Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
And though he would never admit it, the echo of that single word—partner—followed him all the way home.
Chapter 14
Lia
Where am I?
Lia blinked awake, finding herself atop a rough-hewn bed with a fur cover. A fire burned nearby in a hearth. Tendrils of its warmth and shadow danced across a cavern chamber.
As she sat up slowly, memories uncoiled.
The Berserker court. Queen Yrsa’s decree. Arctos’s face. Darkness.
A leather flap scraped aside, and the shieldchief entered, taking up too much space.
Her pulse scrambled as her gaze jumped from his broad shoulders and towering frame to his scar-mapped face. One eye was missing; the other was a cold, glacier blue. The scars told of a mauling by some kind of beast.
In a way, he was a beast. Despite the tailored tunic and breeches and his thick blond hair tied back in a queue, he looked every bit as fearsome.
Arctos. Her…husband.
Lia rose with difficulty, muscles sore from her earlier tension. Shivering, she eased closer to the fire and farther from her captor.
Her gaze tracked back to the leather flap, the angle of the hearth, the shadowed corners. Not comfort—inventory. This cave had the bed, some benches, and a closet carved near the hearth. Nothing soft, nothing unnecessary. Much like the court.
She still shuddered from what she’d seen in that black cave. In the smoke of braziers, she’d spied rows of hulking warriors lining the hall, many bare-chested despite the chill. Rage had shimmered beneath their skin like heat distortion—Berserkerage simmering just below the threshold of a shift…
By way of greeting, Arctos said, “I thought a day walker like you would wake at sunrise.” His voice was raspy, a mix of gravel and ice.
“I’m nocturnal,” she managed.
“Not anymore.” He spoke the words as if pronouncing a new law.
“Where am I?”
“Your new home.” His contempt for her crawled through the space like a draft.
“We are…wed?” At his slight nod, she said, “Why would Queen Yrsa decree that? You clearly resent this marriage.” Lia had always known her wedding night would be uncomfortable. She’d underestimated how literal that would be.
“I resent it because I wanted a Berserker wife—a warrior female to earn ohalla alongside me—not this.” The last word was a lip curl as he gestured to her. “But outside a fated connection, Yrsa chooses our spouses. Her rule is absolute, her word law.”
Yet Lia sensed more between those two than a simple ruler and subject relationship.
“We’ve heard your kingdom breeds Berserker slaves.” Tension emanated from him. “Is that true?”
She felt the room tilt. The rumor had followed her into this territory, as she’d hoped. But now, she feared he might snap if she confirmed the truth. He seemed to long to kill her. “My f-father does that,” she said, the confession trembling out. “He—yes.”
Arctos’s jaw worked. “How many?”
“A hundred. Maybe more.”
“Why do they not rise?” He sounded incredulous. “They might be mortal, but they possess Berserkerage.”
“They’re…drugged.” She hadn’t thought Arctos could despise her more. The look on his face said he’d reached a new level. “If I’d had any power whatsoever, I would have freed them!” At his expression of disbelief, she said, “Vampires can’t lie. We feel the rána, a burn in our throat, if we try.”
“Maybe you have no ill effects from lying. You can day walk. Other abilities might be less apparent.”
She couldn’t fault his logic. “You’re right. You have no reason to trust me.”
He seemed surprised by her concession, then irritated. “You could have chosen any faction. You chose Berserkers.”
She’d blown dust from book after book, learning everything those brittle pages could teach her about the various immortal lands. “I studied the lore around the Channeler Stone. I felt it would protect me.”
“How much Old Norse did you learn?”
“I memorized exactly what to say.” She hedged truth with the smallest truth. No one needed to know how deeply she’d read.
“If you learned about our kind, then you know that each Berserker must carry their own weight. What did you plan to do? Princess yourself for meals?”
“I hear it’s a dying art?” she said, surprising herself, but his scowl just deepened. “I could cook. Or clean.”
“Have you ever done either?”
“Well, no.” She rubbed one bare foot over the other. Dried blood and cuts still marred the soles. “But I’m a fast learner!” Confidence, she’d learned, was easiest when no one tested it.
He rolled his eye. “For now, you’ll have others tend to you. Your duty will be to learn the ways of a warrior, training relentlessly.”
Lia could read her future as well as a soothsayer. This man was going to make her life unbearable.
He stepped closer and looked her over like a general assessing a recruit—gaze tracing her wrists, the thinness of her arms, the way her nightgown hung slack.
This appraisal was shockingly bold, as if he owned her. Could he see the outline of her breasts and hips in front of the hearth? Words rushed from her lips: “Do you expect to…b-bed me?” She trembled at the thought.