Lord of Rage & Primal Instincts (10 page)

But first…she picked up a sock and threaded her needle.

A
HAND TO HER SHOULDER WOKE
her up the next morning.

“Wake up.”

She squeezed her eyelids tight and rolled away from the voice, sinking deeper into her pillow.

But the voice was insistent. “Time to train.”

Breena slowly opened her eyes to see Osborn’s familiar strong jaw and firm lips. Kissable. But then her thoughts were always a bit fanciful in that place between sleep and wakefulness. His hair was damp, and his cheek smooth. She reached up to slide a finger across his face.

He jerked back from her touch. Mister Prickly today.

Osborn stood, once again dressed in black, his scabbard slung low on his hip. “There’s something for you to eat on the table. I’ll be waiting for you outside so you can dress. Bernt and Torben are gathering wood and water. Five minutes.”

A hunk of cheese and dried berries waited for her, and she devoured them with pleasure. She’d discovered a smaller pair of drawstring pants in the mending bag last night and, after some trimming with the shears, managed to craft something that didn’t drag on the ground. She finger combed her hair, and nearly laughed at the idea of the maids who’d once chosen gowns of silk and fashioned her hair in elaborate styles and adorned her with ribbons and gems.

Who’d recognize her now?

And that was a good thing. She suspected she’d used
up most of her allotted time. The impatient look on his face told her Osborn was just about to charge into the cottage and get her. “This way,” he said, and guided her to a clearing not too far from the cabin. Breena hadn’t discovered this place when she was wandering around his home on that first day. Targets and woven sacks filled with straw littered the area, and Breena realized this must be where Osborn kept up with his training.

Osborn tossed her a stick.

“I thought you were going to teach me how to use a sword,” she said, eyeing the sword at his hip. Her gaze slipped lower until she forced it back where it belonged.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Have you ever held a sword?”

Breena shook her head. As if her mother ever would have allowed it. Her brothers wouldn’t have dared to let her carry a weapon. Even the adored sons would have been afraid of the queen’s ire over that infraction. “No. Never.”

“Then that’s why you’re using a stick. Now, you’ve seen swordplay?”

She was quick to nod. “My father loved nothing more than to host a tournament. The knights on horseback brandishing their swords with a flourish were a thing to behold.”

“It’s the flourishing knights who are the first to die.”

Breena bit her lip to keep from smiling. Could that have been jealousy? She stood straight instead. “Okay, definitely nothing fancy.”

“Hold your sword like you’re about to face me in battle.”

She lifted her stick. Osborn moved to stand behind her, his big chest warming her back he was so close.
The chestnut smell of the soap he must use to wash his hair made her want to breathe in deeply.

He lifted his arm, framing her body with his. “Bend your elbows,” he told her, “and bring your arms in close to your sides. The weight of your blade will only increase, and you want your sword to do the work, not your arms.”

The new stance did feel more comfortable.

Osborn positioned her arms out from her chest. “See how you’ve left this entire area open?” he asked, trailing his fingers along her collarbone, and down between her breasts.

Breena could only nod. Her skin turned goose bumpy.

“This is your most vulnerable area. You must always protect it.”

She was definitely feeling vulnerable. And she was
really
enjoying her lessons. That hand down between her breasts would be worth a pile of sock mending.

Osborn dropped his arms, but not before brushing the sides of her breasts, her waist and her hips. Breena couldn’t help but tremble. “Now turn and face me. Always keep in mind that the first blow is the most important.”

“
My
first blow?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he told her with a shrug. “Either you strike and hit or he strikes and misses—
that’s what
determines who walks away. If you strike first, make sure you connect. Otherwise, you are off balance and an easy target for his strike. Which
will
kill you.”

Breena began to bristle at that assumption.

“You will be smaller than any man you fight. Not as strong. Those are the facts, Breena. I’m not saying you can’t defeat your opponent, but you have to be twice as
good as they are. Twice as prepared. You have to find their weakness, and use it to your advantage. What do you think my weakness is?”

Breena ran her gaze along Osborn’s broad shoulders, powerful arms and muscled thighs. Heat suffused her cheeks as she imagined her hands following the same path as her eyes—over his firm mouth with the full bottom lip. Down the strength of his brawny chest roped with muscle. The flat tautness of his stomach. And below.

“What’s my weakness, Breena?” he asked, his voice less instructional but low and husky.

Their gazes clashed.

“I can’t see any.”

“Then you’re wrong. I’m tall, so that leaves my legs exposed. I’m big, so once I’m off balance…that’s a disaster. And I’m a man.”

Deliciously so.

“And all men are vulnerable in one spot. Do you know what that is?”

She shook her head.

“Between my legs.”

She knew what lay between his legs. Couldn’t miss the hard male flesh as he stood watching her dress two days ago at the lake. Stood guard, more like. Flashes of what she’d seen stole in her mind at the most inappropriate of times, and refused to be driven out.

“A knee or a good swift kick will bring most men down, and give you a chance to escape. And, Breena?”

“Yes?”

“Trust me, do not wait to see if he falls. Just get out of there.”

This mysterious place on a man was growing more and more interesting.

“But most men are protective of that area. You’ll really only get just one chance at him, so make it count. Connect.”

A twig snapped, and Breena turned her head. Bernt and Torben were crouched behind a bolder, watching them.

“It looks like we have some company,” she remarked with a grin.

Osborn rubbed the back of his neck. “Judging by the sun, they’ve been there for some time.”

Breena glanced at him in surprise.

“You must always be aware of your surroundings. What’s hiding in the distance. Who’s hiding. Where the ground is loose and rocky. Your position to the sun. An opponent with bright sunlight in his face is at a disadvantage. You can lose your footing easily on an uneven field. The time and place of the fight is almost as important as your weapon and skill.”

She’d never doubt her magic again. Her powers had provided quite a warrior.

“What about our two spectators?” she asked, angling her head in the boys’ direction.

His face turned grim, and his shoulders slumped as if weighted.

“How old were you when, uh, you became responsible for them?” she asked.

“Fifteen, maybe fourteen. It seems like a different life—” his voice was a tired sigh “—the childhood I had was something distant. As if it didn’t happen, and was just a story like those stories you enjoy telling.”

When her brothers turned fifteen, the king rode with them daily, supervised their study in the classroom and on the mock battlefield. What kind of men would her brothers have turned out to be without the guidance of
their parents? Her heart constricted for little Micah. Still so young, and with no one. She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

She had to get to him. Find him soon.

Breena remembered why her magic drew Osborn to her, as well. He definitely needed her, and so did his brothers.

“Maybe you can ask them to join us,” she suggested, her voice light as a gentle wind, so her proposal wouldn’t seem so monumental.

Osborn stared at her for a few moments, but his thoughts were not on her. With another of those heavy sighs, he whistled. The two boys stood, appearing plenty guilty and a little worried.

“Do you want to learn how to fight?” he asked.

Two heads nodded enthusiastically.

“Grab a stick.”

Bernt gave her a tentative smile when he stepped beside her, stick in hand. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“He knew it was time. He just needed a push.”

“If the courtly manners class is over, we’ll go back to sword fighting,” Osborn called loudly.

There. That’s how she remembered her brothers teasing and talking with each other. It was good to hear, and her heart lightened for the first time.

T
HAT EVENING
, O
SBORN LED
three exhausted would-be warriors back to the cottage. The night air had turned chilly on their walk, and once inside Breena removed the protective metal screen on the hearth, stirred the embers and added a log. Then she sank onto the rug before the fireplace, closing her eyes as she went.

Even Bernt and Toren stumbled to the bedroom, too tired to eat—an occurrence he’d never seen once since
his brothers entered their second decade of life. They were on their own, but Breena…that was a different matter. She was unused to this kind of physical activity, and while he knew he must push her, she didn’t have to suffer.

With quiet steps, Osborn crossed to the kitchen and began cutting up an apple. He grabbed a piece of the dark rye bread he’d bought at one of the village booths after Breena had remarked that the wares smelled particularly delightful.

Breena lay in a ball on the rug, a strand of her blond hair across her cheek. Dirt smudged her forehead, and her soft skin was pink from her exertion of the past several hours.

And he’d never seen anything more desirable.

The mystical woman who floated into dreams as he slumbered was ethereal and perfect.

The Breena in real life was far from perfect. Her nails were ragged from her wandering in the wilderness. Her palms growing callused from her work with a stick and finally a sword. And although he knew she was raised to be a gentle lady, he suspected a temper, only needing an excuse to flare, lurked beneath the surface…?.

Osborn wanted to give her that excuse. To be exactly who she was meant to be. And very definitely have the freedom of
his
body. Explore him until her curiosity ran out and his took over.

He’d spent hours of his daytime thinking on this woman who haunted his nights. Now, after meeting her and touching her supple skin, kissing her inviting lips and holding her welcoming curves against him, he knew she would torment him forever.

She burned to avenge her family. In many ways, she was not unlike him. Only the thought of killing the
butchers of his family kept him sane. That and knowing he must keep his brothers alive.

Was he doing the right thing in training her?

He didn’t even have to search for the answer. It was a quick no. He thought of his mother and his little sister. If they had been the ones to escape and were alone and doing whatever it was they could to see another day, he’d hope someone would help them. Breena needed his help, and all Osborn knew how to do was fight. So he had to train her.

He slid down next to Breena on the floor. The rug was more comfortable than he’d expected and the fire warmed his cheeks. She stirred beside him, scooting closer to him in her sleep. Osborn gently shook her on the shoulder, and her eyelids fluttered open.

“I brought you something to eat.”

“Too tired,” she said, closing her eyes, and resting her head on his thigh. The
berserkergang
roused, but he willed himself not to react.

He smoothed the hair away from her face, not wanting to move, but knowing she had to take care of herself. “Eat just a few bites. Tomorrow will be even harder, and you’ll need to keep up your strength. Come on, I’ll feed you.”

With a groan, Breena pushed herself into a sitting position. She stretched out beside him touching hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. He felt his body harden at her touch. She smelled of warm breezes and hard work. The scent was heady.

Osborn reached for a bit of apple. “Open.”

Breena dutifully opened her mouth. The first time she didn’t argue. Or raise some kind of a counterpoint. Or make some kind of difficult suggestion.

She doesn’t challenge you when she’s in your arms.

Oh, yes, she did. It was just a different kind. One he relished.

He managed to get three more bites fed to Breena, then her eyes drooped again, and he knew her body demanded sleep over food. Her head slumped on his shoulder. He shifted his arm to get her into a more comfortable position, and she snuggled close against him.

Why the hell had he done that?

Feeling the softness of breasts pressed against him was agony. His cock hardened, and he made it all the worse by caressing her arm and sinking his fingers into her long hair.

“That’s nice,” she mumbled into his chest. “Feels good.”

He should go.

Right now.

He should stand, settle her against the pillow and never think of doing something so stupid like being this close to her ever again. Breena was too much of a temptation. Especially because she’d made it clear she’d rather stitch up a pile of socks before crawling between the sheets with him. Oh, Breena desired him, but she didn’t
want
him. And for some reason, desire wasn’t enough.

He should go.

Right now.

Breena wrapped her arm around his waist, seeking his warmth. Seeking him.

Maybe he could just lay here with her for a few minutes more.

B
REENA WOKE UP WARM
and so, so comfortable. Which was completely ruined by the glowering, accusing brown glare coming from Osborn. With no
berserker
change in sight, the rage tightening his face had to be all him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You invaded my dream last night.”

She scrambled away from him, shaking her head. “No, you told me to stay away.”

“You were there. Kissing me. Touching me. Feel me, Breena. Feel what your dream did to my body. Give me your hand.”

It sounded like an order, but it was still a choice. What had she done to him? Curiosity…it had ruined many a princess. It would probably ruin her, too. She placed her hand into Osborn’s outstretched palm.

She met his gaze as he tugged her hand downward. “Feel me. Feel what you do to me.”

Do not… Did.

He placed her hand between his legs. “Feel how hard my cock is for you.”

The word sounded lustful. Sensual. Lascivious, and she wanted more and more. He wrapped her fingers around the hard ridge of him. Her body got that hollow, achy feeling again. She needed something, and knew Osborn could give it to her.

“Touch me like you did last night,” he urged, his voice barely more than an aching groan.

“Show me,” she told him, wanting to learn how to give him pleasure. How to keep that aching sound for her in his voice.

“Slide your hand under my pants. Yes, that’s it.”

Her fingers smoothed over the hard ripples of the muscles lining his stomach, down over the hair at the base of him. With a tiny thrill, she gathered Osborn’s cock into her hand. He was long, and very hard, and yet his skin was smooth. His muscles tensed as she explored the length of him.

“That’s it. More. Like last night. Up and down.”

Breena walked her fingers up and down the length of him.

“You were perfect in my dream. As if you knew exactly how I wanted it before I even told you.”

With another groan, Osborn stilled her hand.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked alarmed.

He gave a strangled little laugh. The room was filled with the harshness of his breathing. He opened his eyes. “It really was my own dream. That’s why you knew exactly how I wanted your touch.”

She nodded, and waved her free hand. “See, I didn’t use my powers. There’s no trace magic.”

“What?” he asked as he slowly removed her hand from his body.

“There’d be some kind of residue, an energy all around us.” She felt her face drain of color. “Oh, no. I used my magic at the lake when we fought those blood magic scouts. I have to get there.”

Breena shoved her feet into her shoes, and raced for the door, Osborn a step behind her. Once outside he took the lead, running along the path until the lake
came into sight. She waved her hands, alarm coursing through her. “It’s still here. Not much, but I can still feel it. Those monsters will be able to follow it to us. To the cottage. To the village. That’s how they probably found me in the first place.”

“Can you disguise it? Make it go away?”

“I never learned how. My powers weren’t this strong back at El—er, home. My energy came from fear and anger. We’ll have to blanket it with something good. Happiness.”

She glanced over at Osborn, his face bleak.

“This is going to be tough.” Not much happiness there.

“Come here, Breena.”

Why was he always asking her to go to him? She was getting tired of being the one to do the moving. She shook her head. “If you want me, you come to me.” Besides, she had to discover a solution to this problem.

Breena realized what a huge mistake she’d made by offering that kind of challenge to her warrior. Osborn’s eyes darkened. His lower lip grew more full, and curved into something that might be considered a smile on anyone else, but on him, it could only be considered predatory.

“I will,” he told her, his voice filled with determined intent. His steps toward her were driven and steadfast. He never dropped her gaze.

Don’t back up. Don’t back up.

He only stopped when the softness of her breasts grazed his broad chest.

“Do you know what else you did to me in that dream I had with you last night?”

“It wasn’t me doing it.”

“It will be.” Osborn’s thumb traced a path along her
lower lip. An overwhelming urge to lick his skin, taste him, took her over. She felt hollow inside. Achy.

“Your nipples did exactly what they are doing now. Hardening. Begging for my touch. My mouth.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t me.”

“It will be,” he promised again against her lips. His mouth took over, his tongue pushed inside and she met him with her own. Twining and dueling again and again. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart raced. Breena grabbed his shoulders, needing the solid strength of him to remain steady.

She’d never felt this way before. Never responded to anything with so much intensity or reacted so strongly, hungrily. Osborn made her feel alive and warm and grasping for something more.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You said we needed to change the energy in this place. We are.” She
so
wanted that to make sense. To continue what they were doing.

“Take your shirt off for me, Breena. I hate seeing you in something that ugly.”

Osborn was so big and strong. As a
berserker,
he could take anything he wanted. Even her.

That’s why he always asked. Asked her to go to him. Her warrior didn’t want to take; he wanted what would be freely given.

And right now he wanted her shirt. Off.

No man had ever seen her undressed and exposed in that way. Osborn had plenty of opportunity two days ago in this place while they were both naked and battling a creature of blood.

But this was different.

Freely given. Breena gripped the hem of her shirt
and then paused. What if he didn’t like what he saw? If he found her form undesirable? She fiddled with a loose thread on the borrowed tunic. Of what she’d observed in the castle, the knights never complained of a woman’s naked body, always clamored to see more. And Osborn hadn’t looked away in that secluded clearing outside of the village.

He’d wanted more.

After stealing a deep breath, she grabbed the bottom of the shirt and tugged it over her head. She tossed the garment out of the way of the water, and straightened her back. Almost daring him to dislike what he saw.

His gaze lowered, and his face tightened with longing. “You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice filled with a kind of agonized need. He cupped her breasts, molding them to his hands. His thumbs caressed the tips into tight points. With one arm, he gripped her hip and hauled her off her feet, up against his body. The hard ridge of him, heated and full, surged against the bare skin of her stomach. He ducked his head, capturing her breast into his mouth.

She moaned deep in her throat when his teeth gently grazed her nipple.

“More?” he asked against the fullness of her breast.

Breena could only nod.

With obvious reluctance, Osborn let her slide down his frame until her feet touched the ground again. He swept off his cloak, and spread it on the green grass. “In my dream, you shared all of your body with me.”

She sucked in her bottom lip, toyed with it with her teeth. “It really wasn’t me.”

“I want it to be.”

She wanted it, too.
Want.

He leaned close. “Make it be for me.”

His warm breath sent a ripple of sensation down her neck. Her fingers shook as she reached for the drawstring keeping the baggy pants in place. It should be awkward to remove her clothes in front of a man who just a while ago she thought would kill her. Now it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

With a jerk, the pants loosened around her waist, and with a shimmy of her hips, the material slid slowly down her thighs.

Osborn’s eyes followed their progress.

Breena kicked the pants aside, now fully bared to his eyes. And to his fingers. His lips. His tongue.

He reached for her hand, and drew her down with him to the cloak, its soft material protecting her naked back from the twigs and rocks on the ground. After cupping her breasts one last time, he allowed his hands to explore. His fingers trailed down over the curve of her stomach and along her thighs.

“So soft. Your skin warms to my touch.”

Yes, she wanted his hands everywhere on her.

Osborn stretched alongside her, his mouth finding her collarbone, moving along its path until he discovered a place below her ear that when he kissed it, her entire body shivered. He groaned at her response.

“Do you like that?”

So much she wanted to do it back to him. “Yes,” she told him, her voice drawn and tight to her own ears.

Osborn added his tongue.

Wetness rushed where her thighs met. Her whole body seemed to be curving toward him, craving more of what he could give her. She lifted her knee, and ran the tips of her toes down his molded calf. She gasped when his fingers sank between her legs, the feeling of his gentle invasion exquisite.

“You’re so wet for me.” His voice was little more than a growl. With a swipe of his tongue to her earlobe, Osborn began to slide down her frame, stopping to give a gentle nip to her breasts, and he continued lower.

He tasted the skin under her breasts, circled her belly button with his tongue. Went lower still.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Changing the energy.”

She felt his warm breath on the curls between her thighs, and she began to shake. He nudged her knees farther apart, exposing her woman’s body to his gaze.

“So slick for me.”

With one tiny kiss, her every muscle locked. His head descended, and he licked. Her moan filled the clearing around the lake, echoing off the trees.

“I love to hear your pleasure.” Then he gave her more. He laved every part of her, and plunged his tongue within her. Every muscle, every part of her that could feel, tightened and narrowed, just waiting for more of his touch.

He began to seek inside her with his finger. The tip delving where she ached to have him fill her.

“So tight.”

“That feels so good.”

“It’s about to get a whole lot better.” He lowered his head again and began to suck where her sensations seemed to be the most centered. And her world burst.

Breena dug her fingers into Osborn’s shoulders as crest after crest of pleasure slammed her senses. Her cry sailed up to the trees and she arched herself toward him until the amazing sensations died away.

With one last kiss, he rolled to his back beside her, and stared up at the sky.

She rolled toward him, draping her arm over his
chest, and cuddled as close as she could. She’d remember this forever.

Osborn tensed when she began to play with the fine hair covering his chest. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Breena shook her head. “That was incredible. You made me… I felt… It’s hard to find the words.”

She expected Osborn to bask in her praise. Encourage her for more. If anything, his expression grew grimmer than when they’d first returned to the lake.

“Before the invasion of your home, what was your training? What were you meant to be?”

“Be? I don’t understand what you mean.”

He pushed her hand away from him, and braced himself up on his elbow so he could look down at her, not up. “You’re not a servant, or someone who works out in the field. We’ve already established that. You’re something more. You’re meant for something. Some
one
. You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” His tone sounded accusatory, like he suspected she kicked small animals for fun.

Unease settled just below her heart. She nodded, confirming his question. Breena didn’t like the direction this conversation seemed to be taking. She didn’t know what she was hoping for after an experience that was so intense and personal for her—maybe a hug, but certainly not an interrogation.

Osborn scrubbed his hand down his face. “Should have known. You had that wholesome look about you.”

Wholesome?

Men didn’t teach women battle skills they found…wholesome. It was a loathsome word.

“You’re meant for another.” His words were low, spoken into the ground.

“What?” she asked, not sure she heard him correctly.

He aimed his gaze somewhere in the vicinity of her forehead. “Get dressed. You’re meant for another. Not me. Never me.”

Breena snapped her legs together. A wave of embarrassment and confusion shuddered through her. “You’re not making me leave you?”

His breath came out in a heavy sigh. “No, you’ll learn what you need to, and then I’ll send you on your way.”

Relief chased away the confusion, but the embarrassment still warred inside her. She reached for her discarded pants, and quickly stepped into them.

“And, Breena?”

They were back to that. “Yes?”

“Remember the warning I first gave you?”

Maybe. Which one? There were so many.

She nodded instead. Seemed a safer response now that he was back to being so prickly.

“Don’t be alone with me. I don’t want my touch to defile you.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she quickly blinked them back. “How could what we just shared be defilement?” His caresses had brought something out in her. She felt connected to him. Intimate.

He obviously did not feel the same way.

Osborn finally locked his eyes on her. Her lips. Her breasts. Between her legs. Then his gaze clashed back with hers. Hunger and desire and passion so carnal and raw blazed in the brown depths. “What I want to do with you, yeah, you’d definitely come away defiled.”

And she bet she’d have a smile on her face, too. Turning her back to him, she tugged the shirt he hated on her back in place. What did he want her to wear? They were shirts
from
his household.

“And, Breena?”

And again just to make sure she was truly flustered. Now it was her turn to sigh. “Yes?” she replied sweetly.

“Stay out of my dreams.”

“I wasn’t in your dreams,” she told his retreating back.

A
FTER THE MORNING CHORES
, Bernt and Torben met them on the practice field. Osborn paced across the grass, once more the stern and frightening man she’d woken to days ago.