we will find a way to protect all of your sisters."

"Thank you," and her small smile lit my heart like sunlight breaking through the grim day.

***

Hazel

Knut's large hand palmed my head, dropped to my nape and gave it a squeeze. My body had relaxed in the warmth of his regard and the fire, but now my heartbeat picked up. His thumb stroked over the sensitive skin of my neck and tingles spread through my body, focusing on the points of my nipples and the valley between my thighs.

His eyes, which had dimmed as I'd shared my tale, flared brighter. He took his hand away.

"If I tell you to stay here, will you obey?"

"Yes."

"Good. You will not like the consequences if you don't." He reminded me of the punishment he'd dealt earlier, and the one he'd promised. Fire leaped into my blood at his stern look.

As soon as he shut the door, I rose and went to the window, wanting to see what form he would take next. A large silver wolf ran across the yard, tail brushing over dead stalks in the ill-tended garden as it trotted away.

I busied myself exploring the hut. I found a broom in the corner, and poked at the cobwebs, cleaning up. A dank back room held mostly molded blankets, but to my delight, I found a pair of shoes and an overdress, folded in a chest of cedar. They were finely stitched—part of a bride's dowry.

I took them, saying a prayer for the missing people who'd left their valuables behind.

While I waited for Knut, I stripped off my shift and washed it as best I could in the bucket, setting it near the fire to dry. After adding a sprig of dried lavender to the water I'd set aside, I washed myself. My body, strong from hours of abbey chores, had changed with my recent adventure. My limbs and stomach had hardened, toned from running and little food, but my breasts were larger, almost swollen, as were the folds between my legs. I touched them carefully. Once a month, around the full moon, I suffered intense heat, a fever that left me gasping with need. Was it possible that my body was responding to the warrior?

I poked at my shift, willing it to dry faster so I could cover my traitorous body. Never mind that the fabric was so thin, it barely hid my responses. Never mind that he seemed to be able to scent my arousal and speak into my very thoughts.