Rescued by the Berserker

Hazel's Punishment

I wanted to ask him why I heard his voice in my head, but didn't want him to think me mad.

A thump at the door had me whirling. A shriek died on my lips as the large wolf trotted in, a dead pheasant in its jaws. It stopped dead at the sight of me. It huffed, laid down the game, and trotted back out. The door swung shut.

I threw on my shift, ignoring the damp patches. Of course, the Berserker was going to return and see me. Shame burned in my cheeks as I realized a part of me wanted him to.

Once dressed, I hastened to the door and opened it to find Knut standing on the stoop.

It was my turn to stare. The warrior's broad, muscled form was bare except for a scrap of leather loincloth slung around his hips.

He faced west, watching the sunset. The storm had died, but the clouds remained, so the sinking sun was only a few red lines in a grey sky.

When he turned, he had a large white pelt in his hands. Something in me quivered as he approached and silently set the fur on my shoulders, tucking it snug around me.

My senses blazed to life. I smelled the lavender from my bath, the heavy rain waiting in the clouds, the earthy pine scent that clung to the pelt.

His large thumb brushed my cheek, dusting away a tiny flower that'd clung to my cheek. Drawing in a deep breath, he let his forehead sink to mine as his hand settled on my nape.

"Can you cook the pheasant?"

"Yes," I breathed.

His fingers flexed, squeezing the fragile bone, holding me still as his mouth touched mine. Desire flared in me, unfurling, a weight and a lightness both at my core.

I gasped and retreated. His eyes burned bright, but he let me go. I stepped back into the hut, and closed the door in his face, leaning against it for support. My hand trembled as I checked my breasts, my midriff, the tops of my thighs. I wasn't naked but I'd been stripped bare by that golden gaze. Even now heat pooled in my secret places, making me press my legs together against the ache.

What was happening to me?

"Hazel," Knut called after a moment.

Checking my flushed cheeks one last time, I let the door creak open between us.

Knut had pulled on his breeches and boots. I'd found a man's shirt among the crofter's things, but now I didn't want to tell him. The expanse of his muscled chest left me breathless.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what happened," my voice shook.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "No matter." He had to stoop under the door frame. I backed away to make room, but it didn't help. His massive form dominated the space. He took one look at the freshly swept and cobweb free space, and smiled.

I couldn't help warming at the sign of his pleasure.

He passed me to pick up the pheasant. I shook myself and went to focus on my duty.

When the meat was roasted, Knut and I sat at the table together. The warrior gave me the larger portion and ate only with his left hand. His right found mine and held it under the table, the entire meal. I shifted once to strip tender meat off the bone and he let me go. As soon as I was done, though, he claimed my hand, first sucking the grease from my fingers and then resting both ours on his leg, his own fingers clamped around my wrist.

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. As he finished his meal, his thumb played over the sensitive skin. Wet heat kindled between my legs and I started shifting to ease the tingles. Knut didn't take his eyes off me, but I kept mine on my meal while my cheeks burned and burned.