“Me, too,” he told her, his body shaking with the need to plunge.
“Watch,” she urged. Now it was her turn to give the orders. Breena positioned the tip of him where their bodies met and sank down his length. Filling her. She shivered with the exquisite perfect sensation of their joined bodies.
Osborn’s eyes closed on a deep moan, his hands lifted to cup her breasts.
Her breasts heated at his touch, her nipples tightened. She lifted herself high, until he almost left her body, then she slammed back down again. His hips bucked, and he gripped her waist, trying to take control.
“Touch yourself. Like that day,” he told her, his voice raspy and tight. His eyes dark.
Her whole body trembled at his request. Bracing herself on Osborn’s broad shoulders, Breena sat back on her heels, her fingers lowering. She circled her nipples, feeling them pucker even more. Slowly, she let her fingers drift down. Osborn’s heated gaze followed the slow, sensuous path she took. Down over her rib cage, past her stomach, until she met the curls that hid where they joined.
She gasped at the first light touch between her legs.
“Yes,” her lover encouraged, and thrust.
She rubbed herself more forcefully, feeling the crest surge. Her inner muscles clamped down hard on his length. Osborn gripped her hips, keeping her in place as he thrust. Breena’s fingers grew more frantic.
Her nipples tightened, every muscle in her body stretched. Reached for him and what he could give her.
“Harder,” she demanded.
He gripped her tighter, his every movement bringing him deeper inside her body. With a gasp, he drove her over the edge. Crest after crest of sensation poured through Breena. His name came from her lips in a moan.
She felt Osborn’s chest strain and his fingers dig into her skin. In one quick movement, he rolled her onto her back. Hooking her legs behind his back she drew him closer to her still. Reveled in the feel of his weight over her, his strength pinning her to the ground.
“Yes. Like that,” she encouraged.
He surged inside her, his thrusts deeper. Harder. Every muscle of his body stiffened as his climax hit, and triggered something deep inside her. Tingles of another peak flared, and she held him to her as hard as she could.
Breena returned to herself slowly. The lapping of the lake, the wind in the trees, the call of a distant bird and the welcome weight of the large, loving man above her. Her heartbeat slowed and she could finally draw in breath without sounding like she’d just sparred with Osborn on the practice field.
Osborn rolled onto his back, taking her with him and tucking her against his side. He kissed the top of her head.
“I love you,” she whispered to him. Then fell asleep.
Osborn squeezed his eyes tight. He hadn’t known how much he needed those words until she’d uttered them so delightfully in her sleep. He hugged her tight. She deserved a better man than he was. Someone more honorable. Someone who could give her the same words.
She deserved more, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight or kill to keep her at his side. Osborn wasn’t an idiot.
ONE DAY MERGED INTO ANOTHER far too quickly. By day Osborn would continue with Breena’s and his brothers’ training. Her magic was growing stronger, and she could control small bursts without needing emotion as her medium. The nights were his and Breena’s. Most evenings he joined her in the tiny sleeping room. Other nights they spent near the lake and under the stars…and he thought about full moons.
Bernt and Torben were growing to be fine, strong men, despite him. He’d introduced the tradition of ending each evening in front of a large fire, as his people had when he was a boy. There he told his brothers of the bermannen and his mate and their angering of the gods.
He shared the traditions of their parents, how they sealed their life together, and how their father had trained and prepared Osborn for his Bärenjagd.
The unsettled anger within Bernt lessened each day.
The three of them had lived on the sacred bear land all these years, with only Osborn’s vow to protect this place. No bear had stalked Bernt to become bermannen. To become berserker. And yet Bernt had to be the age for his Bärenjagd. Well past. And yet he grew powerful.
Had Osborn changed the destinies of both ber and man when he came here to live? Once when sparring, Osborn thought he’d wounded his younger brother with his blade, but there wasn’t even a scratch. Berserkers couldn’t be harmed by steel. Dare he test Bernt with the only substances that could defeat a berserker? Weapons made of tree and fire. Tree, because it grew from the ground, and fire, because it was the gift to man by the gods. Those jealous deities must have found it ironic that their gifts could also bring about death.
Osborn imagined a life for his brothers with no Bärenjagd. Strength and honor without the struggle and blood? But those thoughts would have to wait for another time…after. But after what, he couldn’t say.
LATER THAT EVENING HE followed the sound of his brothers’ laughter. He found them around the fire, laughing with Breena. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Breena was just about to make good on her threat of teaching Bernt to dance.”
“That’s not a threat,” she told them with mock sternness. “Dancing is an important life skill.”
“Mother liked to dance,” Osborn said.
Bernt looked up sharply, his expression eager. Right now he was more boy than man, hungry to hear more.
Osborn had cheated them. Took away from them the comfort of their memories and the stories he could tell of them because he was selfish. All because he didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want the pain. It wasn’t his brothers’ guilt. It wasn’t their shame. Torben and Bernt should be able to love a mother and father.
“When did she dance?” Torben asked, his voice quiet, as if he were almost afraid he’d anger Osborn and this moment would vanish.
“During the first night of the full moon, we’d gather in the center of our village. The elders would light a large bonfire, and we’d eat, and sing and dance. You liked to chase each other around the fire, which always made mother worry.”
A smile spread across Bernt’s face. “I remember.”
“Did you dance?” Torben asked Osborn.
He shook his head. He would have been dancing. The year after his Bärenjagd. “I never learned.”
“Breena should teach you.”
“Oh, I doubt your brother would want to learn anything like that,” she said, clearly hoping to discourage any further attempts. For his sake? Or hers?
Now he smiled openly. That seemed very much like a challenge, and he never backed away from a dare. He brushed his palms along his thighs and stood, extending his hand toward her.
“It’s time I learned.”
BREENA FELT THE MUSCLES of her face fall in astonishment. Osborn could have said a lot of things at the moment, but she never would have guessed he’d ask her to dance. Or want a lesson. He’d never stop surprising her.
“Show me how they dance where you come from, Breena.”
His voice was pure invitation, and she couldn’t resist. She placed her hand in his, and allowed him to direct her to a clearing while his younger brothers poked each other in the ribs. He made to gather her in his arms, which finally snapped her to the task at hand. She’d taken his barking instruction, his incessant demands she work harder and performed the maneuvers again and again. Now it was her turn to issue a few commands of her own.
“A gentleman doesn’t just grab a lady and jostle her about.”