Raising up on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “Me, too,” Breena whispered in his ear, then she turned from him, and charged into the crowd.
HE WATCHED HER WALK AWAY. Forced himself to spy the back of her blond head until she was swallowed up by the people of the village bargaining for deals at the various stalls lining the dirt-packed road.
Osborn stood searching the crowd for her, but finally turned his back. Breena was gone.
He might as well enjoy himself while he was here. Eat something neither he nor his brothers cooked. Maybe find a woman to drive his thoughts of Breena out of his mind.
The idea of it made him shudder, and he knew thoughts of her would always be close by. His hands turned to fists. He’d tasted something close to perfect. Held her in his arms, felt her soft body respond to his touch, his kisses. Her nipples hardened in his palms with just the barest caress. And she was walking away from him? The berserkergang in him raged, turned protective. Going to find herself another warrior?
Not. Going. To. Happen.
“Breena,” he called, but received no response. He was taller than most of the villagers, so it was easy to scan the crowd, but many of the women here sported blond hair. He quickly passed by each stall, bumping shoulders with some, sending others scurrying out of his way. Nothing on the right. He crossed the street and began his search on the left side of the booths. He almost missed the narrow alley between buildings, but something drew his eye.
Maybe it was that his eyes automatically locked on anything blond.
Perhaps it was the glint of the sunlight off a knife blade.
Whatever it was, he turned down the alley to spy Breena, surrounded by three burly-looking men.
“Breena,” he called, growing anxious.
That’s when he saw the knife at her throat.
A swift chill invaded his arms and legs and his gaze narrowed into a tunnel. Every emotion—all his desire for Breena, the aching need for whatever it was she offered that had lodged in his chest—focused into anger. His berserkergang stirred and in less time it took for the man with his blade at Breena’s throat to take a breath, Osborn’s Bärenhaut lay around his shoulders with the knife removed from his boot and at the man’s throat.
He didn’t live long enough to take a second breath. The would-be abductor fell at Breena’s feet. She screamed, backing away from the body, and the two accomplices rotated to face him. Their eyes rounded in horror, their hands shaking in fear. Osborn’s berserkergang always liked the fear. Thrived on it. The walls around them shook with his growl, and he went after the man closest to Breena. “Dare you harm a woman?”
“Just after a bit of fun. We had no money for the paid women. You can have ’er first.”
His offer was the last thing he spoke as Osborn snapped his neck with one hand. He rounded on the last, his knife in his hand. But the berserker hungered for barehanded combat.
“I wasn’t gonna do anything. My brother made me come.”
The man’s crying words didn’t slow Osborn from stalking toward him. His prey dropped to his knees, not much older than his own brothers, and Osborn paused.
“D-don’t kill me. Please.”
His berserkergang forged images of his dead mother and sister. Osborn wrapped his fingers around the young man’s throat. “Never touch a woman like that,” he ordered, his voice more of a snarl.
The young man shook his head. “No. I won’t.”
Osborn tightened the grip he held around his neck, watching as his face turned purple and his eyes grew more fearful. “Never harm a woman.”
He could only nod in response and Osborn let him go. The alley filled with the man’s deep gasps of breath.
Osborn never took his eyes off him. “You live. As a warning. Go.”
“Thank you,” he said, running as fast as he could down the alley and out of sight.
He turned on Breena, who lay on the dirty cobblestones of the alleyway. Her eyes were filled with confusion, and terror lined her soft features. His berserkergang bristled and swelled, at first thriving off her fright. Osborn stalked toward her. Breena shrank away, crawling backward, doing what she could to get away from him. To survive. The berserkergang inside him recoiled at the sight of her fleeing. His rage weakened suddenly, a different path from the slow fade his anger usually took. The day before, when he’d found her invading his lake, he wanted her to be afraid of him. Now the idea repulsed him. Made him feel ashamed.
Breena had backed herself into the wall, her eyes darting, searching desperately for a way to escape. He shucked off his pelt, tossed his knife to the side and sunk on his haunches.
“Breena.” His voice still shook with traces of his berserker rage. He closed his eyes, concentrated and forced the ber spirit inside him to settle. He’d never battled against his own berserkergang. Had never needed to. He glanced down at Breena. Never wanted to.
He gently touched her arm, the warmth of her skin chasing away the cold his berserkergang always left behind. Osborn watched as she took a deep breath, and forced her back to straighten. He hid a smile, because he knew Breena was girding herself to do battle. With him.
After a moment, she finally met his gaze. Accusation laced her green eyes, and any idea he’d had earlier of smiling vanished.
Breena was looking at him like something unworldly. Despised. It was something he was used to. Only he hadn’t realized he didn’t want her looking at him that way.
Few outside of Ursa understood the nature of his people. One of the reasons they kept to themselves. Most of the inhabitants of the other realms were afraid or relegated them as little more than animals. Things to be feared, yes, but also abhorred.
Osborn’s stare never wavered from hers. His expression grew brutal. Distrustful. He wasn’t in the practice of guarding his expression, and now was too late to start. But Breena’s beautiful green eyes were only filled with curiosity. That full bottom lip of hers curved in wonder.
“What are you?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
SO THIS WAS HER WARRIOR.
Breena had never seen anything so savage. Osborn fought with a ferocity unmatched by anything she’d ever witnessed. The knights who’d pledged themselves to her father prided themselves on their skill with a sword, jousted and battled from the lists at tournaments with precision and pride. But Osborn’s raw strength and power during the attack was brutal and ruthless.
Almost like an animal.
The perfect challenge to one who wielded blood magic.
A tide of denial and horror swept over her abruptly. Her knees weakened, and she doubled over. Osborn was at her side, his long stride getting him there in two quick steps. His strong fingers tangled in her hair, soothing her, and her stomach calmed.
“They were going to kill me.”
The man beside her only nodded. No words were needed.
“Tell me what you are, Osborn,” she urged.
He looked into the distance. “I’m a man.”
“You’re more than a man, you’re something else. Tell me.”
“I’m berserker. I fight with the ber spirit.”
“But how can that be? No one has spied a berserker for years. They’ve vanished. I almost believed it to be a legend.”
“Gone. Forgotten as if they never lived,” he said, his words bitter and biting. “I have vengeance of my own to think about.”
She shrank away from him.
His sigh was heavy and he rubbed the back of his neck in obvious frustration. “Are you okay?” he asked after a few moments of taut silence.