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.
WHY 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 rumors 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.
“Leyek is strong. And brutal,” Breena whispered, and Osborn understood. This minion of the Blood Sorcerer might look frail, but that was an illusion. His power was indomitable, tinged with great evil.
Osborn became one with the ber spirit.
“Are you what I think you are?” Leyek asked.
Osborn steadied his shoulders.
The Blood Sorcerer’s minion let out a delighted laugh. “You are. You’re Ursan. A berserker, in fact. Thought we’d killed you all.”
His fingers locked on the hilt of his sword. “You thought wrong.”
Leyek flashed him a smile. “Good. Your women died crying and screaming, by the way. I’ll enjoy your death just as much.” His berserkergang raged inside him, but Osborn tamped it down. He knew Leyek’s words were lies and meant to provoke him.
Leyek made a show of examining the length of his nails. “Surprised you would be helping an Elden princess. Thought disguising our changeling vamps as those of Elden was a particularly clever bit of deception designed by my master. Although I will admit I did think the subtlety of the ploy would be wasted on a beast.”
A coldness crept into his body, and invaded his chest. This wasn’t the focusing chill of the berserkergang overtaking him—this was something different.