Viking Werewolf

Acclaim for Eva Gordon’s Wolf Maiden Chronicles From Reviews for Werewolf Sanctuary, Book 1

… a delicious read! Interesting characters, good plot, steamy interludes, and knowledgeably written. I'd love to see this as a movie. ~ Susan M. Black

Eva Gordon makes it easy to believe that Lycans really exist. Her background in science and her love of wildlife add a reality to her story that makes it truly convincing. She puts a new spin on werewolf mythology and has created a society that's detailed and well thought out. … The animalistic yet sensual love scenes between him and Madeline heat up the pages. If you like a good story with romance, steamy sexual encounters and action, then look no farther. ~ G. Pruszkowski

From the very first page, this is a page-turning read, hooking the reader from start to finish. I couldn't put it down! The suspense combined with a sweet romance makes for a very satisfying read. Whether the reader is familiar with werewolves/Lycans or not, the book presents these mythological beasts in a very clear and fascinating way. After reading the book, the reader comes out with a sound knowledge of Lycan/werewolf lore. Further, the reader is reminded of the existence of pure, unconditional romantic love. ~ Esther Garcia

Vampires are just so last year. Their immortal life, dark, sophisticated clothing and sexy feeding style will always be appealing, but in 2009, the werewolf has become the supernatural

character of choice. Why? With the continuing economic chaos, and environmental crisis, the werewolf, with his disheveled fur and ravenous eating, is a more accurate projection of our inner fears. The author creates a lush werewolf world, complete with history, governing council, and mainframe computer. Of course, there are villains, which make this book a real page turner. I was entertained, but I was also left with the surprising thought that Gordon's werewolf world might be an ideal for our own, where our animal nature is not suppressed, but integrated into daily, ceremonial and of course, romantic, life. ~ Elizabeth Touchette

Beast Warrior Viking Werewolf

by

Eva Gordon

Vanilla Heart Publishing USA

Beast Warrior Viking Werewolf




  

         





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Acknowledgements I wish to express my gratitude to my editor Chelle Cordero for her patience and guidance, and Kimberlee Williams for believing in me. I wish to thank my wonderful critique partners. I wish to dedicate this book to Louis Pasteur for discovering the first vaccine for rabies and helping rid the world of this dreaded disease. Finally I also wish to honor all those who help in wolf causes. This includes all those in the trenches of a wolf sanctuary, or doing field research on wild wolves or in enacting government policy to save these magnificent keystone predators from needless killings and extinction.

Prologue West Frankish Kingdom, Anno Domini 825 At the edge of the dark wood Chanteloup tore at the choice liver from the downed stag. It was his privilege as the Alpha of his pack to feast on the best part of the kill. He paused and sniffed the cold crisp air under the full moon’s bright beacon before swallowing the final chunk. The brush of leaves rustling in the soft wind beneath his paws made him tilt his head at the sound of soft wings. The ominous hoot of an owl high in the tree canopy was unsettling. It was a warning of a looming challenge. He growled at the disturbance. Satiated, he flopped down away from the kill allowing the rest of his wolf pack of lycans to take their turn devouring the feast of the hunt. A distant howl carried a desperate message from his castle. Despite the cacophony of growls and grunts of satisfaction he pricked his ears and strained to hear. Something was wrong with Elinor, his mate. He growled for silence and the pack immediately stopped feeding and froze. He and his pack were lycan; men and women that shape shifted painlessly into magnificent bear sized wolves. His pack shifted with the full moon, while as an alpha wolf, Chanteloup was able to shift at any time, regardless of the lunar cycle. Like all alpha males his mate must be a human woman with the five-toed mark of the lycan wolf on her left hip. These women were called wolf maidens. Elinor was such a woman. He loved Elinor more than life itself and felt dread in the deepest part of his core for her well being. She was to give birth during the next moon, yet the call of the alpha female Isabelle, indicated that she was birthing now. It was too soon. Lycans were superior to humans in every way both in strength and their strong blood, which kept them free of most plagues that struck humans. Unlike lycan women, human women died so easily during childbirth. Elinor had already lost their first child early in her pregnancy and now it looked dire for this child. Please Feronia, Goddess of Lycans let her live. He should have prayed for their unborn child, but could only think of Elinor. He could not endure to live without hearing her beautiful voice as she sang while playing the lute, her sparkling emerald eyes that spoke of the coming green of the spring and her shapely body that reminded him what the goddess of love had to have looked like, and her kind heart when she offered extra food for the peasants of his nearby village. Elinor. Dear Elinor. He faced his pack and commanded them to follow him back up to the high peak where the gray stone and wood castle

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf stood as part of the Pyrenees Mountains. He signaled for two wolves to drag the prey back and then sped away at a fast lope up the mountain. He had never run so fast, so hard. His black form was a silhouette as he drew closer to the torch light of the illuminated castle. Two female alpha lycan guards bowed and opened the gate. Like the alpha male, alpha females could keep their human form no matter what the moon cycle. Unfortunately, the alpha females of his kind could not have children. Their sole purpose was to devote their lives to the Lupercal, their governing council. He ran past them and was met at the hall entrance by Isabelle, an alpha a few years younger than Elinor. He quickly shifted from his black wolf form with silver spiral markings to his human form, large framed with dark raven hair and equally dark eyes. He grabbed his blue robe from the rack and shot Isabelle a fierce look. “Where is she?” Isabelle’s normally neatly pleated wheat gold hair was in disarray and her face was pale. “Up in the solar. In her bedchamber, milord. Her water broke and she has gone into labor.” He gritted his teeth and his eyes flashed up to the stairs. “I must go to her!” She grabbed his taut arm. “No, Messire. It is bad luck. Sibyl is with her now.” He took a breath and let it out slowly. Sibyl was the alpha midwife and seer that had delivered him. She had never lost a woman or child during the birthing process. Still, he worried. Their first child had been lost too early to survive. Would she save this one? All that mattered was that Elinor live. He paced. “I can’t just stand here and wait. Last time she bled so much. I want to be with her in case she loses the child again.” “Come upstairs and wait outside.” Isabelle gathered her silk red gown and walked up the steps with him. She had been Elinor’s personal lady attendant and best friend. He caught the scent of Elinor’s sweat as he stood in front of the door. Worse, the moans of her labor made him want to rush to her side and help in any way he could. He raked his black hair back and turned to Isabelle. “Tell Sibyl I wish to speak to her. That is, if she can leave Elinor for a brief moment.” “Yes, Messire.” Isabelle squeezed through the door and shut it tight. There was a babble of voices, Sibyl’s, her apprentice and Isabelle. Her maids should have been here, but because of the moon they were at this moment down on the grounds in their wolf forms. The old gray haired woman stepped out and growled before speaking. “T’is bad luck for a man to be close to the birthing chamber.” Sibyl was on the Lupercal council and her status gave her a haughty attitude. “Will Elinor live?” She gave him a shrewd look as if he had just delivered the worst insult imaginable. She stiffened and pointed a gnarled finger at him. “I delivered you and let me tell you, your size nearly tore your human mother apart. She survived and went on to deliver your two sisters without a problem.” He twisted a smile. “I trust you will pull Elinor through.” She returned a crooked smile. “Elinor is doing well. The babe is in the proper position and is small. There will be no tearing.” 10

Eva Gordon He felt a flicker of guilt at not thinking about his baby. He forced himself to ask. “And the child?” Her brow grew troubled. “The child, a female is small because she is too early. Once I deliver the babe her life will be under the blessings of Diana and Feronia.” She lowered her voice to a soft whisper. “A babe so small will only suffer before death. If you wish milord I can make sure she dies quickly and painlessly.” A daughter? But now Sibyl was asking him if he would allow the death of a runt too small and weak to live beyond days if not hours. His heart broke at the thought. He recalled how Elinor guided his hand over her belly to feel the kicks. Strong kicks. Just this morning he had spied on Elinor as she embroidered and sang to the baby. Songs of joy. The life they had created with love. He suddenly felt protective for the tiny girl child that had seemed so vigorous in the womb. If she was an alpha female she would be strong enough to survive. “No. You have never lost a child and you will not lose ours!” His voice a commanding growl. He felt his shift take hold. He focused to remain human. She bowed. “I will use the powers of the old ways, milord.” He shook his head in a brusque nod. “So be it.” Sibyl, a Gaul had been known not only for her midwifery skills but also for her sorcery and sight. Elinor’s scream sent the midwife back to her side. His despair rose and tears streamed down his face. He had never felt so helpless. Not even in the heat of battle. His kind, because of their superior strength, had always served as mercenary warriors to the king who paid with the most gold, silver and land. His own father helped Charlemagne win a kingdom. His father liked the idea of bringing the arts and knowledge to the continent; with it came the Holy Church, bringing the destruction of the old ways and pagans. King Charlemagne and now his sons never suspected that the powerful knights that helped in their battles were members of the secret Lupercal society of werewolves that practiced the old ways and worshipped the goddess Feronia. The peasants that worked his land practiced the old ways as well but not in the open. Unlike other villages his peasants were offered his full protection. The only humans that knew of them were wolf maidens that married alpha lycans and a secret order of men called the Lupercii that served the lycans since the founding of Rome. Elinor was of a royal household of Aquitaine and none of her relatives knew that she was in fact married to a pagan werewolf. He had courted her and with cunning and fortitude convinced her devoutly Christian father to accept his betrothal. Fortunately Elinor though still a Christian accepted his old ways. Her only wish was that the child be baptized and, though it was not their fashion, he promised her the child would receive the proper baptism. In fact he would make it a grand affair to alleviate suspicions from other neighboring lords that his large territory was indeed a legitimate Christian hold. Many of the Lupercii even became monks to better serve the needs of the Lupercal. He smiled. T'would be an honor for a daughter to someday serve in the Lupercal. “Push, Elinor.” Sibyl’s husky voice carried over poor Elinor’s screams. The crackling flame from the hearth matched the intensity of the shrieks. 11

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf He placed his hand on the door. “I’m with you, my love.” He caught a strong whiff of her blood mixed with wood smoke and the potent incense that Sibyl was burning. He heard Elinor sigh. But no shrieking baby. He pounded the door. “Tell me woman what is going on!” All he heard was rustling and Sibyl chanting. Just when he was about to rush in he heard the single piercing scream of an infant. He sighed in relief, his heart gladdened. As if providing chorus to the sudden shriek of life, his pack howled outside the castle. Elinor’s voice brought him great comfort. “She’s beautiful.” Isabelle walked out and quickly closed the door behind her. “Milord, she is as light as a bird but she is strong. They are bathing her.” The continuous sound of the infant bawling pleased him. She was a fighter. “How is Elinor?” She smiled. “She is well. The bleeding is normal. I will bathe Elinor after she gives the babe her first milk.” Sibyl opened the door holding the now sleeping infant swaddled in white linen strips. “Come in Messire and meet your daughter.” His eyes fell on the tiny child, no bigger than a small loaf of bread with a thatch of raven black hair, his hair, on her head. In a pack of wolves such a runt would have the lowest status, but in his household it would not be the case. Sibyl interrupted his trance. “Hold her and take her to Elinor.” His hands were rough and scarred from battle and he was almost afraid of holding such a tiny creature that reminded him more of a fae than a human. He took her. Ah, she was but air. He took in her sweet newborn scent. “Bring her my love,” said Elinor’s melodic voice. He walked with great care so as not to drop his precious treasure. He sat on a high chair next to Elinor’s bedside. She reached for her baby. He kissed the child on the forehead and handed her to Elinor’s waiting arms. Once the baby was secured he leaned over and kissed Elinor on her forehead. He then gently dabbed at the beads of perspiration. “I wish to name her Emelisse after my grandmother.” He nodded not taking his eyes off the living doll. The tiny miracle, “T’is a good choice, my love.” Sibyl’s shadow in the candle lit room did not bode well. “The child is a wolf maiden and will need to drink the milk of a lycan in order to survive.” Elinor’s eyes brightened. “She is human?” Chanteloup sensed her relief. Though accepting of their kind he knew she wanted a human child. He had hoped the child was a lycan, but no matter. He would see to it that a fine alpha would someday be her mate. “She will be just like you, my love.” Elinor continence changed from joy to trepidation. Her eyes darkened at Sibyl “Why lycan milk? I know I have plenty.” “I must tell you the truth. A human child being born this early means that she may not survive for long. To insure she makes it she will need lycan milk to provide the extra strength until her tiny organs develop properly.” Sibyl placed a reassuring hand on Elinor’s shoulder. “You may give her the first milk and then I will ask Jeanette to be her wet nurse.” 12

Eva Gordon The she-lycan was weaning her last child and had plenty of milk. Lycan children were human until their first shift during adolescence. Elinor shook her head. “No. I will not allow my daughter to suckle from the teat of a wolf.” Sibyl shot her a fierce look. “Look at her. Outside this castle such a small human child would die by morning. The richness of our milk will give her a chance.” Elinor’s face grew pale. She gazed at the infant. Like most newborns she was inactive. “But she sleeps well.” “Too well, Elinor. She must have a lycan wet nurse.” Chanteloup moved a lose piece of damp brown hair from Elinor’s brow. “Sibyl is right. It’s her only chance.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Very well then.” Sibyl nodded and pointed a chin toward a white basin. “I will read the after birth and let you both know what I see in her future.” Elinor flashed him a worried look. “No, not witchcraft.” He held her hand in his. “It is merely our old ways; there is no harm in seeing what her future might bring. It will be up to us to guide her.” Elinor had never been so concerned with their beliefs until now. She made the sign of the cross and held the babe in a tight hold. She nodded her head in acquiescence. She smiled at Sibyl. “I thank you for your help and, yes, even your magic in keeping Emelisse alive.” She turned to Chanteloup. “I will not stop you from hearing about her future but for me I do not care to know. I trust our father in heaven will watch over her.” “As you wish my lady.” Chanteloup stepped out to a garden near a circle of small standing stones. Sibyl stood in the center and appeared taller than normal. She had been out there after the late night’s birth and now the sun was just starting to peak on the horizon. Soon his lycans would return to their human form. The midwife laid out the afterbirth on top of a flat stone. It too had been small compared to the placentas of the lycans. She waved a smoking stick over the afterbirth and looked at the smoke as it spiraled up. She acted like he was not there. He stepped closer. “Well, what do you see? You need not lie, will she live past this day?” She smoothed down the brown cloak that blew in the gentle early autumn wind. “The fates point to greatness in her birth. Yet because she a human and one with a delicate heart it is up to you to see to it that she, as your only child, is protected from harm.” He frowned in disbelief. “Only child? Elinor and I shall have others. Someday I will have an alpha son to inherit my pack and my lands.” He swallowed a lump of despair. And at that, a child with a frail heart. Would she live to see her first year? “Does Elinor know?” “Nay. To spare Elinor’s feelings I did not tell her that she could no longer carry a child.” He gripped his temples. “But? This birth was so easy for her; surely the next one will be so?” “She can no longer make a womb. Emelisse will be her last. You on the contrary, can choose another wolf maiden.” 13

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf His face darkened. His hands fisted in rage. “There is only Elinor. Tis blasphemy to say I would ever consider sending her off and claim another.” “My humble apologies milord, she is your life mate and not as others claim wolf maidens are merely breeders.” He flinched at the term breeder. Many alpha men had sought women with the mark of the wolf not for a life mate, but to better their chances of having more offspring. The thought of his tiny daughter being exploited as a breeder made his blood boil with fury. He blew out a slow breath. “In what way do you see greatness in such a small weak human child?” “Feronia listens to wolf maidens.” She fingered the afterbirth. “The future is a web that can spin in many directions and certainly this is what I see.” “You speak in riddles.” “It is the center of the web that predicts her life path.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as if in a trance, before speaking. “She is destined to be the wolf maiden of a great warrior. He will unite all of our kind.” He sighed. So, she will live despite her early birth. His brow rose. “Of which pack will this great warrior come from? Who shall claim her?” He was thinking of all the recent births of alpha males throughout the different pack territories. “I cannot say, but it will be she that claims him.” He scoffed. “It is the alpha who claims.” “T’is true, but I see several making such a claim. The mighty warrior will be the one that she claims as her true life mate.” “So we shall take great care in who she meets.” She pointed her stick to a deep purple mark on the afterbirth. “She is imbued with the gift of healing. I see a potion that will save many of our kind. She is to be an oracle to Feronia.” He raised a brow in surprise. He could not help but smile. “A servant of Feronia?” “Your Christian wife may not like the idea of what her people would consider a witch of the old ways.” “Elinor will accept her gifts. A healer is an honored person.” Sibyl gave him a sidelong glance. “Women who pursue the healing arts are viewed as consorts of the evil one.” He shook his head. “Now that the Holy Church is established folks will re-introduce the old ways so as not offend or threaten.” She shrugged as if dismissing his positive outlook as naïve if not foolhardy. “I will return to my land to the south and join my ancestral pack.” “What of the Lupercal?” Sibyl was one of the twelve Alpha Female Lycans that governed their society. “My apprentice Lupa is ready to take my place.” She gave him a wane smile. “Soon I will be too old to shift. I wish to return to my old den to take in familiar scents. To feel my ancestral territory beneath my paws as I hunt for aurochs with my den brothers and sisters.” Chanteloup bowed. “My lady I am eternally grateful for all that you have done. I will see to it that several knights guide you home.” She returned his smile. “Go to Elinor. Love her and love the child.” 14

Chapter 1 T’would be an early winter in the deep forests of Scandia. Sigurd’s breath condensed like puffs of smoke from the chilled morning air as he climbed up the wall of the mountain. The wind howling at his back, he reached the cave at the edge of the rocky cliff above the pounding surf of the fierce ocean’s roar. Inside the dark cavern lived the old witch crone Hungerd. The question for the Seer was where he could find Bork the Mad, the leader of the Bear Men Clan, the beast he wished to kill for revenge. His sister had disagreed. She preferred to stay in their ancestral home or move toward the east where the other ulfhednar or wolfskins had gone after their brutal defeat from the Berserkers, the maddened bear men. Two ravens stood on a ledge crevice above the entrance and cawed in forewarning. A curtain of tied down rawhide shook from the wind. No longer a boy, he was braver and stronger than most wolfen men, yet he still feared the old witch. “Come in, Sigurd.” Her voice echoed matching the howl of the wind. He set his weapons on the ground and untied the pelt from the makeshift door to enter. His wolf eyes adjusted to the dim light, the only illumination came from a small round fireplace surrounded by runic charms. Where was the witch? “Show yourself Hungerd.” Deep down the cave’s tunnel a large white owl flew slowly toward him, its wings flapping in silence. Just as he was about to duck the owl turned to bright blue smoke and there appeared Hungerd. Not how he remembered, as old and decrepit, but young and beautiful with silver hair, youthful blue eyes and the vigor and dress of a Valkyrie. She held her staff not for support but like a weapon. He was awestruck. This was her power of illusion and not what she really looked like. “Close your mouth and sit Sigurd the Red.” She pointed her staff to a cushioned chair next to her larger feathered one. He frowned but obeyed. The chair sunk under his massive frame. He did not like her reference to his flaming red hair. Like his father, his hair the color of fire as a human and also when he was in his wolf form. The sight of a wolf with red fur was rare. “I am not fooled by your appearance.” “Son of Gunnolf, do you not find me pleasing?” He smiled. “Very pleasing for a woman born before my father was weaned. I am here to seek answers and not to warm my bed with a wise old woman.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She cackled and shimmered back into her true self, a withered hag with a nearly bald spotted head. Tufts of gray hair growing in patches here and there like weeds made her look like a vulture. Her long blue cloak lined with wildcat hair added to her birdlike appearance. She sat. “Wise is one who prefers knowledge over beauty.” “I am here to find out where I can locate Bork the Mad and his son, Mord the Blood Claw.” The leaders of the band of berserkers who killed his father, his mother and his older brother Guda. Except for the hidden children, including Brynhild and him, his entire pack was gone. Her blue eyes pierced through him. “Yes, his son Mord the Claw seeks to kill you and all of our kind.” “I seek revenge for my parents and my pack. Bork wears my father’s pelt. He must die.” Though wolfskins returned to their human forms upon death, Bork had cleaved off his father’s red fur before his last breath. Sigurd hoped to bury his father’s pelt, thus allowing him to rest in peace. “But he allowed you to live despite the fact you maimed his son.” At the sight of seeing his father and mother beheaded nine years ago, Sigurd had left his hiding place and taken his father’s battleaxe to kill Bork. Instead of mauling the ten-year-old boy by swiping him with his talon sharp claws, the berserker returned to human form along with his men and laughed wholeheartedly at the enraged boy. It was then that Sigurd saw his older brother dead with his skull split open and Bork’s son, Mord, grinning as he removed his ax from the prone body. Bork then commanded his son, taller and perhaps a few years older than Sigurd, to kill him. He took his father’s axe and charged Sigurd who outmaneuvered him and sliced off his right hand. All he remembered was the boy’s roar and the rage of his father, more at his own son than at him, before his older sister Brynhild yanked him out of there and together ran deep into the forest to their hidden den. The bears followed in hot pursuit. Fortunately, Hungerd, in the shape of a raven, landed and cast a spell of invisibility on the children allowing them to escape. Hungerd had the mark of the wolf and had once been an ulf hexen, or wolf witch, a human woman destined to be the pack leader’s life mate. He raked his fire red hair back. “I am grateful you saved us from the berserkers, but you must understand I am a man and must prepare my vengeance.” The crone sighed deeply. “You and your small pack of four will be killed by the berserkers. You are still a young cub, first you must seek out the help of other ulfhednar.” She flashed him a pensive look. “Does your sister agree?” Sigurd shook his head slowly. “She wishes that I take an ulf hexen who has married a farmer down in the valley.” She pointed her staff at him as if to stab. “Nay! You must not.” He raised a brow at her adamant protest. “Once I have an ulf hexen I can have a son to help inherit my pack.” She stared at the fire in the center of the circle. From the ground she picked up three stones and placed them on her lap. She pulled out a knife, cut her thumb and allowed the blood to drip on the gray stones. The blood turned into rune markings. She cast them on the ground. Her eyes narrowed as she read the signs. “Fenris, son of Loki, father of the ulfhednar speaks to me.” 16

Eva Gordon “What do the runes say?” “You will save our kind.” “From the berserkers?” “Yes, you see Bork the Mad is convinced he and his men must stop the Vargold, the wolf age, when the wolves will devour the world and kill Odin. You must travel by long ship with humans to seek them out.” “Humans on long ships? Was it not the humans who hired the berserkers to pillage, loot, and kill?” “T’is true, the jarls have hired the berserkers to bring terror to the lands south. The runes reveal that you will join the Norse men and you must bide your time before you confront Bork and his berserkers. It will be in these southern lands where you and the others will stop his band of berserkers.” A distant howl drew his sudden attention. His sister’s summon sounded urgent. “Brynhild calls to me. I must return immediately.” He disrobed and shifted into a large wolf with the deep red fur and the runic markings. Hungerd protested. “No, wait, there is more.” He ignored her and leapt out of the cave entrance. He had heard enough. He and his pack would travel south and lend their services to a chieftain in order to get close to the berserkers. First he must claim his ulf hexen. Sigurd loped down the trail away from the forest toward the edge of the village. On the other side of the hill he caught site of his sister’s silver gray form. Behind her were three other young men dressed like farmers. In his pack only he and sister as the offspring of the chief wolf could shift as they pleased, while his men would transform only during the full moon. They were all young; in fact Sigurd at age nineteen was the youngest. He was their pack leader and was responsible that they not kill during their shift for the duration of the evening waxed moon. He stopped and sniffed the air. A chained large elkhound was snarling as they approached. His men were bringing fine pelts and jewelry to negotiate the price of the young bride. As the chief male leader of the pack he could only mate with an ulf hexen, a human women that bore the mark of the wolf. His sister, though in control of her shift could never bear children. Her job would be to help raise his and protect the pack. He trotted toward them. He did not like doing this. The couple was in love and he told his sister that he would rather look elsewhere. Still if she agreed, t’would not be such a bad thing. Her name was Ingrede. She was tall and shapely with long golden braids and deep blue eyes. Her husband Erik, a young widower, had brought her home from a fishing village. He thought about how his mother had loved his father with such passion and had a pang of regret about what was happening. He could not expect Ingrede to forget about her husband and love him instead. Brynhild would not take no for an answer. He had to reach them before a fight ensued. He did not want unnecessary blood on his hands. He reached the pasture where a few dairy cows mooed in agitation at the scent and site of the huge red wolf. He had to find some garments. He spied on his sister who was changing into her woolen light blue dress and gray cloak. She had their mother’s blond hair but was taller and like him had his father’s blue green eyes. Though only a few years older, she had been his little 17

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf mother and was always watching out for what best served him. She never thought of herself, only of him and his pack. Instead of rushing in like a crazed naked man, he waited behind the trees. He listened with his wolf hearing, far superior to that of man. She and the others knocked on the door. Smoke emanated from their tiny dwelling. They were home. The elkhound was barking and yanking on the tight hold of the chain. Next to him was an empty iron collar and chain. Had there been two or was one loose? He flared his nostrils and looked around anxiously. He did not want his sister or the others to get bitten by a guard dog. Of course, if any dog attacked his sister, she would swiftly kill it. Since they had been small Brynhild was always the mighty Valkyrie, a warrior woman who loved battle. She had taught him to hunt and the sword. The door creaked open and heavy wood smoke lingered out. Ingrede stepped out and greeted Brynhild. Ingrede’s arm was bandaged. She was injured. An accident. Humans were so frail and did not heal as quickly as his kind did. She eyed the three behind her and called for her husband. “Erik, we have guests.” They entered the small home. Sigurd wanted to go in and tell them to leave the couple alone. He had felt no real connection with the young woman and knew it would not work. He remembered Hungerd’s protest at the match and feared they were making a grave mistake. Too late. Shouts came out from within and there was a sudden commotion. One of his men fell through the door his head split in two by an axe and fell on the ground. Ingrede ran out the back door pursued by his sister. Brynhild tried to grab her but Ingrede let her sleeve rip away and ran toward the snarling beast of a dog. She released the chained elkhound and he charged at Brynhild. She was thrown back but quickly shifted to her large wolf form. The enraged dog and his sister were a ball of fur and blood before she finally ripped his throat and collapsed panting. Sigurd shifted into his wolf form and ran after Ingrede. He caught up to her and caused her to stumble. He grabbed her thick sleeved arm dragging her back toward her home. He made sure his fangs did not dig in too deeply. She screamed, hit and kicked but to no avail. He set her down and shifted back to a man. She screamed even louder, piercing his sensitive ears. He growled, picked her up and threw her over his back. She had been more trouble than she was worth. His sister was hurt, Vott was dead and it was deadly silent within the house. Brynhild shifted, licked her bloodied arm and dressed. She met him in front of the dwelling. He unceremoniously dropped Ingrede at her feet. “Watch her,” he barked and slammed the door open. Trud and Ulfar stepped back from the prone body of the young farmer. His neck twisted and his eyes stared aimlessly at the ceiling. Trud spoke. “I broke his neck after he killed Vott.” Ingrede shrieked outside the door. “Erik!” Sigurd would not shed tears. He had not cried since the day his parents had been brutally murdered. “We will give him and Vott proper warriors’ funerals.” He stepped out and held Ingrede by the shoulders. “Forgive us, we had no intension of harming your husband.” She spat on the ground. “He was not going to let you take me without a fight. Soon I will join him,” she said cryptically. 18

Eva Gordon He gently gripped her chin with his large hand. “The mark of the wolf makes you mine.” His eyes softened. “I promise to be a kind husband to you.” She glared at him with hate. “I will never be yours, son of Fenris.” She referred to the giant wolf, son of Loki. Men had thought Fenris was evil, but in reality he was not. The giant wolf was the caretaker of the land, the guardian of both man and wolf. His eyes darkened and he handed her to Brynhild. “I will give you time to mourn your husband and then you will prepare yourself to give me a son.” He gestured to his sister to let her bid farewell to her husband and walked away with his men to prepare for the burial ritual. Abducting Ingrede turned into a nightmare. During the full moon, the grieving ulf hexen had become gravely ill and bedridden with abdominal pains, fever, sensitivity to light and a sore throat. Sigurd could not help but blame himself for her poor health. Had her broken heart been beyond recovery? His sister had stayed by her side while he along with Trud and Ulfar had gone on their moon hunt. As the moon waned and his men returned to their human forms, he returned to see how she was doing. His sister, her face pale as early fallen snow greeted him with a weak smile; it was a look that he had never seen on her normally brave face. “My brother, she wishes to speak to you.” His heart sunk. The smell of death was as certain as the coming winter. He went into the darkened room. The room was shaded of all light in to make her more comfortable. She had refused water and food. He sat next to her bed; beads of perspiration on her forehead did not take away from the beauty of her sky blue eyes. He bowed his head in shame, “Ingrede, I’m sorry. Forgive me of robbing you of your home and of your husband.” She reached for his hand and held it with a strong grip that astonished him. She spoke, in a strained voice. “This illness is not your fault.” She lifted her arm that had been bandaged, that now had the scar of a dog bite. “You remember how I told you Erik’s guard dog had bitten me.” He nodded. “The beast Brynhild killed.” “At first his bitch took ill and Erik had to kill her. He hoped Vigi, the dog he loved would not come down with the madness.” She whispered, “He was so worried about my bite and we traveled to the healer. She had put a balm on my wound and said t’would draw out the poison.” He felt a chill race down his spine. The dog frenzy had often decimated wolf packs. Brynhild had been bitten. The wound had healed but was her blood poisoned as well? Would she foam at the mouth and grow mad? Cold dread took hold of him. “Did the other dog foam at the mouth?” She slowly nodded. “We tried to give her water and she refused. That is when Erik killed her. But Vigi drank and so we thought he was spared.” She then became agitated and delirious. She reached out. “Erik, you are here for me.” Her arm drooped down and with a slight grimace took her last breath. Sigurd swallowed a lump in his throat, gently closed her eyes and kissed her on the forehead. “I am not worthy of having a mate.” He took her hand. “I will bury you in the circle of stones next to Erik.” 19

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Trud interrupted his grief. He bowed his head in respect. “Brynhild is gone.” “What do you mean gone!” Trud flinched. “She told me to tell you she will not return until she is certain the dog madness has not poisoned her.” Sigurd shoved him out of the way and ran out. “Brynhild!” He sniffed to pick up her scent. She headed toward the high mountains. Ulfar, though the oldest and the largest was lower in status and bowed. “I beg you. Let her go. It is her wish. She told me that we must wait. If she is well she will return, if not she will see you in Valhalla.” Sigurd closed his eyes and took in a long breath. He gripped his head and squeezed. He loved her more than anyone, even his parents. She had raised him, had cleaned his wounds, and saved him from the bearskins. How could he allow her to go off and die? Yet if she had the frenzy she would kill them all. Would she travel far enough to avoid killing innocent humans? Why had he not heeded Hungerd’s warning about taking the ulf hexen? He turned to Ulfar. The brawny man’s eyes were downcast. He too loved his den sister. He begged a question of Sigurd. “If she does have the dog madness and returns?” “We will seek the help of Hungerd, the wolf witch.” Ulfar’s eyes widened. “She will cure her?” He twisted a small smile. “Perhaps.” He knew there had never been a cure. In truth, Hungerd would help destroy her once the madness took her. For now, he would give his sister until after the full moon to see if indeed she had been spared the illness. It had been three moons since he had last seen Brynhild. If she had been spared, perchance she would return soon. On their way up to the cliff where Hungerd resided they came upon a small hamlet. The stench and flocks of feasting ravens did not bode well. Death permeated the air like a dark cloud. Bloated town folk lay dead. Many with their throats slashed, others with their guts split open. No. He caught her scent and recognized her bite marks. He smelled the remnants of diseased foam on the sprawled bodies. He thought of Brynhild, how she loved humans and told him that she loved being around them, listening to their bards and sharing moments of passion with the handsome men. Her madness had done this, not her soul. “Bury the bodies.” He bore a single tear. “I must kill her.” Trud and Ulfar looked at each other before going off to search for a burial site for the small community. Sigurd felt a pang of guilt. He should have gone after her earlier. It was his fault these poor people died so horribly. How would he find her? She was an elusive and clever hunter. She was good at covering her scent and tracks. Would the madness make it easier or harder to kill her? The only hope was to get help from Hungerd. They buried the folk beneath a long wooden building and then set it aflame. Sigurd had rarely interacted with humans, often he had been shy around them, but he still felt great sadness and pity for their unnecessary deaths. The billowing smoke from the communal funeral pyre turned the sky an eerie crimson. He shifted and raced up the rocky trail to reach Hungerd’s cave, an imposing crevice above the din of the churning sea. The moon was 20

Eva Gordon new and his men trailed behind in their human form. Before reaching the ledge to her cavern he heard a yelp followed by loud growling from below the trail. He recognized Trud’s cry for help. He spun around and looked down. Both Trud and Ulfar lay bloodied and dead at the trailhead. A large gyrfalcon swept over the wolf foaming at the mouth. Brynhild. She snapped at it, her fangs wet with blood and saliva. It shrieked its falcon scream and swept again trying to get the enraged wolf to fall down the precipice. The blustery wind made it too difficult for another sweep by the raptor, which flapped to stay adrift. Sigurd howled to her to stop. She lifted her head toward him and bore her fangs. Ignoring the diving raptor, she ran up the cliff. She meant to kill him. The gyrfalcon flew ahead and within moments landed on the ledge and turned into Hungerd. She commanded him. “Get inside!” He shifted to his human form. “You can’t defeat her!” He protested. “Nor can you. I on the other hand will deceive her with seior.” Hungerd took out a knife and took a hold of his windswept red hair with her bony hand. She sliced a tuft of it from his head. He acquiesced to her. Seior or witchcraft was more powerful than fangs or the sword. If it was his fate to die then so be it. She rolled the bit of hair into a ball and threw it below. She pointed her staff and a replica of his wolf form appeared, snarling and growling, ready for battle. The red wolf, his very likeness, stalked his sister as she continued to climb up, the illness had made her enraged but she appeared to have lost some of the stamina she once had. Foam flew from her chops as she slowly sauntered up the rocky gusty trail. As the illusion of his form approached Brynhild hesitated. She whined as if fighting her urge to slay him. She shook her body as if removing the foam from her mouth and fur would stop her rage. His heart broke to see how she was refusing to attack him; despite the fact the red wolf stalked her in preparation to kill. She stepped near the precipice and in a moment that shocked him she became human. Naked she stood tall and proud. Brynhild shouted out a final vow. “Dear brother, I will guard you from beyond the spirit world. Find an ulf hexen and live my brother, live.” She spread her arms like wings and threw herself to the jagged rocks below. The wind whipping his red hair Sigurd howled. “Brynhild!” His replica wolf dissolved. Hungerd turned to him with teary eyes. “She died like a warrior. See to it that she is properly buried.” Hungerd spread the runes and smiled. “You will seek your fortune on a long ship with men the world calls the Vikings. Pirates who seek their fortune by pillaging for goods and thralls. You will remain human to keep your wolfen gift a secret.” He scoffed a bitter laugh. He was angry and felt hollow inside. All he loved had been lost and now he was a lone wolf. “All the fortune in gold and silver will not bring back my sister and pack.” Her ancient eyes shrewd like a hawk’s stared into his soul. “I never said the fortune would be that of gold and useless jewelry. The real fortune will be land for a pack and the love of an ulf hexen.” 21

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf His hand swept away the neatly arranged runes. “I do not deserve an ulf hexen!” Hungerd’s gnarled fingers picked up one of the runes. “She will be of the others, a dark haired beauty.” She smiled as if she was staring at the woman. “A delicate royal woman who has great knowledge and can heal. She will heal your heart and you hers.” The packs of the north referred to unknown packs from the south as the others, loyal to the customs and mores of the local humans. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “If only we had left Ingrede alone.” “Poor Brynhild thought she was helping you find a mate. But deep in your heart you knew Ingrede was not the one.” Guilt made his blood boil with regret. He should have argued against it rather than giving in to his sister’s counsel. His voice was harsh and bitter. “This spoiled foreign princess will never penetrate my heart. No one will.” “Give the beauty a chance. She will open your senses and you will gladly claim her.” Though Ingrede was beautiful he had not felt drawn to her, as his father had been toward his mother. “Bah, I do not have room for love or children. Human women are weak. I only seek to kill Bork the Mad and his maimed son. And if I must die seeking revenge than I will laugh at you when I reach the gates of Valhalla.” “You are nothing but a hot headed youth!” She picked up a rune that had landed near her feet. She squeezed it and closed her eyes. “Bork the Mad is a berserker, he and his son Mord the Blood Claw terrorize all. Even the jarls who hired them to lay waste to the villages and houses of their enemy’s God fear him. He travels on a black long ship with a sail painted like a black and red bear. He has a crew of forty bearskins. His son sails another black twin long ship. They travel days apart from one another and meet after a plunder to drink mead, rape and boast. And kill, eating the flesh of humans.” “Perhaps you know where they den in the winter?” Like real bears, the berserkers slept through the winter. Their lair was hidden, since in such a deep sleep they were vulnerable. They are the fiercest in the spring upon awaking. She opened her eyes and shook her head. “Their secret winter lair is hidden by the magic of their hag sorceress, Bolla.” She gazed at another rune. “Mord has spent years looking for you. I created a shroud over you to protect you from his lust to kill you and all of the ulfhednar, including the innocent wolves of the land.” “I took his hand that took my brother’s head. Now he must die as well!” She drew in a breath. “Kill them if you must but do not bring shame to your sister’s sacrifice. She did not leap to her death to have you throw away your life for vengeance. Look in your heart, Sigurd the Red; son of Gunnolf and you will find her vision of what she wanted for you, your life mate and a pack that thrives.” He stiffened. Hungerd spoke the truth, yet with his sister gone what was the use? He could never be happy without her by his side. At least in death he would be with her. “I will do my best.” He bowed and drew open the leather curtain. 22

Eva Gordon She opened a small wooden box and took out a gold bracelet. “Wear this so they will not notice your wolf scent. Only an ulf hexen or another wolf man will know your true identity.” He eyed the plain band. Magic. It would help him in his quest to get close enough to Bork and Mord for his planned vengeance. She jabbed a long blackened fingernail near his throat. “My touch will create a spell that will allow you to understand all human language. It will burn but don’t move until it is complete.” The touch seared him like a brand; he grimaced but kept still until she finally removed her nail, which was glowing red like a flame. “A gift from Loki.” He touched the blister and smiled. “This will allow me to disguise myself as the men of the south.” She cackled. “Speech you will understand, but your manners are those of Odin’s mighty warriors.” She waved him off with her gnarled fingers. “Go. Kill if you must, but then seek your destiny.” He gave a brusque nod and left. T’would not be easy to kill Bork; bear men were stronger and bigger than wolf men. His advantage was the wolf’s cunning, a gift from Loki.

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Chapter 2 Emelisse paced in her private bower. She gazed at her image in the mirror. Her long red cloak lined with ermine and veil accentuated her dark eyes and luxurious raven hair that reached down to her hips. Underneath she wore a purple gown embroidered with red roses. She was not happy that Radulf the Third, a pale skinned silver haired alpha lycan was there to claim her. He was a cruel leader, a brutal killer of pagans on orders of the church and royal families. He had grown rich by spilling the blood of innocent men and women who like them practiced the old ways. A hypocrite who pretended to be a defender of the faith, yet a secret worshipper of Feronia, as was traditional of their kind. She would love to see what would happen to him and his pack if the humans found out the truth. At least her father protected the local villagers that practiced the old ways and gods. Now he was insisting she meet the man she had hated since they were young children. Radulf used his dominance to mistreat the others in his pack and once even killed a lycan who unintentionally thought Radulf had finished eating his portion. Her father tried to convince her by boasting about his chivalry and land holds and claiming she would always live in great luxury. She would rather live in a peasant’s shack than with the cruel lycan. How would she get out of this? “Emelisse, your father and Radulf await you at the banquet,” said Isabelle. She was the alpha who had raised her when her mother Elinor died when she was but four years old. Isabelle and her father, both grieving over Elinor’s death from a sudden fever, found comfort in each other’s arms. Her broken hearted father fought as a knight for King Charles the Bald and on his return after a four-year absence took Isabelle as his consort mate. Their marriage would not produce children, only companionship. She breathed out in frustration. “Isabelle, I don’t want to be in the same room with that boor.” “Child, your father wants only what is best for you.” Isabelle adjusted Emelisse’s wimple holding her veil. “He still worries about your frail heart. As a rich duchess you will have the best of care.” She turned away from her. “Since Lupa taught me how to slow my breath I no longer have a weak heart.” She sighed. “My father wishes to sacrifice me as brood mare to produce alpha male heirs.” “You know that is not true. You’re special, the wolf maiden of a great warrior that will unite all the packs.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She stifled a bitter laugh. “The Lupercal governs the pack, not some war mongering beast.” “That might be true but you know as well as I do that many packs have fought each other despite the Lupercal. There are also others of our kind in the North and East who do not know of the Lupercal. You as a gifted healer with a great warrior by your side will be what our hidden kingdom needs.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I doubt Radulf is this great warrior that my father thinks he is.” “It will take a learned wolf maiden such as yourself to make Radulf a worthy leader.” Emelisse folded her arms over her chest and sighed. “Like my father, he too will treat me like some delicate vase, a weak human who cannot be allowed to ride, hunt or even mingle with my kind.” Since the death of Elinor, her father had been overprotective in every way. Her early childhood heart flutters and constant visits from healers, many of them human, made him even more over protective to the point of suffocating her. Every pack knew of her as the wolf maiden with the frail heart, born too early and always to be coddled. A runt allowed to live. She defiantly enjoyed playing like a boy, getting muddied and riding hard while hunting with her falcon. In her father’s absence while he was a mercenary for hire, Isabelle had taught her riding, falconry and even fishing. On his return he had raged at Isabelle for risking his daughter’s life. Isabelle had countered saying that the healer and Lupercal leader, Lupa’s deep breathing practice was making her heart stronger. She could still lead a normal life. If the lycan was a true mate, Lupa said her heart would heal with Feronia’s blessings. Radulf’s real motive in claiming her was to inherit Chanteloup’s Lupercal land hold and make sure she did not live past her first son. Everyone knew of Radulf’s whore mongering. “It’s only because your father loves you so. There are many dangers out there for such a petite beauty.” “You yourself told him I was not so delicate and yet while he is around I am not allowed to ride or go off to the village fairs. I want to be with real people, my kind.” Isabelle cast her a mischievous glance. “I suppose tonight you will ride while Chanteloup and Radulf hunt under the full moon?” Her eyes widened. “How do you know?” She gave her a wry smile. “We all know. In fact, you should have seen the pride on his face when he saw you riding with such great skill. He too believes your heart is stronger. Still, he’d rather you stay close and not go near people.” “But the villagers are kind and are such great artisans. There are many my age.” “Many of our pack are your age.” “But they are not human, not one of them.” “These villagers carry bad humors that can cause you illness. Look at what happened to your mother. She had been away at a human Duke’s court when she caught the illness from the duchess.” Her voice turned sad. “Dear Elinor.” Emelisse took her hand in hers. “I remember how my mother took me to the village and let me play with other children.” Her mother never left her 26

Eva Gordon side during her first years when physicians had warned of Emelisse’s rapid heartbeat that would get worse if the she became excitable. Her mother had taken great care not to let her get upset or overtly giddy. Isabelle lowered her voice to a whisper. “For the sake of his life, stay away from the young woodsman.” She kept her trysts with Galien a secret but it was impossible to keep it from Isabelle’s prying eyes and nose. “He is just a friend, nothing more.” In her heart she knew that their love had grown and though he was a peasant and she an aristocrat this was the least of their worries. No man would dare court the wolf maiden daughter of an alpha male. One of the lycan chambermaids knocked lightly on the door. “My ladies, Duke Chanteloup awaits.” Emelisse rolled her eyes up and followed Isabelle out. Chanteloup guided her in by holding her hand high in the air. “There you are daughter, join us. We feast before tonight’s shift.” Radulf stepped forward in his fine dark hauberk, the long tunic of chain mail. His sword belt and fine bejeweled sword inherited by his sire, Radulf the Second made him look ready for battle. His father had helped King Charlemagne behead four thousand pagans. She gave him a polite bow. He took her hand in his and kissed it. “My lady, Emelisse, you grow more beautiful with each sunrise.” She could not say the same about him and tried to keep distain from voice. “Welcome to Castle Chanteloup.” He was white as parchment and his banged silver hair attempted a boyish look on a scarred face and large frame. She could overlook his less than appealing appearance if his heart was not so cruel and cold. His deep blue eyes had a darkened look about them. Eyes not to be trusted. Even his white furred wolf body had made her weary with his blood red dagger markings on his chest. He hooked her arm in his and together they walked to the long table lined with a fine feast - goose, boar meat and fine breads and puddings, wine and ale a ‘plenty. They sat adjacent to her father and Isabelle. About fifty lycans, most from her father’s pack and the others from Radulf’s, mingled. Musicians played music and servants attended to their every need. Radulf drank and boasted of all the riches and the heads of his enemies he had buried on his territory. He grinned at Emelisse but she always turned away in disgust. She only thought of Galien with his smooth hairless face and kind brown eyes. They talked of battles and loot. Lupa the leader of the Lupercal walked in. She shot her a look that told her that she too found Radulf and his ilk uncouth. In the Lupercal palace, beneath the castle that was once a Roman villa, Lupa had taught Emelisse all of the old classic knowledge, languages and the healing arts. Aristotle, Plato, Alchemy and the ways of Feronia had developed her mind enough to know that she could never love a man such as Radulf. Yet it was her destiny to be a warrior’s wolf maiden and since Radulf was the most powerful warlord she would be his. Would her father allow her to delay the claim for one more year? She could tell him she still had more to learn. She and Lupa were so close to creating a potion that would cure and prevent hydrophobia, the frenzy disease that caused wolves and other animals to lose their mind and attack in a frenzied rage before tormented death. Lupa 27

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf had kept infected animals in her alchemy lab and hoped that soon they would begin attempting the healing procedure. Feronia herself had told her in a dream that she would someday send her the preventive cure as a gift to her most treasured wolf maiden. She knew naught why she was so favored by Feronia but accepted it with graciousness and devotion. Radulf stood and lifted his goblet. “Duke Chanteloup and I have come to an agreement.” He gazed at Emelisse. Her heart sank in despair. No. Please, do not make the claim. “Today before the full moon of May Day and before our packs I claim Emelisse, daughter of Duke Chanteloup of the Pyrenees Pack as my wolf maiden.” Chanteloup and Radulf clicked their wine goblets and the crowd cheered and toasted the betrothal between alpha lycan and human wolf maiden. Emelisse stood up despite Isabelle’s warning look. She felt the heat of her temper on her face, which to the party may appear like the flushing red of a young bride. Everyone turned to listen to what they thought would be words of doting love. “I do not wish to be claimed by Radulf the Third now or ever!” Her words brought the raucous hall into silence. No wolf maiden could reject the claim of an alpha male, especially one as powerful as Radulf. His face flushed red with anger or embarrassment or perchance both. He threw his goblet across the room, its contents spilled like blood across a tapestry. A growl came from his throat before speaking. “I have claimed you and you are mine, whether it pleases you or not.” “I will not be your breeder!” She felt a sharp pain in her heart and she wavered. Isabelle took her in her arms and guided her back to her chair. “Emelisse,” her father called. “Get her some water!” Servants appeared with flagons of water. Lupa ran to her and listened to her heart. She took something out of a vial. “Drink it.” Emelisse did as she was told. It was the pleasant tasting concoction that calmed her. “Look at me, breath slow.” Lupa held her by her shoulders. Her father turned to Radulf and bore his fangs at him. “You know of her frail heart!” Radulf held his fury at bay and bowed in acquiescence to the senior alpha. Chanteloup approached Emelisse who was now breathing normally, his eyes were ablaze with anger. “You will not shame me before our packs.” He gentled his tone. “If you wish to work on your hydrophobia potion then your alpha mate will give you more time.” She glanced at Radulf, who was breathing deeply so as to hold in his bottled rage. She bowed at her father. “Dear father, forgive me. A year to work on my studies and potion is all I ask.” She glared at Radulf. “Understand that I wish to ride, hunt with my falcons and walk among my own people for as long as I live.” Radulf emitted a low growl. “No wolf maiden of mine will do such things.” He pointed his finger at her. “Humans are weak and you especially so, my lady. You will have your own physician and will not be allowed to 28

Eva Gordon leave my castle grounds. Lest your heart grow weak as we all witnessed this very night.” She fought tears and looked at Chanteloup. “Father, I beg you. Do not let me go with this dominant oppressor.” Yet what she was asking was a bloody battle between packs. Once an alpha was welcomed by the father and made his claim, breaking the promise meant grounds for war. “Emelisse, we will discuss waiting for a year. It is for your own good to take such an influential knight as a mate.” “I will not be a dove in a gilded cage!” She stomped off. Isabelle called out. “Wait.” Her father held her back. “Let her get a breath of fresh air.” Emelisse held her dress high so as not to stumble and ran through the linked halls of the massive stone and wood castle. She dashed out the courtyard to where a vast garden stood. Looking around fugitively she continued and entered the mew next to the stable. Trying to keep the falcons and her female merlin, Alglaia, quiet she closed the door to the outside noise. Her boyish riding leather breeches and deer hide cap were folded below the mew jesses and leather hoods. She dressed quickly. Teary eyed she approached her merlin. “Farewell, my sweet Alglaia.” The raptor chirped and cocked her head in question. Before she had a change of heart she left for the stable. Soon the lycans would become wolves under the influence of the full moon and stay with their alpha leaders. The alpha would insure that no werewolf left to cause havoc amongst the livestock and people of the surrounding countryside. Only the alphas had human awareness and it was up to them to control their lycan pack. Tonight Isabelle would join them in their rituals and hunt. T’would be her only chance to meet with Galien at the secret well where he had told her there would be a May Day fest with food, mead and dancing. She had to convince him to take her away, perhaps as far as Paris or to her mother’s family in Aquitaine. She saddled her small dabbled gray mare and rode down the winding trail away from the castle that rested on the high mountain peak. The night was warm and she turned once to make sure she was not followed. A wolf could stalk her without her ever knowing but tonight it was to be a special hunt. Radulf would bring down the prey and offer it to her father for his daughter’s hand. She was to meet them later to accept his claim, but by then she would be gone. Her poor father, she had not even left him a note. She would write later. She loved him and Isabelle but she could not bear to be Radulf’s wolf maiden. And worse, she had missed her menses flow. How would she tell them that she carried a human’s child? She had no choice but to run and finally be a free normal woman. The festive music of fife, drums and chanting drew her near. She dismounted and peered from behind the tree. People wore highly decorative masks of animals of the wood and danced around the magic well from the old religion. It reminded her of the lycan rituals of spring. Then she spotted Galien. He wore a horned mask replica of a stag. She whistled and remained hidden. 29

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf He turned and saw her. He broke away from the circle, took off his mask and beamed. He followed her into a dense thicket; their trysts were always clandestine. “Emelisse, welcome.” They embraced and he met her lips with a kiss. He was lean and had a boyish look, making him look no older than eighteen, her age. Her voice spoke of urgency. “Please, Galien. I’m here to leave with you.” He frowned. “But your father?” She bit her lip and sighed. “I’m with child.” He gaped. “How do you…?” “I missed my monthly.” “But we only bedded once. Perhaps t’is nothing.” “My mare was bred to my father’s stallion but once. Besides, the smell of ale makes me retch.” He raised an eyebrow; his warm kind eyes looked bewildered. She threw her arms in despair. “I just know.” He smiled down at her. “I shall go to your father and do the honorable thing.” “Nay! He will kill you.” “My father is a woodsman, t’is true but I did learn to read. I can become a squire.” He was so innocent. She closed her eyes in anguish. Her father was determined she marry the strongest alpha lycan with a title and land. It had been her destiny to mate with the most powerful lycan warrior. To marry a mere human man would be the worst abomination. She dragged him deep into the wood away from the merry making. “We must leave now. We can go by the coast and head as far away as possible.” “I can’t just leave my home, not without a word to my parents.” “Don’t you realize if we stay you are just as good dead?” “Duke Chanteloup is a fair lord, he has never harmed any of us.” She held a fist to her head. “Sir Radulf the Third has proposed marriage and my father says it is a worthy match.” He paled. The cruel knight’s reputation had reached the entire kingdom. “I see.” She grabbed and held his hands to her heart. It was beating rapidly, like a sparrow. “Do you want me to bed this brutal man? By morning it will be too late.” She had never told Galien of her frail heart and never would. This knowledge would frighten him from taking her away from the safety of the manor. “Fair Emelisse, I love you, but to leave in such haste. It will be better if we approach Duke Chanteloup.” She lifted her chin up. “Very well, then I shall leave alone.” At least that way Galien would not be harmed. He frowned. “Nay. A woman alone in the woods with bandits and packs of ravenous wolves.” She could not tell him that wolves even normal ones would never harm a wolf maiden, but bandits would present danger. “I rather face such perils than have my father and Radulf kill you.” She wiped a tear and turned away. “Go back to your festivities then.” 30

Eva Gordon He grabbed her arm. “Shall we ride or walk?” She sighed in relief. “I will release my mare and they will think I fell and perhaps died from being thrown down a precipice.” She frowned briefly. “I threw my cloak from up there,” she pointed. “But with no body, your father will not believe you dead, but a victim of some folly.” She ignored his point and continued deeper into the woods with him in tow. They walked until they reached a creek and they both fell to the ground and drank the sweet mountain water. She had packed only enough provisions for a day. She should have brought Alglaia, the merlin, to hunt game. She was nauseous and the thought of food made her queasy. Galien was making a lure and perhaps by early morning they would have trapped a hare. Galien set the lure and gathered her in his arms. “Even dressed as a lad you fool no one with your beauty.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Are we close to another village?” “On the other side of those hills there is small manor with a few farmer dwellings.” “Good.” Her father would not send his lycans out to local villages during the full moon. Galien threw his cloak on the ground in a secluded area hidden behind two boulders. “We need to sleep until sunrise.” She wanted to protest, but knew he was right. She felt a cramp on her side and worried. She had to take care for the sake of the child. If Radulf found out as the alpha male had the right to kill any child that was not his. They spooned against each other. They had made love but once. Would the second time hurt as much? She had been told only the first time would hurt but she doubted it and was happy to just be next to him. They fell asleep under the bright moonlight. In the darkness Galien whispered in Emelisse’s ear. “Something is out there.” Groggy but fully aware of sudden danger she opened her eyes. They both sat up. A chill of panic nearly caused her to faint. The distinctive low growl from beyond the thicket was familiar. Breathing heavily she knew. “Radulf!” Galien stared, part in awe and in part terror. He grabbed his sword. Under his breath he uttered. “No, it is not Radulf the Cruel, but a big white wolf. Look at those markings.” Emelisse saw the white wolf’s piercing eyes of pure rage. It was the look that Radulf gave his subordinates and those that did not please him. Snarling, its massive form stalked. He would rip poor Galien apart. Emelisse stood protectively in front of Galien. “I’m begging you…” Galien pulled her back. “Stand behind me.” It leapt. She shouted. “Radulf. NO!”

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Chapter 3 Radulf ripped Galien’s throat and guts out and then dragged his entrails in triumph. Emelisse’s scream echoed through the forest. Her father attacked the bloodied white wolf and they fought until Radulf snapped out of his blood lust. Chanteloup’s pack faced off Radulf’s and Isabelle rushed over to Emelisse as she wept over Galien’s lifeless body. His kind brown eyes stared at her as if reaching for her. Before both packs began a blood feud, Chanteloup and Radulf shifted to their human form, both panting. In shock she listened to her father’s words. Though smaller Chanteloup grabbed Galien’s sword and held it to the stronger warrior’s throat. “You killed my peasant on my territory. I have every right to kill you!” Radulf gritted his teeth and glared at Emelisse. “He defiled her. I have claimed her, t’is my right.” Emelisse took out her small bejeweled knife and rushed at him. “Murderer!” Isabelle who had shifted earlier seized her by her arms and held them in a tight grip. “Shhh. Calm down. Your heart.” Tears stung her eyes. “Let me go. I hate all of you! I want to live with my kind!” Her heart ached but she ignored it, she was skilled in hiding the pain. Better to die of a broken heart than to be married to a monster. Radulf tried to soften his voice and stared at her with pleading eyes. Chanteloup had not lessened his hold on the sword that grazed his pale hairy throat. “Please, Emelisse. You are my wolf maiden. What I did was defend your honor against an insubordinate man.” Though she fought dizziness, she scoffed at him. “I’m no longer a maiden.” She noted his lip twist. He had bragged about marrying a virgin of noble birth. Perhaps he would release her. All that mattered was that she would have Galien’s babe, a fact she would have to hide from him. Radulf growled. “I will still take you even if you slept with half the kingdom and are nothing but a runt!” Chanteloup sliced him with his blade, not enough to kill but enough to draw blood in warning. “You will never show disrespect toward my daughter.” He growled low and fuming. “Never say the word runt!” Radulf spoke in a raspy voice. “I beg your forgiveness, t’is the moon’s influence.” He glanced to Emelisse. “Accept my apologies my fair lady.” Emelisse glowered back at him silently. Chanteloup released him. “You will make payment for the boy’s death.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Radulf bowed a nod, his eyes lowered. “Name it, milord.” “Silver coin for his parents and a bull.” He glanced at Emelisse before answering. “Silver coin and three cows and a bull, milord.” He shifted back to his wolf form snarled at the prone body and with his pack headed back toward Castle Chanteloup. Emelisse struggled against Isabelle’s hold and spat out. “Galien can not be replaced by silver and livestock! He was a man and what Radulf did was murder in cold blood.” “He had a sword,” protested her father. “He was defenseless against your kind.” “Our kind,” corrected her father. “Not my kind.” She glared at Chanteloup. “If you force me to be claimed, I will hate you with every breath in my body until my last.” Her shoulders shook and she wept. Isabelle took her in her arms and gently rocked her as she had when she was a child. “It will be alright my dear Emelisse.” “Come, let us take you home. Lupa will check your heart. I will see to it that the boy is given a proper burial.” He reached for her. She flinched. “Don’t touch me! Don’t ever call me daughter.” She saw the hurt on his face but it didn’t matter. She did not want to be the child of a werewolf, never to mingle amongst her own kind. He opened his mouth to say something but Isabelle shook her head and he stopped. “Milord, I will take her to the Lupercal for needed rest and seclusion.” Isabelle wrapped her in Galien’s discarded cloak and together they walked back. It had been a week since she witnessed Galien’s brutal murder and with each day she became more despondent. She remained in seclusion in her private bower within the underground villa of the Lupercal. She was ordered to stay in bed in order to calm her heart. Lupa had coaxed her to eat and to drink herbal teas to ease her nausea. There was no hiding the truth that she was with child. Lupa knew. She finished her tea and touched her belly in concern. For the last two days she had been spotting. Lupa said it was not that unusual to bleed a bit, but she still fretted. She was rehearsing what to tell her father. He had just summoned her to meet with him and her wolf mother Isabelle in the Lupercal library. The vast chamber of great works was Emelisse’s favorite place on the vast estate. She frowned as she left her room. To think that all this would someday belong to Radulf the Cruel. She was relieved to learn that Radulf had gone to the upper Seine to fight pirating raiders known as Vikings. She had heard of the Northmen’s savagery and her only hope was that Radulf would be cut in two by a Viking battle-ax. Yet, not even such fierce men could defeat a lycan, especially one as powerful as Radulf. She entered the library. Her drab dark blue and gray linen gown spoke of her grief. Her colors had always been bright reds, greens and royal purple. Her father stood holding a goblet of wine. “Isabelle, pour a glass for Emelisse.” Isabelle reached for the flagon that Lupa had brought in with a tray of glasses and pastries. 34

Eva Gordon “No thank you. I have no taste for the fruit of the vine.” The aroma of wine was enough to set off her delicate stomach. She cast him an angry look. Her voice was bitter.” Are you here to fetch your brood mare for the alpha champion?” He glared back at her. “You’re my daughter, not a breeder.” He tried to reach for her but she stepped back. “I loved your mother and her death took part of my soul. I can’t explain to you what it means to love a wolf maiden.” He smiled sheepishly at Isabelle who returned a wane smile. “After her death, I tried to die in battle but I always survived. Isabelle reminded me of my dear daughter who needed her father. Isabelle raised you like her child and her heart saved me from despair. But know this, if my death meant returning Elinor to the living to be with you, I swear I would do it. That is what the love of a wolf maiden is like.” “If my mother were alive, she would never force me to marry an alpha I despise.” Lupa in her long silver cloak set her glass down. “She’s right. A love connection must be made. That is what separates us from human nobles who marry for title.” “My lady, times are difficult and it is Emelisse’s destiny to be the life mate of a great lycan warrior.” Lupa waived a hand dismissively. “Feronia is not pleased with Radulf’s disregard for humans.” Chanteloup sighed. “T’is the job of a wolf maiden to tame the alpha with tender love.” Isabelle put in a word in Emelisse’s favor. “Milord, did not the prophecy say t’would be Emelisse who would choose her alpha?” He glanced at Isabelle then at Lupa, both prepared to argue. Emelisse was pleased. Alpha women were the defenders of their human sisters. He drained his wine and smacked his mouth. “The claim was made and accepted. Short of war there is no good way to stop this betrothal.” Lupa came over and put her arm over Emelisse. “Tell him child.” Chanteloup and Isabelle raised their eyebrows in equal bewilderment. She was glad to have Lupa’s protective hold on her. As head of the Lupercal she had authority over the packs. She didn’t know how to start, what to say. T’would not be easy. “Father, stepmother, I am with child.” Chanteloup’s roar boomed like thunder. “What?” Lupa glared at him. “Calm down milord, she is frightened.” Isabelle’s face grew pallid. “Galien’s child?” Emelisse calmed her heart and boldly spoke. “Of course his child. I slept with him but only once. Even the last night together we only cuddled. He was kind and caring. He wanted to ask my hand in marriage.” “Which I would have denied even if you carried an entire litter!” He squeezed his skull with his two brawny hands. He looked wounded. “Radulf will kill your child, my grandchild.” She stuck a defiant chin up. “You would love a bastard human as a grandchild?” He took a breath and spoke calmly. He glanced at her flat belly. “Your child would never be a bastard in my eyes. You may even carry a wolf 35

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf maiden.” He looked at her with tender fatherly eyes. “No matter, the child must be allowed to live.” Her heart melted. “Oh father.” She reached for him and he embraced her as she wept. He would protect her no matter the consequence. Earlier that day Lupa had confided to her that her father had allowed her to live after her birth although she had been a runt and expected to die. He had well known physicians from various parts of the kingdom and invited them to come and check on her progress. Her first birthday was celebrated like a major holiday. She had learned to control her heart’s palpitations and, though not as tall as her mother, she did not look like a runt. Everyone had spoken of her beauty and keen intelligence. Lupa spoke. “T’is best to send her away until the child is born. Our Lupercii priest Hugues has a Lupercii younger brother who is a monk in an isolated monastery, Lapurdum Abbey along the coast.” The Lupercii humans served the lycan society and Lupercal since ancient times. Hugues was a knight in Chanteloup’s service. They penetrated all levels of human society. “Hugues can escort her where the monastery stands alone and she can remain there in seclusion. I will visit her each month and will remain with her during her last few months of pregnancy. Abbot Isore, who does not know of our kind is greedy for wealth. He will hide her for gold and silver.” Emelisse wiped her tears with her sleeve. “And what about the child once it’s born?” Lupa did not mince words. “I will see to it that it is raised by a good Lupercii family.” Chanteloup nodded. “I will tell Radulf that she will attend court to be with her kind for a year. This will also give her time to perfect her healing skills and potions. He will not argue with such a compromise. That would be the best solution since he visits far too often and unannounced.” Sigurd took off his helmet and wiped his wet brow. After two years on board Ludin’s drakkor, Thor’s Hammer, he had become the most feared of all the Vikings on board. The men of Thor’s Hammer were fierce warriors with battle in their blood, but it was Sigurd, who was the true wolf berserker. Though it had not been necessary he wore the leather and chain mail of the raider. He was the first to leap off the long ship, battle-ax in hand slaying as many of the enemy as possible. His growls and fangs never remained hidden during battle, which earned him the name Red Wolf, by the Saxons of Northumbria never knowing that in reality he was a wolf man. Only Captain Ludin knew the truth and often dropped Sigurd off shore so he could hunt as a wolf. The other men knew better than to insult him. He did not befriend any of the crew. They died so easily anyway, why bother with names and small talk. Sigurd had told them that anyone who annoyed him with chatter would end up in the sea as fish food. The taunting about his red hair that occurred during the first weeks aboard ended with the death of three powerful warriors. Sigurd was broader and taller with thick muscle on his frame and wild red hair that made him seem even fiercer as it trailed behind him like a flame while charging into battle. He was hardened and had only one goal - to kill Bork the Mad and his son. Soon he would have his chance. They were nearing the coast of the Frankish Kingdom where Bork 36

Eva Gordon and his berserkers had terrorized the entire land, from sea to rivers. Berserkers killed with bloodlust. They murdered men, women and children, not bothering with slaves like most raiders, nor bothering to bargain for the release of prized captives. They especially loved killing the black clothed monks of the monasteries that dotted the coast and countryside with their ready treasures. Sigurd had cared less about the politics of humans, but could never stomach the deaths of helpless women and children. He would serve the world well by killing Bork the Mad and his son Mord. He felt for his broad sword which he named Brynhild, after his sister. She had always loved human children and had often been seen guiding them back to their homesteads when they had wondered too far into the forest. T’would be the sword bearing her name that would taste Bork’s blood. The jarl, Ludin patted him on the shoulder. “Are you sure you wish to disembark here?” Sigurd looked out from the ship’s dragon prow that he had carved out for Ludin’s ship, Thor’s Hammer. The misty fog covered swampland and Sigurd nodded. Along the shore there was a Viking encampment where he would purchase a horse and tack. Bald and scarred Ludin, old enough to have been his father laughed. “If anyone can kill Bork it will be you son of the wolf lord, Fenris.” All of Sigurd’s kind were descendants of Fenris and the first ulf hexen. “His head will roll, and I will kill many more before I reach the gates of Valhalla.” “The other jarls will not be pleased if you kill their best berserkers.” Ludin narrowed his eyes. “You will be lucky if they don’t recognize you. I have heard that bear men can detect the children of Fenris.” Sigurd wore the bracelet that Hungerd had made him to hide his wolf identity from the bearskins, but it would not hide his resemblance to his father. Still, it had been over ten years since Bork and his son, Mord had seen the son of Gunnolf. Would they recognize him? He had not had a real plan. He would try to get close to Bork and draw his sword. Bork the Mad would either laugh or challenge. He dreamt how he would call out his father’s name as he charged the big bear man. He was willing to fight him as a man or as a beast. Every warrior he had slain with his sword, Brynhild, or his battle-ax was practice for the final battle with Bork, the bearskin who wore his father’s pelt. Mord, his cruel son, would be next in line to be sent to his death. This time he would take more than Mord’s hand. He heard that Mord wore a bear claw on his missing hand and that it was feared more than his battle-ax. The drakkor landed along the beach and the men of Thor’s Hammer jumped out to join their brethren in a temporary mead hall. Sigurd would not miss the sea with the squalls and salty air; it was not a wolf’s domain. He had missed the feel of earth and loam beneath his pawed feet. He would not miss the men who had raided villages and left nothing but burnt homes, the scent of death in the air and the gathering gloom of the captured who would live out their days as thralls. Bork and his son traveled on separate ships and he would have to seek out each separately. The good news was that they were always in the same area and rendezvoused often. His first priority was to kill Bork and take back his father’s pelt. Mord’s death could come later. If he 37

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf survived killing Bork the Mad and his son he would seek out his kind and fight to join a pack. Had Hungerd been right? Was it his destiny to find a pack, land and the dark haired beauty she had seen in her visions? Bah, the last thing he needed was a noble lady demanding fine manners and riches. He walked along the beach away from the din of drunken men and brawls. “Sigurd!” called Ludin. He turned and twisted a slight grin. “You cannot convince me to stay.” He shook his head. “T’is most true. A wolf belongs in the forest with his pack.” He handed him a bag of coin. “Buy a fine mount and if the gods favor you, find soil for yourself and a woman who screams your name beneath you.” His voice grew serious. “Soon we will send off for our own families and we will trade the sword for farming. No more harsh winters and frozen crops.” He gripped his shoulder tight. “If you change your mind, we will be sailing this coast till autumn.” Sigurd arched an eyebrow. Never had he seen Ludin act so sentimental and wise. He could not imagine Ludin overseeing a farm. Still, the jarl had been away from his family for too long and had grown weary of battle and blood on his mail. They would be heading up river for a few more battles before returning to their home with one more catch of goods and slaves. He felt the weight of the heavy bag. Though he had been the best warrior, he had always taken the least amount of loot. “Thank you.” The two men held each other by the arm. “If the gods favor me then I will seek out my brethren.” “Come back to the camp for a warm meal and drink. I know a reputable horse trader.” “Very well.” He wished his sister were by his side, she knew best how to relate to these humans. He could barely tolerate living amid them over the last two years. Their raucous laughter hurt his sensitive ears and their foul stench bothered his highly attuned sense of smell. If he survived killing his bearskin enemy he would never again have to socialize with humans. He looked forward to once again being a lone wolf.

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Chapter 4 Emelisse watched as Hugues and her father’s escort of fine lycan warriors rode off back towards her home at Chanteloup Castle. They crossed the mote and the small bridge was lowered. Lapurdum Abby was behind a high wall, isolated from all. It lay in a rugged area near the seashore. She would miss Isabelle, her father and her maids. If any of her maids had been human she would have been allowed to bring them along to attend her. Instead Prior Julien, Hugues’s brother and secret Lupercii was the only one who knew of the secret lycan society. Abbott Isore, the second son of a noble family who craved for power took a great amount of gold from Chanteloup for the favor of allowing Emelisse to stay in a guesthouse during her isolation. Lupa would be sent prior to the birth of her child. The gates closed and for the first time she felt both free from the lycans and imprisoned by the new confinement. Loneliness weighed heavily on her heart. A hawk flew and screamed as it soared in the cloudless sky. So free. She envied it and yet if she could get away, where would she and her child go? She had never known a day without comfort and servants at her beck and call. Everyone tended to her as if her heart would fail at any moment. She had never felt stronger and becoming a mother would give her purpose. Somehow she would raise Galien’s child, even if it meant running away and never seeing her father or her beloved wolf mother Isabelle again. Father Julien ordered the two monks standing behind him to bring her personal items to her guest room. When they left he smiled. “I promised your father as my liege lord that I will see to it that you are well cared for.” He whispered. “Blessed Feronia.” She sighed. “Blessed Feronia.” She stared at the Lupercii dressed in his dark habit; his hair was shaved except for a narrow strip around the head, he wore a large wooden cross around his neck. The Lupercal felt it was important that Lupercii men infiltrate all human institutions. Father Julien was such a human, loyal to the lycan society. What would happen to him if his true religion was ever discovered? The church was not kind to heretics. A brutal death would certainly follow a confession. With her father’s help he had become Prior, only the Abbot had more authority. She was to be introduced to the Abbot, Father Isore on the morrow. “Come, you will enjoy the guest house. There is a vegetable garden to the side and a view of the ocean from your window. On orders from Hugues, Father Isore has allowed it to resemble your bower.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She felt a cramp and grimaced. “Oww.” Her hand flew to her belly. Father Julien took her arm. “Dear child, are you in pain. Is it your heart?” She shook her head. The pain passed and she felt a warm wetness. She was losing the child. Dear Feronia, I can’t lose the babe, tis the only part of Galien left from our love. Still, she would not go back home. Not to be wedded to Radulf, the murderer of poor Galien. “T’is nothing. The ride was rough. I just need rest.” He draped his arm around her and helped guide her to her new home. “You look pale, let me pour you some watered wine.” She sat on a cushioned chair and took the cup. “Thank you, I just need to sleep.” She wanted him to leave. Her flow was beginning to come in waves. “I can send someone with some soup and bread.” She bit her lip and twisted a smile as she cramped. “No. Please, I just want to be alone for now.” The pain was starting to become intense. How long could she pretend nothing was wrong? Her heart was fluttering as well and pain began to radiate from her chest. Perchance it was breaking from sorrow. Father Julien reluctantly agreed. “After morning prayers I will check on you.” He smiled and left. As soon as she was alone her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, agony coursed through her like a hot sword. She sobbed. “Dear Galien, I’m losing our child.” After the wave of pain passed she managed to reach her bed and lay in a fetal position. Holding her pillow, she bit into it as the flow of blood and tissue escaped her body. Her screams were muffled in the pillow. It did not matter if she died along with her baby. She was a mere runt in a pack of super strong lycans and had always been meant for death. The next few days, Father Julien had respected her wishes to remain alone and had convinced Abbot Isore to wait and visit her after Sunday Mass. Her need to adjust and rest from the long ordeal was the reason given. A local peasant girl had been brought in to attend to her. Marie was kind and kept quiet about the blood stained linens. The young woman who was perhaps three or more years younger than her, only a child, was compliant. She had obeyed Emelisse and had the rags buried beyond the gardens. Her flow was starting to become light and her earlier nausea was gone. She longed to wash herself from the filth of travel and the blood stains. She had heard about underground hot springs that had been used by the Romans as baths long ago. Lapurdum Abbey had once been a Roman base. The baths were beneath the lavatorium, where the monks washed their hands. Marie lit a torch at the entrance and guided her. “This way, my lady.” She followed her down the spiral steps beneath the lavatorium and it reminded her of the baths at the Lupercal villa. The underground cave was cold, yet hot steam emanated from the pool. The warmth was beckoning. There were steps that led to a shallow end of the pool. “This is exactly what I need. If you don’t mind, I’d rather bathe myself.” Marie shot her a frightened look. “But…” 40

Eva Gordon “Leave the rags for drying and cleaning cosmetics and oils. I will be fine.” Marie did as she was told and left a change of clothes and combs as well. Emelisse sighed. Alone. She disrobed down to her shift and felt the water with her toe. It was deliciously hot. The shift fell from her body. She glanced down at the mark of the wolf, a special birthmark on her left hip that made her the property of an alpha lycan. She rubbed it with an oiled rag, hoping it would disappear and she could be just a normal woman. Though it was silent and the only light the torch on the wall, she looked around fugitively. Her wolf maiden sense said that she was being watched. Her heart began to pound in warning. She scrutinized every corner and shadow in the dank cave. Satisfied that it was only her imagination, she stepped in and soaked. The bath would help heal her loss and make the flow stop for a spell. She lathered her body with oil and used a special comb to clean scrape off dirt and sweat. She washed her hair with a special cosmetic of herbs. She smelled of spring and flowers. The scent of death and despair slowly dissipated. She dipped her head all the way in and swam to the deep end. On reaching the other side she once again had the feeling she was not alone. She held on to the edge and flicked her hair away from her face. “Marie, is that you?” Her question was only met with silence. There were no shadows. Perchance, after being brought up by the wolves with their keen senses she had never learned to relax as a human. She leisurely swam to the steps and soaked until her fingers looked like wrinkled prunes. She reluctantly stepped out and dried herself. Her appetite back she dressed in a simple but fine lavender linen and brown cloak to take a walk to the kitchen. Marie was upstairs, waiting by the door. “I will comb your hair in the warm courtyard my lady.” Emelisse followed her outside into the courtyard where the warm summer sun would help dry her long wavy raven hair. After removing the tangles Marie combed it out until it felt like silk. She turned to her maid. “I shall eat in the dining area.” “Yes, my lady.” Marie left her and went into the kitchen to alert the cooks. Emelisse placed a hand on her empty womb. Mayhap Galien wanted their child to spend eternity with him until she too would join them upon death? Marie interrupted her thoughts. “My lady, Father Isore wishes to dine with you in his private terrace.” Emelisse raised a worried brow. She had not been expecting to meet the Abbott in such a casual manner. Father Julien had told her she would not have to meet him until later. “Will Father Julien be there?” “I’m not sure mistress.” She had not seen Father Julien for days and wondered if he had traveled. Yet, according to Hugues, his brother’s only job was to keep an eye on her. Mayhap, the Abbott sent him on an errand? She sighed. “Very well.” She was not ready for chatting or small talk about the church. She had learned all the proper prayers but wore her crescent moon necklace in honor of the moon 41

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Goddess, Lusna, not the cross she had been told to wear. She hid her pagan charm beneath her gown. Marie escorted her to a separate dining area where the Abbott waited. He was tall and thin, and what little hair he had was blond. His light blue eyes were narrow and gave him a shifty appearance. The cross that hung around his neck was gold and matched the ruby stoned gold ring on his finger. He was indeed from a rich noble family. The tapestry and fine silver bowls and goblets did not reflect that he had taken a vow of poverty. He was the second son of a rich duke and his lot in life had been to enter the monastic order. The way he gazed at her hinted that he had not taken the vow of celibacy seriously. There had been rumors that he had fathered several children. She curtsied demurely. “Father Isore.” He gestured toward a chair. “Sit, my child.” “Will Father Julien be joining us?” “He will return in a few days.” He cast Marie a darkened look. “You may go.” Marie gave him a submissive nod and a quick look at Emelisse before leaving. The maid’s eyes spoke of concern but of what? Her father would never allow her to be alone with a man without an attending lady. Then again, he was an Abbot of the Church. A man of God, a man to be trusted. Rumors aside, he would not risk his reputation and rich payment to dishonor the daughter of a powerful duke with close ties to the King. He poured her some wine. “You are lucky your father has not demanded more penitence from a child who… is about to have a bastard.” He paused as if he was aware she was no longer with child. She felt her face flush with heat. How dare he refer to the child which was no more as a bastard? “My father has paid you well sir to stay at the guest house, nothing more.” His laugh had a sinister bent to it. “He has indeed. Still, there are rumors that his castle in the mountains is not a place of God. The village that surrounds Castle Chanteloup is home to peasants who worship pagan gods and the devil.” “Not true. They are Christians who on occasion follow the old ways out of habit.” He raised an eyebrow. “So you agree, they do practice dark magic?” “Nay, t’was not what I meant. Folkways are part of a people’s ancestral home not their belief.” She felt protective of Galien’s kin. “It’s no wonder that you fornicated with a pagan boy. Such a sin can only be washed away with utmost care.” He cast a seductive grin. “I can help you save your soul.” Fury ran through her. The way his eyes darted to her bosom and watched her lips as she spoke made her feel like he had more in mind than hearing her a mere confession and saving her soul from eternal damnation. “I assure you, Father Julien has agreed to listen to my confessions.” A monk stepped in and placed a cooked rabbit, bread and puddings on the table. She shivered in relief not to be alone with Father Isore. She just wanted to return to her chambers despite her hunger. Isore smiled at the young monk. “That will be all.” 42

Eva Gordon Once again, she was alone with the man she found despicable. She took a piece of the loaf, buttered it and chewed pensively. She could not, would not return to Chanteloup Castle where she would be forced to marry Radulf, who in her eyes would always be the murderer of her true love. If she went to a far off city, how would she live? She knew the healing art of mixing potions and had helped deliver two infants. There was also the option of taking her Church vows and becoming a nun. She could secretly still commune with Feronia. Both options would not matter to Radulf. He would find her and take her. Trapped. “You are most quiet. What troubles you my child?” “I miss the father of my child.” “Yes, I heard about his fall down the cliff. It was his punishment for taking your maidenhood.” She wanted to protest but it was best to let him think he died in a tragic accident rather than being torn asunder by a maddened werewolf. She would take her family’s secret lycan society to the grave. “Love is not a sin.” His eyes darkened in rage and pointed a piece of flesh at her. “Women are carnal temptresses and you my dear are endeavoring to tempt me with those dark witch eyes of yours.” He held his cross and pointed at her chair. “You have the devil’s mark on your hip.” Her eyes widened. It all made sense. It must have been him in the shadows. “You were the one who spied on me as I bathed!” He pounded a fist on the wooden table, making her jump. “Wench! I will not succumb to temptation!” The harshness of his voice frightened her. She did not know whether to remain still or run out. She stood. “Forgive me Father Isore, but I have lost my appetite.” He grabbed her arm, bruising her, and drawing her to him stabbed her mouth with his. Beneath his habit she felt his hardness. Her heart pounded loudly against her chest. She was too shocked to react, but then she had enough as his tongue probed her. She stomped on his sandaled foot. He jumped on one leg holding his crunched injured toes. He pushed her away. “Witch!” She strengthened her shoulders back and took a breath. “T’is you sir, that has been tempted by sin, not I. I find you disgusting.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand like it had been contaminated by dung. She wanted to spit at him, but instead turned to run out. He limped over and grabbed her hair with a strong grip. She flayed as he twisted her head back. “You are a witch with a wolf’s paw and you need to be dealt with!” He pushed her against the wall and his wine filled breath made her cringe. “Are the rumors true of a pack of loup-garou, werewolves living at Chanteloup Castle?” “There are no such things. My father is a fine duke who has paid you well and lavished great wealth to the Church of our Lord.” She was visibly shaking from the accusation. Had Father Julien betrayed her father? If so, his death would be swift. “Who told you such outlandish rumors?” “I have been suspicious of our Prior’s mysterious walks on moonlit nights. Before your arrival, I had Father Julien followed down to a cave near the seashore. There he was heard secretly praying to a pagan god. Feronia, a 43

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf demonic she creature worshipped by the pagan Romans, a deity of the loup garou.” Dread spread across her face. Nay. “Where is Father Julien?” “I sent him on an errand to our King. When he returns, we will get to the truth of his outside dealings.” “You mean to torture him?” He smiled. “We’ll be merely persuading him.” His face was close enough to touch hers. “What is so secret about your family that makes him clam up and causes fear in your eyes?” Her only concern was Hugues’s beloved brother. On his return he was to be investigated and tortured. Would he be executed? “My family has no secrets.” He reached and squeezed a breast. “You are quite enchanting.” She wanted to throw up. “Do not touch me, if you wish to live!” He moved her imprisoned hand down to his crotch. She felt his hardness throb. “See what you do to me witch!” She closed her eyes. “Nay.” She swallowed and moved her hand away. “I must return home.” He laughed. “I suppose since you lost the child for your sin, your father will accept you.” He shook his head. “You can stay with me so that I can get rid of your evil powers or stand trial. Your father and his people will also stand accused as soon as I send word to the bishop. You will all burn in eternal fire and brimstone.” So he knew about her loss. She was afraid to ask how he would make a god-fearing woman out of her. Had Father Julien learned the truth as well? Would he tell her father? Isore grabbed her chin with his long tapering fingers. “Stay with me and I will relish you with fine jewels and garments. You will live like a queen.” “You are mad!” “Nay. I am under your evil spell. I have given in. I will sign a pact with the devil if you will say that you are mine.” She did not know which was worse, that he would make her father stand trial or that he was willing to side with the devil to have carnal knowledge of her? She had to think about what to do. She drew in a breath before speaking. “I will need a few days to consider your offer of being your mistress.” He was breathing hard. “I will give you two days.” He let go of her and stepped back. “Decide, my chambers or trial.” She backed into the door and ran. Sigurd’s brought his dark steed to a walk as he approached the encampment and makeshift fort Bork’s berserkers had set up. They had welcomed killing Frank warriors who sought them out. The Franks did not stand a chance against these berserkers who had the strength of a bear and who fought without fear. The bearskin camp was set up as an area to gather as much loot as possible before heading up north for their winter sleep. While on raids Bork and his son hired other human Vikings to guard their goods and fight off any approaching enemy. He would offer his sword to the bearskins until he could kill both father and son. If he could he would get 44

Eva Gordon away, but if not he would take as many bearskins with him as possible before his honorable death and warrior’s send off to Valhalla. He stopped at the stonewall bearing the banner of the bear, dismounted and greeted the Viking men who eyed him suspiciously. The gift of his language abilities worked since the guards were Danes and fortunately, were human. “I offer my services to the great berserker, Bork the Mad.” He took out his broad sword, Brynhild and waved it menacingly. Several other human men approached. The one that appeared to be the leader of the guards gave him a toothless smile. “We shall see if you are strong enough for our jarl.” He nodded at one of three men, the one not wearing chain mail. The man with a wild brown mane was a giant with a battle-ax that still bore the bloodstain from recent battle. His head was proportionally large and he wore a wolf and bear pelt. Sigurd caught a whiff of his body odor. This was a bearskin, one of Bork’s true berserkers. The bear man snorted a laugh and set the powerful weapons on the ground and grabbed but a single spear instead. His baritone voice muttered in annoyance. “I will not waste my time with a mere mortal. Still, you look like you will taste good.” Sigurd took offence at his foe’s attitude that he would take him with a spear alone. And worse that he would be his meal. If this beast knew of his true nature he might have had more respect for a more worthy opponent. He grunted, lifted the spear with hairy well-muscled arms, and charged with a bear’s roar. Sigurd had not expected to fight a bearskin just yet but t’would be good practice for defeating Bork and Mord. He held the shield taking the full blunt thrust of the spear. Never had he fought anyone of such power and nearly lost his balance as he shifted his weight to the side. The spear was deflected and the bearskin’s momentum followed. Sigurd quickly dug in his heel onto the back of the big man’s knee and brought him down. He almost grinned to see the look on the lumbering giant’s surprised brows and low bear’s growl. He wasted no time. He took Brynhild and dug it deep into his back cutting through muscle, sinew and spine. Sigurd attempted to twist and destroy but fell back as the man shook with great force. With a moan the berserker shifted and was now a huge brown bear with Brynhild still stuck on his back. Wounded and enraged the bear stood on two legs and roared. Unlike most wolf men, bearskins could shift at any time except during the winter sleep when they remained as bears. The other men stepped away with swords, shields and spears ready, as if knowing how unpredictable bearskins were when fuming mad. Sigurd dove to where the spear lay on the ground, grabbed it and with a battle cry thrust it into the heart of the bear before it could attempt to swipe with its deadly claws. The bear roared and made a feeble attempt to reach its claws at Sigurd but instead crashed to the ground spraying wet sand and blood into the air on impact. He lay on his belly with the spear protruding out. It remained a bear. Unlike wolfskins who reverted to their human forms upon death, bearskins always became bears when taking their last breath. Panting, Sigurd reached and pulled out Brynhild and turned to the men who stood before him, their mouths agape. The heat of battle still in his 45

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf blood he was ready to dispatch anyone who dared approach. He smelled and saw fear in the eyes of these human raiders who tried to look brave as they stared at his bloodied sword. He took off his helmet and brushed back his fiery red hair. “Tell me, am I not a worthy warrior for hire?” The toothless leader looked at the others before bursting into a raucous laugh. “You killed Donnar. Hah! A slayer of bearskins, not even Bork the Mad will believe it. Come, let us share mead.” Sigurd helped guard the loot as he patiently waited for the arrival of Bork the Mad’s black long ship, The Bear Claw. He had heard that he had gone on a raid just south along the coast from where Sigurd patiently waited. His son Mord was making his way up the rivers and would not return for a while. The human Vikings that served under Bork and Mord had the privilege of sailing with them to the North near their winter lair. These humans would guard the long ships during the winter. If he could be patient perhaps t’would be better to become a loyal warrior for Bork and kill all of them while they slumbered. T’was not the way of Odin’s warriors but the way of Loki, father of Fenris. Cunning was always the victor over strength. Still how could he watch the man who murdered his parents, brother and his pack walk among the living? The man who for the last ten years wore his father’s pelt. He sat on the ground watching the waxing moon over a vast forest. He carved the figure of a bear onto a piece of driftwood, the bear he would kill. The other men lay near the fire in a drunken stupor; snoring so loud he was tempted to rip their throats out. He longed for the days of running on all fours with his sister and den brothers. Would he ever be accepted into another pack? Hungerd had said his destiny was to have a pack and an ulf hexen mate. Yet, if he could follow the bearskins north and destroy them all in their sleep would he not be performing a more heroic act for all wolfskins? He longed for the day he would join Brynhild in the halls of Valhalla.

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Chapter 5 Marie knocked on Emelisse’s door. “My lady, Father Isore wishes to see you.” Emelisse sighed. “Very well, I will meet with him shortly.” She had made her decision. In order to protect Father Julien and her lycan family she would accept Isore’s offer to be his mistress. Her father would grow suspicious and come to visit. She smiled in anticipation. Upon learning of Father Isore’s proposal her father would tear him asunder. Her strategy would keep Father Isore from notifying the King and the Pope and buy her pack time. The other monks would have to take an oath of secrecy or die. She hoped they would not be so fanatical that they would prefer death rather than keep the secret of the werewolf castle. Still, in a dream Feronia had warned her not to bed Isore. The goddess also warned her that a dragon would soon swallow the moon in warning of a long cold winter. Feronia had also frowned upon and had been saddened by her loss of maidenhood to a human, not a chosen alpha lycan. For that she had been forgiven but wondered if her punishment had been the loss of her child. Nay, Feronia loved humans as much as she did lycans. Emelisse smoothed down her ermine lined silken brown cloak over the green linen gown, her finest dress that brought out her shiny raven hair and big eyes. Her father told her that no alpha or human man could walk away from her brilliant captivating eyes. She walked out every bit the noble lady that she had been groomed to be. Marie curtsied. “You are most beautiful my lady.” Emelisse gave her a brave smile as they walked within the confines of the courtyard. The melodic voices of the monks singing, ‘Ave Maria’ and the bell reminded her of the wolf howls she heard during the blessing of Lusna, the goddess of the moon; in her kindness Lusna allowed the children of the moon to shift without the pain that would occur during the reshifting of body parts to become a wolf. She missed her wolf family, yet she did not want to return. Her mind was filled with plots and ideas. If she killed Father Isore and disappeared she would not have to face Radulf. Would Feronia approve? Would she be able to escape perhaps in the dead of night? Killing Father Isore would stop him from telling the world of their lycan society and would offer a chance to find a way to enter human society. Maybe Paris or even Rome. Anywhere but in the arms of Radulf the Cruel. She sat outside his office and waited for his return. The horses and donkeys in the stable began to snort and whinny in fright. The swine snorted

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf in their pens. Something was wrong. Though she did not have the highly attuned senses of her lycan kin she was more aware of her surroundings than the average human. Her beloved step mother Isabelle had taught her to sniff the air, watch the birds and listen to movements such as the rustle of leaves or the soft boiling of water. Nearby on the roof a small flock of ravens began to gather. The black birds were harbingers of death, of blood. Their low caws were an ominous call for a feast. Back on her estate the ravens gladly followed all hunts, sometimes locating the prey before the first wolf caught its scent. They knew where death would occur. A sudden shiver brought goose bumps on the surface of her skin despite the warm summer breeze. In the distant behind the protective walls of the monastery she heard the warning bark of the sheep dog. She turned to Marie. “We need to hide.” “But why, my lady, t’is so peaceful?” As if to convince her the bell suddenly rang loudly and a monk shouted in warning. “Northmen Raiders!” Her heart began to pound. She knew of barbaric raiding across the sea but here on this isolated monastery hidden behind the wall of a cliff far away from villages, why would they bother? Yes, there were riches, but certainly it was nothing compared to bigger more grand monasteries closer to the great cities. She grabbed Marie. “We will hide below in the baths.” Just as she was about to turn Father Isore grabbed her, twisting her arm. “You witch, the pagans are here because I have lusted for your body!” She struggled in his tight grip. Marie, at her side, began screaming hysterically as the sounds of men crossed over the deep ditch. They soon reached the unprotected walls behind the locked gate. Not one soldier was there for protection. If her father had thought there was any danger he would have sent her elsewhere or left a battalion of men to protect her. She tried to wiggle away. Isore pulled her to him, breathing hard in carnal thought rather than fear from the incoming marauders. He gazed at her cleavage and licked his lips, squeezed her arm, and bruised her tender skin. “Let go of me, these men are here seeking treasure and from what I know they will kill anyone in their path.” His eyes looked crazed. “Only our Lord Jesus can protect us.” He drew her in. “If I offer you to them, God will forgive me for my sins and save us.” She had enough. She sunk her teeth on his wrist and bit like her lycan childhood playmates had taught her. She felt his flesh rip and tasted the copper taste of his blood. “Ahh!” He let go. Holding his bleeding wrist he bellowed. “Witch!” Emelisse took Marie’s hand and ran toward the underground springs. Too late. Men wearing bear and wolfskins and yelling horrific battle cries were climbing over the wall. Some growled a low rumbling roar. For a second she caught a shadow of their true nature. Their heads were larger than normal. Bear men. She had heard about their kind, they were bestial northern enemies of lycans. Monks were running from the barbarians who slayed them like sheep with swords and battle-axes. It was mayhem. Blood rained from fleeing helpless men cut in two. Heads rolled. She froze. Running appeared to only encourage their blood lust. Marie twisted away and ran. “Marie, stay with me!” She tried to run after her but her heart fluttered. She stood and held her chest, trying to remain calm. They will not harm me. Her life was worth more 48

Eva Gordon than all they could seize. She would be used to gain a rich ransom. Her father and Radulf had enough to ransom the king himself. Her poor maid got only as far as the fountain before one of the bestial men picked her up like a sac of grain and swung her against a wall, splitting her skull open with a squishy sound that she heard over the din of screams and shouts. She covered her ears and whimpered, a sound that if a pack was nearby would have known as the distress call of a cub. She felt an arm wrap around her and she was dragged away. Isore pulled her inside the chapel. He forced her to kneel in prayer. He began blurting away about the carnal nature of woman. Nay, if she was going to die t’would be in the name of Feronia. She quickly tussled away and ran to look for a weapon. Like a cat losing his prized mouse he gave chase. “Come back and kneel to our holy lord!” She grabbed a candlestick and threatened Isore with it. She doubted she could bring down a bear man but Father Isore she would gladly do away with. The sacking of the monastery and Isore’s pending death would certainly help keep her father’s identity a secret. She was almost relieved. Soon she would join Galien in the afterlife. As she swung the candlestick at Isore, the door fell open and in walked the biggest man she had ever seen. Isore cowered as she was about to strike. She remained motionless holding the candlestick in the air. The raider was broad with thick brown furred arms that matched his full beard and furry single brow on his oversized head. Troll like. His wild shoulder length hair was deep brown and peppered with gray. He was old and grizzled with an ugly scar across his eye. He was definitely the leader and men stood behind him under his control. He glanced at Father Isore and then at her as she appeared to be defending herself from the monk’s attack. His booming laugh made her shudder. She slowly brought down her weapon. He spoke their language with a thick Northmen accent. “It appears that the little beauty wishes to help us get rid of the cowardly scum.” His men looked on and laughed. On his knees Isore shook his head and pointed an accusing finger at Emelisse. “Nay, she is a witch. The devil’s child who has caused you to punish us for our sins.” The barbarian looked intrigued. “What am I to do with a witch besides bed her?” He scoffed. He lifted his bleeding bitten wrist. “She bit me like a she-wolf! Look beneath the garments. She has the devil’s mark, the paw of the wolf.” Emelisse shot him a sharp glare. Did he not know that her father would pay for his ransom as well? “You fool. It is our kind that has protected your Frankish Christian Kingdom.” Isore, his eyes big with venom, sneered. “Take her and let me live.” The big chieftain raised an eyebrow. “The mark of the wolf?” He signaled to one of his men who approached her. She whacked him with the candlestick but it did nothing more than make him grunt in annoyance. He squeezed her wrist until she dropped it. The leader laughed. “She bites. Indeed she must be an ulf hexen. Bring her!” 49

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf As his man held her, the chieftain lifted her linen until he found the sign of the wolf on her pale left hip. He took his finger and traced a circle around it with a dirty long nail. She stood still, so as not to encourage him to dig deeper and draw blood. Isore stepped forward, with a fanatical crazed look in his eyes. “You see. She is a witch. Take her.” The chieftain smiled. “An ulf hexen. She will make an excellent captive.” Emelisse’s chest heaved rapidly like a rabbit caught in a snare. Ulf hexen, could he mean a wolf maiden in his North language? Would he use her as bait to draw lycans out for battle? A wolf maiden was the most prized possession of a pack, a woman to be protected at all cost. She cast the berserker a defiant look. “My wolf pack is more cunning than your slumbering bear kind.” Isore lifted his cross and laughed wildly. “Only a witch fornicates with wolves. And now she calls you heathens bear kind?” The chieftain dropped his sword and glared at Isore. “I am Bork the Mad, little man. I see you do not know of my greatness. Let me reveal my true skin.” He drew an indrawn breath, fell on the ground and his body shook. He groaned in agony. Unlike lycans, the transformation into a bear was a painful process. The bone cracking and sickening sound of muscle and sinew ripping was horrifying to hear and watch. A huge brown bear speckled with light gray and with the same scar across his face emerged before them. It stood on all fours. Its roar thundered. Isore backed away holding the cross in front of him as if it would protect him from the bear that snarled and displayed yellow fangs. It lumbered closer and then stood on two legs, its head near the ceiling. He looked down at Father Isore and bellowed. His foul hot breath permeated the cold chamber. With one claw it gripped Isore, holding him in the air and with the other ripped him transversally in half. Emelisse held on to her crescent moon necklace. Aghast, she felt her skin grow cold and her eyes rolled back as she fell into darkness. A Dane blew a ram’s horn at the approaching black long ship. It looked like a shadowy serpent riding the turbulent waves. Sigurd braced himself as Bork the Mad’s ship landed on the beach. Sigurd kept his scorching rage under control. He clenched his fists. Win his trust, wait until Mord arrived and then send them both and any others to hell. T’would be foolish to seek revenge so quickly. He must bide his time and find their winter lair. Nay, he could not wait that long, his need to seek justice outweighed his patience. He felt the hair on his neck and back prickle. The men met the dark drakkor as it glided near shore and helped unload loot from the last plunder. Not only had they taken splendid treasures but also swine, goats and sacks of grains. These bearskins would feast until their winter slumber. The berserkers barked shouts of victory. He sniffed the stench of their foul odor. Unlike the humans and his kind, the bearskins did not care for keeping clean, preferring to behave like bears. Bork the Mad stood at the plow large and menacing like a giant. After all these years he still wore his father’s red pelt. He felt his gums itch as his fangs lengthened and he gripped the enchanted bracelet that hid his wolf identity from the bearskins. He took a breath to control his wrath. 50

Eva Gordon Loki’s gift to him was slyness, a necessary attribute to exact his revenge. He would bide his time. His attention on Bork the Mad was interrupted when he saw another bearskin carrying a screaming kicking woman over his shoulder. Her dark wavy hair hung down in cascades. She was beating the berserker’s back with her bare fists with the tenacity of a fierce wild cat. Bork rarely allowed anyone to live after a sacking. Perhaps the woman was to satisfy his needs until he tired of her. It was reckless if not unwise, but somehow he would have to set her free. He would not allow this feisty woman to die a horrible death. Crushed, mauled or worse. “Let me go, you stinking bear!” He understood her thanks to the spell Hungerd had cast in order for him to understand all human languages. She somehow knew they were bearskins and yet she still fought undeterred. She must have witnessed their shift, since they often attacked in bear form. Such bravery. The berserker holding her set her down on the beach and the young woman sat with her arms folded in rebellious defiance. Even from where he stood he saw her exquisiteness. A mane of raven hair and clear porcelain skin now red with sunburn made her stand out like a fine jewel amongst a pile of dirt. She wore a torn silken green gown made from the finest material. It accentuated fine delicate curves on her small figure and his heart skipped a beat. Was she the dark haired beauty Hungerd had predicted he would meet? Over the last two years he had almost forgotten about Hungerd’s runic prediction. Could this lovely young woman be an ulf hexen? Captured by his worst enemy? He fought his instinct to draw his sword and rescue the hapless woman. The thought that she might be an ulf hexen urged him to shift and attack, but they would both end up dead. As long as she was not bodily harmed he would wait. Her fine garments spoke of wealth. She may have been captured to collect a large ransom. Bork roared with laughter. “Look how the wench calms her temper.” Sigurd raised a questioning brow. As if taking in the fresh sea air she closed her eyes and took in slow breaths. She appeared to be ignoring her threatening surroundings. Was she preparing to cast a spell? Bolla, the old hag and bear witch, came out of her tent. She was a heavy broad woman who looked more like a bear disguised as an old silver haired woman. Her tunic was made of white bear fur and she wore a necklace of bear fangs around her thick neck. She had kept mostly to herself during his stay. Her bear form was different from the others; her shift was that of the white polar bear of the northern reaches of the earth. Apparently all feared her. After he had killed the bearskin Donnar, Bolla had approached and glared at him with shrewd eyes as if trying to figure out what he was. Fortunately, Hungerd’s enchanted bracelet hid his true wolfskin identity from even her probing mind. Bolla walked over to the captured woman who sat under the looming shadow of Bork the Mad. Bork turned to Bolla as she lumbered over. “This woman has the wolf mark.” Bolla spat, causing the woman to cover herself from the sputum that fell near her. “An ulf hexen.” She reached for her hair and pulled her head back 51

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf and smiled with her broken jagged teeth. The attractive woman yelped. T’was the call of a cub in trouble. Sigurd’s eyes widened. Every muscle on his large powerful frame tensed. An ulf hexen. A dark haired beauty as prophesized by Hungerd. Sigurd’s heart sprang into action as if awakened for the first time in years. Without thinking, his fingers tapping his sword, he stalked toward them until he was by their side. If they were going to kill her, he would slay as many as possible. His need to protect her was all consuming. He never thought anything would be more important than revenge. Bolla let go and the maiden shot her a defiant look with her dark eyes. Sigurd’s looming presence momentarily caught their attention. He was almost the same height as Bork, unusual for a normal man, and even for a wolfskin. He faced the berserker that had murdered his parents and destroyed his pack. The man threatening an ulf hexen. His blue green eyes bore into the bearskin’s dark brown eyes. Bork glared back at him and sniffed. His aged, bulbous disfigured face made him look different. Yet, his stench and deep baritone voice brought back vivid memories of his greatest enemy. “Who are you?” Bolla smiled and puckered her dark lips at him as if blowing a kiss. “This is the human warrior who wishes to serve you, master.” The toothless Dane by the name of Oskell reached them. “Master, he fought and killed Donnar to prove his prowess.” Sigurd stood still, trying not to look at the woman. Her scent burned into his soul. Her aroma was so pleasant he wanted to sniff every inch of her despite the dangerous situation they were both in. He exhaled. His attention remained at his enemy. Bork the Mad circled him, the familiar scent of his father’s pelt made him burn with fury. He felt his face flush with heat. His hand gripped the hilt. There were at least twenty bearskins around and perhaps a dozen human warriors. More were posted throughout the encampment. To fight him now would mean death for both he and the captive ulf hexen. Bork lifted his hairy single brow up in surprise. He hooted. “You, a mere man killed Donnar?” Sigurd nodded slowly. He gritted his teeth. “I wish to serve you, jarl.” The woman’s eyes widened as she gazed up at him. She must know. An ulf hexen can recognize a wolfskin. His enchanted bracelet would only hide his true nature from bearskins, not his kind and certainly not the maidens that served as mates for pack leaders. Bork bellowed a laugh and cocked his head to the side. “What is your name and who is your father?” “I am Sigurd, an orphan. I have no father.” “Hmm. You have hair like Loki’s Fire, like the fur of a wolfskin warrior who gifted me with this scar,” he pointed to the scar that cut across his face. He stepped close to his face. Sigurd felt his hot breath and the residual odor of fish. He stood still despite his urge to flinch. Bork sniffed his hair. “Human indeed but with the bright hair of Gunnolf’s whelp.” Sigurd felt his fangs start to protrude from his gums and gritted his teeth to keep from shifting. “Though I’m a man, many know me as Red Wolf.” 52

Eva Gordon He tapped his stubby chin. “I have heard of Red Wolf. You sail on Thor’s Hammer and have defeated the fiercest Saxon warriors.” He poked a thick finger on his chest. “You have become their worst nightmare.” He narrowed his eyes. “Yet, if you were a wolfskin and not a man, you would be about the whelp’s age.” He sniffed closer. Trying to distract Bork Emelisse spoke. “My father is Duke Chanteloup. He will pay well for my release.” Sigurd took a hidden breath. She was a sly woman. Bork kept his eyes on Sigurd as he spoke. “Quiet that tongue of yours, wench! As I told you earlier it is up to our sorceress, Bolla to determine what is to be done with you.” She stood, her fists on her hips she spun around and stared up at Bolla. A little spry of a woman demanding an answer from the much taller formidable looking witch. “So, pray tell what is to be done with me?” How can a woman so fine and beautiful be so fearless? Her rapid heartbeat beneath the courageous exterior revealed how terrified she was. She was challenging Bolla with direct eye contact. Her dark eyes were dramatic with dark long lashes that accentuated their splendor. He smiled despite his rage and their dangerous predicament. She was a more than worthy life mate. Bolla sneered at her and pointed to an old tree at the edge of the encampment. “In six days or less when Mord son of Bork returns you will be hung as a sacrifice.” The beauty tried to keep a brave face but Sigurd sensed her pulse quicken and the drop in temperature on her pale skin. She gulped and lifted her chin. “And if the sun is swallowed by a dragon?” Bolla eyes darkened. “The sun will not be swallowed. It will rise and set while the moon grows large. We will leave your swinging corpse for the ravens and your wolf packs to find.” “T’is a bad omen to kill a wolf maiden, the darkness will be a warning,” said the woman matter of factly. She placed a palm over her heart as if to keep it from leaping out in fright. Bolla had a hint of fear in her eye. All bearskins feared eclipses. They believed when Fenris, the giant wolf swallowed the moon it was a bad omen. “No dragon will swallow the sun and you will hang wolf witch!” Sigurd wanted to reach out to her. The woman’s face barely stifled a look of horror as she blinked back tears. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths until her rapid heart calmed. She had the control of a disciplined warrior. Bork furrowed his brow in worry, but quickly turned his attention to Sigurd and slapped his back. The pat was rough and he felt the burn of a bruise beneath his chain mail. “You’re a worthy warrior. Red Wolf the Undefeated, you have earned your place at our encampment and perhaps even on our ship. Join us for drink and song. For now you will guard the wench until it is time for her sacrifice.” He brushed his rough fingers through her hair. “Perchance until then I can enjoy her nubile young body.” She flinched from his touch, and Sigurd wanted to rip Bork’s throat out of his raw instinct to protect. His canines erupted from his gums. He could no longer wait. No one would touch her. He gripped his hilt. 53

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Bolla protested and shoved the big man back. “Nay! You will not, none of you shall bed the maiden. She is to be sacrificed unspoiled.” Sigurd and the young woman locked eyes. He tried not to show relief. “I shall guard her until,” he added conviction in his tone, “her neck is ready for the rope.” Emelisse sat on a makeshift straw bed bound hand and foot inside an empty tent made of hide that barely kept the elements out. She shivered from the cold of the sea breeze. Outside was a man that she knew was a lycan. A Northmen lycan. What was he doing here? When she first saw him step forward, she had picked up his wolfish aura. It was that of a red wolf, the same wolf pelt color that Bork wore. Was he here seeking revenge for a member of his pack, a den brother or father? He must be an alpha to be a lone wolf who could control his shift. He was quite a specimen, tall and muscular, fierce looking and young with a handsome face. He had a head of red hair that looked like the fiery ball of the sun at midday. On his neck she saw deep red intertwined tattoo shapes. Was it his pack markings? His eyes were a perfect blend of blue and green, a dramatic contrast with his sun baked face and red mane. They had somehow connected and she felt safe with his presence. She read faces well and knew that there was pain in those deep aquamarine eyes. Yet, why didn’t the bear men recognize that he was a lycan? He must be protected by sorcery. Or, had she imagined she saw the wolf in him? He stood just outside her tent. She had decided not to talk to him lest she give away his purpose. Besides, there were too many around. It was sunset and the drinking had started. Soon enough she would call him over. She heard another man approach. “Go drink and feast. I will guard the wench until you return or perhaps all night if you wish to celebrate.” “Good enough. I will not be long, I grow tired.” By the light of the outside fire pit the shadow of his large frame walked away and she felt great disappointment. She sighed and felt her empty stomach complain for food. She was hungry and tired. Would they bother feeding her? Her weariness and over exposure to the sun had no doubt given her false hope that the warrior with the flaming hair was a lycan and there to rescue her. No lycan would be in the same camp with the bear men. Her father had told her of seeing bear men. Unlike lycans except for alphas, bear men could shift at will. They had been chased out of most of Europe by lycans. Though the bear men were bigger and stronger, they were also less intelligent, slower and were vulnerable during the winter months when they slept as bears. Leaders of the bear men were not good fathers. She had been that they would often kill most of the cubs leaving only the ones he chose worthy to follow his steps. Unlike wolves they did not mate for life. While the females protected their young the males often killed them. With the exception of a few alpha lycans like Radulf, the lycan pack were good and loving parents to their offspring even runts like herself that were allowed to live. If this man, who Bolla called Sigurd, was a lycan, perhaps their camaraderie was due to some sort of truce between the Northmen lycans and 54

Eva Gordon bear men. Perhaps, a united front to conquer the Franks and Christian kingdoms. Still, Bork had called him human. Tired, she curled on her side. She needed rest to calm her aching heart in order to plan her next move. When would her father and pack find out that she had been taken? Father Julien was to return by today. He would see the plundered burnt monastery and the littered dead. Bolla had planned her sacrifice on Mord’s return. She had days to plan an escape. Mayhap, she would arouse their fear of lycan magic. During her ritualistic prayers to Feronia, she had seen the coming dragon appear from the sky and swallow the sun. The full moon would become a dragon. It had been a bad omen, a warning against an especially cold long winter. The event would happen during the full moon. Would the superstitious bear men release her when the skies darkened? And what of the Northman lycan? He must be here to rescue her. Lycans were extremely protective of wolf maidens. Her father had practically kept her as a prisoner in their castle to insure her safety and out of concern over her weak heart. Most of her life she had ridden her horse and flown her falcon when he was away in battle. She had finally convinced him that with her special breathing she no longer had heart pain. It had been only recently that he let her ride and visit the village, but always under a watchful eye. She had learned to sneak off, the result being her tragic affair with Galien and the subsequent and now lost pregnancy. Sent away to protect her unborn child from Radulf’s wrath. The alpha had every right and inclination to kill the child. Radulf the Cruel had claimed her and short of war, her father had no choice but to turn her over to him. Her father would rage if only he knew that she was in such great danger. Even Radulf would be better than the rope. Please Feronia, let me live to embrace my father once again. Just as she drifted into sleep a Viking stepped in. Her eyes immediately opened and adjusted to the dark. Would she be raped or even worse killed? On her side she could not move. She held her breath. He took out a dagger and moved toward her. She closed her eyes. The massive warrior bent down and cut her bindings with one swift slice of his sharp blade. Her throat was not cut. She blinked her eyes open. He helped her sit up. In the dim glow from the outside campfire, she knew it was the lycan. “You.” She was filled with relief. He placed a finger on her lips. “Shhh. I have brought you some food and drink.” She stuffed a piece of the bread he offered in her mouth. It was hard, but oh how it satisfied. She swallowed and looked at the figure, who sat across from her, staring in the near darkness with his wolfish eyes. “You speak my language.” He nodded and lowered his voice. “I can’t stay too long ulf hexen, but know this, I will not allow them to hang you.” She was relieved that he was there to help but they were outnumbered. One lycan against so many powerful bear men? She took a sip of mead from a jug. It burnt her throat and warmed her. She glanced at him in the dark and felt strangely drawn to him. Her eyes adjusted to the light from the night bonfire and she made out his features. His face was ruggedly handsome, not smooth and boyish like Galien’s but hard like a toughened warrior. He had hard slabs of muscles on a tall broad shouldered frame. She had never been 55

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf attracted to lycan men until now. Such was the state of her despair. Why would a powerful lycan such as this one want a woman half his size with a frail heart? One as attractive as he must already have a claimed wolf maiden. “You are wolf, yet the bear men allow you to be here. Why?” He moved the hide covering the entrance and looked out. The man he had relieved from guard duty and the rest of the men were on the far side of the bonfire, laughing and drinking. He then returned and sat in front of her. His size took half the space. “My name is Sigurd son of Gunnolf. I came to kill Bork the Mad and his son Mord.” “Yet, he called you a man and…” “A wolf witch cast a spell to allow me to speak the languages of man and gave me this bracelet which when worn hides my identity from the berserkers.” He handed her a chunk of meat. “Eat.” He waited for her to swallow. “What is your name?” “Emelisse daughter of Duke Chanteloup, alpha of our pack.” His voice was deep and commanding. “Emelisse. I like it.” She scooted forward, her ankles still bound. “We can escape tonight, while they drink.” “Nay. There are many more berserkers guarding the perimeter from the Franks.” He took a long breath. “I cannot leave without killing Bork and his son. They slew my parents and pack.” He looked down at his feet. “I’m a lone wolf.” So he was here for revenge. She scoffed. “So I’m not to be rescued after all. Why bother feeding me?” His tone was fierce. “Silence. I told you I will not let anything happen to you.” His conviction startled her. “So I suppose even Northern wolf men do not allow--- what did you call me, an ulf?” “Ulf hexen.” “Yes, an ulf hexen. Here we are called wolf maidens, property of the alpha.” She chewed the hard meat and felt his smoldering stare even in the darkness. “Once you return me to my father, he will pay you handsomely.” She swallowed. “He may even let you join our pack.” He suddenly drew her to him. His calloused hands held her with a strapping grip. “I will not return you to anyone. You are my mate, my ulf hexen.” Emelisse felt a rush of sensations and her heart fluttered like a butterfly’s wings. Her mouth agape, she was not expecting an alpha to claim her here surrounded by the enemy with little chance of escape; and certainly not one too tall and bulky for a mere runt. She wanted to protest but could not or would not. As if her mouth was an invitation he engulfed her mouth with his. Whatever it was, fear, loneliness or an attraction she could not explain she melted into him. Everything about this big foreign lycan felt so pleasurable. Even her heart purred without a flutter. Something was happening as they kissed for what seemed like an eternity, like the reunion of two long lost lovers. She felt his need in his smoldering sucking kiss and oh, his fangs. They grazed but did not harm. He moaned as he gently pushed her back. She was pinned helplessly beneath his imposing frame but found him comforting. His throbbing hardness pressed into her. Her wolf mark blazed 56

Eva Gordon hot. Once claimed the soft reddish brown birthmark would permanently turn bright red. He could have crushed her but was careful, tender. He was there to protect her. Footsteps heading their way broke their bond. He quickly stood and pulled her up placing a finger on her burning lips for silence. He took more rope and tied her wrists together and gently sat her down. She just stared at him in shock. A human warrior stepped in. “Is she eating?” Her hair disheveled, she chewed an imaginary piece of food. Sigurd laughed. “The wench nearly bit my fingers off so I tied her back up and have been hand feeding her.” She shot him an angry look. The other man snorted and slapped him on the back. “So what brings you here?” asked Sigurd. “Bolla sent me over to make sure she is untouched.” “I would never dishonor a sacrifice, even one so tempting.” The toothless drunken warrior grinned at her and stepped forward. “I can feed her if you wish to sleep.” Sigurd grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him back. “She is done eating. I will stand guard.” Sigurd took the inebriated man by the arm and roughly guided him out. Sigurd then planted his body on the ground for sleep. He parted the hide separating them and whispered. “Sleep, Emelisse. We will need our strength.” Those last words put her at ease. She had to have faith that he was planning some sort of escape. How else could he keep her from being sacrificed? No alpha would let his wolf maiden be killed. How could she tell him that she did not want to be a wolf maiden? Her ultimate plan was to live among humans. If he was like Radulf he would not take no for an answer. Yet he was not like Radulf who she abhorred. When they kissed she felt oddly drawn to him, not the way she had been drawn to Galien, which had been innocent and sweet like spring. Sigurd’s kiss had evoked more erotic sensations, more like the heat from a forest fire’s inferno. Not only had she felt her nipples harden and the tumultuous wetness of her nether area, but had felt his hunger, his need, his longing. Had her birthmark on her hip begun to turn red, accepting his claim? She wished she could look at her mark but with her tied wrists, she could not. And if it was red, what then? It would return to its normal light brownish color until they had their first mating. She would not allow him to consummate his claim. But how? He was built like a Greek god or rather one of those warrior Northmen gods she had heard about from traveling merchants. Torn feelings gnawed at her mind until blessed sleep finally swept over her.

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Chapter 6 Sigurd stood guard in front of her tent all night. He had slept but in the alert manner of a wolf. Every sound, every smell kept him ready to act with sword, fang and claw. No one would harm Emelisse, his ulf hexen. Her heart shaped lips and her beckoning mouth had been too irresistible. He had sensed her shock and dismay. Yet, the aroma of her wetness made it clear she wanted him as well. Still, a slow courtship would be more appropriate for a lady of a noble household. She must think he was no better than a rutting stag. Next time he would control his urges. He raked his long unkempt hair back. He needed to think. He heard Mord would return on the new moon. Emelisse was to be sacrificed in five days. He could not risk that. He decided he would kill Bork and take her to safety. There would be time enough in the future to kill Mord the Claw. The problem was that three bearskins and several human warriors always surrounded Bork. Bork’s life was always in danger from a challenging upstart. There was no respect or loyalty toward their leaders. Young bearskins often confronted the leader for dominance and there were a few big enough to accomplish such a task. A human warrior dressed in furs in an attempt to emulate the berserker bearskin came by. “I can guard.” T’was almost sunrise. He needed to wash and then bring food back for Emelisse. He also had to piss. Not sure if his scent would remain hidden by the sorcery of the bracelet spell he had not marked the area around her tent. He towered over the bearskin pretender. “Do not move from this spot or I will remove your head before you draw your sword.” His tone was menacing and the man nodded obediently trying not to show fear. The humans had seen what he had done to Donnar, the big bearskin. Looking back one more time, Sigurd walked off into the woods. He peed behind a cluster of trees. He smelled fresh water. There behind a thicket he found a fresh spring. He disrobed and waded in to wash his body and his windswept dirty hair. The forest sounds of birds and lush greenery were beckoning. He was hungry for fresh meat but thought it best not to shift. His first priority was Emelisse. He could not leave her alone for long since the bearskins were too unpredictable. He took out his comb and preened his hair until no knots remained. He pleated his untangled hair. Until now, there had been no reason to look presentable. His blond streaked red beard was kept short for fighting, a fact that made him look less like a beast and more like a man seeking the pleasures of a fine woman. And now, one in particular.

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf He smiled as he put his comb away. Hungerd had been right. There was an ulf hexen who would awaken all of his senses. Her face, body, scent, sweet voice, and taste, yes her taste made him mad with desire. She had responded to his kiss with a soft moan and her wetness told him she desired him. The ulf hexen, Ingrede, who he and his pack had kidnapped never made him feel so foolish in his heart the way this one made him feel. Emelisse. The sound of her name t’was as prim and dainty as she appeared physically. Yet, her nature was that of a Valkyrie, a little warrior lady. He had sensed a cunning nature as well. His heart bounded. Emelisse fulfilled his every need. She would be the little mother to his sons. Two ravens flew overhead and cawed loud raucous cries as if warning him to snap out of his stupor and return to his mate. The ravens flew above and settled on a tree. They watched his every move. Were they the two ravens that guarded Hungerd’s cave? Except for his torso, he quickly dressed and headed back to the encampment. Men were starting to get up from their drunken stupor and fumble around for more food and drink. The one guarding the tent had not moved from his post. Sigurd grabbed a loaf of bread, dried fish and a bowl of porridge from a large cauldron that one of the bearskins was stirring. Poor Emelisse had not had a chance to eat much the previous day. Emelisse awoke at the sound of wood chopping and men milling around. The sunlight promised a warm day, but the early sea air had a chill that lingered in her prison. Her cloak covered her but she was chilled and sore. She longed for her old bed where each morning several maids attended to her every need and where the hearth fire was always lit, emitting warmth. All her life she had been the pampered and sheltered daughter of a wealthy duke, now she was no more than livestock to be sacrificed to foreign gods. If it had not been for Radulf, she would still be in her warm bower and perhaps still carrying her child. Or she could have been the guest of a royal family. Why could she not been allowed to go to a big city and live with her kind? She batted back tears of regret. Her body was folded into a tiny ball as she breathed in her despair. The last thing she remembered before opening her eyes was her vivid dream. Had it been as belief had dictated, a message from Feronia? She had dreamt of a red wolf on a snow-covered mountain howling at the moon. She had never seen such red fur. It was marked with unusual symbols that had to be from the Northmen religion. Knot work patterns like trees. His call had been forlorn, the cry of a lone wolf. She had called to him and he had come running with joy. Sigurd. Her red wolf. Yet, she no longer wanted to be the mate of a werewolf, she desired a human man, free of lycan society. Like Galien. The young peasant boy had been so uncomplicated. They would have lived in the village, raised children and not have to worry about lunar cycles and the rigid set of pack laws. She would not have to see him run off to do bloody conquest for the richest men of the land. She felt a pang of guilt at the thought of abandoning Feronia and her will. The goddess demanded she find her alpha mate. Could Sigurd be the great warrior the seer, Sibyl had predicted would be her mate and a great pack leader? Nay. He was a foreign werewolf and his kind were not members of the Lupercal. Most 60

Eva Gordon importantly he had no pack. He was a lone wolf. Not like her father or Radulf who commanded an army of lycans. Men like Radulf would have Sigurd killed. A lone wolf on his territory would not stand a chance against a pack of territorial battle-hardened werewolves. If Radulf was here and caught Sigurd’s scent on her, he would tear him apart. Then she remembered. Sigurd was bigger than Radulf or any other lycan she knew. She smiled, satisfied in knowing that one on one Radulf would not stand a chance. Bork had been impressed that Sigurd had killed a bearskin, not an easy feat. She knew Radulf well enough to know he would sick his entire pack on Sigurd and only come in once his foe was too injured or exhausted to fight well. She sat up and began doing her breathing exercises. Steady my heart, breath, relax. “You may leave,” Sigurd ordered the guard from outside her tent. He entered. She gasped loudly. His upper body was naked. Every inch of his frame and arms were powerfully built, reminding her of the Roman statues of gods with strapping muscles she had seen in the Lupercal Temple. His physique enhanced his handsome face. A living moving Hercules. He was clean and smelled of leaves and fresh herbs. His wild red hair was now tidily combed into a braid. His brawny chest was lightly covered with red hair making him look like a flaming god of combustion. She tried not to gawk, but as a lycan he knew he had accomplished the desired effect of female admiration. He raised an eyebrow in mischief. Her pulse was rapid and her eyes must have been the size of apples. She cleared her dry throat. “Good morning. You look presentable.” He was so much more. She bit her lower lip. She must sound the fool. He gave her a roguish smile. “I brought you food and drink.” He set the breakfast aside and bent down to untie her. He whispered. “Are you well?” She scowled and rubbed her wrists. “You need not make the binding so tight.” His blue green eyes widened as he looked in horror at the bluish bruises around her wrists and lowered them in disgrace. “Forgive me.” The man obviously did not know his own strength. She twisted a smile. “You are forgiven.” He brought them to his lips and tenderly kissed where the rope had rubbed through. The feel of his warm lips on her skin sent a shudder of pleasure through her. He traced a finger on her bruise. “Your skin is so pale.” He licked the sore and looked up. “After you eat, I will tell Bolla you wish to wash. There is a pool not too far. It is guarded by berserkers but the thicket will give you privacy.” Her brows furrowed. “How do you know I want to wash?” He poured water over a piece of a rag and wiped a bit of dust and wood smoke from her cheek and nose. “Even the finest gold needs to be polished.” She wasn’t sure if it was his touch, words or both that made her quiver with erotic sensations. Could a barbarian know romantic love? Would he watch as she bathed? She nodded. “Very well then.” She lifted the bowl of porridge to her lips. His eyes watched her every bite, ears heard her every sound and the way he gently sniffed meant that he was taking in all of her 61

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf scent. Finally weary of his inspection, she put her bowl down. “Are you not hungry?” His eyes smoldering, he twisted a grin. “Not for food.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and handed him the loaf of bread. Lycans preferred meat but he took it anyway and bit a chunk. He chewed and stood to look out. His back was just as muscular as his front. He turned to her. “Can you ride a horse?” “I can ride as well as any man,” she snickered. “Actually better.” “Good. I purchased a stallion built for speed and stamina. When it is time you will ride and I will run alongside as a wolf.” “When?” “As soon as I can figure out the best route out of here. No more than a day or two.” “We can head toward Orleans or Paris.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not your father’s pack?” How could she tell him that she did not want to return to her castle? Not with Radulf’s claim on her. She just wanted to live with people. Would he understand? She smoothed out her cape. “Another alpha, one that I hate has claimed me and I don’t wish to be his.” Sigurd chuckled. “You are mine and any other wolfskin who argues will breathe his last breath.” “He is a mighty knight who has a large pack of ferocious wolfskins, what we call lycans or as others call werewolves. You don’t stand a chance against his army.” He did not appear concerned about the odds. “I will piss on his head.” She pictured Radulf on the ground with his white hair showered with urine, making it stained yellow. She giggled. “That would serve Radulf the Cruel well.” He smiled. “If it will give you pleasure, I would be honored to do such a task.” “That would give me great pleasure, my Red Wolf.” He gave her a broad smile. “Red Wolf, I like that” “I’ll call you Red for your hair and the coat I see in your wolf aura.” She smiled. “Red is my favorite color.” Why had she said that? She felt a heated flush on her face. It would do no good to flirt with a lycan she would soon have to run away from. “Many a man fears commenting on my hair or fur, but hearing you call me Red pleases me to no end.” He stiffened and whispered, “The bear witch approaches.” He stood and stepped out. Bolla entered and scowled down at her. “For one who is condemned to die you certainly have a healthy appetite.” She retuned her glare. “My goddess protects me from harm.” Bolla cackled. “We will see my little ulf hexen.” “I wish to wash.” Bolla took out short ax and smiled. “Don’t move.” She raised the ax over her head. Emelisse cowered and gasped wanting to call out for Sigurd. He must have sensed it because he rushed in and startled the bear woman. Bolla cast him a fierce look. “What do you want?” 62

Eva Gordon He eyed Emelisse who was staring at the mean ax. “Do you wish me to tie her up?” “No. I was about to free her from her bindings when you nearly made me cut her foot off!” She snarled, bent and sliced through the rope around her ankles. “Take her to the spring and let her clean herself. Do not take your eyes off of her.” He nodded. “I give you my word.” “Be quick! Then bring her to Bork’s tent.” Sigurd gave her a half bow. “As you wish.” She scowled at Emelisse and turned to cast him a wicked grin. “Feast your eyes but do not touch.” The warriors jeered at them as they headed for the forest’s pool. One of the bearskins attempted a wolfish howl. Emelisse walked with the grace of a princess, her shoulders back and head up as if the territory was hers. He admired how she did not show her fear as they walked by a tall oak tree where a hangman’s noose swung in the light sea breeze. Was she always so haughty? So brave? Earlier he had heard her do deep breathing sounds as if preparing for battle or in a trance. Most curious. He watched her bottom as it wiggled so enticingly. Her head was so lofty that she stumbled on a fallen branch and he caught her. Beneath her tough exterior he felt the drop in temperature on her pallid skin. Her hands trembled. Her pulse too rapid. The poor woman was scared to the bone. “Your gown is too long, I can shorten it.” She looked down and nodded. She whispered. “True, except that it would appear that you are obeying my orders or worse that you care… like any lycan would for a wolf maiden.” He laughed. “You enjoy that I care. Soon I will show you how much.” Her pale face brightened red like it had earlier when she caught herself flirting and she gave him a look of protest. He pointed to the thicket. “Here it is.” He was satisfied that they were completely alone. She scooted by him and turned. “I do not wish you to stare at me. Our pack customs value modesty.” He folded his arms on his chest. “I will respect your wolfskin customs and do as you say.” It would be best not to return to Bork’s camp with a hardened erection. In fact he felt ready to explode. He turned, sat on the ground and took out a carving of a hawk he had been working on. He heard her cloak and gown drop. He gritted his teeth and nearly cut his thumb. “Oh. It’s cold.” She stepped in and wet herself. A splash made him look. She had dived in. He turned. “Emelisse!” Her head rose above the water and she raked her raven hair back from her face. “Don’t worry my red wolf, I can swim like a fish.” She glided through the water like a creature of the sea. The water did not distort her deliciously womanly figure below its depths. Her round glistening bottom and perfect floating breasts forced him to suppress a groan. He sighed and smiled. “A woman who rides and swims, most intriguing.” She dipped one more time and surfaced. “Turn. I need to get out.” 63

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Like an obedient cub he did as he was told. The scent of her sweet wet flesh sent sensations of pleasure throughout his body. He chipped at his woodcarving as she dressed. He had to get her to safety but to where? To return to her father’s pack might mean a challenge or worse a war between packs. It would be best to return to Ludin’s long ship, Thor’s Hammer. They would head north with the others. To the East there were other wolfskin packs. “I’m done.” He turned and was taken aback at how beautiful she looked with her shiny sodden hair that fell into loose curls and her wet verdant green gown clinging to her bosom. Her nipples stood erect through the material, screaming for him to reach and nip at them. Rustling in the woods made him draw his sword. He resisted shifting. A bearskin appeared from behind the greenery and laughed. “If I were a Frank I have no doubt my head would have fallen before I lifted my weapon.” Sigurd scowled and put Brynhild away. “What do you want?” “Bork is waiting to speak to the ulf hexen.” Sigurd grabbed Emelisse by the arm. He kept his tone harsh, almost cruel. “Come.” She glared at him and let him guide her. Her arm felt like a dove’s wing, delicate and soft. He hoped he had not squeezed too hard. They followed the lumbering bearskin to Bork’s makeshift long house. Sigurd shoved Emelisse inside unceremoniously. She knew it was to demonstrate allegiance to Bork but he was so convincing that she wondered if he really was on her side after all. His warrior’s face was as unreadable as a stone. He bowed and stood by the entrance. Bork sat in front of the fire pit holding a goblet of drink. Bolla stood behind him like a looming shadow of dark magic. He rose, his frame made the crude wooden shelter appear diminutive. She felt like a mouse surrounded by hungry cats. Her dread and her wet hair made gooseflesh appear on her skin as if it were a hot pox. She folded her arms in front and tried to not shiver but it was useless. She shook like an abandoned wet puppy after being dragged up from a river. Bork took off his red wolf fur and draped it over her. She dared not look at Sigurd. Would he feel rage that it was his father that warmed her? She felt shame and sick to her stomach, imagining what it would be like to wear her father’s skin. “Sit by the fire, ulf hexen.” She sat on a log, trying not to let the fur touch the ground and render it soiled. “Tell me about the packs that roam around this country.” “What makes you think that I know anything about packs?” “The monk that pointed out your wolf mark pricked my interest. I found another monk hiding underneath near a pool of hot springs. I forced him to tell me about you. He said your father is a powerful warlord and rumored to be a werewolf.” 64

Eva Gordon The heat of the fire helped calm her chattering teeth. Perhaps he would ask for a ransom. “T’is true. He is a duke, leader of a pack.” Why was he so interested? Did the berserkers mean to attack the lycans? “Before I took his head, the little man said you were with child and that it had brought shame to your father’s manor since you were promised to a wolfskin warrior, a man who was not to be the father of your cub.” Her mouth gaped. From the corner of her eye she saw Sigurd stiffen and his face grow as red as the fur that draped about her shoulders. Would he still claim a wolf maiden that was no longer a virgin? Would he still help her escape? Bolla stepped close. Her foul breath made her wince. “You are no longer with child. Am I not right?” Emelisse slowly nodded. Her sadness over the loss of her short-lived happiness with Galien surfaced. She placed her hand over her belly and gulped before speaking. “I lost the child days after my arrival to the monastery.” It no longer mattered; she decided to simply speak the truth. She was doomed anyway; no alpha would want to claim a soiled wolf maiden. “My child’s father was a human and was brutally murdered by the werewolf that claimed me. If he knew of my child, he would kill it too.” Her tears streaming down her face she shook her head. “I only wanted to live amongst humans.” In death she would be united with Galien. She took her sleeve and dabbed at her moist face. “If a daughter of mine slept with a man, I would have killed her myself,” said Bork. “You would kill your own child?” She could not imagine a father being that brutal. Bork laughed. “I have killed four of my offspring. I only allowed the one that was superior to live. A weak cub is worse than no cub.” “Then we are the more advanced kind. A werewolf would never kill his own child,” she said, mocking the bear code of ethics. Normally a runt would be killed, yet her father had allowed her to live and for that she was grateful. He scoffed. “Sentimental fools.” Emelisse cast a weary eye at Sigurd whose only movement was a subtle brush of his fingers over his sword hilt. She just wanted to be alone, away from all shifters. “I wish to return to my tent.” “First tell me of your father’s pack.” “I am condemned to die. Why would I tell you anything about my family?” Bolla raised her voice. “We can torture you for answers before you die. Before we are done, you will beg for death.” Behind them she saw Sigurd grip his sword and she worried that he would not stand a chance. His wolf aura was strong. She sighed. Her heart was racing but took in another calming breath. “What do you want to know?” “How many are in his pack?” asked Bork. There was no point in hiding the facts. “There are twenty five in our pack, including myself, the only human living amongst them.” She omitted telling him about the ones patrolling the borders to the east, and the Lupercii, the few humans who helped their kind. Little did he know that Radulf the 65

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Cruel had a pack twice as large as her father’s pack. How soon would her father know about the sacking of the monastery and her abduction? Would they even pick up her scent? She had no idea where she was. Could she still trust Sigurd to help her? He had not made eye contact with her. A ruined wolf maiden. Yet, if he returned her for a reward, he could pay the Lupercal to search out for an appropriate wolf maiden. Bork suppressed a burp. “I see. No doubt there are other packs, which we will destroy as well.” “Our kind will declare war on your kind,” she said with a tinge of pride. He looked down at her. “We will kill the whelps of Fenris before he and his kind bring on the wolf age.” She had never heard of Fenris but perhaps he was like Feronia, a god of the wolves. “Take her back,” Bork ordered Sigurd, who simply nodded. She held on to the wolf fur. If she kept it, she could return it to Sigurd. Bork barked. “Wait! You cannot leave with my pelt.” She froze mid-stride. “It belonged to a wolfskin who gave me this.” Bork pointed to the ugly scar across his face. She took it off as if it was the finest garment and handed it back to his massive paw-like hands. She walked out without looking at Sigurd. Chanteloup had gathered his pack in the hall on hearing the most devastating news. The monastery where Emelisse had been sent was sacked and burned. Father Julien spoke of seagulls and ravens feasting on the bloated bodies of monks. Chanteloup’s worse nightmare had come to pass. His only child was stolen, possibly raped or worse killed by the dreaded Vikings. Even if she had not been murdered how could her weak heart hold out? Hugues protectively held his brother, Father Julien, back from the alpha’s wrath. His first instinct as a father of a young daughter was to grab the young Lupercii by the neck and squeeze his life out for not taking better care of her. Yet, if he had not been on an errand for the abbot, he too would be one of the dead. Worse he would not know about Emelisse’s fate. He had ordered the horses saddled and his weapons readied. He approached the frightened man and tried to calm his voice. “You searched everywhere for her?” “Yes, Messire. I found this by the seashore,” he said, handing him the necklace of a crescent moon she wore in honor of Lusna, the moon goddess. Chanteloup took the necklace and squeezed it in his palm. Tears welled in his eyes. If only he had kept her in the safety of his manor. Radulf may have declared war but at least he would have his sweet daughter with him. How frightened and alone she must feel all because he had sent her away. He made a fist and tapped his forehead. “What will they do to her?” Hugues spoke. “These raiders take many as slaves.” Chanteloup lamented. “But she is with child.” She is so delicate. Was she on a long ship with broken bones and a torn womb? He closed his teary eyes. Was she gripping her heart in agony? He felt Isabelle’s reassuring touch. “She is strong, like you. We will find her.” 66

Eva Gordon He looked down at her and sighed. It was Isabelle who had comforted him when the love of his life died and now she comforted him at losing his Emelisse, his only child and the living reminder of Elinor. He turned his attention to the seer and high priestess of the Lupercal, Lupa. She had attended Emelisse’s birth and had learned the secrets of sight from Sibyl. The wise woman had taught her to heal her heart with focused breathing even when she was distraught. The dark haired matronly alpha with deep blue eyes approached. She carried a small crystal sphere in her hand. “My lord, she is alive and being held by the men called berserkers, Viking raiders who shape shift into bears.” His eyes darkened. “Bear men? We rid them from the land long ago.” Lupa explained. “These are Northmen bear shifters who have slaughtered our brethren in the land of ice and snow. They are powerful and do the Viking’s primary assaults. Unlike the raiders they don’t wear armor but just pelts and often shift during berserker raids.” He stiffened. “What will they do if they find out she is a wolf maiden?” “They have vowed to kill every lycan and their human mates.” She must have seen him sway because she gripped his arm and spoke quickly. “Take heart in knowing that she is guarded by a lycan.” “A captured lycan? What do you know of him or her?” She shook her head. “It was brief vision of a wolf’s shadow in her presence. Nothing more.” Though it was against his better judgment he turned to one of his men. “Milo, send word to Radulf that Emelisse has been kidnapped by Viking raiders. Tell him that he will be rewarded with her hand on returning her safely.” “Yes, Messire.” Milo left in the direction of the stables. Isabelle gently guided Chanteloup away from the others and whispered. “Radulf will kill her child and worse, she wants no part of him.” They had argued about Emelisse’s refusal to marry Radulf and he had almost come to agree with her support of Emelisse’s decision but now he needed Radulf’s help in order to find her. Her life and safe return would mean that she must accept Radulf’s claim. He would bargain with him to allow the child to live and live far away. Perchance her love would tame Radulf’s cruel heart. “Isabelle, Radulf’s army and presence is stronger than ours. If anyone can find her and fight these bear men, it will be him.” Isabelle turned a cold eye and stared at the wall. “Emelisse would rather die than serve as a breeder to a man that killed her lover, and worse the man that will kill her child.” He glared at her in shock. “You raised her and now you mean to tell me it would be best if she was dead rather than mate with the man Sibyl predicted would unite all the packs.” She frowned. “Sibyl and now Lupa never claimed it was Radulf who would be the great warrior of prophesy. He disobeys Feronia by killing humans. All the packs think he is vile. He is cruel to his own pack. Do you really think he will be kind to Emelisse?” “I know he is harsh, but what leader is not? Emelisse will be a gentling force.” “Emelisse will rebel and you know it.” 67

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf It was true. His daughter would be miserable and worse, he knew Radulf had beaten his lovers. Yet, he needed Radulf’s superior army. He was resolved to find her no matter what the cost. He would force Radulf to vow to never harm her in any way or form. His tone was severe. “The coast and land is too vast for my pack to find her. Would you condemn her to life of servitude or harsh death rather than learn to love an alpha knight who has more land than any other lycan?” “Grrr.” Her growl was deep. “If you send her away with him then I will join his pack to keep her safe.” He was shocked that she, his lover of fourteen years would leave him to be at his daughter’s side. Her loyalty to the child she raised was uncompromising. He would lose both of the women he loved. It would be bittersweet but he’d rather his daughter have a champion against the man who would someday be her mate. “Fine. I agree.” He marched off to lead his men to kill every raider they would come across until she was found. Within half a day the men were armed and ready to march. Chanteloup grabbed Father Julien and gestured to Hugues, his loyal Lupercii, who wore his fine chain mail to come with him. He stared at Father Julien with such fierceness the man flinched as if in pain. “You will bring her back or you will die.” Hugues protested. “It will take an army to find her my lord.” “My men will search the coastline and river ways for the murderous raiders. You and your brother will head north by land and listen for any word about her.” He threw them a bag of gold. “Use this to pay for information. Go to the furthest reaches of the North if you must, but find her!” “As you wish Messire, but my brother he knows naught of battle or tracking. If not for his errand, he too would be dead.” “He should have died at least protecting her,” he barked. He took a breath and retracted his protruding fangs. “I need humans such as yourselves to mingle among your kind.” Father Julien went on his knees. “Forgive me, I have failed you.” Chanteloup glowered at him and softened his tone. “I will forgive you when you find a trace on her. In the meantime my men and I will do our best to find her first.”

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Chapter 7 Sigurd stood at his post in front of her tent. He heard the rustle of her gown as she paced inside. Was she worried that he would not help her escape? Poor Emelisse. She had lost a child, a lover and now was in such great peril. Like him, she had survived a great personal tragedy. Could she learn to ever love anyone as much as she had loved her human lover? Even when Ingrede knew she was dying she was happy to join her beloved husband in death. Would she be like Ingrede, too sad to accept him as a mate? No wonder her father had sent her to the monastery. She was supposed to have been safe from Radulf, the man who had killed her child’s father. Would Radulf really kill another man’s child? An ulf hexen with a child or two would not matter to him. If he had her love, he would raise them as his own. He clenched his jaw. No one would ever hurt Emelisse. If need be he would slay this evil wolfskin. The fact that Radulf claimed her bothered him more than her having a human lover. He longed to be with her, but there were too many bearskins around. Speaking to her would arouse suspicions. One of the human warriors had offered to watch her tent in the evening during a shifting revelry that was to start at sundown. He had sensed fear in the battle-hardened older warrior. He dismissed the warrior and told him he would remain guard all night. If the bearskins got drunk and shifted then he could not imagine being anywhere but where he was, guarding Emelisse with his life if need be. Bolla carried a sac and approached. She glowered up at him. “Do not leave your post. Tonight is the bear dance and I came to warn you. No one is to bother the ulf hexen. If need be, you may kill any drunken bear who dares approach.” She cast him a slight grin, glancing at his muscled biceps. “I admire your strength. I may choose you to guard our winter lairs. That is if you can manage to stay alive through the night.” She traced her long nail along his taut chest. He was appalled to catch the scent of female desire. Sigurd bowed his chin down. He found her attraction to him repulsive, but gave her a roguish smile. “I will obey. No one will enter.” He stepped aside as she entered. He pricked his human ears to listen. “I brought you food and mead. The gods will not like their sacrifice to look famished and overwrought. We will send off a fine horse to the gods as well. The sacrifice of an ulf hexen and a fine stallion will please the gods and the seas will remain calm for our ships.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf “My goddess, Feronia will not be appeased by my sacrifice. She will bring your people famine and your wombs will grow dry.” Bolla cackled. “We will see if she appears as you swing from the tree.” Emelisse’s tone was sharp. “She has answered my prayers. The dragon will swallow the sun and winter will come early.” “Mind your tongue wolf witch!” Bolla threw the sac of food at her and stomped out the tent and headed for the black long ship. The others stepped out of her way in fear of her wrath. After Bolla climbed aboard, Sigurd opened the tent and whispered. “It would be best if you did not intimidate them.” She stared at him with bewitching eyes. “I was not. I was simply telling her the consequences.” He was not used to anyone, let alone a human female to look him in the eye with such intensity. Did she not know the way of the pack? “Late tomorrow, Bork and his ilk are leaving for a few days. That is why they will be doing the bear dance, a custom prior to their next pillage. It brings on the berserker rage. Their departure may be our only chance to escape.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “So you will still help me knowing that I had taken a human lover?” Her voice grew sad and she lowered her voice to a soft whisper. “That I lost a human child.” He sensed her great pain and wanted to reach for her and hold her to wash away her sorrow. Instead he was sharp. “Did you not hear me woman? You are my ulf hexen.” He closed the hide drape and returned his attention to his post. Why was she acting like her tragic past was such a crime? It was he who was not worthy. If he had heeded Hungerd’s warnings about Ingrede then his sister and his small pack would still be alive. He was responsible for their deaths and worse, he had helped kill his own sister. The pain of the past angered him. If she knew, would she despise him as much as he despised himself? He did not deserve a mate. T’was best to take her to the safety of her pack’s hunting grounds and return to kill Bork and his son. Yet it tore at his heart to think she might be with another mate. If this other wolfskin was as cruel as she described, how could he allow her to belong to him? He gritted his teeth. Again a flash of jealous rage coursed through his body. No. She was his. He would forget killing Bork for the moment. A familiar scent made him look towards the dark wood. He gaped. He saw the familiar gray fur streaked with red wolf body of his sister. She sat with a wolfish grin, stood and approached the tent. The lumbering bearskins and human warriors ignored her. Why should they notice a ghost? He mouthed her name, fearing that a reaction would cause her to be noticed. The phantom wolf stood before him. “Take heart brother, you have found your ulf hexen.” He stepped toward the vision only to watch her disappear into the air. “Brynhild?” The men milling around gave him a brief glimpse, perhaps thinking him drunk and returned to their various tasks. “Sigurd, who are you talking to?” asked Emelisse from behind the tent. “I thought that… never mind. T’was nothing.” The apparition of his sister’s spirit was there to affirm the decision he had made was right. Forget revenge, save Emelisse. Save himself. 70

Eva Gordon Emelisse covered herself with her cloak drowning the beastly sounds of men shifting into bears. Their bellows and moans echoed throughout the encampment. Their change in contrast to the lycan shift was painful. Their agonizing moans and bone snapping was so loud. The din of their roars made her wonder if they had lost their minds and could no longer think like humans. The flames crackling and glow from the huge bonfire gave her tent an eerie luminosity. She shuddered in dread and took in slow rhythmic breaths to calm her fluttering heart. It’s just a shift, nothing more. She remembered their secret ceremony from stories she had heard as a child. Of men who ate a magical mushroom and wore the skin of a bear to become bears. Was it a spell that made them so or was it their blood? Drums were being banged. How many had remained human? She heard the blood curdling screams of men. What was happening? Though her terror grew, her curiosity was overwhelming. She stood near the flap. “Sigurd, can you see what is going on?” “Stay back,” he snapped with a growl. She nearly fell back at the sound of the dominant growl. The same growl her father and Radulf made when they demanded absolute submission. How dare he retort at her like she was of such low status? Angry at his reply she was nonetheless reassured he stood by the door, because whatever was happening to the men was far worse than anything she could imagine. Sigurd’s tone was fierce but she knew that he would protect her at all costs. She cupped her ears as she heard another human warrior protest with a loud No. It was followed by screams of the dying. The grunting and then the agonizing shouts of the man being mauled were horrific. Would they dare take her or Sigurd? She wanted to run. No longer bound by hand and foot she tried to leave the back way. The tent shook as she tried to escape. Sigurd rushed in and lifted her by her waist. She kicked and squealed. “Let me go!” He sat her down on the straw bed and gently grasped her shoulders. “Shhh. The bearskins are everywhere. We must remain still. Bolla made sure that none of the warriors she selected will be harmed.” She saw the distress written on his pained face but had to ask. “Why are they killing the human warriors?” His tone was livid with repulsion. “They are feasting on their flesh. They believe it makes them stronger.” She covered her mouth to prevent bile from escaping. “Dear Feronia. Nay!” Behind her a lumbering bear shadow brushed against her enclosure and she screamed. Sigurd wrapped her around his arms and covered her eyes with his hand. “Remain quiet.” She gulped and nodded in acquiescence. She buried her face on his chest. His muscular trunk was as hard as stone. Was he flesh or marble? A living statue of Hercules. She nestled into him. She was safe in his strong arms. He patted her head in reassurance as the dreadful chaos and terror outside her prison continued. She held on to him and prayed. Finally, the agonizing screams stopped, the only sounds were those of satisfactory 71

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf chewing and grunts. Bears feasting on human flesh, somehow that noise was far worse than the sounds of the dying. “Sigurd, I’m so frightened.” He squeezed her tighter, careful not to crush her with his massive arms. “I will keep you safe, sleep my little ulf hexen.” His heart was steady on her ears through the night and she drifted into sleep. It was early dawn. The bears had finally fallen asleep. Sigurd gently covered Emelisse and stepped outside the tent. Around the encampment large brown and black bodies littered the area like large seals sunning themselves. The sand was stained with fresh blood and seabirds noisily fought for discarded entrails. Body limbs and decapitated heads tossed throughout the camp were grisly reminders of the night’s gorge. His stomach lurched from the macabre scene. He eyed the other human warriors who stood guarding the perimeter. Their faces were drawn with fear and weapons out as if still fearing they would be taken by the man-eating bearskins. One bear lay dead with a spear through his gullet. The men who had been grabbed did not go without a fight. He looked toward the horse pen. Despite an evening of screaming and panicking their pen remained untouched by the berserkers. His mount was still alive but covered in sweat brought on by terror. While they slumbered, he could saddle his stallion and ready him for their escape. His only regret would be not killing Bork. He smiled. Brynhild’s apparition and message was clear. Nothing mattered but his ulf hexen. He listened. Emelisse still slept. He stepped toward the pen when Bolla emerged from her shed. She was still human and bellowed a bear roar. Instantly, all the bears awoke as if a battle cry had been issued. Bork stood and shifted. His men soon followed. Large naked men were everywhere reaching for their battle-axes, swords and spears. Damn. Too late. He slowly backed up to his post in front of Emelisse’s confinement. Bolla approached him. “I see you and the other men managed to survive the night. If you had left your post our bearskins would have gone mad with your human scent.” “I’m an obedient warrior.” She signaled for the other human Vikings to approach. “Gather some wood and then load the long ship with supplies. Bork sails at noon. You humans will remain here,” she pointed to Sigurd and the other warriors. “On his return he will be joined by his son and then we will sacrifice the wolf witch.” He had an urge to skewer her with his sword for mentioning the impending execution. His fingers tapped his sword belt and his fangs emerged from his gums. He pressed his mouth tight and swallowed the wad of drool. The minute the ship sailed, Sigurd would kill the bearskin witch and the loyal warriors before escaping with Emelisse. Holding a human femur with her hairy hand she waved them on. “Go and be quick.” Emelisse woke to hear Bolla addressing the men. Sigurd poked his nose in and told her that he and the other men were to gather wood and help 72

Eva Gordon prepare for Bork’s next raid. His face was red as if angry but he gave her a quick wink. His reassuring twinkling blue green eyes told her their escape would be soon. The information that most of the bearskins would be gone was good news. It will not be long before Sigurd acts. The only logical place to run to was back home. She rubbed her sore neck. Should they really return to her father’s castle and risk Radulf’s fury? Her heart raced. She took a slow breath. What if her father thinks she’s dead? If they returned to a city she could live with her own kind. Yet, her father’s sadness at thinking her dead tore at her heart. What about Sigurd? He had claimed her. How does one convince a determined alpha that she does not want to be his wolf maiden? She was no longer a virgin, why would he still want her? And worse, a runt. She squeezed her temples and shook her head. Of course he would still want her, just as Radulf still wanted her. She was a breeder. She paced around her small enclosure. There had to be a solution. She knew of at least three available wolf maidens on the continent. One was older and two were close to her age. The one near Paris was tall and big boned, the type of female that would suit Sigurd. Her father had a small estate. Her heart constricted. Why did the thought of Sigurd with another wolf maiden gnaw on her soul? She sighed. She vowed never to love a lycan, yet the attraction was there. There was something about Sigurd that made her want to comfort him. The sadness of an orphan. What was worse was that in his arms she felt so protected. She longed for his touch and noticed a burning sensation. The mark of the wolf on her hip grew warm as if heated by melted wax. She lifted her gown. It was aflame and a shade redder than the original light brownish tint. She smooth down her green linen gown. Nay. Isabelle had taught her that once the wolf maiden approved of her mate her mark would turn from the soft reddish brown color to a bright red color. Why had it not turned red when she was with Galien? Had he not been her true love? No. It was the way Feronia approved of the match from the lycan alpha and his true mate. Only the right lycan mate would cause a wolf maiden’s mark to flush scarlet red. She had worried that once Radulf took her he would be enraged that her mark remained the same color. A woman who was forced to marry an alpha she hated would keep her mark the virginal brownish hue. Knowing Radulf, he would have dyed the mark to show her she was his. A bearskin entered and handed her a bowl of oatmeal gruel and a small loaf of bread. Disappointment on not seeing Sigurd worried her. She took it and ate. Who knows how long it would be after their escape before they would eat again? She wrapped half the bread for the coming journey when the tent darkened. She peered out. It was the dragon swallowing the sun. Feronia had told her in a dream that it was a sign that the winter would be severe. Would it frighten the bearskins into releasing her or make them hasten her execution? The men looked at the sky and gathered around. Bolla shouted. “A bad omen!” Bork grabbed his spear and shield and walked off the long ship. He was arguing with Bolla. She could see the look of fear on his face. The other bearskins were shouting amongst themselves. They were indeed a superstitious lot. 73

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Where was Sigurd? This could not be good. She swayed and sat. Closing her eyes, she began slowly breathing. She had to calm her heart. She had to trust Sigurd. He vowed nothing would happen to her. Just then Bolla caught site of her and pointed. “Bring the witch. She must die now.” As if it would help, Emelisse ran to the back of her tent and went on her knees. She folded her ice-cold hands and whispered prayers to Feronia asking for her forgiveness for not wanting a lycan mate. Tears streaked her cheeks. She just wanted to be a normal woman and now that death was raising its ugly head she did not want to join Galien, she wanted to live. A large bald bearskin came in and gripped her arm hauling her up and then throwing her on his back. She kicked and screamed but it was useless. Upside down she felt dizzy and nauseous. Her heart began to pound and stabbed pain throughout her chest. From her dangling head she saw Bork lift his ax and shouted for the bearskin to bring her over. Sudden terror over took her. Her pain went away. She screamed. “Nay! Not the ax!” It felt like a rolling boulder crashed into her lumbering captor. The next thing she knew, she and the man holding her were sprawled on the ground. She rolled away and saw the bearskin with his throat ripped out. She glanced up to see Sigurd with his shield and sword out standing in front of her. His flaming red hair blazed under the dim light. She wanted to speak but her voice was gone. The fall had knocked the wind out of her lungs. Without taking his eyes off of the approaching human warriors he spoke. “Are you hurt?” Her throat was dry and she croaked. “No.” “Stay behind me.” She stood on her wobbly legs and searched for any possible escape route. A battle cry from the warriors made her close her eyes. The clang of the swords and grunts of the dying made her look. The three human warriors had been cut down before a blink of an eye. Pools of blood oozed out like spilled flagons. Sigurd loomed above her and the dead around him. His jaws clenched, his face was fierce with a look of determined hatred. Bork bellowed an order and three bearskins came screaming their berserker rage toward Sigurd who did not wait but howled his own battle cry and rushed with equal vigor. In a blur Sigurd moved like a thunder god, his sword moving like a striking serpent. Her mouth opened to scream but nothing came out. Blood rained and big bodies fell like trees being cut down. Only Sigurd stood. He had a sick grin on his blood spattered face. He had to be the most dangerous, most skilled warrior she had ever imagined. Within seconds he had killed three human warriors and now three powerful bearskins lay on the ground. It was like he was swatting horseflies. He was not even panting. He buried his sword onto the sand. He took off his silver bracelet and threw it on the ground. Bork and his remaining berserkers sniffed the air in shock. Sigurd laughed. His expressed maniacal amusement boomed in the silence. He was more demon than lycan. His fangs protruded like deadly daggers. His red hair took the place of the hidden sun adding to his menacing appearance. “Alas, Bork the Mad, killer of my father Gunnolf the Red 74

Eva Gordon Ulfhednar and my human mother, I challenge you in battle.” He raised his muscular arms to the sky and howled. The other bearskins slowly approached but Bork signaled them back. He strengthened and hooted. “Gunnolf’s whelp! The cub that took my son’s claw. Returned to take another bite. How did I not recognize you whelp?” Bolla spit on the ground. “Ulf hexen magic!” Bork snorted a bear like laugh. “No matter, t’is only right that my son shall have a red pelt to match my own.” Sigurd gritted his teeth and raised the sword from the ground with corded muscles. “Mord will know death soon enough for killing my older brother, Guda. My sword, Brynhild named in honor of my sister, is by my side, ready to free my father’s fur from the stench of your foul body. I am ready to send you to hell.” Bork stepped closer, accepting the challenge. His face turned red, grunting and growling, a man with the voice and power of the bear. Emelisse stood frozen as she looked from Sigurd with his maddened look holding his bloodstained sword. His face and tunic was painted red with blood. No longer the man who held her tenderly during the frightful night but now Mars, god of war. Lord of death and destruction. Bork who had the berserker rage on his countenance would not fall as easily as the others had fallen. In a near whisper he spoke. “Emelisse, go to the pen. My horse, the black stallion is saddled. Ride hard and fast.” Startled that he had spoken while in a state of blood lust she called out, “But how will…” “If I’m not in Valhalla I will find your scent.” Bork roared. “Son of Fenris. Let the battle begin!” He lifted his battle-ax and charged screaming his berserker rage. Sigurd growled and with lighting speed hamstringed Bork with a swift accurate swing of his sword. Bork’s agonizing roar and the tint of twilight in the red sky, gave the battle a demonic appearance. In the din of the clang of weapons and the growls and the crunching sound of lacerating bites, it was hard to tell who would be victorious. She could not just run and leave him, not knowing if he survived or not. Sigurd pushed off Bork’s big body causing the bearskin to fall on once flaming bonfire. He took the momentary respite to bellow at Emelisse. “Get the horse, woman! Run!” She did as she was told and as she ran hearing their continued exchange of blows. Sigurd whimpered and she turned. His arm was bleeding and wielding his sword he practically cursed. “Run!” She nodded only to see Bolla shift and now come charging toward her. The white enraged bear would soon be upon her. She focused on reaching the tacked nervous horse yanking on his rope as the bear thundered toward them. In a flash, a gray wolf materialized and growled at the bear. It startled to a stop and stood on hind legs roaring its rage. The mysterious wolf then disappeared and from above the trees a flock of ravens flew down and pecked at Bolla. The mobbing was relentless. Bolla stood on her legs and 75

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf swiped at the birds that covered her head, poking and drawing blood. Her white fur now speckled with blood. Emelisse released the other penned up horses, mounted the prancing stallion and rode off. The panicking horses stampeding away added to the chaos. Her horse was more than happy to have his lead. She reached a hill and whirled the sweat-lathered horse around to look below. Bork’s head was rolling away from his body, and as the other bearskins advanced Sigurd shifted and grabbing his sword belt and his father’s red pelt he sped away. He was the red wolf she had seen in her dream. Larger than any lycan wolf she had ever seen. He headed in her direction with the speed known to all lycans. As he climbed the hill a spear was hurled from a bearskin. He yelped as it pierced his side and in horror she saw him tumble down. He whimpered and flopped on the ground. Impaled and helpless. “Nay!” Despite the horse’s hesitation and her numerous lectures from Isabelle about galloping a horse down hill, she dug her heels at the horse’s girth to reach Sigurd. As she moved closer so did the sprinting bearskin with a double-bladed ax on his hand. Sigurd shifted back to his human form. The spear pierced his side deep below the rib cage, a lethal strike. He was just as good as dead.

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Chapter 8 Holding on to her rearing mount, Emelisse shouted. “Sigurd!” Her eyes flashed at the berserker that was bearing down on them. Sigurd wanted her to escape, but how could she just leave him to die? Would he be the second love she could not save? She had to help. If he could somehow leap on her horse, they could get away. Sigurd’s eyes opened and he let out a low guttural growl. He yanked out the spear and howled in rage more than pain. His side was torn and black blood escaped like molten iron. The gaping gash would have killed any man, yet Sigurd was not a man but a lycan. The power of the lycan blood healed all but the most lethal of wounds. Was it possible he could survive? He must. Her horse danced side-ways trying to take off. It neighed in protesting fury. The bearskin approached not moving toward Sigurd but toward her. She gasped and yanked tight on the bit. He raged a berserker scream and charged causing her mount to buck in panic and send her flying. She rolled as Isabelle had taught her. She looked fugitively for the stallion that was running up the hill she had just come from. She tried to get up but too late, the berserker was lifting his axe. Her heart rammed against her chest and she fell to her knees. Clutching at her chest she froze watching death advance with a vengeance. Sigurd’s loud cry made her snap out of her stupor. “Duck!” She broke out of her petrified terror and rolled away. The spear that had just moments ago been embedded in Sigurd, swooshed by like a falcon honing in on its prey. It skewered through the bearskin’s back exiting out of his torso. The berserker shifted into his bear form and flailed at the spear as it roared once and fell. Sigurd, with his torn flesh, charged with a snarling growl, took his sword, swung and decapitated him. Holding his bloodied sword, he swayed and fell to his knees. Ignoring her own sharp heart pain she ran to his side. Her hand touched his wound and came up slippery wet with his blood. Terror stricken, she swore under her breath and tried to help him stand. “We need to leave!” In the distance more were coming bellowing with berserker rage. The rumble of thunder made their sound even more ominous. The dim light and coming storm added to the nightmare of her senses. Sigurd was panting and winced. “Go now. I will dispatch as many as I can.” Tears streamed down her dirtied face. “Nay. I will not let you die!”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Lightening struck close, the earth trembled and the sun disappeared. Darkness blanked the doomed couple. The thundering of hooves causing sods of dirt to fly drew near. It was his horse being ridden by a woman warrior with long golden braids. She brought the horse to within reach and then she dematerialized. With renewed strength despite his cavernous injury Sigurd stood and grabbed the reins of his lathered stallion. He cried out her name, “Brynhild!” His sister’s name. The name he had given his sword. She had appeared like a goddess with only one purpose, to save her brother. With renewed strength at seeing his sister, he tied the pelt and belted his sword over his naked and bleeding body. He leapt on the snorting stallion and reached for Emelisse’s arm. She landed behind him and they galloped as the berserkers gave chase. She wrapped her arms around him as the steed picked up speed and headed for the deep wood. Without their horses, the slow lumbering bearskins would not get them. She twisted to see them shift in an attempt to follow but soon they were nothing but a blur in the daylight darkness. They had ridden hard for nearly an hour whilst rain pelted them. Sigurd had slumped forward holding on to neck and mane. She held the reins behind him. He could not go any further. Emelisse fretted he would soon drop. Fortuitously she spotted a hut near a creek. “Over there.” His eyes were closed and he grunted. She guided the drenched horse toward the small shelter. She slid off and led the horse carrying Sigurd and called out. “Is anyone here?” Not hearing a response she entered. It was empty and the spider webs throughout meant it had long been abandoned. It would do. She brought the horse closer. “Sigurd, can you come down?” Bleary eyed he said something unintelligible and fell hard on the ground away from the mount. “Sigurd!” Splayed on his back he smiled at her. “Brave woman.” The horse shook like a dog in a large shiver, getting rid of the mixture of blood, sweat and soaking wetness. Removal of his tack would have to wait until she saw to Sigurd’s injuries in the dripping but mostly dry shed. How would she drag his massive body inside? He moaned, “Get my father’s pelt and sword.” She quickly grabbed his most prized possessions and as rain fell on them she urged him to shift. “Can you go into your wolf form?” It might be easier for him to move, perchance by crawling. He shimmered, his face elongating, hands and feet becoming claws and red fur springing throughout. The horse balked but was too tired to run away. The shift complete he whimpered and crawled into the hut. She took off her soaked cloak and in the muted light looked at his ripped flesh beneath the red furred body. It was starting to heal but was still bleeding too much. She needed to close the gash and prevent corruption. Lupa had taught her how to treat a variety of injuries. “Sigurd, I will need to cauterize your wound shut.” He was panting, his long tongue to one side and wagged a tail in agreement. 78

Eva Gordon She added kindling found in the shed to the small fire pit and using her knowledge of alchemy ignited a flame. See father, I can take care of others and myself. If she ever saw her father again she would boast how she helped a warrior with her riding expertise and now her healing skills. Surely he would not treat her like a delicate art piece after all she had gone through, especially after losing the babe. She fed the fire and raged at how she had been sent away only to lose Galien’s child. Back at the castle Lupa could have helped her save the baby. She glanced at Sigurd’s large wolf form. He was snorting in sleep. Feronia, was my destiny to be with this lycan you have sent my way? I know nothing of his kind. Are they part of your creation? She tore a piece of material from her rainwater soaked gown. She moved closer. He lifted his neck and growled at her. She fell back. Would he rip her throat out, for surely it would be too painful to remain composed? “You will need to shift and roll on your back.” Sigurd stretched, whimpered and slowly shifted back to his human form. He turned on his back exposing the wound below his ribs. She wiped away dirt and cleaned the wound as best she could with the torn rag. The fire was hot enough. She took in an indrawn breath and looked through the sack of items Sigurd had earlier hung on the saddle. Inside was a small but lethal shining dagger. It would do. She cleaned the dagger with ale from his drinking horn. She scooted to the lumbering body. “Sigurd, you must not move.” Fangs still displayed as he grimaced. “Do it!” He grabbed his sword belt, bit into the leather and nodded. Even now his lycan blood was healing it. The puncture was smaller but still oozed blood. She took the blade by the handle and put it over the flame, watching as it glowed red. “You must take slow deep breaths.” She bit her lip and carried the scorching knife and on its side placed it sideways directly on the gash. It smoked and sizzled as it touched flesh. The stench of burning flesh sickened her but she kept it there long enough to close the wound. Sigurd his eyes closed, clenched his fangs on the leather belt, breathing hard, but otherwise did not move. Just a soft groan. She removed the smoldering blade and before her eyes the wound shimmered first red then purplish black and began to close completely. The bleeding stopped. He closed his eyes and passed out. She soaked another piece of linen with rainwater and gently cleaned the wound as he snored in deep sleep. She covered him with his packed cloak and stepped out to take care of the horse. She removed his tack and tied him under a large tree to provide some shelter from the rain. They would need to continue on by early morning if not sooner. She shuddered from cold and fear as she tried to make out the sound of the enemy approaching. Except for the sound of the rain and occasional thunder booming, there were no other sounds of impending danger. She returned to see Sigurd stir. She stepped back and gawked in wonder. Only a star-shaped scar remained. Sigurd arched his back and howled not in agony but in renewed strength. Never had she heard a stronger booming howl. He sat up and smiled sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t reveal our location.” He stood and stared at his disappearing wound. “Look how you have healed me.” 79

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She fingered his reddened scar. “Thank Feronia, you are healed, my Red Wolf.” His arms surrounded her small body and she felt his powerful squeeze as he drew her in. Would he thank her by crushing her to death? He let go, took her face between his two hands and opened her mouth with a ravenous kiss. She was lost in his mouth and never wanted to be found. The hut lit up by the strike of lightning, followed by a thunderous boom and the stallion’s protesting whinny. The rain outside increased into a feverish deafening tempo. Flashing images of Galien being torn apart by Radulf suddenly reminded her of the mistake she was making. She tore away from his kiss and turned her face. Her heart was rapidly beating with uncertainty. She did not want to live amongst savage lycans. Why did this lycan make her feel fulfilled? It had to be the near death at the hands of the berserkers. Or was he the one Feronia had destined to be her life mate? Sigurd had no pack and would have to fight not only Radulf’s pack but also perhaps her father’s. Her beloved father wanted her mated with a wealthy lycan with the power of a large pack. He would never accept a poor warrior with the customs of a foreign pack. Still the way Sigurd fought with such lethal grace he would probably kill half the pack before succumbing to the greater numbers. Why would such a powerful warrior want a runt? “Emelisse, what troubles you?” His hurt piercing blue green eyes begged for an answer. Tears welled in her eyes. “I have already lost a lover because of my pack, how can I ask you to risk your life to stay with me?” He wiped her tears with his thumb. “I would risk a thousand deaths to be with you, ulf hexen.” She sniffled and looked down so as not to be mesmerized by those jeweled eyes. “You know of my human lover and his child I lost, yet you still want me?” “I too lost an ulf hexen.” She had no right to feel jealousy but felt it stab her heart at his last words. “You had a mate?” He sighed. “Ingrede was not mine to have. She was married and very much in love with her husband. There was no magic betwixt us. It was Brynhild, my sister who insisted I take her. She wanted me to have an ulf hexen mate to increase our pack. Despite a powerful witch’s warning, I did as she suggested.” His voice grew sad. “Because of that mistake, she and my small pack died a horrible death.” His eyes grew wet. The lycan who slew so many berserkers and who was ready to die in revenge for his murdered parents without a moment’s thought to death. She blurted. “How?” As the rain pelted the sturdy thatch above them he told her the sordid story of how Ingrede and his sister had been bitten by a dog he said had the madness, what her pack called hydrophobia, the only illness that can kill a lycan. “That is the malady that Lupa and I have worked so hard to discover the cure for. We are very close; we just wait for Feronia’s instructions.” He scoffed. “I too sought such a cure for my sister.” He continued with how he finally had to seek the help of the witch he called Hungerd to kill his sister. The most heartrending part was that his sister chose to leap to her death from a cliff rather than harm her beloved brother. The most dangerous 80

Eva Gordon warrior she had ever known covered his forehead with his two hands and wept openly. She had the feeling that this was the first time he had grieved. Emelisse embraced him in a tight hold and let him release his guilt and pain. “It’s alright, she forgives you. That’s why she helped us.” He sniffled, his face reddened from emotion and blinked at her. His tone once again became the stern warrior’s voice. “You saw her spirit?” She nodded. “She rode the stallion back to us. And earlier her gray wolf form saved me from Bolla. He smiled. “The gray wolf with the red markings is Brynhild’s spirit, but oft I see her as the beautiful woman she once was. She watches me even from Valhalla.” The flash of light and the booming thunder that rocked the tiny hut made her jump and hold on tighter. He drew her. “You are safe.” He wiped his face with his cloak. “I hope you are not shamed at witnessing my lamentation. I never wept even as a child finding my father, mother and brother slain so brutally. I became a stone and never cried for my sister and den brothers.” “T’is not a shame to mourn for your kin.” He sighed. “Losing your human mate and child must have brought you great sorrow.” Her eyes downcast she bit her lower lip and nodded. “Like a wound that never heals.” His huge broad hands grabbed her hands and he kissed her knuckles. “We will heal each other.” Her heart hammered but did not pain her. “Do you think they are still hunting us?” “I don’t smell their foul odor. Though bearskins are stubborn and will not give up their pursuit, they are also a lazy lot and will not lift a paw till the rain passes. I would not be surprised if they will wait for Mord the Claw for further orders.” “Now that the killer of your parents is dead, will you still seek out Mord?” He drew in a breath and slowly nodded. “Mord, though a boy, was as big as a man when I returned to look for my brother. Not only had I found my dead parents but Mord snickering as he removed his axe from Guda’s split skull. I was enraged and Bork allowed the two of us to fight. I managed to cut off his hand, and while he hollered and bled my sister came and dragged me away. We hid from their wrath for years. Hungerd, the wolf witch, helped us with a protective spell that kept us hidden from them.” “Your brother, was he older?” “By three years and had just recently had his first shift. Though he was older, I was the tallest and the strongest, inheriting my father’s red pelt and bulk.” He snickered. “And his quick temper.” “Like all alphas.” “That is what you call those not under the control of the moon?” “Yes, the leaders of the pack. Like my father and that disgusting Radulf.” He stood and stretched. His noticeable erection made his face flush a deeper red. “I must dress, in case we need to ride immediately.” 81

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She tried not to stare at his hardened form. He looked just as naked with his sodden breeches. Part of her was glad he did not want to rut, yet she could not help but wonder how it would feel compared to Galien’s smaller frame. Perhaps he would smother her or crush every bone in her body? He reached for the sac and took out some soggy flat bread and handed her a piece. “We must eat and then rest. At dawn we leave.” She gladly took the moist bread and stuffed it in her mouth. The mark of the wolf on her hip burned like the hot blade she had used to close his wound. Could he sense the heat of it? The way he flared his nostrils and smiled to himself told her he had. As they ate and drank stolen mead, she listened to his tale of how he left his home to travel with Viking raiders and how his sword, Brynhild, had become known among the Saxon enemy. After the meager meal she lay on his shoulder as he told her about the dark haired ulf hexen who was destined to be his life mate. Could it be true? Was she the one Hungerd told him about? It was early dawn and Sigurd had been awake for hours, making sure the bearskins had not found them. The early light filtered into the thatched hut. The rain clouds had passed and the sun shined. Would they give up the chase so soon? Fearing punishment from Bork’s son, the bearskins would not give up the chase. They would have to at least make a good effort to bring his and Emelisse’s heads. He tacked his horse and stepped inside. He quietly stood and gazed down at Emelisse as she slept. Her tangled raven hair covered her face. She was curled in a ball like a kitten with her dry cloak draped over her. He had fought the temptation to make love to her. Though it pained him, he wanted to make sure she thought only of him and not this Galien person she had professed to love. He did not want to repeat the mistake he made with Ingrede. No ghost would join his bed. The little dark haired wench was his, but he wanted her to be his in heart as well. He remembered how she had pulled away from his kiss. Was it because she really feared her pack’s anger or because she could no longer stomach wolf men? She told him how she wished she could live with humans and not have to deal with wolfen secrecy and rules. With him she would have to obey the pack rules and follow him to where he might find a pack in need of a strong leader. Her breathing was like music to his ears. He smiled on how she had insisted he tell her everything about his life. He had lulled her to sleep with his tales of battle and the rigors of life on the dragon long ship, Thor’s Hammer. He wanted to hear her story of how such a rich maiden could ride like a man and had been brave enough to argue with bearskins and most importantly to risk her own life to ride back for him after he had been speared? She stirred and yawned. She immediately sat up and deftly braided her hair into a perfect pleat. She shot him a sidelong glance. “You washed the blood off.” “I found a puddle of rainwater and managed to clean myself. I hope I look more human.” He wanted her to know that being human was a large part of his nature. “Sigurd, must we leave now?” 82

Eva Gordon “Yes. We should ride before broad daylight. T’is fine that you released their horses, but know that they will not give up so easily. On their drakkor they can travel fast along the coast and river ways in search of our whereabouts.” “I heard bear men are slow witted and that their senses are dull and not as keen as a lycan’s.” “True, but compared to humans their sense of smell is quite powerful.” He smiled. “Lycan. I like your word for wolfskin.” “It is from the Greek word for wolf.” He extended his hand toward her. “Come, let us ride. There must be a village along this route for food.” Holding her hand, he sensed her heartbeat quicken. Like a frightened sparrow. Was she worried about the bearskins or worse, did she fear being his mate? He was so much bigger; did she fear he would hurt her? He had concerns but knew that wolfskins always fit well with their ulf hexen mates. She dusted off her cloak. “I wish I knew where we were.” “Just a bit north from the monastery where you were taken.” “My father must know by now.” He swallowed. “Do you wish to return to your pack?” She furrowed her brow. “I don’t know. After all that has happened I only want to live amongst humans.” He tried not to show a reaction but felt his face grow red with heat. His complexion always betrayed his deep emotions. He had learned to control it around the other warriors and in the beginning as a Viking he had to make an example of others that laughed at his reddening face. “Then we will live with humans.” She raised an eyebrow. “Which humans?” “We will find my long ship, Thor’s Hammer. In the open I will find the ship’s scent. I most certainly will be welcomed back.” “Nay!” He looked down at her widened eyes. The eyes that made him think of the beauty of dark forests. She was his and it was no longer her place to argue. His tone was firm. “We will be safe with Ludin and his mighty crew of human warriors.” “But what about Paris or Orleans?” “Such places will soon be raided.” “How?” “Trust me, there will be no stopping our incursion until the land is ours.” Her mouth opened in protest, but before she could say another word he took her by the hand and guided her from the hut, placed her on the mount and jumped up behind her. He clicked and the stallion bolted forward, heading due north, where it was likely Ludin and his long ship might be. Emelisse was displeased; once again an alpha lycan was forcing her to do as he commanded. Though she had to admit his strong body and alluring aroma aroused her and somehow he calmed her heart. She no longer felt the constricting pain in her heart. Still, she was tired of being the helpless human amongst the lycans who had god-like super strength. T’is the lot of all women to be under the control of their masters, but as a wolf maiden with a delicate 83

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf heart she had always been kept in a gilded cage. Keep her calm. Don’t let her ride or she will fall. Keep her locked until the human plagues burn out. You must not play rough with her. No running. She must stay inside until the rains pass. Would it be that way with this Northman lycan? Worse, she would be on a ship with raiders that slew helpless monks and took human cargo as slaves. She felt Sigurd’s iron frame behind her. He had not spoken once and had told her to not utter a word, lest the enemy hear them. When the time came, she would somehow get away. She was grateful to Sigurd for saving her life and she felt a powerful attraction to him that included her wolf mark burning like a melting candle. For once in her life, she wanted to know what it was like just to be with her own kind. Perhaps in a Frankish royal castle. No, stubborn as she was, the longer she was with him the harder it would be to leave him. Her heart melted. He had suffered so. Orphaned and alone. Were not his battles and quest as worthy of that of a Frankish knight? And most importantly, had Feronia guided him to her? Sigurd brought the lathered stallion to a sudden halt. As the steed threw his head up and down in agitation he dismounted and with his hand firmly holding the reins he sniffed the air. “Fire.” She took in a breath and caught a whiff of distant smoke. “A raid?” He gave a brusque nod. “Thor’s Hammer has struck.” He quickly mounted the prancing stallion and headed toward the burning village. They rode hard and fast. They arrived in a coastal fishing village now burning to the ground. On the seashore were three anchored dragon ships. Some of the village men and a few Frankish knights lay lifeless, whilst a few men, women and children were tied and herded like cattle toward the ships. She felt revulsion. These barbarians were his friends? Sigurd rode to the beach and waved at a bald man built like a giant. “Ludin!” The man wearing glistening armbands on his powerful arms and long beard decorated with intricate beads approached. Sigurd slid off and the two embraced. The man roared with laughter. “I thought by now you would be in Valhalla!” He grinned. “I stand but Bork the Mad is now in hell.” “Hah, so you avenged your father wolfskin.” He then cast an eye on her, his face soured. “It is the lost princess!” Sigurd raised an eye in confusion. “What do you mean?” He grabbed her waist and took her down. “This is Emelisse, I rescued her from Bork the Mad.” Ludin narrowed his eyes at her. “She is the one the Frank wolfskins are looking for. A Duke’s daughter, his only child. He is so wealthy his walls are made of gold.” He twisted a grin. “Either she will cause our death or bring us riches. Many of my men and the men of other long ships have been captured and tortured to find out the whereabouts of this dark haired beauty with the mark of the wolf. The boy, Agnur managed to escape and warn us.” He pointed his chin at the two ships next to Thor’s Hammer. “More than half of their men are dead. We lost four before we managed to escape from the wolfskins by getting out to sea. The men left behind were torn asunder. That is why we travel in haste. You best keep the secret of your wolf nature from 84

Eva Gordon the others, lest they slay you and the wench who has caused so many to lose their lives.” He narrowed suspicious eyes at Sigurd. “Have you aligned yourself with the Frank wolfskins?” “I know naught of them. I’m Norse.” “And what of the ulf hexen?” Sigurd draped a protective arm around her. “She is mine.” Emelisse was not only the daughter of just any wolfskin with a pack but a wealthy Duke with land and influence. He knew her father was a duke but not one with so much wealth. Hungerd was right, she was royalty. Why would she come with him? All he would offer would be a modest long house warmed with a hearth and if he was lucky, a thrall or two to keep the home. Yet, he would never give her up. Somehow he would give her the luxury she once had. The other warriors gathered around. A yellow haired brawny man carrying a menacing double axe shouted. “She is the one they seek.” Emelisse held him tighter. “What are they saying?” He gritted his teeth and spoke in a near whisper. “Your Frankish pack has been looking for you and killing as many Vikings as possible.” Instead of shrinking back she let go of him and stepped forward. “You dare complain when it is you who kill and enslave our people!” Most of the men understood enough of the local language to catch her meaning. He rolled his eyes. Why could she not keep her pretty little mouth quiet? His fingers touched the hilt of his sword. How many would he have to slay in order to protect his haughty mate? He drew out Brynhild and took a fighting stance. Despite Ludin’s advice, he would reveal his true nature. “I am ulfhednar, a wolfskin like those that pursue this ulf hexen but I am loyal to Ludin. I fight for Odin.” He eyed the horde menacingly. “She is my mate and I will not allow the Frank wolfskins to take her. Thor’s Hammer is in need of crew and I, as you all well know, can take the place of ten men.” He raised his sword up to the sky. “I’m ulfhednar and have the rage of the wolf. I vow to fight for Ludin.” Ludin cracked a smile and then boomed a laugh. The rest of the beleaguered men raised their sword up and shouted. “Ulfhednar!” Emelisse looked up at Sigurd, ignorant of the gravity of what had just occurred. “Tell them to release the villagers.” Ludin glared at her. “Bring your thrall wench, we leave now.” The men returned to gathering their loot and making repairs on their ship. Sigurd bowed. “Thank you.” Ludin nodded and began shouting orders to his men. Sigurd grabbed the horse’s lead to loosen the girth. It would be best to un-tack him and let him roam free. He turned to talk to Emelisse. She was gone. He squinted his eyes and spotted her heading for the man snapping a whip and ordering the villagers on board Thor’s Hammer. In the name of Odin, what trouble does she cause now? With the speed of his kind he ran toward the confrontation. Emelisse had the gall to grab the man named Gerd the Short-Tempered by his beefy arm. “Stop. I order you to let them go!” He flashed her a look of rage and raised his whip. Before striking her, Sigurd roughly pushed her aside took hold of the whip and dragged Gerd on 85

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf the surf. His sword was on the back of his neck. “Raise a whip on my mate again and you will feel more than the touch of my blade. Swear!” His voice bubbled from beneath the water. “I swear.” He lifted Gerd up and threw the whip at him. “Go back to the thralls.” “You are not going to help them?” Emelisse’s furious voice pierced his ears and shamed his heart. Sigurd did not like taking slaves but it was the way the crew earned coin for their return home. These villagers would be sold and well fed. If left, they would starve for there was nothing left especially for the women folk and their children. “Enough!” He glowered at her and threw her over his shoulder. She punched his back with her fists. “Put me down you barbaric beast!” The men roared with laughter as he boarded the ship with the fuming wench and set her down near the stern as they lifted the anchor and prepared for departure. She tried to stand but he pushed her down. She fumed. “I will not allow you to take slaves!” He was breathing hard and felt his face glow with heated fire. The men knew better than to laugh but still he felt that he would lose respect being yelled at by his woman. The blow of a horn interrupted their quarrel. Gerd yelled. “Wolfskins!”

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Chapter 9 Ludin bellowed. “Up mast!” The ship rocked in the shallow waters as the blood red square sail flared out. Emelisse ran to the rail. Franks on horseback rode with great speed and determination attacking the Vikings on shore who were still boarding their own ships. Arrows sung through the air like avenging birds of prey and pierced men crumbled face down on the surf. Chaos ensued. Thralls not yet on board a ship ran toward the forest. The knights swung their Franciscan axes and heads rolled. Other axes were thrown penetrating chain mail and the Northmen fell before lifting a sword. The Vikings were not fighting normal men but rather lycans with the super power strength of their wolfen nature. Though they were human the evening full moon made them invincible. The men dismounted and began attacking the warriors willing to fight and others attempting to flee. The din of clashing, chopping and blood curdling screams boomed throughout the sun lit morning. Hand to hand combat lasted but moments, soon the lycan used their brute strength to subdue and rip throats. Emelisse had never witnessed such horrors at the hands of her kind. She turned her attention to a banner of the white wolf that flapped in the wind. A dark knight led them, his snow-white hair protruding out of his helmet as he galloped on his white stallion. She gasped. Radulf. He caught sight of her and whirled his horse in the ship’s direction. He reached the edge of the seashores choppy surf, took off his helmet and bellowed. “Emelisse, jump!” Taken aback she froze, holding her throbbing heart. Jump and be owned by the cruel lycan or stay on board and stay with another heartless lycan? Either way she was property. She glanced at Sigurd, his chest heaving as he watched Radulf remove his clothing and handing them to a waiting squire. Going back meant seeing her father again and Isabelle, yet something about Sigurd compelled her to stay. He had suffered so and had saved her life from brutal death by the bearskins. His kiss had awakened sensations she had never experienced. Not even with Galien. Her heart hammered. Even if she jumped escape would not be certain. Next to her Sigurd loomed and she had no doubt that if she dived into the murky water he would leap after her. His jaws clenched, he too began removing his chain mail and tunic. A low growl emanated from deep in his throat. His upper lip curled displaying sharp white

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf fangs. Was he going to jump? She saw Radulf’s men gather behind him, their swords and Franciscan axes glistening under the sun. Nay, he must not. If he swam on shore to challenge Radulf, the pack would join in and rip him to shreds. Not the man who risked everything including his honor to rescue her. She placed a hand on his straining bundled tense arm, his muscles tight as iron. “Sigurd, I will stay with you.” She cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted over the clamor of death screams, pounding surf and wind. “I’m staying here you murdering pig!” Radulf fisted his hands in rage. “Burn the ship! Burn them all!” Several archers readied their arrows, lighted them and shot flaming arrows toward the thick mast and sail. The thick woolen sail began to burn. Ludin ordered the men not holding an oar to put out the flames. “Row!” The fire on one of the other long ships still on land roared as it burned. Radulf stepped deeper in the water toward Thor’s Hammer. “You will pay for this, bitch!” He shifted and leapt into the water. Sigurd shifted into the huge red wolf and snarled a deafening roar. Radulf was dwarfed in comparison. At seeing the size difference and knowing that his pack remained on shore, unable to shift until the evening’s full moon, Radulf pinned his ears back and paddled back. Emelisse yelled a further humiliation at the retreating lycan. “Not as easy as killing a helpless human is it? Coward!” The fire out, the ship caught the wind and sailed. Radulf reached the shore, shook his wet body and shifted. Humiliated in front of his pack he grabbed a nearly dead Viking and eviscerated him with his still clawed hand. He threw the writhing man’s gut down and yelled. “I will find you wolf maiden, and teach you not to bed men!” She shuddered at his threat and instinctively moved close to her protector, who in wolf form howled in triumph. From behind Sigurd she peeked out and stuck out her tongue at Radulf. The simple act caused Radulf to bellow in rage as the ship glided away with the speed and stability of a sea serpent. The Vikings cheered and Sigurd shimmered back to his human form. Naked on the deck Sigurd turned to Emelisse and with Radulf still watching, lifted her to meet his mouth and kissed her, long and hard. She pushed his broad shoulders but it was useless. She felt his passion and possessive hold on her. She was his claimed wolf maiden. Her wolf mark burned in response to his smoldering lips and she moaned. There was no going back. Ocean spray brought them back to their senses and he gently set her down whilst the men chorused, “Ulfhednar, ulfhednar!” Encouraged by their support, Sigurd spread his muscular arms to the sky and displayed his huge frame for the horsemen who were attempting to follow the direction of the ship. He shouted his triumphed berserker rage. One of the dragon ships was a bonfire on shore while the second managed to escape, its sail nearly burnt but the remaining crew rowing like mad. Emelisse touched her bruised lips and watched the mounted army disappear into a distant blur. Little did Sigurd know he had just declared war on the most powerful lycan pack. Would her father join Radulf’s forces thinking that these were the Vikings that attacked the monastery? She felt a pang of guilt. Her father would never give up. Did he think she was still 88

Eva Gordon pregnant? Knowing Radulf he would tell him that he saw her being raped by a Viking lycan. He would worry that such harsh conditions would cause her heart to finally fail. Chanteloup had protected her all her life from even the smallest of harms. Knowing she was in such great peril would kill him. And then there were the bearskins. By now they too searched for her and Sigurd. Mord the Claw would blame all wolfskins. She drew in a breath. There would be a bloody war because of her. Tears joined the salty spray on her face. Sigurd glanced down and drew her into an embrace. “Emelisse, don’t cry. That cowardly dog no longer has a claim on you.” She bit her lip to keep from weeping and shook her head. “T’is not his claim, but that my abduction will cause naught but a great war.” He raised a pained brow and stiffened. “Abduction? Did I not rescue you from the bearskins?” She met his eyes, trying not to be ungrateful. “I owe you my life for that I thank you, but I am being taken away from all I know. And worse, my father will not know that you were not part of the raid that destroyed the monastery.” He bent down to gather his garments and draped them over his shoulder, oblivious to the other men who ignored his immodest appearance. “You said you wanted to live amongst humans, these warriors are very human.” She glanced at the huddled and bound slaves sitting at the bow. One young woman had her clothing almost ripped off revealing a buxom chest. Her mouth was bleeding. Emelisse stepped away from him and pointed. “You are a bestial barbarian! Only barbarians loot, burn and take slaves.” She averted her eyes from staring at the size of his manhood, which though not fully erect was still large. Not like Galien’s boy like penis. Fully aroused he would be too…, dear Feronia. She stammered. “And… and rape.” Her eyes blazing, “Will I be next?” The men hooted and laughed but stopped as Sigurd’s fierce glare silenced them. His face grew as red as the blood red sail. Not only was he angry at her scolding but also in his sea green eyes and gaping mouth she saw his hurt. She bit her lip. How could she accuse him of attempting to force her? He had killed more warriors than she had fingers while protecting her and had so gently let her sleep on his shoulder without a single inappropriate touch. She opened her mouth to apologize but it was too late, he was furious. “Hold your tongue woman!” He scoffed and bowed with a face feigning politeness as he bowed. “Princess.” He then towered over her. “I have chosen you as my ulf hexen and yet you are ungrateful.” Her back pressed against the rail as the ship let the wind push it smoothly over the quiet sea. Would he throw her over board? Her hand rested on her heart waiting for it to suddenly stop and her to drop dead where she stood. Sigurd would think he had frightened her to death. Emelisse was not ready to die. She drew in a deep breath and focused on slowing her racing pulse. He turned to the big oaf that guarded the slaves. He spoke in his language then repeated it in hers. “Gerd, collar her with a leather strap bearing my name and see that she does not move.” Her eyes widened. “How dare you!” 89

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf He picked her up and handed her over to the hulky overseer. The big man was gentle despite the fact that Sigurd had ordered him to treat her no better than a captured slave. He made sure she had a large space under a hide canopy to protect her from the sun. The others they called thralls merely lowered their gaze toward their bound feet. Emelisse folded her arms in front of her and fumed. He was no better than Radulf. Would he treat her thus if he knew of her need to remain calm for the sake of her frail heart? No, she would never tell him. Despite her hurting heart she preferred how he treated her, like he would anyone else. From the corner of her eye she saw him put on his breeches and with his tunic still off he relieved an oarsman. Though the wind was adequate the rowing gained distance from the shore and the lethal band of Frank lycans. By the looks of his scowl she had the sense that if he was not rowing he would be tearing flesh, not hers but anyone who gave him a wrong look. She watched his back. His muscles taut and corded increased the long ship’s speed. They were in the open seas and the waves grew rough. The ocean sprayed all of them. Up and down, up and down. This was the only time she had been on a ship of any kind and she felt nauseous. The other men could not keep up and Ludin, standing near the helmsman at the tiller bar, ordered him to seize rowing. “Sigurd, enough! Any faster and the dragon’s head will be snapped off. T’would be a bad omen.” Sigurd growled but obeyed. The tired men breathed in relief. “He cast his jarl a shrewd eye. He spoke back in her language and pointed to the dragon’s head. “I carved it so that not even Odin’s wrath would cast it off.” Ludin, his fists on his hips, bellowed over the wind. “Though you are the artisan and a fine one at that, you would not have time to replace it.” Emelisse, feeling woozy managed to glance at the prow’s intricate dragonhead jeweled with sapphires and rubies. Part of it had damage from an arrow. She had caught a glimpse of Sigurd carving wooden figurines of birds while back at the berserker camp but she had not known that he was such a gifted sculptor. She never imagined that a powerful warrior with such large calloused hands could do such delicate art. He wiped sweat from his furrowed brow. He shot a quick eye at her before turning his back and accepting an ale horn from one of the crew. He and Ludin walked to the prow away from earshot. Gerd carved what must have been Sigurd’s name on a leather strap and hung it in front of her as if to measure how much to cut. She scooted back. No. He will not put that on. Never. He gave her a toothless grin and while another sailor grabbed her arms from behind, he tied it on. “Sigurd, tell him to stop!” The beast with the power to hear faint noises must have heard her, in fact the others did. They laughed and mocked her by calling his name. After securing a tight knot, Gerd let go and whispered in her ear. “If you don’t obey, your master will whip your pretty little hide.” He stepped away and returned to his post. She attempted to remove it but it was impossible. She sat closer to the other slaves who unlike her were securely tied to one another and whispered, “Next stop, I promise to free you.” They did not dare look at her. Just as well. Her guts were lurching from the rocking motion worse than her brief 90

Eva Gordon morning sickness. Her anger had contained her growing queasiness but now the scent of fish, body odors and the swaying motion was too much. She cupped her mouth over her belligerent retching stomach. Sigurd needed to teach her a lesson. She could not berate him in front of his fellow warriors. It was his most difficult challenge. He held back as she begged him not to let them collar her. Did she believe Gerd, that he as her master would hurt her? How was he to win her love if she thought him a brute? He remembered how his father had always treated his human mother with such gentle care. His mother, tall for a human, was soft spoken and kind. Dark haired beauty Emelisse was small but with the spirit of a fiery Valkyrie and whispering to the thralls that she would free them. There were fifty men on board. He rolled up his eyes. The little wench will probably convince him to escort them back to their destroyed village. Their fate would be worse on their own. Ludin’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Your princess does not seem pleased you made her your thrall.” Sigurd felt a flash of irritation. “She is my ulf hexen, the woman who is to be my life mate.” “Yet you collared her for all to see.” He twisted his braided beard. “You know, returning her will bring a handsome ransom and perhaps you can find another ulf hexen with a better temperament?” He clenched his jaw. “No. She is the only one for me. I collared her so she will not interfere with the ship and disrespect me in front of the men.” Ludin nodded in agreement. “That will teach the princess.” He laughed. “Valhalla awaits one who has angered the southern wolfskins and the bearskins.” He knitted his brow with worry. This was what Emelisse had fretted about. Being with him would imperil her with greater danger. Death for him while fighting Mord or a horde of wolfskins would be glorious and honorable. Yet the thought that she may be hurt or die pained him deeply. The sound of her heaving made him snap out of his thoughts. He raced to her side and guided her to the leeward side of the rail as she gagged trying to stop the inevitable. She vomited continuously, more than the other thralls. Her face had lost all color. “Emelisse, look toward the horizon.” “Leave me alone… I.” She threw up until nothing came up and she nearly fainted in his arms. A sailor handed him a cup of a concoction to help with her seasickness. Sigurd took it and held it over her mouth. “Drink this. It will calm your stomach.” Her hands trembling she attempted to drink and immediately gagged and retched again and again. He felt helpless and responsible. He had upset her and had not been mindful of her lack of sea legs. He draped his fur cloak over hers and simply held her while she continued her sickness. He did not like the distinct sound of a fluttering butterfly coming from her beating heart. If she continued she would surely not last the night. He turned to Ludin. “Will we anchor near land?” “I will release the caged crows on the morrow. We will find calm waters for the night but not till sunset.” 91

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Emelisse threw up what seemed to be only air and wavered. He held her and she bent holding her stomach and moaning. “I hate the waters.” She moaned. “Get me off.” He lifted her and brought her to lie under the canopy. He was relieved when she fell asleep. He bundled her up and dared anyone to look at him. His fangs protruded, it would be a full moon night, a fact that would make him short tempered and over protective of his mate. Not one warrior dared meet his eyes. A human warrior would not be so tender but he was wolf by nature and what mattered was that his pack was well cared for and loved. Emelisse being the only member of his pack was treasured. As the evening grew near and the pull of the moon grew stronger, his earlier human behavior of embarrassment over Emelisse’s retort made him feel foolish. She had every right to complain and as his ulf hexen he had to listen to her words as an equal. He took his knife, reached beneath her cloak and cut her collar. She blinked her eyes open and felt her throat. She croaked. “Not yours?” “I’m sorry. You are my mate, you will skin my kills, heal my wounds and perhaps someday hold our child in your tender hands.” He stood and tossed the piece of leather overboard. As the sun set, the sea calmed and the light orb of the moon adorned the night, blocking the brightness of the Great Wagon’s seven stars. They anchored and brought the sail down for the night. They took their ale horns and drank and ate dried meat and looted food. Sigurd was offered a large slab and he gladly took it. He offered her food but she waved it away. Like Emelisse he too longed for land. The sea was not his home. His travels had been a necessity as directed by Hungerd as the way to find and kill his enemy. He looked at Emelisse all curled up, allowing the rhythm of the ship to lull her into sound sleep rather than to retch her guts out. He had traveled far to find her. Hungerd’s prediction had come true. She was the dark haired beauty foreseen in her divination; the royal woman, so small and delicate, yet perfect. Sigurd removed his clothing in preparation for his shift and the men backed off. He shimmered into his large red wolf form. He bowed a stretch whilst emitting a low groan. It felt good to be on all fours. More stable on the swaying boat. He howled at the moon a prayer to Fenris to help heal Emelisse of her seasickness. He wondered if Fenris knew of the goddess Emelisse called Feronia.

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Chapter 10 Emelisse was surrounded in white light. The call of a distant sorrowful howl gripped her with unease. Was she dead? Her heart was certainly not strong enough to withstand such retching. Then she heard Feronia call her. Since she was seven years old she had become her oracle, able to have direct communication with Feronia, a gift for a select few wolf maidens. It kept her from being quickly married off since her father took Lupa’s advice to keep her in the Lupercal longer to hone in on her sight. She was also being groomed to be the mate of a great lycan warrior and would court only a select few. Her father felt that this great warrior was Radulf since he commanded more men and had more land than any other lycan since the time of ancient Rome. Lupa, also an oracle of Feronia, had disagreed vehemently with Chanteloup’s choice of Radulf the Cruel as a mate. Emelisse trusted Feronia but since she slept with Galien the goddess had started to abandon her. Like her pack the goddess had also not approved of her love for a human. After she lost her child, Feronia had warned her to not take another human lover. To do so would mean the end of her communion with the goddess. The last time she spoke to her was when she warned Emelisse that the dragon would swallow the sun bringing in a harsh long winter, a winter that would be the hardest trial for her. Perchance, she would tell her more. Feronia’s sweet voice spoke to her. “Emelisse, I have a gift for you.” She only saw her silhouette in the bright light, a tall shapely figure of a lady in a flowing gown. Her heart skipped a beat. The ship was no longer rocking. “My lady, I accept the gift you bestow upon me. Is the gift a cure to my illness of the sea?” “The gift is a parchment that contains instructions on how to make a potion to cure and prevent hydrophobia.” “Oh?” Emelisse was so preoccupied with her own life that she overlooked how Feronia wished her to create the cure for the great malady. During the last five years she and Lupa had been working on finding a remedy to help lycans who were plagued by hydrophobia, a raging disease that caused them to lose their mind and kill both human and fellow lycans. The alchemy of such a potion would be the greatest gift bestowed upon them. She stood trying to see through the haze of brightness and curtsied. “Dear Feronia, thank you.” The shadowy figure of the statuesque woman approached and placed a necklace with a pouch around her neck. “This must be shared with all the pack. Beneath the Lupercal, Lupa has received the instructions as well. She is

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf collecting all the ingredients necessary and when you return the two of you will stop the wolf rage from the destroying all human and lycan kind.” Emelisse knelt. “Thank you my lady.” She rose slowly. “My lady, tell me of the one called Sigurd.” The light dimmed so that she could now look upon the beautiful face of her goddess. Feronia cast a knowing smile. The goddess and the bright light disappeared. Emelisse stretched her hand and called. “Wait. Come back!” She also wanted to ask why this winter would be such a trial for her. The ship swayed and she opened her eyes. It was a moonlit night. Perhaps it was the moon’s light that, in her delirium, caused her to imagine she was once again communing with the goddess. She stirred and felt her protesting stomach rear its ugly head and she moaned. From the corner of her weary eyes she saw a large red furred body. The bear sized red wolf lifted its head and whimpered. It had only been a dream. She was neither dead nor back in her own bed near the warm always-lit fireplace. She clenched her eyes shut and muttered. “I hate boats.” Noisy sea birds squawked above the newly hoisted sail. The ship drifted into a steady course. Sigurd looked down at Emelisse. How could she sleep through all the clatter of men waking and preparing to move? He had shifted back at dawn when he awoke to her moaning in her sleep. After that he had dressed and made sure she was securely covered and comfortable. It would be a long journey back to his northern home. The released crows had returned not finding land. They needed to stop along the way if she could not keep any food down. As small as she was, he could lose her. He would disembark and take her on a land route. She blinked her eyes open. The green tinge on her pallor did not bode well. “I need to…” She gagged and spit out more clear fluids. A nearby sailor, Selig brought a jug of water. Sigurd took it and poured it into his ale horn. He helped her sit up. “Emelisse, drink some water.” She took it and tried. She swallowed and immediately retched. After she finished he picked her up and carried her to the prow where Ludin stood. Two days of sea illness was enough. “Jarl, we must release the crows again!” The older leader glanced down at the limp body. He then boldly stared at Sigurd and nodded. He could not refuse Sigurd, not after he had saved Ludin’s life and the life of the crew during their raids in Northumbria. “Very well, Red Wolf. I say you get her ransom and not bother with this one.” Sigurd snarled at him and he saw fear in his friend’s eyes. Did he not know what mate meant to a wolfskin? The crows were freed and cawing they flew eastbound. Soon they were black dots on the horizon. They did not return. Land must be close by. Thor’s Hammer headed in the inland direction and the other long ship continued on. The crew of the passing long ship waved before they too were a distant speck.

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Eva Gordon Emelisse felt solid ground beneath her and was so grateful to be back on land that she kissed the earth. She could not remember ever being as sick as she had been on the rocking ship. She would have welcomed death. Her head still ached but her stomach was starting to settle. Her heart felt better as well. All around her the men were setting up camp. The sky was clear and the sun’s warmth was comforting. She was under the shade of a tree beyond the sand bar. She lay on top of a wool fleece with her cloak draped over her. She sat and noticed there was a flagon with water and some flat bread. She poured some water into an ale horn and drank. Ah, her thirst was quenched. She poured more and drank, feeling it sooth her parched raw throat. It was staying down. How miraculous. The cure was land and she vowed to never go back on the ship. She reached for the bread and warily chewed, swallowing slowly and waited. Satisfied she would not throw it up, she ate the entire piece. Her appetite back she searched for additional morsels. She would have to get up to get more. She stood with her feet securely on land. Her energy renewed, she searched for Sigurd. His red hair flashed like a beacon. He sat on the prow, busy carving the dragon’s head. Had it been that damaged or was he simply enhancing it with more detail? Below her, the slaves were tied up and feeding on porridge. No one appeared to be guarding them. Most of the men were working on various tasks or sunning themselves. She stood and felt the weight of the long necklace with a leather pouch that she wore. Had it really come from Feronia? She opened the small bag. Inside was a rolled up parchment and she carefully unrolled it. The formula for a special potion was written in Latin. The gift from Feronia. It had not been a dream. A tear welled in her eye. The goddess had welcomed her back. She clasped her hand around the pouch. Had Lupa had the same dream? Will she soon have the cure to the dreaded disease, hydrophobia? According to her dream she did. She had to get back to the Lupercal. This discovery was too important. She hid the necklace beneath her tunic. A couple of Vikings walked by carrying jugs of water. There must be a river or a stream nearby. Sigurd had told her the voyage north would be long and cold. The ocean would get rougher. Dear Feronia, she was not going back on that ship. Not now, not ever. She surveyed the area. There were no horses. How would she out run a maddened alpha lycan? One who had fought bear men? All the Vikings were performing tasks near the moored ship. No one was looking. She stood and approached the slaves. She squatted down and pulled out a small knife she had secured from the bearskin camp. She looked around quickly and sliced through the ropes that bound them. “You are free. Go.” She whispered. A plump woman shook her head and hugged a boy. “Nay, they will capture and flay us alive.” The rest nodded their eyes wide with terror. A young boy of about ten and the woman who had been sexually battered needed no encouragement. They scrambled off at a dead run deep into the rocky land beyond their camp. She looked back at Sigurd. He was focused on the nose of the creature. Her heart ached for him but she was determined. He would survive better without her in his homeland. Radulf and her father’s pack would hunt him down unless she returned. He probably regretted taking her after she had so 95

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf embarrassed him. Still his kiss had awakened such deep emotions in her that she could not imagine living without him. A sudden breeze brought the rotting smell of sea life and muck. The foul stench reminded her of her days of endless retching. She could not go on that boat not even with him. She imagined him throwing her over his back like some newborn lamb and forcing her to endure more sickness. Her heart would not take any more retching. She sighed in regret once and then quietly walked away toward the rocky trail. Slow, now fast and faster. She ran not looking back. If she could find a body of water to wade in, her scent would be lessened. Panting she looked around. Up ahead was a small stream. It led nowhere. Perhaps if she found a group of Frank soldiers or even some peasants she might be able to send a message to her father. She would tell him of Feronia’s gift and have him promise her to send her to Tours or Rome. He would most certainly not offer her to Radulf. Better she find another alpha perhaps in the east. Radulf would never forgive her but in time he may decide to choose another wolf maiden and let her be. The sound of a twig ahead made her halt. Someone was behind the thicket. She took out her knife and tried to look menacing. A cackling laugh made her jump. It was the wench with the torn dress. “Ye’ll not hurt a child with that little weapon.” She wiggled her dirtied finger at her and then made an obscene gesture opening her cloak and pointing to her pelvis. “Your werewolf lover will find you soon enough.” Emelisse brows rose with an idea. “Of course.” She stepped close to the woman and lurched at her, the sharp dagger now at the woman’s throat.” Isabelle had shown her the fine art of how to use a knife as a lethal weapon. The wench stiffened. “What do you want from me?” “That is up to you? I will let you decide. Your ripped throat or your clothing?” She looked at her like she was mad. “You plan to leave me nude to die of cold? Better to kill me now, little witch,” she spat. “You can wear my clothes. We will trade.” Her laugh was mocking. “I can no more fit into your small figured dress than you can in my larger mischief gown.” She held up her hefty breast and flapped them up and down to emphasize her meaning. Emelisse dug the knife deeper into the taller woman’s throat. She saw her point. “Very well, then take my cloak and I will take yours.” The woman complied with a small careful nod and removed her tattered brown woolen cloak. Emelisse released her hold and grabbed it. The woman stood shivering in the shady woods. She handed the wench the finer ermine lined cloak. Emelisse hooked the woman’s peasant cloak on. She pointed the knife. “Go that way and don’t let me catch you following me or else.” She gestured with the dagger, slicing her throat. “T’is a fine cloak,” she swooned feeling the material. Emelisse looked at what was once a gift from another duchess and shrugged. Before the woman looked up she disappeared into the forests. There had been many things she had learned from her pack and one of them was to hide from prey. 96

Eva Gordon Sigurd placed a loose jewel more securely on the nose of the wooden dragon. Now his debt was paid. Ludin would have his fine carved dragonhead which he boasted was the best among the entire fleet. He would be paid handsomely, allowing Emelisse and him to buy two mounts and head north via the land route. He would not make her suffer one more day at sea. He could not wait to see the relief on her face on learning of his new plan. He strapped the bag of coin to his sword belt and took the bundle he had prepared for their journey. He would hunt for meat, but he also carried flatbread and nuts. He looked at where Emelisse was sleeping earlier. Had she stepped away to relieve herself? She must be feeling better. He narrowed his eyes to search. Gerd yelling at the slaves who cowered before him drew his attention momentarily away from Emelisse’s makeshift bed. Soon others approached the thralls. Ludin was next to Gerd, bellowing as well. He gritted his teeth. It had to do with Emelisse. What had she done? He stormed over. “What has happened?” He saw the cut rope. An older thrall spoke quickly. “Your thrall cut two free and escaped up the trail,” he said pointing his shaking finger beyond the beach. Ludin shrugged and waved a hand dismissively, “We must set sail. Let them rot, there is nothing here.” He grinned at Sigurd. “I pity your mate when you find her.” He glared down at the thralls. “If one more escapes then I will hang you all.” He patted Sigurd on his shoulder. “Will you hunt her as a wolf?” “Nay. T’is easier to carry my belongings as a man. I have the speed of my wolf spirit. When I do find her there will be a reckoning.” “Don’t forget your wolfskin strength. She is small like a fragile dove.” His lip twitched. He felt a pang of guilt. She was weakened from her illness and ordeal at sea. “I am aware. I only harm warriors, not little women, especially one that is to be my mate.” He would discipline her the way he would a disobedient child, over his knees. By the time he headed in the direction of her scent Thor’s Hammer was already pulling anchor in preparation to leave. He knew he was perhaps a moon away from his homeland, or at least Hungerd’s cave. Emelisse hid in the thicket, as two barbaric men rode by. They were not Frank or Northmen. They looked more like robbers. They wore rodent fur and dirtied wrappings on their legs. One of the horses pointed its ears in her direction and she held her breath. They passed and she no longer heard their voices. Soon birds resumed their song and the teeming wildlife moved about without fear from man. Where was she? The long ship had traveled for two days at a fast speed. For all she knew she could be in the land of the Northman. If the night was not overcast she could follow the stars and head south, perhaps to Aquitaine. If she made it there her mother’s family would take her in. If she quickly married a duke, Radulf would not dare kill him and reveal his true nature. Still, he was greedy enough for her father’s land to take the risk. He would kill another hapless human to possess her. She was certain he would poison her or kill her in some accidental matter once a son and land was secured. He would take advantage of her weakened heart. He would be 97

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf the most influential lycan if he owned Chanteloup’s territory, where the Lupercal rested beneath his castle. She sat on a log to rest her sore feet. A thick fog was descending upon the now marshy area. How could she think of marrying a nobleman or anybody after being in Sigurd’s protective arms? Perhaps he had thought it best to leave her and continue on with the ship. She shuddered about what would happen if he found her. Would he clasp a collar around her throat, or throttle her for escaping? With his superior strength a slap from him would probably break her neck. Before that her frail heart would finally stop. Nay. No lycan would kill or hurt a wolf maiden. She smoothed out the loose threads of her peasant cloak. Yet he was a foreign lycan, one not familiar with her pack’s Lupercal rules. She bent her hands over her head. What had she done? She was doomed. If he did follow the wench wearing her cloak, he would shift and travel at great speed searching for her and be even angrier at such trickery. After brooding she decided it would be best to head as far away as possible. If he found her she would explain that she could not tolerate another day at sea. He knew how close she had come to death from the relentless wave motion. The wench’s hollers quickened Sigurd’s pace. He had just been ready to head toward Emelisse’s strong body scent having realized that he had been simply following the aroma of her cloak worn by another. Clever ulf hexen, sly as Loki, but not clever enough. He crashed through the thicket with Brynhild, his sword, in one hand and his battle-ax in the other. He yelled a war cry, surprising the two road bandits. One sat on top of the escaped thrall while the other held her arms out in preparation for rape. On seeing him they quickly drew out their slighter swords and before the wench got up they both fell to the ground in a swift bloody silent death. Their tied horses balked. He stood, reached for their reins and said calming words. They would do as mounts. She gathered the cloak around herself. “Serves them right!” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Take the cloak off!” The wench rapped it tighter around herself. “She took mine, milord. I will freeze at sea.” She must think the ship would wait for her return. He raised his voice to a dangerous level. “NOW!” She cowered and took it off. Trembling she handed it over. He was no brute; he took out a coin and handed it to her. “Get new clothes.” Her eyes widened. “Thank you, Messire. Am I free?” “The ship is gone. You are no longer a thrall.” He wiped dust off the cloak. “I gather she went the opposite way?” She nodded vigorously. “She said your nose would be confused. She likes ye though she is fighting it. It’s the boat she refused to return to, being it made her so sick and all.” He hoped she was right. She left to avoid the ship. Yet how could she think that he would force her to return knowing that it had nearly killed her? He was angered at her lack of trust. He pointed his chin to the south. “There’s wood smoke coming from that direction. You can explain you escaped Viking warriors.” 98

Eva Gordon “Most grateful,” she turned before walking on. “You will not turn into a werewolf will you?” He smelled her raw fear. She was worried as dark clouds loomed over them. “Only when I lose patience.” He mounted the bigger gray horse and grabbed the bay by the reins. The woman sped off. He sniffed the air. Emelisse was heading away from her homeland. Catching the direction of her scent he spurred his horse into a fast trot shadowed by the other horse he ponied. With her recovering from illness she could not be that far ahead. How could she think she could lose him? Her feminine aroma permeated the air like a map. Alone and without protection. He growled. This untamed region was notorious for highway bandits preying on merchants and lost travelers. The notorious bearskins always traveled more inland along rivers. Bolla was still alive and she would quickly recognize her. Fortunately, the only bear smell he picked up was that of a real bear. It rumbled through the copse, sniffed the air and ran away. Emelisse looked up. Clouds. How would she ever find the North Star to navigate due southeast to find Aquitaine? The land turned into a vast marsh. At times she was knee deep in water. Biting insects stabbed and bit. She slapped them off her face and neck. “Ah, you wretched blood sucking beasties.” She ran away from the buzzing dark cloud. Their high-pitched whining stopped and there was eerie silence. She felt a chill not from the sudden cold but the feeling that she was being watched, no, being hunted. Sigurd. She quickly went on higher drier ground and out of breath went up a hill. As a young girl the game of hide and seek had always been frustrating. It was not fair; there was no place she could hide that the lycan children could not find. She swiped more tiny flies away from her eyes and ran up the hill. Finally it was level and somewhat dry. Good, more trees, places to hide. She heard the patter of hooves coming up the hill. Several horses. It could not be Sigurd; the ship had not brought horses. Maybe they were the bandits she had seen earlier or worse, bearskins. Now she wished it was Sigurd despite his justifiable rage at her flight. Mayhap he gave up on her, realizing she had become too much trouble. Her wolf paw suddenly burned. If Lupa was right, he had to be her life mate the way her mark grew in heat at merely thinking about him. She leapt into a thicket, draped the brown cloak around her and covered herself with leaved branches from the ground. She would wait it out while the riders moved on. Instead of trotting by, the horses walked and then halted only inches from where she crouched. She closed her eyes and held her breath. Someone dismounted and she heard his suede boots stepping on dry leaves. By the sound of the crunching she could tell this was a big man. Was the other man still on his horse while this one looked at suspicious looking prints? She bit her lower lip. Her heart hammered against her chest. She needed to do the calming breaths but it would make too much noise. One of the horses was sniffing over her head. She felt his hot breath. The man’s feet pounded toward the horse and pulled him back. He grabbed something and threw it on the ground. She peeked. It was a bedroll only one foot away from her hiding place. He walked over to the other horse and brought him closer. The other horse must be a packhorse. Would she be 99

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf trampled? She carefully scooted back causing the horse to bolt away in fright. The man patted the horse and moved it to the other side of her hiding place. She would wait until he snored, then grab one of the horses and escape. His suede boots moved to the brush to collect kindling for a fire. Maybe the man was a seasoned traveler; a merchant and she could trust him. She removed the hood to get a closer look. He was gone. The horse near her looked at her with a casual eye as if thinking a human hiding in the brush was not so bad. She surveyed the area. There was no sign of him. Now would be a good time to grab the gray. Like the pounce of a hawk swooping down on an unaware rabbit, two arms grabbed her from behind. She yelped and screamed. “Let go of me!” He whirled her around making her fall on her arse and there she was staring at Sigurd’s angry red face and fierce eyes. Not breaking his stare he picked up a twig and hit it against his large calloused opened hand, the sharp tapping sound indicated it stung his palm. “You thought you could escape from me. I think a beating with this twig on your round bare bottom will teach you to not betray my trust.” Her heart was fluttering at the shock of being discovered. Without taking her eyes off the motion of the stick she quickly explained. “Beat me all you want but I will not return to the ship. Not even for a spell.” Her chest was racking with pain. He loomed a step closer. His tone angry. “Do you think I would risk losing you by going back on the ship?” Her voice felt small. “You mean you would not have forced me to go back on board?” “And watch you grow sicker everyday? Nay, I would carry you all the way back to my home before letting you retch your guts out.” He roughly yanked her up. “But I didn’t know and…” He snarled. “Bend over. I will make it quick.” No one had ever lifted a hand against her. Sent her to her room, privileges taken away but never the punishments she had seen disobedient lycan children incur. Now the man who killed other powerful warriors the way she had swatted at biting bugs was about to beat her. Her heart began to beat uncontrollably in panic. It would be hard to do the calming breaths. A sharp piercing pain inside her chest cavity made her clutch at her heart and fall to her knees. Her eyes widened, she was trying to breath but could not. Sigurd knelt down. His voice softened to a gentler tone. “Emelisse, what’s wrong?” She could not answer, not when it was this bad. She had survived her miscarriage, the burning pillage of the monastery and her near execution and escape from the bearskins, but somehow Sigurd’s wrath at her betrayal of his trust had finally made her heart rip in two. His brows furrowed with worry and he lay her on her back as she tried to draw in breath. “I was just going to scare you a bit with a few swaps for running away from me.” He moved her hands out of the way and placed his hand over her chest. “Your heart is beating faster than a field mouse.” He placed his ear on top. “It swooshes.” 100

Eva Gordon Seeing his concerned face she wanted to speak but could not. Instead she focused on Lupa’s directions on how to return her heart to normal. She closed her eyes and calmed down thinking of the quiet meadow where she flew her merlin, Alglaia. She watched her glide above her. So free so calm. The pain was dissipating and she took a long breath. She croaked. “Get off, ye are too heavy.” He immediately lifted his head and held her clammy hands in his. He rubbed warmth into them. “Why does your heart flutter?” If she told him she was born too early and as a result her heart would always be frail then he would treat her like her pack had. Like a delicate glass that would shatter unless kept in a guarded casing. He would keep her from riding and falconry like her father had attempted. Would he release her of his claim knowing she was nothing but a runt? She cleared her throat and he helped her sit up. “T’is the result of my sea illness. The days of retching bounced my heart out of place. I feel better now.” He lifted a brow in consideration. “I have seen many take to the sea illness but none had problems with their hearts.” “I was trained as a healer and know the anatomy of such things, though rare, a few feel the sickness of the stomach in their heart.” “Do you feel well enough to ride on the morrow?” She eyed the twig he had dropped on the ground next to where she sat. “If you plan on beating me with that stick I would say I will not be ready to ride.” “An ulfhednar leader never harms his ulf hexen.” He pushed her tangled hair back from her face. “I only mean to protect, to love.” He took her lips and tenderly kissed them with his. Like an elixir his kiss took away the residual pain she had and she felt like he had somehow healed her with his devoted love. He let go and gazed at her eyes, nothing else in this world mattered. Her wolf mark’s warmth sent comforting pleasure through her like a scented bath washing off all of her worries. She was happy in his embrace. Her heart’s rhythm was steady, could he be the one? She touched her finger to his lips. “Sigurd, though it is not in our fashion for a wolf maiden to choose, you might be the one I have waited for. The one I should choose as my mate.” Was he the warrior destined to unite all the packs? As the prophecy had foretold, at this moment she chose him as her life mate. But what if she was wrong? What would happen to the packs? It would not be the first time she went against prophesy. She had chosen Galien and the consequence was his brutal murder. Would Sigurd be the next to end up dead because of her? He beamed with teeth as white as new fallen snow. He kissed her on her forehead and then gazed into her eyes. “Certainly we are life mates. Hungerd, the seer described you as the one I would claim.” His eyes twinkled like blue green pools of water. “T’is good that you have come to the same agreement. For now you must rest and build your strength for our long journey.” She let him settle her on the bedroll whilst he prepared a campfire. She welcomed being fussed over. It did not matter if he were the great warrior that would unite all the packs. All that mattered was that she was beginning to feel what she had felt for Galien, the budding of newfound love. 101

Chapter 11 Sigurd cuddled Emelisse in his embrace as she slept soundly spooned next to his hardened manhood. Her soft round bottom fitted so nicely against him. Sniffing her neck he wondered where she had acquired the leather pouch she now wore. Inside something smelled of ink and parchment, like old leaves, but he could not place the scent. In the morning he would ask. He slept like a wolf, resting and then waking in alertness at the sound of every broken twig, fallen leaf or other woodland sounds of the night. He sniffed the sweet aroma of her hair. She slept so well. Too well. The way she just fell holding her heart in pain had frightened him more than being surrounded by the fierce bearskins. It was his fault for sneaking up on her like that. Of course she would feel it in her heart. She had been brought up in a royal household not used to daily frights. What woman would not die of fear at a predator’s sudden strike? She had been hiding, trying to not make a sound, and holding her breath for perhaps too long. He had looked forward to startling her. Incensed at her for running away he had every intension of giving her a few stinging smacks, but nothing that would have seriously hurt her. He was relieved he had not and ended up being no better than the brutish leader Radulf the Cruel. She had to know that he was simply angry because he was worried for her safety. Except for Ingrede and the occasional bedding of a wench for coin he had no real experience dealing with human women. Her warmth was like sweet mead. Sigurd hoped he was worthy of her. She was wealthy and with him she would be on the run and never know the luxury of a great manor. Perchance the best thing would be to return her to her father’s territory and if need be challenge Radulf and his pack. He gritted his teeth and felt his fangs cut into his lips. He could not live knowing she belonged to him. She stirred and then fell sound asleep again. He smoothed out her exquisite cloak over her, he had folded the old tattered one she had traded hers for as a pillow to prop her lovely head. Did she miss her human lover? Is that why she slept so soundly? Did she visit him in her dreams? “Brother.” Startled he twisted around. Spirits did not have a scent so he was caught off guard. He growled. It was Brynhild, standing near the burned out campfire. He shook his head to make sure. It was no dream. It was his sister,

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf dressed in Valkyrie mail. Her long golden hair was loose beneath a shiny silver helmet. He quietly stood. It was almost dawn. “Is it you dear sister?” “I have come to give you bad tidings.” He looked down at Emelisse who was oblivious to him standing and talking. She lay still like a corpse. Was she dying? His heart sped. “About Emelisse?” Brynhild gazed down. “She is lovely.” She slowly returned her gaze to his gaping face. “Ludin’s men were killed and Thor’s Hammer was set ablaze.” His eyes shot at her enraged. He approached her and asked in a seething whisper. “Who did it?” “Mord the Blood Claw was informed by Bolla’s spy that you were on the ship with your ulf hexen.” Emelisse rustled awake and opened her eyes. “Sigurd, who are you talking to?” He reached for Brynhild but her form disappeared. His hands trembled. “I was… never mind, it was a dream.” She sat up and stretched her arms up in the air and took in a slow breath with her eyes closed as he had seen her do back at the berserker’s camp. She sighed and looked at him with shrewd dark eyes. “One does not dream while fully awake. Was it the spirit of the gray wolf?” His eyes widened. “Yes, it was Brynhild, did you see her just now?” “Nay, not since I last saw her as the beautiful warrior woman who brought us the horse.” He smiled. “My beloved sister just came to me while you slept. She was in her human form dressed like a Valkyrie.” “Valkyrie?” “A mighty woman warrior who escorts fallen men from battle to Valhalla.” He smiled in memory. “She protects us both.” Her brow furrowed with concern. “Her visit did not bode well.” He clenched his jaw. “She came to tell me that Ludin and the entire crew of Thor’s Hammer have been slaughtered by Mord the Blood Claw.” “Everyone?” He knew she had no love for the uncouth brutal warriors but did not want their death, or the death of the slaves she most certainly was worried about. “All dead and the ship burned and sunk.” “Did he know we were on board?” He squeezed his sword hilt, wishing he had been there to protect his human friends and the ship with his carved dragon. “One of Bolla’s spies.” She nodded slowly. “The bear witch. Her magic is strong.” He paced around her. He hated magic. “She used seior to influence one of the men or even one of the thralls.” She gasped. “The woman and boy that escaped.” Her eyes grew shameful. “No. The ones I released.” He glared at her and then remembering her pained faint the day prior softened his continence. “Nay, it must have been someone on board. The wench would not have known the ship’s route. The reward may have been freedom from the ship or more likely a quick death.” 104

Eva Gordon Her eyes grew big with fear. “Now they must know we are somewhere on land.” “That is why we must go north. Hungerd will protect us with her magic and come winter I will find their caves. Only a witch can protect against another witch.” “I will pray to Feronia for our safety.” He lit a fire to heat water for oatmeal he grabbed from a sac. “Tell me, who is this Feronia, the goddess you pray to?” “She is the goddess of the lycans, the wolf shifters and the wolf maidens. I’m her oracle. She speaks to me in my sleep and at times even in the day as does your sister’s spirit.” He squatted by the fire to stir the gruel. “Tell me, does she know of Fenris, Loki’s giant wolf son?” “I do not know. Our goddess is a woman with the mark of the wolf. She lost her wolf lover thousands of years ago and dedicates her life to making sure human wolf maidens and alpha males find their true life mates so that they know naught the loneliness she knows.” “That’s odd. Fenris our forefather lost his wolf maiden in the sea and mourns her loss every full moon. T’is why our packs shift under the moonlight.” Her face grew pensive. “Mayhap we share gods?” “We have many. Odin creator of all, Freya and Loki who fathered Fenris.” She took a bowl of the oatmeal. “Hmm. Fenris?” She sipped the gruel, wiped her lips and smiled. “What if Fenris and Feronia met?” He chuckled and shot her a sidelong glance. “A wolf god with an ulf hexen goddess?” “T’is possible.” He shrugged. “Eat. We must not tarry.” She drew an indrawn breath and closed her eyes. “It would be so romantic.” “Humph.” He reached for her necklace and held it between his fingers. “Tell me where did you pick this up?” He stared into her dark eyes for an immediate answer. “It smells ancient.” “For many years Lupa, a great heeler and seer, and I have been searching for the cure for hydrophobia, an illness that maddens our kind. As I slept on the ship Feronia came to me and offered me the gift to keep lycans from getting the frenzy.” He was taken aback. His eyes widened. The illness that had killed his pack and beloved sister? He had told her earlier when he was recovering from his spear wound about the malady that had killed them. It ripped his soul with shame that it was his fault for taking Ingrede. “The disease that killed Brynhild?” She reached and placed her hand over his. Her voice was gentle as if talking to a teary child. “Yes. If we follow the formula we can make sure no one ever dies from such a maddening death.” Her hand was so warm and supple, like soft feathers. He swallowed. “I will help you in any way I can.” 105

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf “It may mean returning to my home. Lupa the head of the Lupercal will need my assistance in perfecting the potion.” He frowned, not liking that plan, and did not wish to discuss it. His decision was final. She was to return with him to his homeland. Hungerd could help her with the alchemy to stop the dog frenzy. But what if it was better for all their kind to return her back to her territory? “Lupercal, your wolfen leaders?” “Our leaders are twelve woman alphas who have the wisdom to rule our kind.” “We have no such authority. Our packs have a single male leader that rules his marked territory.” “We have territories as well but they all answer to the Lupercal Council.” He drank from his ale horn. It was mead and much too sweet for his palate. “Why can you not follow the instructions on how to cure the rage from my homeland to the north?” She swallowed a gulp and furrowed her brows in thought. “T’is possible, I presume.” She smiled. “I suppose I have no choice but to come with you.” He cast a roguish smile. “You are my wolf maiden,” he said, using her term for ulf hexen. She rolled her eyes in frustration. “I should be used to alpha males by now.” “Hungerd, our wolf witch sorceress can help you with the formula.” Her eyes lit up. “I would love to seek out the help of your wise woman.” He stood. “You are well enough to ride?” She took in a breath and nodded. “More than well.” Satisfied he drew her up and looked her over. Her color was back and her feet were steady. “Your gown is in tatters. We will travel to the east where there are a few villages.” She looked down and cast a wry smile. “I have never worn the same garment for more than a day.” Isabelle’s lathered stallion loped to where Chanteloup and Radulf stood behind the shield wall as their men killed the last of the raiders. She had never known Chanteloup to be so brutal; none of these enemy warriors were allowed to live. Those that were kept alive were tortured brutally by Radulf and his men. None knew of where Emelisse might be or even if she was alive. Every day that Emelisse was gone was like a dagger in her heart. Emelisse was her little girl. After Elinor’s death, Isabelle had raised her as if she were from her own empty womb. She taught her how to ride, archery, hunt, fish and even the womanly arts of knitting and embroidery. Chanteloup had been so furious at her for teaching Emelisse to ride and hunt which he considered too dangerous. He growled at her about her frail heart and she had retorted by telling him such rigors would make her heart stronger. Dear Emelisse if you live it is because of what I have taught you. Before Isabelle had gone off in search of Emelisse with her husband’s pack, Lupa had told her that Emelisse had lost her child. She did not understand the ways of the seer but knew that she must be right. If Emelisse did the calming exercises Lupa had taught her she might survive whatever 106

Eva Gordon ordeal she was going through. Radulf had told her and Chanteloup that a big lycan Viking had dragged her on a long ship and while she screamed he had, dear Feronia, ravished her. Poor Emelisse, she had only known the sweet love of a boy and not the brutal assault of a Viking giant. She had known very little of the Northern lycans except that they were more wild wolfen than civilized. Isabelle looked down at Radulf and dismounted. “So what word have you heard since her abduction?” He squinted his light blue eyes in the sun as he gazed at her. “A prisoner told of a rumor about her ship being attacked by bearskins called berserkers.” “Bear men?” Chanteloup drew her into his arms. If their men had not surrounded them, he would have sobbed at the loss of his darling daughter. “T’is useless to hope.” Bear men had always been enemies of their kind. Her heart sunk knowing that they would kill a wolf maiden. “Nay. Where is this man who speaks of the berserker attack?” Radulf sneered. “I had him killed the way they kill. A method called blood eagle.” She had heard of the horrible way to kill a man by slicing his chest open and throwing his lungs out like wings. “You killed a man who had information?” Her tone was severe enough to make the hardened warrior flinch. “These men raid our goods and take our folk as slaves.” Chanteloup interrupted. “We don’t know if she had remained on that ship.” Radulf nodded. “True or even if the long ship was burned.” “A man who knows he will die anyway would have loved nothing more than to torment his executioners,” said Isabelle. Chanteloup pulled her back, his eyes large with hope. “I have sent Lupercii Hugues and his brother Julien north in the direction the ship was heading. They will search for this red haired barbarian lycan who has harmed poor Emelisse.” The human Lupercii men were familiar with the wolfen ways and would search for her without revealing the Lycan secret society. He glared at Radulf. “I will not allow you to kill anymore witnesses in such a manner.” He laughed and said mockingly. “You forget dear father in-law, my pack is bigger and I will stop at nothing to get my chosen wolf maiden back.” “She will not have you as a mate,” argued Isabelle. Emelisse would never grow to love the murderer of Galien. The poor youth should not have been killed in such a brutal manner. T’was not the way of Feronia. Radulf shook the sweat from his silver hair and placed his helmet back on his head. “T’is the prophesy at her birth. I will be the lycan warrior that unites all the scattered packs. While we search north I will kill any alpha that questions my authority and stands in my way.” Isabelle wished she could challenge the vile lycan. “Lupa our seer never said the packs would be forced into submission as you threaten to do, Milord.” 107

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Chanteloup pulled her back and growled at Radulf. “There is talk that you only wish to marry Emelisse for inheriting my territory knowing that she may not live long. That you wish to have power over the Lupercal.” Isabelle was proud that finally Chanteloup was standing up against this tyrant. Though Radulf had more territory, Chanteloup’s was the site of the Lupercal, which made him the most important pack leader. To take over the land housing the Lupercal would make Radulf close to being king. She could smell his greed. Radulf mounted his charger and twisted a smile. “You are fortunate that I, the most powerful lycan, have claimed the little runt.” Chanteloup’s fangs protruded and he snarled as he charged at him. Two of Radulf’s men held him back with spears to his throat. Radulf growled down at the enraged father. “I will allow your behavior because of the grief over losing Emelisse. But know this, dear father in-law, I will take what is my destiny. Take comfort in knowing that I will search for her even though her heart may fail at any moment.” He spun his horse, spurred his flanks and then took off in the direction toward the long boat that his men had set ablaze. Isabelle guided Chanteloup back to his tent. “Take heart Messire, the prophecy was clear. Emelisse would choose her life mate.” He shrugged and nodded. “I wonder if she is better off with a barbarian lycan than with this usurper.” She had never seen him so defeated and her heart ached for him. Even his pack was taking orders from Radulf. Alone at last, Chanteloup pressed his hands over his eyes and wept. She embraced him and joined him with her own tears. Either way Emelisse was lost. If found she would belong to Radulf, bear his children and most likely not live long to see them grow. Rumors of Radulf poisoning his enemy lycans with wolf bane were most likely true. They remained in the tent in quiet sorrow until Radulf and his men rode off. About seven of his loyal older pack members remained, while the rest joined Radulf. Clovis, the oldest member of his pack called from behind the tent. “Milord, there is a wench here who says she has seen your daughter.” Isabelle and Chanteloup glanced at each other with renewed hope. “Let her in,” barked Chanteloup. The buxom shapely woman was scared. Isabelle sensed her rapid heartbeat and smelled the raw fear in her blood. She walked up to her. “Speak woman.” She bowed her head down. “I heard there was a reward for information about the royal lady.” “Only if true,” warned Isabelle and bared her fangs for her to see. Her breathing grew rapid, her eyes bugged in fright. “You are werewolves, just like the Viking that has her.” Chanteloup towered over. “Tell me more and you will be well rewarded.” Isabelle growled. “Describe her.” The woman bowed up and down before speaking with her eyes downcast. “But of course, my lady. She is a small beauty with raven hair and 108

Eva Gordon is most opinionated.” She covered her mouth at Isabelle’s fierce look. “I mean brave. She freed me from slavery and I escaped.” Chanteloup cracked a smile. “Sounds like Emelisse. You said she is with a Viking.” She slowly nodded her head. “A wolf man like…” she glanced at Isabelle, “like her.” “The lycan from Lupa’s vision,” added Isabelle. “Describe him.” “He is much bigger and muscular than any man I have ever seen. With long flowing red hair. Why he is a giant compared to your sweet daughter. His wolf sense of smell must have led him to her. There is no way she can escape from his claim on her.” Chanteloup’s tone grew menacing. “Claim?” The woman flinched. “She is his thrall.” Isabelle raised a brow. “Thrall?” Looking at her sleeve the peasant explained in a quiet voice. “She is his slave.” Chanteloup boomed. “Emelisse is his slave?” Isabelle attempted to calm him. “An alpha wolf would not take his claimed mate as a slave.” She reached and whispered in his ear. “The wench does not know the meaning of being claimed.” “Milord, he forced her to wear a collar, then he removed it and helped her during her sea illness, t’is confusing but I think he cared for her more than usual.” Isabelle gasped. “Sea sickness, are you sure?” Emelisse may have been suffering from her frail heart. “T’is true the poor thing retched her guts out. The handsome red haired wolf warrior cared for her like a mother would a babe.” “It sounds like this lycan did claim her,” said Isabelle somewhat relieved. Chanteloup’s brow furrowed. “It is not our way to take wolf maidens as slaves.” He cast a fierce eye at the wench. “He’s the lycan that Radulf said was forcing her!” “Radulf?” she asked. Isabelle intervened, knowing that Chanteloup was ready to burst in rage and shift. “Radulf is the wolf man who has claimed her. He tried to leap on the ship as a white wolf but claimed the ship was too fast.” “Nay, the lady cursed that white wolf with insults. She called him a coward and killer of humans. She did not want to return with him. Instead, she hid behind the red haired Viking wolf. On seeing how much bigger and fierce the red wolf was the white wolf turned and swam ashore. On the beach he returned to human form and cursed back at your daughter. Trust me, milord, she hated him more than she did the barbaric raiders.” Isabelle nodded knowingly. Emelisse would never forgive Radulf for murdering her lover. “So that’s the way it was. Radulf is a liar.” She placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “He was not ravishing her but protecting her.” He clenched his jaw. “Still, I don’t think she was going with him willingly. Tell me when did you last see her with her captor?” The wench frowned. “Five or was it six days? She was heading north while I ran to the south.” “Good, Hugues and Julien may cross paths with them.” 109

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Isabelle grabbed her shoulders. She retracted her fangs as the woman shrunk away at her touch. “Tell me, was she well or did she still suffer from the sea illness?” After gaping for a moment she nodded. “Oh, she was more than well. The red haired wolf man, called Sigurd, forced the ship to land. He feared she would die from her illness and begged the chief to stop. We landed on a rocky shore. That’s when she escaped from him and the Vikings. But I knew he would capture her. Sigurd told me he caught her scent and knew exactly where she headed. He saved me from road bandits. If she is with him than she is protected and safe.” She twisted her sleeves and held her breath. Chanteloup took a leather pouch and handed it to her. “Here is gold. If we find out what you have told us are lies than we will hunt you down and feed you to the crows.” He loomed over her. “If you tell anyone about our wolfen nature, you will not live to see the morrow.” She cowered. “Yes, Milord, not a word.” She took the reward, and bowed before leaving. Isabelle turned to Chanteloup. “She smelled of truth.” She also smelled the wench’s terror and knew she would never utter a word about their kind. He blew out a deep sigh. “I know. T’is a good thing I have trusted Hugues heading in that direction.” She smiled. “So you don’t plan on telling Radulf?” “Nay. I know now that he cannot be the warrior of prophecy. He holds naught but contempt for Emelisse.” “Do you think this red haired Viking, Sigurd, is the one?” “Vikings are brutish barbarians who still sacrifice humans and animals. You see how they sack innocent folk and monasteries. Nay, he too is our enemy.” “But the wench talked of how he cared for her.” He looked at her like she was naive. “We know little of these Northern lycans. It sounds like he has enslaved her to be his bed warmer. And not knowing of her frail heart, will kill her in the process.” “Nay, if he is a lycan he will treat a wolf maiden as we do, with love and devotion.” “If he truly cares for her he must bring her home before Emelisse’s heart fails her.” She held his taut arm and placed her head on his shoulder. “Milord, Emelisse is stronger than you think.” He smiled down at her and drew her in. “Listen my love, return to our home. Perchance Lupa can channel more information about her abduction.” “Nay, Milord. I wish to stay.” She hated leaving her mate when he looked so forlorn and weary. “Return, if Lupa has a vision then you can send a messenger to find me. My men and I will battle these raiders and head North if need be.” She tried to smile. “As you wish, Milord.”

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Chapter 12 They traveled through old ancient trails avoiding anyone along the way. Sigurd had stolen some warm garments for her, which was a blessing because the days were getting shorter and the nights colder. Soon summer would come to an end. Though she loved riding, five days in a row was proving to be exhausting. Her bottom was so sore she wondered if she would be able to walk without being bow legged. In the evening he would make a warming fire to heat their meal and keep them warm. They had nuzzled together but did nothing more than kiss goodnight. She could not remember staying awake for more than a few minutes. She was troubled. He had not taken her despite the fact that he had claimed her. Perhaps the heart pain she had shown earlier convinced him she was too fragile for further affections. Worse, had he reconsidered being with a runt? Yet he did not know. And why was he still dragging her along to his home if she was no longer his claimed life mate? The sun was starting to set and a cold blustery wind picked up and the horses bent their heads downward as they plotted along. The icy breeze cut through her like a serrated knife. Before long she was shivering beneath the layers of cloak and fur she wore. Her eyes were growing heavy with exhaustion. Any minute she would dose off. Sigurd twisted back to look at her. “Emelisse, stay awake. I will find shelter before the storm hits.” She glanced at the dark clouds. “Where?” “Up there.” He pointed to some crevices above them. He held his horse back and waited for hers to catch up. He grabbed her from her saddle and set her on his lap. His warmth was god sent. She laid her head on his shoulders. He felt better than her feathered bed. She could not imagine being anywhere else but here snug between his muscular taut arms. Her powerful beast warrior. Grabbing her horse’s reins he continued moving toward the cave network. They reached their destination as raindrops began to fall on them. Sigurd gently set her on the ground and dismounted. “I will hobble the horses inside this cave and we will go up to the one above.” She looked up at a dark foreboding looking cavern. It was so high. “There might be a bear inside or dark magic.” Her tone turned even more worried at the thought of the unknown. She was hungry and tired. “I doubt I can make such a climb.” He sniffed the air to reassure her. Lycan sense of smell was better than human eyesight. “No bears or others. I will carry you.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Rather than protesting the way she used to back at her castle about being coddled, she was more than happy to be carried. “Thank you.” Had she surrendered to the lycan way? He left the horses tacked for a quick getaway if need be, but loosened their girth and fed them grains from their saddlebag. He worked quickly and before long lifted her and proceeded to climb up to the overhang. She clung her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. She trusted he would keep her safe from falling. Though the trail was dark, his eyes glowed from his lycan power. He was capable of seeing all objects flawlessly well in pitch darkness. They reached the entrance just as the rain became icy and began to turn into snowflakes. An unusual late summer snowstorm. The winter would indeed be long. He sniffed and set her deep within the cave. “I sense the storm will turn into a blizzard. We may have to remain here for a few days.” She was more than pleased to remain in one place for at least a short spell. She leaned back against the musky cave wall and tightened her cloak and furs around her into a cocoon. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she watched as Sigurd moved a boulder in front of the entrance. He had to be the strongest lycan she had ever known, look at the way he killed the most dangerous of beast warriors. He covered the remaining hole with a hide that been tied on his horse. The shelter would keep them from freezing. At least keep him from freezing. She started to shiver despite her many coverings. Sensing she was cold, he turned. “I will make a fire, cook a meal and then warm you.” She tried to smile. Her teeth chattering. “I can help.” He chuckled. “Nay, you cannot. You are of the southern blood; you were weaned on sunlight and fruits of every kind. Cold weather is my mistress, I understand her well.” “Then you know naught of the Pyrenees Range,” she said trying to keep her teeth from gnashing. He quickly set up a circular fireplace. “I know a royal lady of the manor worried naught about staying warm. You told me of the many servants who attended to your every need and kept the hearth the temperature of a summer day. ” He blew the flame until it raged like dragon’s breath. She could not argue with that point. “I suppose.” The fire illuminated the cave. The cavern was not as big as she first thought. At least it was high enough to accommodate Sigurd’s tall frame. She was glad there were no sign of bats or other fearsome creatures. They ate dried venison he had hunted earlier and the remainder of the flat bread. Fortunately, the two bandits he had killed had packed plenty of mead in their jugs. She sipped the mead and though it burned it felt so good. It brought memories of home, of Galien. Secret meetings, sipping mead, whilst kissing in the dark wood. Her heart still ached for him, and she felt a pang of guilt about the strong feelings she was developing for Sigurd. He stood and stirred the fire. “I will step out and pick up more firewood before the bulk of the snow storm is upon us.” Her heart raced. “No don’t leave me here alone.” She bit her lip feeling instant shame for her sudden cowardice. She had prided herself with never showing fear around lycans and other super strength shifters of any type. He 112

Eva Gordon had told her how he admired her haughty bravery. Why was she not afraid to show him her vulnerability? He had never known that others whispered runt when they didn’t think she heard them. She had to prove to him that she was strong. She lifted her head. “I’m sorry, I must be tired. Of course, you can leave me alone.” She took out the small dagger and laid it across her lap. “I’m not afraid.” Why was she trying to impress him? Had she abandoned her wish to be with normal humans? Feronia must have sent him for her, the goddess would not surrender on finding her a lycan mate. He lifted her face up and held her quivering chin. “Your words are brave but I smell your fear. T’is good to be afraid. I do not think less of you. I vow to protect you.” He smiled. “Know that you are more courageous than most warriors.” She looked up at his smoldering blue green eyes. “I am?” He chuckled. “Yes, my fine royal lady. Without weapons and brute strength you are still brave in the face of all dangers. In fact, if you became skilled in sword you would make the best Valkyrie.” She nodded. “I suppose I would.” She loved archery and wouldn’t mind learning sword skills. He kissed her on the forehead and murmured. “I longed for a wolf maiden that was both strong and valiant. Not some runt from the pack who could not hold her own.” The term runt tore at her heart. If he only knew. She closed her eyes, what would he think if he knew the truth? Would he still claim her? Though he claimed her verbally there was still the physical act of mating that would seal the marriage of lycan and wolf maiden. Isabelle had told her how her alpha would take her and bite her five-clawed wolf birthmark until it burned red. The color change would initiate the claim and he would mate with her in a wolfish way. It would be nearly impossible for him to release her from the claim even if he found out she was a runt. If another wolf maiden could draw his attention she could perchance live among humans. Nay, the idea of him with another made her fume with jealousy. Her wolf mark reminded her of her feelings for him as it warmed. It can’t be, yet it was true. She was in love with the big Viking red wolf. “Don’t worry, I will be just outside the cave. No harm will come to you.” “Promise to be careful, my red wolf.” He took her cold hands and warmed them with a kiss. “I’m glad you worry about me, shows you are starting to be fond of me.” She frowned at him. “Of course I’m fond of you.” She swallowed. “After Galien’s murder I never wanted to be with an alpha lycan, until now. You see, I have fallen in love with you.” She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. His eyes twinkled. “I have longed to hear such words. I too love and will honor you until my last breath.” He laughed ruefully, picked her up and twirled her in a circle. She laughed carelessly as if they were in a hall listening to musicians and dancing. He set her down and stabbed her mouth. He let go and she nearly fell backwards. He caught her. “I will be gone for a mere blink.” 113

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Not bothering to throw warm garments over himself he stepped out into the cold and howling wind. Being a lycan he did not experience the cold as she did. In fact she wore every piece of clothing around. Only his father’s pelt was untouched. It was rolled and set aside. Emelisse heard him howl with joy as he reached the ground below. Her confession of love had him howling over and over again. She smiled even though his calls were now a distant sound. He was more than just outside the cave. Sigurd returned with enough firewood to last a week if not more. Even in the chilly gust of unrelenting windswept snow he had a smile on his face as he climbed up the trail. She had fallen in love with him. Him, an oaf without the classical education she had. He could not read or write. She had been brought up to someday wed a lycan with wealth and knowledge and now she was with him, a lone wolf, with no pack and no territory. He felt shame claiming her and dragging her with him, a refined woman to live with a barbarian from the north. He stopped to gaze back at the cave above the cliffs where she waited for him and he smiled. T’is his right. She awakened all of his senses. He was happy when she told him earlier in their journey that she had claimed him. But he thought it was out of necessity, a need to get away from Radulf the Cruel. Her mark was red; in fact it had turned a deeper blood red and grew warmer when he last peeked at it as she slept. There was no doubt she was his both in body and spirit. By morning it returned to its light reddish brown color, but once he claimed her it would remain red. His manhood throbbed at the thought of their first mating as he climbed up with his heavy load of firewood. He rolled the boulder out of the way and moved the hide flap to enter. His mouth gaped. She sat stirring the crackling fire in nothing but her white shift. Her round breasts and hardened nipples called to him like fresh succulent berries of the harvest. She was small but her proportionally long tapering legs folded to the side accentuated her shapely hips like those of a goddess. Her dark hair was unbraided and combed out like the fiery mane of a warm blood horse. He tossed the wood down and without breaking his gaze almost stammered. “Are you not cold?” His fangs broke through his gums and he rubbed his tongue over them to keep them from extending to their wolfskin size. She glanced at him with smoldering bewitching yet innocent eyes. “The fire was starting to make me perspire so I made myself more comfortable.” She made no attempt to cover herself as she had earlier in deference to her kind’s modesty. Despite the din of the outside wind and the noise of the boisterous fire, the only sound that seemed louder was his breathing. His fangs continued to erupt from his gums, aching to taste, to bite. A drool seeped from the corner of his mouth and he focused to remain human. Though he was not cloaked and was sodden from melting snowflakes his flesh burned and he began to disrobe lest he ignite in flames. His fangs now out and his arms furred. “You have done a good job with the fire and my lady I see by its light that you are by far the most beautiful ulf hexen that has ever existed.” 114

Eva Gordon She lowered her gaze at his throbbing penis beneath his breeches and gave him a mischievous smile. “T’is my inflamed mark that is the real reason for my heat.” The ulf hexen had every intention of bonding his claim. A claim he had wanted since the moment he met her. Emelisse had arranged the bedroll with all the furs atop like a nuptial bed. In a flash he was next to her drawing her into his arms, his mouth engulfing hers. He was careful not to harm her with his daggered canines. Trying to be as gentle as he could muster he squeezed her warm soft body. Her hands gripped his face as he kissed her and pushed her to the ground. He growled at her sweet ready scent. He had dreamed for far too long what it would be like to take her. Though he had claimed Ingrede he had never consummated his claim since she was in mourning and then soon after had become gravely ill. Ingrede never made him lose his senses, dear Freya, never his mind the way Emelisse had. Impatient he ripped her linen shift open revealing round pale breasts with succulent nipples, dark as her smoldering eyes. He glanced at her eyes to compare them to her dark nipples but saw apprehension in them. He snapped out of his wolfish need. “I’m not hurting you am I?” He was aware of his towering frame over her delicate body. Did she fear he would crush her? Or worse, rip her in two. Is that what she feared? He must look like a horrible beast. He felt his face flush hot. “No.” She hesitated before continuing. “I was just wondering if it would hurt as much as it did when I first lost my maidenhood.” His brow furrowed. “You mean you only slept with Galien but the once?” She nodded. “T’is my luck I became pregnant from only one time.” His jealous blood cooled down at the revelation that she had only been with him once. He had imagined them in each other’s arms for months. Like Radulf he too would have ripped the poor man’s throat out. This man who had won her heart, if only briefly. She always avoided talking about him. He smiled and traced a finger around a peaking nipple. “It only hurts the first time when your maiden hood is ripped.” Her dark eyes widened. “T’is not safe if I am with child again, t’is so far away from healers.” He took in a breath to sniff over her groin area. “You are not fertile.” She sighed in relief. “I forgot lycans know when you are ready to make a womb.” She bit her lip. “Are you sure?” “More than sure. I imagine Galien could not tell, but as you say with our wolf senses we know. Besides, an ulf hexen is only receptive to getting with child in the spring.” Her eyes grew pensive. “Lupa told me so, but I had doubts. I was certain only lycans had such a season. Come to think of it, I became pregnant in the spring.” He ached but asked. “Mayhap, if…” he was cut off from speaking as she reached for his mouth and pulled him down to her. She bit his lips and moaned. “My beast warrior, I need you.” He growled, kissed her hard and then with his fangs out moved to the soft hollow of her throat mouthing it without biting down. She was so trusting as she tilted her head back submitting to his gentle bites. Little did 115

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf she know how tempting it was for him to want to taste her warm blood from her succulent pale throat. The sound of her pulsing jugular was beckoning. He fought the temptation to bite hard, just enough to taste but not to kill. Still, it would hurt her and he would not allow himself to draw blood. His attention was then drawn down to her sweet breast mounds. He licked and then gently nibbled each nipple as she quivered beneath, caressing his still damp hair with her light hands. He shuddered at her touch. His body was still human but his hands became claws. His back covered with a light fur like his arms. Her eyes grew big as she watched his claws rip her shift apart. He traced a clawed thumb down her belly and stop at the tuft of her pubic hair. “Your beauty is endless as the deep sea.” He lifted his weight off and stood. He gazed down to admire every soft curve on her small but exquisite body. Her eyes honed on his towering frame. “Come to me Sigurd,” she begged, reaching her arms to him. He took off his suede boots and undid his breaches revealing an erection harder than his sword. He grinned his fangs fully extended. “Wicked wench. You will need to learn patience. I plan to make our first mating a memorable night.” He shook his claws and they once again became fingers. He kneeled and touched the small pearl in her nether area. He squeezed it and watched her writhe and moan with waves of pleasure. The flow of her wetness seared his nostrils with her sweet beckoning aroma. He dove his nose in and sniffed and licked and then suckled until she bucked beneath him and growled like a wolf. He waited for her to finish her endless spasms. He let her rest and ponder the ecstasy. She looked like she had tasted sweet honey for the first time. She raked her hair back and sighed. “I’ve never known such pleasurable rapture.” Sigurd took a breath to control his need to shift. His hunger for her was growing. “Such pleasures you will always know with me my wicked ulf hexen.” He then swiftly turned her on her stomach. Her bare round bottom was better than what he imagined, pale cheeks that looked like they had never known sunlight. He gazed at the red-hot wolf mark and traced a finger over it. It was aflame. He aimed his fangs and squeezed over the mark until he imprinted them over her. She whimpered and moaned with a spasm of orgasmic pleasure that emanated from her mark. A trickle of blood appeared and he licked it. Never had he tasted anything sweeter. The mark turned crimson. She was claimed. His scent was now embedded in the mark as her mate for all to know. None but him would ever have her. “You’re mine.” She growled. “And you are mine.” He pulled her bottom up and whispered in her ear. “Did your human lover take you face to face?” She squeaked. “Yes, like men do.” He moved down back to her bottom and kissed each cheek. He opened her white thighs. “I too enjoy seeing your face but tonight my ulf hexen I will take you in the wolfish way. T’is the way an ulf hexen is properly claimed during the first mating.” 116

Eva Gordon Sigurd thrust his throbbing erection into her moist hollow. He growled in pleasure and cupped her breasts as he pumped her with his hardness. More fur sprung up on his back but he remained human. Beneath him he felt her shudder in pleasure sending him to the edge. He could no longer hold back. He joined her in shared ecstasy and exploded in rhythmic bursts of pleasure. He howled at the climax. He kissed her neck and then gently pulled out, laid her on her back and fingered through her tangled hair. He had never felt so completely fulfilled. Her thick dark lashes blinked as she gazed at him with a look of pure adoration. Had he finally convinced her to forget about living with humans? Had he finally replaced her human lover? She touched his protruding fangs with her fingers. “I never imagined I would love feeling such sharp canines along my body.” He focused his eyes suddenly aware that he could have injured her. Had he bitten too hard? He surveyed her body for blood or bruises, except for the bite over her mark, there were none. Just gentle love bites that barely showed through her tender skin. “I did not hurt you, did I?” She laughed. “No. Although I have to admit I did not expect you to be so gentle.” He cracked a smile. “We have our differences but as mates we are most compatible.” Days earlier he had fretted that he would accidentally hurt her. All his life he thought his life mate would be a sizable human woman. Tall and big boned like Ingrede had been. But now he could never imagine anyone but the small light as a feather Emelisse. Someone who needed his size and might to protect her from all the dangers of their violent world. Such a difference made him love her more. Emelisse woke to Sigurd leaning on one elbow studying her every curve, his manhood hard again though it was still night. He must have stirred the fire because it was still going strong. His tone was laced with love. “I can spend my entire lifetime just staring at your beautiful body.” In the light of the fire, she glanced at his massive glistening corded muscles. Here was this powerful lycan who had claimed her despite their size differences. She was so small and vulnerable. But for once she did not care about being so helpless. She leaned against him. “It is you who is built like a Greek God.” “I know naught of such a god, but by the look in your dark eyes I can presume that it can only be in my favor.” “Indeed, it is.” He rose to his knees. “This time my little ulf hexen I will face you.” Emelisse took in an indrawn breath. She was still sore but her sudden wetness told her she was ready to welcome her mate again. Her wolf mark tingled and goose flesh covered her body not from cold but from sudden want. She yielded to him by spreading her thighs in invitation. He teased her with soft kisses on her belly, moving down to her nub hidden behind a tuft of pubic hair. A place she had ignored all her life, but no more. He licked and sucked until she arched and cried out. She was at his 117

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf mercy. He was ravishing her and she was lost to waves of sensation. “Oh, Sigurd.” Without letting her rest from her bursts of sweet pleasure, he plunged his hardness into her, at first slow and gentle to accommodate and then thrusting faster and deeper. He cupped one hand under her bottom. He covered her, yet one arm supported him so that his thrusting did not crush her. “My ulf hexen,” he said in a raspy voice. She craved his hunger for her and widened her thighs in complete submission. She was too maddened with ecstasy to make a sound. He leaned on her neck, his hot breath tickled as he caressed her with his tongue. He then began to thrust feverishly not so gently but with great determination. She moaned wild inhuman sounds as he joined her in riding the waves of pleasure. He growled on release and collapsed on her. The boulder of a man covered her but he leaned on his elbows so his full weight did not smother her. His heart was pounding against her own as her spasms began to subside into small gentle waves. She was relieved that her heart was able to cope with the surge of rhythmic outbursts. It gently returned to a relaxed beat. Lupa told her that the right alpha lycan would never harm her heart during mating. It had to be true, since making love to the gentle man Galien had strained her heart though she had hid her sharp pain from him. With Sigurd, who had slain fierce enemies and had the strength of ten or more men, she had remained sound. In fact she had never experienced as much physical pleasure in all of her years as she had on this one night.

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Chapter 13 Sigurd woke to Emelisse’s warmth nuzzled in his arms and contently resting her head on his shoulder. At last an ulf hexen to make him complete. Her sweet aroma aroused every emotion in him from a desire to ravish to a stronger need to protect. He squeezed her soft body and sighed in contentment. He kissed her head and she snuggled beneath the warm furs. “Emelisse, it looks like the sun is coming out.” Like a cat awakened from a nap under the sun’s rays, she puckered her brow in protest. “Must we leave so soon?” “We can stay one more night.” Despite his erection, he rolled out of their bed and stood. “I will hunt so that we will have meat for our journey.” She sat up, covering her bosom with the furs and stretched. Yawning she nodded. “Good plan.” Her naked body made him ache for more lovemaking. He was stiff almost to the point of returning to her and ravishing her once again. Still, she must be sore and most certainly exhausted. “While you slept I found a pack of wolves that will protect you until my return. I also tended to the horses. It took me a while to calm them after they sensed the presence of the wolves.” She frowned. “You mean real wolves?” “Yes. Last night while you slept like the dead I howled for my forest cousins. They returned the howl and appeared at the entrance. Two members of the pack are guarding the cave while the others safeguard the perimeter.” “Our kind respect the wild wolves but rarely befriend them.” “We wolfskins have always lived side by side with our wild brothers and sisters.” He smiled at her. “They will let me know with a howl if you are in any danger.” He braced his arms on the boulder covering the cave and moved it. He lifted the hide that he had turned into a makeshift door, revealing two gray wolves sitting elegantly as if they were statues. Natural wolves were smaller than wolfskin wolves and were considered guardians of the untamed land. Her eyes widened. “They are beautiful.” She stood and dressed. She tightened her cloak around herself and drew closer to the wolves. “As a child, my teacher Lupa took me out to meet a band of wolves that dwell on our territory. I found them to be magnificent.” She told him about the Lupercal governed by the wise alpha women of her lycan society. Lupa was the head of the council. “Would Lupa agree to our mating?”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She puckered her heart shaped lips in thought and nodded. “She most certainly will, even if you are a lone wolf and a foreign one at that. She never approved of my being claimed by Radulf. She adamantly believed he was not the great warrior that would unite the packs despite his victories and land holds. She disapproved of his cruelty. His goal is to eventually own the land that holds the Lupercal Temple.” Sigurd’s lip twitched. Emelisse had been meant for a special wolfskin. He was without land, pack or the education she had been accustomed to. His only prowess was in battle and in raiding. Her people had called his barbarians. His goal in life would be to someday give her the comfort she was used to. “She may think I am not worthy.” He drew in a breath. “I can’t read or write or know of great knowledge.” “Nonsense, I can teach you. Besides, you are a fine artist of wood sculpture. T’is a special gift you possess.” He handed her some leftover food. “Eat while the cauldron heats water for porridge.” She nibbled on cheese. “Will you eat first?” “I must go now while the sun melts the new snow. Prey will reveal themselves soon.” He sensed her fear but she acted brave. “I will keep the fire going.” He drew her to him and kissed her forehead. “That’s my little Valkyrie.” He pulled her chin up so that their eyes met. “Do not leave the cave’s safety, no matter what.” Her smile made him want to howl. “I promise, my Red Wolf.” He shifted and the two wolves dwarfed by his bear sized wolf form flattened their ears back and bowed submissively as they parted out of his way. The blue sky’s glorious sun had melted the dusting of snow from the previous night. He took in all the fresh scents. The bird’s festive songs matched his blissful heart. He trotted with the joyous purpose of presenting his mate with fresh venison. His nose caught a whiff of man and he froze in his tracks. He narrowed his focus toward an area near a secluded glen. He used all of his senses to assess the situation. Two horses, the embers of a dying campfire and finally the muffled voices of two men. At least they were not bearskins or lycans looking for their abducted wolf maiden. He moved in closer to see if perhaps they were merchants or bandits. He stalked from the thicket to within hearing range. One wore the chain mail and hobnailed boots of a Frank knight with a mighty Franciscan axe and sword at his side. The other wore a dark woolen cloak and had the bald spot around a crown of brown hair of a Christian monk. Though he too was armed with a quiver and bow. He did not know that such men of the Christian god ever fought back. They looked alike like two brothers would. He breathed in their aroma. Their similar scent affirmed his suspicions that they were siblings. What were they doing so far north? The monk poked at the fire to encourage a flame. “Poor Emelisse, if only I had taken her with me she would still be safe and alive.”

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Eva Gordon His ears pricked on mention of her name. He narrowed his eyes and stalked closer to watch their every movement as they sat near the campfire. They were searching for her. The older one with the brown beard and fierce weapons placed a hand over the monk to comfort him. “Julien, you must not blame yourself. Taking her with you on the errand was forbidden.” “Duke Chanteloup will not let us return empty handed.” The older one with the dress of a warrior leaned against a tree and gazed out in the distance. “This is the end of the road for you.” He breathed out his sadness. “I’m afraid you will need to perhaps head east and never return. I on the other hand as his loyal Lupercii servant must eventually return.” Sigurd tilted his head to the side. Lupercii? Emelisse had told him of human men who served as special servants and priests to the secret order of the their wolfen kind. Why were they here alone without the wolf men? The monk nodded forlornly. “You think she is dead, don’t you?” The knight sighed. “What chance did she have with her frail heart?” Sigurd stiffened. Frail heart? He recalled how when she tried to escape from him she had gripped her heart in agony before almost passing out. How he listened to the irregular swooshing. He was suddenly gripped in fear for his beloved mate. Was she really ill? Why had she not told him? The knight continued. “Pregnant and with a failing heart I doubt she could have survived being raped by the Vikings.” He almost growled. They think she was raped? The monk shook his head. “Radulf lies. In truth I believe she refused to return with him. You know how much she despised him.” The knight agreed. “Radulf hates her as well. Behind Chanteloup’s back I’m told he refers to her as the runt and that should have been killed at birth. That she should be grateful that such a powerful lycan would want her.” Sigurd wanted to rip their throats out for daring to call her a runt. Yet she had a feeble heart. Was she a runt, a human cub that should have been smothered at birth? No. Humans were all runts. Anyway she was brave and feisty; if she was born weak she was now strong. He was torn. If she did have heart problems, perchance it would be best to return her to where she could get better care. The harsh winters of his homeland and poor conditions of his old shack could kill her. The monk took a sip of fluid and nodded. “I will continue with you until we reach Skandia.” His brother laughed. “Nay, only I will go. I have enough gold to bribe any Viking king but you are a Christian monk, which more likely will get us both crucified.” “How do you know they won’t take the gold and enslave you?” “T’is a risk I will take for my alpha master.” “But…” “I will guide you south east to Aquitaine before I continue.” They stood and Sigurd slowly backed away. Emelisse had a frail heart. She seemed well this morning after he had claimed her during their mating. She had numerous pleasurable spasms. What if her heart was affected? He had to get back. Yet, he needed to hunt. 121

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Their horses pawed the ground and snorted. He had been down wind but in a gust of breeze they must have caught his scent. The knight drew his sword. “We are not alone.” “Is it what I sense?” He muttered in a low tone. “A lycan.” Shocked that humans could sense a wolfskin he did not know whether to slay them or run. These men served her father. How could he kill them? He bolted and headed for the deep wood. Sigurd stopped to make sure he had not been followed. He sniffed the air. No sign of them. He had to get a meal. He caught a whiff of a young buck. That would have to do for now. The happy howls of the wolves that guarded the entrance had to be Sigurd returning. She moved the hide and saw the big red wolf hauling up a deer. He looked up at her and wagged his tail. Very dog like. She smiled at the domesticated gesture. He turned his attention to the task on hand and ripped the thigh away from its hip. He left the rest for the friendly pack. He shifted and walked toward her naked with rippling muscles on his broad frame as he carried the chunk of meat to their shelter. Watching him was like admiring the best stallion of the herd, proud, powerful and spirited. And he belonged to her. He shot her a warm smile. “T’is good you have kept the fire going.” He flopped the piece of bone and flesh on a rock near the campfire and lifted her up. His brow furrowed as though worried about something anew. He carried her to the furred bed. “How are you feeling?” “I am fine. Just hungry I suppose,” she said savoring the soon to be cooked fresh meat. She wanted to eat quickly and return to being beneath the furs with him on top making her forget about all their woes. He clenched his jaw and exhaled a slow breath. “Emelisse, tell me the truth. I am your mate.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “I did. I’m famished.” Something had changed, but what? He held her face in between his two cold-callused hands, his aqua eyes blazing through her. A look of combined horror and sadness. “Tell me, do you have a frail heart and were you born a…” he closed his eyes for a spell, “were you a runt?” Emelisse gaped, feeling her face flush with heat. She tried to push him away to no avail. He finally let go so she could speak and she fumed. “Don’t call me that!” She felt her heart start to constrict as it did before an attack and she tried to calm herself with a few deep breaths. Her shoulders moving up and down in a struggle to steady her heart. He must have sensed the look of pain on her face. His eyes grew terror stricken. “Emelisse, forgive me I didn’t mean to say it out of disrespect.” He placed his hand over her heart. “Breath my love.” He began to breathe with her, guiding her. She followed his lead and felt her heartbeat return to normal. Tearful, she could barely speak. “How did you find out or did you sense it, perhaps as I slept.” 122

Eva Gordon He drew her into his arms. “Shhh. Calm down. Think of only my love for you.” “Oh, Sigurd.” She hugged him, holding him tight and wetting him with her tears. “T’is true I’m a runt, born too early.” He gently rubbed her back trying to sooth her. “That should not upset you.” She looked at him like he was mad. “You an alpha and a powerful one cannot be stuck with a runt with a frail heart.” She swallowed. “I understand if you wish to de-claim me.” He laughed heartily. “De-claim you? After last night, the best time of my life?” He winked. “And I think your best night as well.” She dropped her head in shame, staring at her hands that fiddled with material on her sleeve. “I never wanted to be a burden, not on you, my father or anyone else in my pack.” He lifted her chin. “You will never be a burden, you are my ulf hexen. Just promise me that you will from this day on be honest about your wellbeing.” He gently petted her cheek with his solid hard knuckle. “I have lost everything before I met you. Do you not know that I would have traveled the ends of the earth to seek help for my poor sister and pack? Know I would do the same for you to keep you alive and well. You, Feronia’s healer who has been given the formula for the dog frenzy cure. Between your goddess and my love, nothing will harm you.” Satisfied that he was not going to toss her out, she wiped her runny nose with her sleeve, sniffled and smiled. “But how did you find out?” “I just learned about your feeble heart today and the scare you gave me with your first heart pain made me rush back and kill the first buck that I came upon.” He wiped away tears with his thumb. “I had to make sure you were well.” She frowned. “You learned of it today? How?” He drew her in and kissed her earlobes and neck before answering. “Nearby I came upon two Franks, one a knight and another a monk. They were searching for you and talking among themselves how they figured you were most likely dead because of your feeble heart. They mentioned how Radulf wanted you despite the fact that you were a runt.” He smiled and shook his head. “Was a runt.” He reassured her with a squeeze. “They were the men you call Lupercii.” Her eyes widened. “Describe them.” He did down to perfect detail. The two Lupercii were brothers who worked for her father. “The monk said he would never be able to return without you. I imagine coming home alone would surely mean his death.” She nodded. “Hugues and his brother Father Julien.” “I would never have thought a Lupercii would serve the Christian God.” “He does it only in name. He is a secret Lupercii priest. His mission was to serve the Lupercal as a monk to gain knowledge for us. We have spies in every corner of human society. If he returns alone, my father will execute him for not following his duty.” He nodded in agreement. “To return without his lord’s daughter is worth cause to kill him.” 123

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She was shocked. “Nay, t’is not so. I must return so that he will not be executed for not keeping me alive since I am very much alive.” “Do not worry. He plans on heading east away from your father’s wrath.” “Really?” “T’is what I overheard.” “No matter. My father, or worse, Radulf’s pack will find him.” He stood and placed the chunk of meat on a stick to act as a spit. He placed it over the fire. “I had planned on seeking Hungerd’s help and then take you to my old home before searching for Mord’s winter lair. Now, because of your heart it will best to return you to your home after we meet with Hungerd.” Her eyes downcast. “You plan to let me go?” He growled and turned. “Never. You are mine.” “Even with my frail heart?” He turned the spit on the other side and then sat next to her, his arm in a tight hold over her. “It will be my life mission to protect you from all dangers and that includes your heart, which I may add you seem to know how to control with your warrior’s breath.” “Tis true, Lupa taught me these exercises and anyway, when I’m around you I feel so calm. She told me that if I were with the right life mate that my heartbeat with be synchronous with his.” She snuggled under his chin’s stubble. “Your love heals me.” “As does yours.” He took her and buried his mouth into her with a kiss that warmed her heart with pure adoration. She probed his mouth with her tongue and together they forgot about everything and soon once again were on the ground intertwined in passionate love. Gentle than fierce, her mark burning as she screamed his name. They were about a day away from Hungerd’s cavern. Sigurd made sure Emelisse had enough rest. Though she rode well and never complained he knew that she was just trying to be strong to convince him and herself that she had good vigor. She had made it quite clear that he was to treat her like there was nothing wrong. He complied though deep inside he worried. The only thing they both agreed on was that she needed eight or more hours of sleep. He had watched her nod off at the saddle and that is when she revealed to him that because of her heart she required a long night of slumber. It was also the time she dreamt and communed with her goddess, Feronia. Once asleep, nothing but a forest fire would wake her. The day had just started and mayhap they would reach Hungerd before nightfall. He glanced down at her. “Are you warm enough?” Her hood was up as she braced her cloak around herself from the cold ocean breeze as she rode. “I heard your land is covered with glaciers. I imagine it will soon get colder.” He halted his horse. “That it will. Would you like to ride with me? It will keep you warmer.” “Nay, I can ride on my own.” He scrutinized her with a hard look. He heard her feeble attempt to keep her teeth from chattering. Why did she always have to act so brave? “I 124

Eva Gordon beg to differ.” He reached for her and in one sweep gathered her on his lap, holding her with one arm, whilst taking her horse’s reins and his on his other hand. She struggled. “I said I can ride!” He tightened his grip. “Honesty, Emelisse, honesty. You are cold and I will not have you get ill.” “Stop treating me like a runt!” “Humph!” He spurred his horse and she had no choice but to hang on to him. He galloped the horses along the rocky shore. It kept her quiet. She fit so nicely wrapped in front of him. The feel of her bottom triggered his cock to stir awake his need of her. Even if she was not on the verge of freezing he preferred having her next to him. He slowed the horse to a reasonable walk. “You feel warm, do you wish to get back on your own horse?” “Yes, by all means let me ride.” He pulled her horse to his side and placed her back on. “We will rest at noon.” She pointed her chin. “In that direction?” “Yes, straight ahead until sunset.” She grabbed the reins and kicked her horse to a full lope. Her cloak flapping in the wind she ran her horse near the surf, kicking wet sand on the pristine beach. She is sly as Loki. He swore and sped off after her. The wench was racing. Had she no sense! His blood boiled as he gave chase. She must have the faster horse, then again she was light as a feather and his mass weighed down his mount. Her laughter teased him as she encouraged her horse to speed up. His only hope was to at least keep up with her. Finally, she slowed down up ahead. She dismounted and took to collecting seashells as he approached. He felt his temper on his heated face. He brought his horse to a walk, resting the poor beast. He had a mind to put her over his lap. He dismounted and led his horse next to hers. The closer he got the more his anger dissipated. He was so relieved that she was unharmed and well that he grinned as she set her shells down, kicked off her shoes and ran across the water’s edge. “Join me Red Wolf.” He stood near the wet sand with his fists on his hips. He hid his amusement from her. “Are you mad, woman?” She squinted up at him. “Oh dear, you are redder than an apple.” His lip twitched. “I was sick with worry that you would fall.” She knelt to pick up her seashells and then approached him, standing tall yet still dwarfed in comparison to his imposing frame. “You might remember that I once rode at breakneck speed downhill mind you to save your sorry arse!” He twisted a smile. “I remember that well enough.” He picked her up from her tiny waist and locked his mouth with hers. She held his face with her hands and moaned in pleasure. Satisfied that her heart was beating correctly he set her down. His tone was harsh. “Well, now that I have taught you a lesson, you will stay closer.” He gazed at her wet feet and frowned in disapproval. “And dry your feet.” 125

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She snickered and teased. “What no throttling with a switch? Am I to understand that my big red wolf will not even discipline me with a nip?” He loomed closer and glowered down at her. “Is that your wish?” She backed away. “Nay, I rather like being punished with a big wet kiss.” It was hard to continue his menacing look. He laughed at her daring challenge. “Do not tempt me, ulf hexen.” After resting their horses they continued on their journey. The sun shone above and though the breeze was cold it was gentle. “Who taught you to ride?” “My guardian wolf mother, Isabelle. As soon as father was off to battle, she trained me to ride, fish, be an archer and whetted my passion in falconry.” She had mentioned Isabelle to him as her father’s consort after her mother’s tragic death. He looked forward to meeting this she-wolfskin who reminded him of Brynhild. “She must be worried sick thinking you are dead or taken as a thrall.” “If anyone believes I am alive, t’is Isabelle. She said I was too stubborn to give in to death.” “Too stubborn sounds right.” “And Lupa our seer would know for certain that I am alive. Feronia speaks to her in dreams, just as she does me.” “Lupa sounds like a powerful witch like Hungerd.” “More of a prophetess than one that practices real sorcery.” She pulled her cloak’s hood back and shot him a glance. “Tell me of Hungerd.” “She has strong seior, magic. Her veil kept my pack hidden from Bork’s wrath. No one knows how old she is but brother Guda once told me that she was over a century old and that was long ago. She is favored by Fenris. There is none wiser than Hungerd.” “Fenris, your ancestral lycan?” He nodded. “Son of Loki. He and his wolf maiden, Freygerd, gave rise to wolfskins.” “Was his wolf maiden immortal?” “No, she was a mortal human. As punishment for creating our kind she was taken away to the sea and drowned.” “That’s awful!” “Fenris is chained and will someday seek revenge by killing Odin himself.” “Your god?” “The father of all.” She quickly glanced at the foreboding dark ocean before turning to him. Her brows knitted in thought. “Hmm. Most interesting. Feronia was once mortal and near death when our Moon Goddess, Lusna felt pity and turned her into a goddess to guide the lycan kind. ” His eyes widened. “Mayhap, more than coincidence that both their mates were lost.” “I shall pray to Feronia and ask her if she knows of your god of the North.”

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Chapter 14 The sun began to set in a brilliant display of color over the horizon along the shore as they approached the territory marked with Hungerd’s scent. Emelisse was weary but had never been more content. She thought living with her own kind would bring her joy, but it was riding and laughing alongside her chosen alpha that completed her. He knew of her frail heart, yet did not treat her like a runt. Naturally, he worried but let her ride, run along the shore and teach him the art of dance. The respite on the beach had been pleasing. She smiled as they rode remembering his attempts to dance with her. Poor Sigurd, his large feet had no sense of dance. He was more than happy to watch her step and twirl as he carved a small dragon. It was his talent in wood carving that warmed her heart with admiration. She never imagined how with such thick calloused hands he could create such delicate art. Yet, those hands were as gentle in sculpturing as they had been on her body. He halted his horse and turned his attention to the forest beyond the shore. She stiffened and whispered. “What is it?” He sniffed the air and tilted his head to listen. His eyes focused on the wood. “The Lupercii men I saw earlier are fighting with bearskins.” Her eyebrows climbed. “Hugues and Julien are in trouble? They need help!” She spurred her horse toward the forest. “Emelisse!” Sigurd caught up to her and grabbed her horse’s reins. “Stay behind me!” He followed the order with a growl and she complied. She was not so foolhardy as to get there first. She merely wanted to encourage him to help the men who had been loyal to her father and the Lupercal. She galloped in his direction as he honed in on their exact location. She halted her snorting and spooked mount. The fierce grunts of bears made her want to turn and run away. Yet she had to look. The scene was horrific. Poor Father Julien lay dead, mauled and bloodied beneath a tree where Hugues’ sword and Franciscan axe lay abandoned. Julien’s leg was severed, mayhap as he attempted to join his brother up on the tree. The bearskins in their bear forms lunged at Hugues above them, whilst he shot arrows upon arrows at them. Sigurd gave a battle cry and charged. His horse reared but he held on and urged him forward. The bears spun around at the distraction. Emelisse felt a pang of guilt at bringing her and Sigurd to such danger. Her worries soon dissipated as Sigurd leapt off, grabbed Hugues’ fallen ax

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf and threw it at one of the bears, splitting his skull in two. It roared and collapsed with an earth shaking thump. The other bear, sprouting arrows along its bleeding back charged with a deafening roar. Sigurd drew out his mighty sword, Brynhild, and slashed him on the bear’s haunches as he stepped away from the dark beast. Wounded the enraged bear whirled and swiped him to the ground. “NO!!” Emelisse dismounted her panicking horse and ran toward the bear with her dagger, but fell as pain shot through her chest as if an arrow had buried its sharp tip in her heart. Holding her bosom, all she could do was watch Sigurd be torn apart. Sigurd rolled away on his belly covering his head and now was helpless on the ground, but not for long. He shifted into his colossal wolf form and with great speed moved away from the pouncing bear. He sprang up in the air, leapt on the bear’s back and bit deep into the thick neck, severing the spinal column while the bear flayed and bellowed his death squeal, sounding like a dying boar. The big red wolf looked like a monster, digging bleeding fangs deep, and shaking his jaws to rip. The bear groaned and fell with Sigurd holding on with his gaping fangs gripped in a tight biting hold. He released his jaws when the head rolled away. Panting and bleeding from his chest and shoulders he limped over to Emelisse and whimpered. She was breathing hard and tried to calm her racing heart. Sigurd licked her face and somehow his wet kisses caused her blinding pain to ease away and her heart beat back to normal. She took one long easy breath and hugged her arms around his thick red furred neck. She had almost forgotten about Hugues who wept silently holding his brother’s body on his lap. She ached for his sorrow. Holding on to Sigurd she stood and walked over to the knight. “Hugues, I’m so sorry about Julien. Your brother was kind.” Hugues closed his brother’s eyes and blinked up tearing eyes as if awakened from sleep. “Milady, blessed Feronia I found you alive.” She knelt by his side. “Yes, dear Hugues.” Still holding his brother in a tight embrace. “I saw you collapse. I thought I would lose you as well. Our only duty to Duke Chanteloup was to find you even if it had been to the far reaches of the north.” Sigurd shifted and loomed, naked, bloodied and menacing. Hugues was in deep mourning and barely noticed him. Sigurd drew her in, held her shoulders and looked her over. “Emelisse are you better?” She nodded and traced her fingers over the already healing gashes on his chest. “When I thought you would be killed my heart split in two.” He embraced her and kissed her head. “My ulf hexen, were you really going to stab the bearskin with your little dagger?” She nodded and buried her head beneath his muscular shoulder. “I too feel the need to protect my mate.” He furrowed his brow and then turned his attention to Hugues. “Are you injured?” “Nay.” He fingered his brother’s hair. “My dear brother almost made it up the tree and when he was grabbed by his leg, he handed me his quiver, but the arrows did not stop them.”

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Eva Gordon Sigurd explained. “They were not normal bears, but rather men known as bearskins or berserkers. Unlike our wolfen kind they remain as bears in death.” Hugues nodded. “Yes, I know. When they first attacked they were big hairy men. We prepared to fight and as I drew my sword they shifted.” Sigurd scowled at the dead furred lumps and gritted his teeth. “I will help you bury your brother.” Together they dug up a deep mound and wrapped his body in his brown cloak and lowered him to the ground. Hugues said a few words of farewell and Emelisse joined him in prayers to Feronia to guide and return Julien to this plain as a lycan. Lupercii men that served the goddess would be honored by someday returning as lycans. Rather than continuing on to Hungerd’s cave, they settled in for a night’s rest. They sat in front of the warm campfire. Hugues drank mead as if it would help drown his sorrow. He glanced at Sigurd. “We sensed you yesterday.” “I know. With the exception of wolf maidens, I was not aware that there were humans who could sense our kind.” He sipped more mead. “We are Lupercii chosen by Feronia to serve her and her lycan children. My family has served Chanteloup’s family since the time of the Romans.” Emelisse sat huddled under Sigurd’s corded arm, his cloak draped over her for added warmth. “How does my father fare?” “Not well Milady. He is broken hearted thinking you dead or worse enslaved and raped. Especially with your frail...” “Raped?” She imagined how her father would rage at such a dishonor. He glanced at Sigurd. “Radulf told your father of a big red haired lycan having his way with you on the Viking ship.” Sigurd glared at him making Hugues flinch and avert his eyes. No man could stare down an alpha lycan. “Nay, I have claimed her and no such thing ever happened.” Emelisse bit her lower lip. “T’is true. It was Sigurd who rescued me from being hanged by berserkers.” He scrunched his face in dismay. “Hanged, Milady?” While Sigurd stood to heat up a meal, Emelisse told Hugues, how she miscarried, of the ransacking of the monastery, her abduction by the berserkers, her close call with death and her ultimate rescue by Sigurd. She then explained how Radulf had tried to reach her on Sigurd’s long ship but that she had refused to leave preferring belonging to Sigurd than Radulf. She did not mention how Sigurd had made her his slave or thrall, her sea illness and her attempt to escape Sigurd. “You see, though Sigurd as alpha lycan has chosen me, I too, as prophesized at my birth, have chosen him as my alpha mate.” Hugues gaped at them before giving a polite bow. “Sigurd, I am grateful to you for rescuing Emelisse and myself from the bearskins, but I must tell you, Radulf made his claim before her father and nothing short of war will change his mind.” He furrowed his brow in worry before reaching for a grilled piece of meat. 129

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Emelisse fumed. “His claim is false. He does not care for me and he murdered Galien.” “T’is true Milady, but the prophecy says you will belong to a great warlord with a mighty pack and land.” Before Sigurd opened his mouth to protest she argued. “Nay, I belong to Sigurd and no one else.” She stood and pulled her gown exposing her scarlet red five-toed wolf mark in the light of the fire. Hugues gawked and then quickly turned away. “It can’t be.” Sigurd sat and shot him a roguish smile. “My god Fenris and your goddess Feronia are in agreement in the matter of the wolf mark. Once red she is claimed.” “Yes, but Radulf will destroy Chanteloup and he will come after the both of you.” Sigurd scoffed. “I welcome it.” Emelisse felt sudden unease and worry for her father and his smaller pack. “Hugues is right. Radulf will kill my father and destroy the Lupercal. He boasts how it should be males not females that govern our kind.” Sigurd drank from his ale horn and raised it up. “I will send him to hell and piss on his grave.” Hugues shook his head. “Radulf has convinced ten members of Chanteloup’s pack to join him and now he has close to seventy lycan warriors under his command. He is the most powerful warlord in all of our territories.” Her eyes grew teary. “What can we do?” Sigurd draped an arm over her and pulled her in. “The southern wolfen must learn that our greater enemy is the bearskin not fellow packs.” “That may be true, but Radulf will not be satisfied until he finds and takes Emelisse. He will not care if she is already claimed. His ego will not allow him to let her go since he claimed her before all. He covets the land where the Lupercal calls home.” She let out a slow sigh. “Mayhap, t’would be best for me to accept his claim.” Sigurd’s eyes darkened and he growled. “Nay, he will meet his death before he even looks at you.” She flinched at his tone and gazed at his stone livid face, which even in the dim light of the campfire blazed red with fury. “But what of my father?” “I give you my wolfskin’s vow that I will protect him and his pack from this malicious dog!” Hugues shook his head. “You are a powerful warrior but we will need more than might to defeat Radulf and his pack. Somehow you will need to make Radulf submit to you before his pack.” Emelisse shivered. “It will take a long time to return back to our territory.” Sigurd lifted Emelisse’s hood and covered her head as a cool breeze gusted in. “Hungerd will help. For now let us sleep. We leave on the morrow at daybreak.” They left the horses below and began to climb the endless steps up toward Hungerd’s cave. A thick fog made the visibility difficult. Was the thick 130

Eva Gordon fog real or enchantment? Sigurd led the way above the din of the pounding surf. Emelisse had convinced Hugues to come with them. The powerful wolf witch might help them come up with a solution. His main concern was Emelisse’s delicate heart and hoped that Hungerd’s magic could cure her. He had intended to return her to her father’s manor while he searched for Mord’s winter lair but now with word about Radulf still wanting her despite his claim, he decided that protecting her was more important than revenge, at least for now. The thought of another claiming her made his blood boil with rage. Sweet Emelisse was his. His claiming scent would warn all wolfskins to stay away. As they reached the top of the cliff the fog became less thick, and looking down, he saw it still blanketed the rocks and land below. Hugue’s mouth gawked at the beautiful woman with flowing silver hair wearing a white feather cloak at the mouth of the cave’s entrance above them. The woman laughed. “So Gunnolf’s whelp has found his mate.” Two big black ravens cawed loudly at the edge as if joining her in amusement. Sigurd approached and bowed. “Hungerd, I have come seeking your help.” Hungerd smiled at Hugues, pleased at his broad frame. “You are a companion of Fenris?” He bowed. “Milady, I am Hugues de Cheval, Lupercii of Duke Chanteloup.” She nodded and turned her attention to Emelisse who had removed her hood letting her dark hair flow and dance in the wind. She cocked an eyebrow. “And you are the ulf hexen of my vision.” She walked around her, whilst Sigurd held her with a protective arm. She poked him with a beautiful long polished nail. “I will not harm your little mate.” She glanced at her from head to toe and then at Sigurd. “I had not expected such a size difference. I imagine you have made your claim without crushing her?” He felt his face flush red with heat and was grateful Emelisse spoke. “He is the gentlest of lovers.” She narrowed her eyes. “Not your first.” She then eyed her belly. “T’is rarely possible for an ulf hexen to carry the child of a human man. You should not suffer from guilt.” Emelisse’s eyes widened. “How did you know?” Hungerd tapped her heart with her tapered finger. “I know everything about you little one.” She waved them forward and opened the flap of hides covering her entrance. “Come, I will serve you a warm meal and ale.” The inside was lit with torches and on the walls were ancient runic symbols. There was a long oak table with an array of food from warm breads, broth, smoked fish game birds and flagons of ale. Cushioned high chairs awaited them. Sigurd cast a wry smile. “I see you have been awaiting us.” Hungerd gestured for them to sit. “I have been watching you Son of Gunnolf for years. Please sit and enjoy.” Hugues looked enamored as the witch spoke and took a seat closest to her where she sat at the head of the table. Sigurd not wishing to complicate 131

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf matters with a bewitched warrior shot her a brow. “Show your true self, Hungerd.” She shrugged. “Very well, t’is hard to keep this illusion for too long.” Her body shimmered and then appeared as she truly looked, wrinkled and bent like a vulture with a baldhead holding three strands of tufted gray hair. She looked even more ancient than she had when he last saw her over two years ago. Her voice was raspy, her mouth gummed with only a single crooked tooth. “My ravens feed me with their pre-digested pellets, since I can no longer masticate.” Both Emelisse and especially Hugues had a look of horror from seeing her true physical appearance and the thought that she ate bird vomit. Emelisse sat and picked up the flat bread. “Is this food real?” Hungerd cackled a laugh. “Very real. Go on taste and enjoy.” Emelisse glanced at Sigurd who winked and gave her a nod. She smiled and bit the soft bread. He liked how she trusted him. The old crone took a bowl of broth and sipped noisily. Poor Hugues looked like he had lost his appetite but he grabbed a bird leg and bit, his need for food governing his revulsion and reason. Sigurd told of how he found Emelisse and later how they ran into Hugues who was on a mission by wolfskin leader Chanteloup to journey north in search of his daughter. Hungerd snickered. “To think your greatest enemy had attempted to kill your ulf hexen.” Emelisse chewed pensively. “So what more do you know of me?” She put her bowl down. “I have known since reading the runes that Sigurd would claim a woman of nobility, but I had no idea he would meet you in the camp of the bearskins. However, I learned more about you from a vision when Sigurd claimed you. In my vision I saw your birth and the midwife almost smothering you since you were born too early and weak with a frail heart.” She chortled. “A runt. I would have snuffed you out myself.” Sigurd slammed a mug down and growled at the crone. His upper lip exposing his fierce fangs. He had no tolerance for any threat toward his mate even if it was in jest. Hungerd scowled at Sigurd. “Then again, it was your destiny to live and become an important part of Sigurd’s web. You have a gift for knowledge and healing, which will help our kind.” Emelisse twisted a smile. “T’is a relief that you did not attend my birth, since I would not be sitting across from you.” She stared at Emelisse with dark eyes. “I was born a runt and my wolfskin father took me to die in the harsh winter snow. A real she-wolf found me, suckled me and presented me to a jarl and his barren wife. He said I was gift from Loki and would grow to be sly. He nearly stabbed me with his dagger but his woman begged him to keep me. And so, I lived and was claimed by Ulf the Gray” Sigurd nearly choked on his ale. He coughed and cleared his throat. “You were Ulf’s ulf hexen?” Ulf the Gray had been a legendary wolfskin. He died in battle successfully driving out the bearskins. Every wolfskin honored him for his bravery and strength. 132

Eva Gordon She cast him a wane smile. “Back then my name was Hungerd the Fair, for I was nearly as beautiful back then as your Emelisse.” “But Ulf’s mate took poison on hearing of his death. She was buried at his side in the circle of stones in the far north.” “The poison merely put me in a deep sleep. A pack of wolves, that is, real wolves, dug me out and dragged me to their den. My guts twisted in agony for days, but the pack cared for me until I recovered. On awaking from the dead I found out I had seior and saw visions.” Hugues looked confused. Sigurd explained. “Seior is magic.” “I learned that it was Fenris himself who dispatched the pack and he ordered me to use my powers to help his children. I was not allowed to die until Ulf’s dreams of a united pack came to pass.” Hugues raised a brow. “T’is true. Our seer predicted that Emelisse would claim a lycan warrior that would unite all the packs.” Emelisse beamed. “And Sigurd is to be the one.” He frowned and shook his head. “How can I, a lone wolf, unite all the packs?” He cast an eye towards Hungerd for an answer. She pointed a bent finger at him. “You will lead the packs in a great battle against the bearskins.” He lifted a brow. “Packs? I have none. T’is best if you tell me where Mord’s winter lair is. I can go in and slay as many as possible.” “I have tried but Bolla’s sorcery is too powerful. T’is her magic, which spins a veil of protection over the bearskins. She seeks you out and would have found you earlier had it not been for my own powers. I’m old and am not the great sorceress I once was. Lately, I have had fewer visions.” Emelisse pitched in. “My father’s pack can help.” Hugues shook his head. “Nay, Milady. Chanteloup’s pack is but of a shadow of what it once was. Only Radulf’s pack can accomplish such a task.” Emelisse turned to Hungerd. “Milady, how can Sigurd lead?” “I know naught how, but I know he will. Return to her territory and seek out the help of the females that lead your packs.” “The Lupercal,” said Emelisse. Hungerd tapped her finger on the table. “I know of your goddess, I have seen visions of her but only from a distance like a mist that is beyond the hill, never to be reached.” “Feronia.” Hungerd gummed a smile. “You are her special ulf hexen are you not?” “Yes.” She twirled the necklace that contained the parchment on how to cure hydrophobia. “She has sent me the formula to cure and prevent the frenzy that so tragically took Brynhild and Sigurd’s pack. Lupa the head of our Lupercal has been given the special instructions as well.” Sigurd noted the swooshing sound of Emelisse’s heart. He had grown alert to every irregular beat. He held her hand. “Are you well?” She nodded with a breath and brave smile. He kissed her hand and grew satisfied as her heartbeat returned to normal. Hungerd frowned. “She is dying.” Sigurd felt her hand grow cold in his. “Hungerd, is there anything you can do about her heart?” 133

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf “It is you Son of Gunnolf who is her cure. Look how you calmed it back to a normal beat.” She stood and ambled over to an old rusty chest. “Still, it can kill her if you are apart. T’would be bad for our kind.” He scowled and squeezed her hand in reassurance. “We will never be apart.” She cackled. “You would take her to battle?” “Umm. I suppose not.” “I will ride with him to defeat our enemies,” added Emelisse. All three shot her a look like she was mad. “Hah. Foolish wench.” Hungerd dusted off the wooden chest with the end of her cloak, opened it and took out a bejeweled dagger and a small wrist bracelet of gold. “During times when you are apart I have something that I can prepare. An enchanted gold bracelet with your heart beat to pace hers.” Her all knowing dark eyes pierced Sigurd. “Are you willing to burn your own blood so that she may live?” Without hesitation he nodded wholeheartedly. Emelisse shot him a worried look and he shook his head to keep her from protesting. Hungerd approached Sigurd. “Open your palm.” She glowered at Emelisse. “Do not interfere if you want him to live.” “But…” “Heed her words, Emelisse,” said Sigurd with deep gravity in his voice. He did as Hungerd bid and without moving a muscle grimaced as she sliced it across his palm. A pool of blood gathered and she placed the small bracelet on his hand. “Squeeze it!” She ordered. Emelisse gasped as she watched him tighten a fist about the gold trinket. Blood oozed out from between his fingers. Hungerd’s eyes rolled back and showing only the whites, she looked blind. She uttered ancient words in her trance as she placed her own wretched pruned hand over his. Together their hands ignited into a hot blue flame. “Sigurd!” Emelisse stood. Hugues held her back. “T’is magic, My Lady. Do not meddle.” Sigurd was grateful that Hugues was holding her in a tight embrace, her eyes terror stricken. He wanted to control his pain, but it was too unbearable. The sorcery would heal her sharp heart pain that would eventually kill her. For her, he would suffer all the pains of the world as had Odin. As his hand burned, he felt his fangs erupt and his free hand claw. “Remain a man!” hissed Hungerd. She too was in pain. He clenched his eyes to not look at what must be his withered burned hand and nodded. He roared in agony. “No, stop it!” Emelisse screamed. He turned to look at her as she struggled against Hugues’ hold. He gritted his teeth and growled at her. “Stay back!” Hungerd screamed, broke the hold and fell on her back. The balled flame was gone as was the pain. His fist was still wrapped around the gold band. There was no scent of burnt flesh. He took a breath of relief to see his hand remained un-scorched and whole with skin and normal color. Hungerd sat and wiped ashes from her cloak. “Open your hand wide.” 134

Eva Gordon Emelisse released from Hugues’ hold ran to Sigurd and grabbed his hand. “It’s untouched.” He opened his hand. His laceration was gone and the gold bracelet was marked with runic symbols. He held it up to the light. “Tell me, what does it say?” Hugues hoisted Hungerd up. She sighed and led by Hugues limped over to Sigurd. “The spell will keep her heart well and as strong as yours when you are not around, Son of Gunnolf. Go on, put it on her.” He took her wrist. “May I?” Her dark eyes blinked back tears. “Yes.” Sigurd slipped the gold band over her slender wrist and gave her a crooked smile. “Think of this as my wedding gift.” Hungerd wavered and Hugues braced her. “I’m getting too old for such powerful spells.” Hugues guided her to a chair and offered her some ale. “Milady, drink.” Sigurd looked at the hag and felt a pang of guilt that Ulf’s life mate had suffered so for the sake of his own mate. “I will be forever grateful to you for this brave act in saving my heart, for Emelisse is my heart.” Hungerd’s eyes twinkled. “Fenris will soon allow me to join Ulf.” Emelisse had tears in her eyes. “Milady, t’is healing. My heart is beating strong.” “Good. I have created a drakkor for you to return hidden in a mist until you reach your father’s territory.” Emelisse protested. “I can’t ever go back on a boat.” “T’is a magical drakkor and you will reach your coast in a fortnight.” Emelisse nearly panicked. “I most certainly cannot tolerate a single day let alone a fortnight. T’is the sea illness I cannot endure.” Hungerd reached in her feathered cloak and handed her a vial of an orange fluid. “Drink this on board and you will not suffer from the sea illness, t’is as magical as the gold band you wear. Continue eating before your journey and tonight sleep in the bedchambers.” She pointed to the back of the cavern. “I must retire early.” Guided by Hugues she left for her quarters. Their cave chamber had the comfort of her own room back at her castle. T’was full of throws and pillows and a round hearth fire in the center of the room. Since finding Hugues they had not been intimate and she felt a thrill knowing that at least for a night she and Sigurd would feast on one another as they had when she decided to claim him. Her nipples hardened at the memory at how he had ripped off her diaphanous white shift when she so brazenly seduced him during their stay at the cavern before running into Hugues and his fallen brother. She lay flat on the bed provided for them and waited. Where was he? She got up and peaked out from behind the woolen curtain. Sigurd was talking to Hugues near the cave entrance where the shine of the full moon almost illuminated the night’s darkness. Did Sigurd wish to hunt? She bit her lip in frustration. She had longed to feel his bite on her below …oh, how could she think such wicked thoughts? As if hearing her thoughts he turned his face beaming into a huge grin, fangs shining like diamonds in the moonlight. “Grrrrr.” He patted Hugues on 135

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf his back. “I shall bed early. On the morrow we will begin our long journey to your territory.” He raised an eyebrow. “Does not the moon call on you to run and hunt?” He glowered at Hugues. “Not when my mistress calls on me.” Hugues caught site of Emelisse’s slender silhouette in the back of the cave. He cleared his throat loudly. “Ah, yes. I understand.” The man who was ten years older than Sigurd, looked somewhat worried and whispered in a voice that carried rather than hid. “Your wolf needs might be too much, now with the full moon.” Sigurd’s tone darkened. “Your only concern, Frank is to seek a night’s rest.” Emelisse smiled in anticipation. The full moon. What new experience might that bring to the bed? She stepped into the light. “Good night Hugues.” Hugues shot her a worried look. “Yes, Milady.” He bowed to Sigurd, “Milord.” He walked off no doubt torn between the need to see to her safety out of duty to her father and respect the wishes of her alpha. Sigurd stood watching Hugues until he disappeared into his own private chamber. Emelisse knew his face must be red with silent rage. Mayhap Hugues had reason to worry. Though an alpha lycan was not under the control of the full moon, his senses, strength and predatory nature was higher. He shot her a sudden fierce look and she gasped. With the speed of the wind that only a lycan can achieve he was by her side in a flash. He picked her up and whisked her into their private chamber. He set her on the bed and smiled down at her, his canines glistening with hunger. He pulled off his tunic and stood his chest more hirsute than usual, red fur rather than hair thicketed his torso. He must have sensed her trepidation. “Don’t worry, even with the full moon, I could never harm you.” She lifted herself to her elbows, with her chin up in defiance. “I’m not afraid of you, Red Wolf.” She swallowed as his smoldering aqua marine eyes burned her nipples with his gaze. His voice was husky almost wolf like. He sniffed the air and smiled as if smelling the rich aroma of fresh meat. His eyes closed for a moment in ecstasy. “Your scent makes me lose my mind with desire.” She thought at one time that being with a human man would be better. The one time with Galien had been awkward and perchance because she was a maiden and he inexperienced, the first time had been painful and simply messy. After releasing his seed in her after a few jerky pumps Galien had been spent and had slept like a child. With Sigurd it was so different, so beastly. He spent more time pleasuring her before the act, almost causing her to beg for him to enter her. Sigurd was wolf, for him the act of mating was prolonged and more than the simple act of intercourse. Every part of her body and senses had been awakened and now she smiled in anticipation. She could never go back to normal men. He had ruined her for anyone but him. She lay back on the bed and opened her thighs yielding to her alpha. He took an indrawn breath and slid next to her in bed. Crouching above her he suckled at one nipple while pinching the other as she moaned and arched at the feel of fang and calloused fingers. Erotic sensations ripped 136

Eva Gordon through her. Losing all inhibition she screamed out. “Sigurd, oh, dear Sigurd!” After sending her into spasms of rapture, he gently nibbled on her neck. He licked the hollow of her throat. His hard length pressed against her. “My magnificent runt.” Her eyes widened. Runt still offended her, though with his strapping muscular frame he would make anyone look like a runt. She found his lips and bit. He grunted under her nibbles. She stopped and looked him in the eyes. “I will show you what a runt can do.” She pushed him on his back and began to mimic his wolf habits of sniffing and then gently biting, first his red nipples and then licking and kissing his rock hard abdominal area. Until she reached his throbbing penis. She smiled as he stopped breathing. Lupa had told her how men were pleasured with the act of kissing and mouthing their penis. At the time she had been horrified of such a technique but now she boldly explored. Now it was he who was arching and calling her name, sending him to the edge. He held her bottom and growled. In one fell swoop she was turned to her back and parting her thighs, he entered her sleek wetness. His bulk trapped her like a fallen boulder on top of a mere feather. His muscular arms were braced above her so as not to crush. He thrust and rubbed her inflamed pearl with one hand, making her helpless to the waves of climatic spasms that sent her into pure bliss. Sigurd pumped into her while engulfing her mouth in his. He was inside her and she in him. Together they moaned and thrashed riding wave after wave of explosive climax. He continued kissing and caressing her as he pulled out. His husky voice barely sounded human. “You are mine, ulf hexen.” She loved his possessiveness. “Umm,” she uttered as if just tasting the sweetest pastry. “And you are my alpha.” It gladdened her heart that she, a runt, possessed the love of a mighty lycan warrior. Satiated he tucked her head on his shoulder and draped an arm over her, his fingers gently twirling around her aroused breasts. She sighed and nestled into him, her eyes growing heavy until finally she succumbed to sleep.

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Chapter 15 Emelisse woke to the sound of pounding surf and shot up from her bed. For a brief moment she thought she was back on Thor’s Hammer and the past few days but a dream. Her hands touched where he had slept. His warmth was gone. Panic set in. “Sigurd!” He quickly stepped into the chamber. He was shaved and his red mane neatly braided. He sat on the bed causing it to sink. He drew her in, rubbed his nose with hers and kissed her forehead. She nestled into his embrace and listened to him whisper in her ear. “T’is a fine wind for a sail.” “Is Hugues awake as well?” “Yes, for hours. He is talking to the crew of oarsmen.” She shot her eyes at the gold band with the runic symbols on her wrist and then back at Sigurd. “So t’was not a dream. We are in Hungerd’s cave and she forged a magical bracelet for me.” He laughed heartily. “That she did and I know the pain of its forging.” He offered her his hand. “You slept so well. Come wash and sup. We depart soon.” He kissed her mouth and let go, his eyes penetrating through her. “Our love making last night t’was better than any dream.” She put on her slippers and cast him a mischievous twist of smile, part shy, part wicked. “Indeed it was.” She let him guide her up and wrap a cloak around her. She stopped mid-step and stiffened. “Wait, what crew?” “Hungerd cast a spell and conjured twelve oarsmen and two helmsmen. Once we reach your territory the crew will return to their forms and fly back.” “Fly back?” “The men, the whole lot of them are ravens.” Her eyes widened. This witch was indeed powerful. None except for the legendary Sibyl who delivered her and kept her alive was as powerful. At the table Hungerd sat gumming down porridge. She put her wooden bowl down and grinned. “I see Gunnolf’s whelp kept you up all night pleasuring you.” Emelisse felt her face flush red. “T’is no…” Sigurd interrupted. “She sleeps more than most, t’is how she keeps her radiant beauty.” Hungerd cackled. “You are both such a contrast. The sun and the moon. One large like a mountain the other but a pebble, and one who sleeps

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf light while the other would sleep through the clang of battle.” She nodded. “Loki loves such tricks.” Emelisse sat and reached for the porridge. “T’is wise of Loki to balance the ocean with the land and the night with the day.” She shook her gnarled finger at her. “You are wise and too pretty for your own good.” Sigurd gathered a chest and lugged it over his shoulder. He smiled. “I will see both of you shortly.” Hungerd eyed her necklace. “So tell me of this parchment of yours.” Emelisse grasped it. “Feronia sent it to me to help create an anecdote against hydrophobia, what Sigurd calls the dog frenzy or madness.” Hungerd held her hand out. “May I see?” Though she felt protective of the formula, she did not want to appear rude, certainly not after the old crone suffered in order to heal her jittery heart. Emelisse slipped it out of her pouch and let her take a look. “T’is written in Latin.” Hungerd held the parchment toward the light of a wall torch and squinted her eyes. “My eyes are too weak to focus anyway. Read it to me.” She returned it. Emelisse had only glanced at the instructions briefly. “Well, the ingredients are most unusual, bat’s saliva from a specific cave found South of the Pyrenees, some herbs that my mistress, Lupa keeps in jars, fertilized duck eggs and fish spines from the dorsal fin of a rare rock cod.” She continued to rattle on but Hungerd stopped her. “Most complicated, but I’m sure you will be able to produce such a potion.” “Once I’m back in my father’s manor and the Lupercal headquarters I will immediately set to work on the cure.” Hungerd wiped residue from her lips with a linen napkin. “Promise me one thing.” Emelisse nodded. “Yes?” “Tell your goddess, Feronia to seek Fenris and free him from his chains.” “She knows naught of Fenris, but I will ask in prayers when she visits in my dreams.” Hungerd took in a breath in relief; as if such a request was the most important thing on her mind. Growing up Emelisse thought that different religions did not share any connection. T’was one-way and not the other, yet there had to be commonality between the two distinct lycan beliefs. They spent the rest of the morning meal discussing healing salves, potions and the importance of the magical gold ring that wrapped around her wrist. Sigurd and Emelisse waved to Hungerd whilst the purple black ravenhaired muscular oarsman and crew prepared to begin the journey. They were silent, not speaking a word. Cawing and clucking like ravens t’was their only sound. Their eyes were pitch black and appeared to be under a spell for the mere purpose of returning them to the south. The sail was hoisted and the ship soared along the waves. The woolen sail was white and bore a black 140

Eva Gordon raven, with its wings spread out. Instead of a dragon’s head at its prow there was a black beaked raven’s head with jeweled red eyes. Hungerd surrounded the drakkor with a magical mist to keep it hidden from all vessels and from those that would spot it from the shore. He glanced down at Emelisse. He worried that she would be ill. “How do you feel?” Her rosy complexion was good. “The potion against sea illness is working. I feel good, nay, I feel the best I have felt in years,” she boasted as her hair flapped in the cold blustery weather. His crew had built Emelisse a shelter at the stern to protect her from the burning sun and wind. Underneath the hide roof was a mattress. There was no privacy, so for an entire fortnight the best they could do was to hold each other and steal occasional kisses and caresses. Not that he minded the raven men crew, who did not talk or interact much, but there was Hugues and he sensed that Emelisse preferred to remain chaste with her father’s most trusted servant around. Though it was a hard task, he would respect her human rules, for now. Emelisse rested her head on Sigurd’s shoulder in the cloudless night and woke at the sound of a loud caw, the only vocalization the raven men had ever made throughout the entire ten days. Beside her Sigurd stirred and sat. He kissed her on the forehead and stood. He called out to Hugues. “Is it land?” Hugues walked over to them and his tone was one of joyous fervor. “We have reached the Gascony coast. We are home.” Emelisse looked at the dark silhouette of the shoreline. Home at last. Yet, she felt unease. What if Radulf was there? Hugues had mentioned that he and her father must still be searching for her and perhaps had not returned. It was fall and it would soon be winter. She worried that her father would get himself killed looking for her up north perchance by the fierce bearskins. On her return she would send word to him that she was back. She bundled herself with the fur cloak and walked along the narrow hull. Without her sea illness she had even become fond of the up and down motion of the swell. Still, she would be happy to once again walk on solid earth. The sail was taken down and the ship rolled over the waves as the silent men rowed. The man in charge of the till nodded at Sigurd and Hugues. On shore the men unloaded the modest chest of garments and trinkets they had found along the way. Emelisse could not wait to show Lupa the fine shells she had found. She felt her necklace that rested about her neck. Betwixt her and Lupa, they would finally find a solution to cure and prevent the scourge of hydrophobia. Sigurd lifted Emelisse and set her down away from the wet sand. “Welcome back to your territory.” She gave him a wry smile. “Our territory.” He patted the sword’s hilt as he always did when expecting a fight. He turned to the mysterious crew. “Shall I hunt some game for you? I will offer all of you the best of the innards.” The men bowed and shook their heads no. The one who had been the helmsman pointed to the sky. They must long for the freedom of flight. 141

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Emelisse understood. Her little merlin, Alglaia loved to soar across their vast territory and could not imagine her as a woman without the ability of flight. The raven men stood in a line, spread their arms and shimmered into their black forms. The murder of ravens cawed and stretched their wings before taking flight. The drakkor on its side along the shore dematerialized and all that was left was a single black raven feather. Hugues picked it up. He looked whimsical. “Hungerd is an amazing wolf witch.” He smiled. “I only wish I could gaze upon her youthful form once again.” Sigurd laughed. “Hah! She would never love you, not after Ulf.” Emelisse turned to Hugues. “Can you find our manor from here?” He nodded. “Along that path, t’is a short distance, mayhap a half day.” The trail soon became a dark wood. They followed Hugues who was keeping a good pace. He was most anxious to return home with the good news. T’would not bring back his brother but at least he had died in honor. Emelisse noticed that Sigurd was taking long whiffs of the area, perchance due to the scent of the lycans. He growled on several occasions, his face was red. Curious Emelisse grabbed his corded arm. “Pray tell, what bothers you.” Sigurd stopped and narrowed his eyes surveying the forest. “I have never caught the scent of so many wolfen.” Emelisse looked around carefully. “T’is alright, our lycan pack uses this entire area as their hunting grounds.” Hugues came to a sudden stop and put his hand up for them to remain still. He cupped his hands over his mouth and howled like a wolf. The Lupercii were adept at making the appropriate calls. He turned back. “Isabelle is coming.” Emelisse beamed. “I must go to her.” Sigurd took a hold of her arm and held it with an iron grip. “Wait. Is she alone?” Hugues shook his head. “She brings several members of the pack. Except for the alpha females, they will be in their human form.” He stroked his beard and sighed. “They may attack Sigurd.” Sigurd’s tone was harsh. “Let them come.” She turned to Hugues. “Nay, not so. I will tell them I have chosen him.” His hold on her was still rock solid, if he tightened his grip any more surely her arm would break. Why was he so concerned? They were her family. Sigurd gently shoved Emelisse behind him and stiffened. He glowered at shapes beyond the thicket and growled. His fangs protruded out and he kept his jaws open in display of his fierce daggered fangs. She shuddered at how fierce he could look. She peeked from behind into the copse. She saw nothing. She hated when they hid from her. “Do not shift, unless you plan on taking on the pack,” advised Hugues. A single gray she-wolf with intertwined rose markings approached, snarling with her hackles up. Emelisse shouted from behind the wall that was Sigurd as he kept her back with his out stretched arm. “Isabelle, t’is I. Emelisse.” She ignored Emelisse and continued to stare at Sigurd. Other shapes appeared and stalked forward. There were two other female wolves and six Franks in chain mail, carrying shields and sword, some with the well-known lethal Frankia axe. 142

Eva Gordon “Sigurd, you must allow Emelisse to come forward.” Hugues quickened his pace and stepped toward them and waved for her to follow. “Emelisse.” She moved, but he spread both his arms out blocking her from moving and growled. His red face made him look like he would burst out in rage. “She is mine!” Emelisse pleaded with him. “Trust me, I am yours but let me make peace with them for you.” She knew how menacing he looked. Taller than any in their pack, he was a red haired giant with a muscular frame built for destruction of any who ventured too near. He wore his Viking mail, with a sword twice as big as any of the ones her father’s warriors carried. His fingers touched the hilt. His bearing made it clear that he alone possessed her and anyone who begged to differ would inhale his or her last breath. What was wrong with him? Not taking his eyes off of Isabelle’s threatening posture he gave a slow nod. Emelisse lifted his hand and before all kissed it. She felt his slow breath of relief that she was making it clear that they were mates. His face still reddened, he twisted a smile. He stepped aside and let her pass. She ran to Isabelle and enveloped her arms about her neck. Isabelle whimpered and licked her face and the other pack members, both wolf and men slowly approached to welcome her home. Isabelle materialized into a fine looking woman with long silver gray hair with streaks of yellow. The other two females followed her in the shift. She recognized them as Lupa’s two assistants. Though she had on occasion seen them naked, Emelisse still felt her face flush hot. They had always robed themselves when humans were around. One of the Frank warriors handed them their robes. Isabelle donned her robe and lifted Emelisse by the chin, her eyes glistening with tears. “Thank Feronia, you are alive and looking so healthy. How is your heart? “My heart is well now that I have found my chosen mate,” she turned to introduce Sigurd, who stood scowling, ready for a challenge. Isabelle put her ears on Emelisse’s chest and nodded with a smile. “No swooshing, t’is true, if your mate cured you then t’is a joyous day indeed.” Emelisse turned to Sigurd, his face no longer crimson with fury. He remained quiet, perchance as the result of shyness on seeing her family and pack. She smiled at him and he lifted one side of his lip only as a hint. A warrior’s sternness. She walked back to him and took his massive hand in hers. Isabelle and the other lycans sniffed him from where they stood. He retracted his fangs and bowed. He straightened his shoulders back looking even more ominous. The Frank warriors gripped their weapons at this barbarian that stood in front of them with their beloved little wolf maiden. He was every bit a Viking, a member of the raiders who had caused such havoc and death in the Frank Kingdom. He finally spoke. “I am Sigurd, Son of Gunnolf and I have claimed Emelisse as my ulf hexen… I mean wolf maiden,” he said using their term. Isabelle sniffed deeply. “Yes, she is marked with your scent.” She turned to Emelisse. “T’is true child, does your mark remain red?” She smiled sheepishly. “Yes.” 143

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Isabelle craned her neck and took in his full height. “But he so big?” “But the gentlest of lovers and he does not care that I’m a runt with a frail heart.” Sigurd spoke. “As my mate I vow to protect her from any harm.” Isabelle gave him a nod of approval and then touched her belly. “Lupa dreamt you lost the child.” “On the very day of my arrival to the monastery, a few days before I ran into the berserkers. Sigurd rescued me from their claws.” Isabelle bowed to him. “We are all grateful to you.” The men relaxed their stance. He returned the gesture and moved his fingers from Brynhild. Emelisse furrowed her brows. “Tell me, is Father looking for me?” Isabelle’s face darkened with sorrow. “Dear Emelisse, how can I tell you?” “Nay, what has happened?” “Milord came home on a stretcher with half of his knights. The bearskins attacked them. Those that survived returned but days ago.” Her voice grew hopeful. “So Father is alive?” She nodded. “He was badly mauled, close to death and his spine was broken.” Emelisse gasped. “Lupa is tending to him and thanks to his lycan blood he will recover soon, but not before the next full moon.” She turned to Sigurd. “We will need you to help control our lycans during the shift, whilst Milord recovers.” Sigurd finally relaxed. “T’would be an honor.” Isabelle gripped Emelisse’s hand and held it to her heart. “Come, we must hurry. Seeing you will be the elixir Milord needs to hasten his healing.” Sigurd was impressed with the wood and stone castle that stood on top of the jagged peak of the tall mountain. He had never seen such a structure. It was what he imagined Valhalla, where Odin and his minions lived was like. As he strolled in with Emelisse, the manor duchess, the lycans bowed their heads in respect and immediately understood his claim and his sheer dominance over all but the master of the castle, Duke Chanteloup. The hall was massive and opulent. A hearth the size of a house heated the drafty mountain high manor. There were maids and servants running around in preparation for her homecoming and that of her mate. Hungerd’s prophecy had come to pass. He had found his ulf hexen and now was a member of a pack. An older but handsome woman with dark raven straight hair braided to her hips stood above the stone spiral staircase. She wore a purple cloak lined with white ermine. With the grace of royalty she made her way down. All halted at her entry and bowed low. Emelisse bowed and Sigurd did the same. Emelisse embraced the haughty looking woman that radiated authority and respect. “Milady Lupa, may I present my alpha mate, Sigurd, Son of Gunnolf.” Sigurd’s face widened. Lupa was the leader of the Lupercal council and the most important person to the southern wolfen. “T’is an honor to meet you at last.” 144

Eva Gordon She smiled at Emelisse and then at Sigurd. “So, t’is true. You have claimed a mighty lycan warrior.” She narrowed her eyes at Sigurd and sniffed. “How ironic that you are the very enemy we now fight. Are you loyal to the Northmen or to your mate’s people, the Franks?” He was torn. His people were the Northmen and for the last two years he had fought by their side, mostly killing Saxons but on occasion the Franks as well. Yet his single purpose had been to kill Bork and his son Mord the Blood Claw. His new brethren were wolfen and he was bound to Emelisse, his mate. “I vow to honor, protect my mate’s pack and your Lupercal.” She closed her eyes and bowed. She glanced at him with astute blue eyes. “In my vision I saw you, the big red wolf, battle worn and unbeatable with our most precious wolf maiden, Oracle of Feronia.” She walked around him as if observing a prized stallion for purchase. She sniffed loudly. “You are far more worthy than the upstart Radulf III, but though you are more powerfully built and a head taller than he, be warned, Radulf is cunning and far more dangerous than the lumbering bearskins.” “Milady Lupa, do not let my built doubt my cunning, for Loki is the father of Fenris and I too, though not knowledgeable in your literature or arts, can be just as sly.” He winked. She laughed wholeheartily. “Good, then at last we have a real champion.” She turned her attention to Emelisse. “You have chosen well. Now come and greet your father.” She glanced up at him. “Sigurd, Son of Gunnolf, our servants will see to a bath and new garments, ones that do not irk our household.” “Thank you.” He gave Emelisse a longing look before following a manservant to his bath. She nodded and tapped her gold bracelet, giving him reassurance that for now she would be safe. Now that he had found his true love he hated to be apart from her. He never thought he would ever be so besotted by such a delicate woman. The fact that she had a frail heart had endeared her to him. His need to protect her had become essential. He must relax and clean up before meeting her sire. Emelisse ran to her father’s side. His face was wrapped in linens, only his eyes and nose protruded from his healing mask. He was breathing heavily, fighting the pain of his injuries. “Oh Father.” She knelt by his bed and holding his calloused hand she wept. The room was warm from the crackling hearth and the strong aromatic healing incense made the room look hazy. His voice was barely audible. “My daughter, are you real or spirit?” “T’is not my salty tears wetting your hands real dear father?” Tears fell on the linen mask. “Emelisse, I thought I had lost you.” Emelisse touched the linen covering his face. “Tell me, can you move?” “I still can’t feel my legs but Lupa assures me that I’m healing and will regain my mobility over time. Now that I’m older, my lycan blood is slower at healing.” He gripped her hand. “And you, did you lose…” “I lost Galien’s babe long before my abduction.” She turned her face away in shame. “After I lost the child I wanted to run away from our pack. I just wanted to live my life among normal people. That all changed when the berserkers destroyed the monastery and massacred all the monks.” She did not care to mention that Father Isore, the Abbott had wanted to defile her. It 145

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf would only distress him. “The bearskins discovered I was a wolf maiden and abducted me. Bolla, their witch woman, had ordered me sacrificed.” His voice was raspy. “Nay. Dear child, how did your heart take such anxiety?” “T’was difficult but thanks to Lupa’s breathing exercises I managed to control my sputtering heart until I was rescued.” “Lupa said there was a lycan presence near you. Was it he that rescued you?” “Yes, a Viking alpha lycan, a wolfskin.” His tone turned severe. “A Viking raider?” “Nay, t’is not so. Sigurd was there to slay Bork the Mad and his son Mord the Blood Claw for killing his parents, brother and pack.” He spat out. “Mord the Blood Claw is the bearskin who broke my spine and scarred my face. The bear man was searching for the lycan who killed his father.” She smiled wistfully. “That lycan was Sigurd who killed him in order to rescue me from a most horrible death.” She held his hand tight. “Sigurd has claimed me and I chose him as my mate.” His eyes widened. “But Radulf has claimed you.” She spoke in unbending defiance. “My mark is red and none but Sigurd can truly claim me.” He relaxed with smile. “You love him?” “With all my soul.” “Good. I too despise Radulf and now that I almost lost you I care not if he declares war. I wish to meet this lycan hero of yours.” “He was taken to bathe.” He patted her hand with his. “How I worried that you would die from heart pain and yet I see that your color is good and sense your proper heart beat. Has the love for this barbarian lycan cured your heart?” Emelisse told him about how being with her chosen alpha would keep her heart calm and how the old Northmen wolf witch, Hungerd had created a gold bracelet with a spell cast by Sigurd’s own blood and how he endured the pain of hot fire during its creation. She explained how the bracelet around her wrist would stay connected to Sigurd if they were separated. “If this lycan not only rescued you from death but suffered such agony to keep you alive than he is more than worthy of being your mate and my son in-law.” “But what of Radulf?” “Bah. He gave up looking for you the minute the King beckoned him to battle the Vikings.” He scoffed a bitter laugh. “He claims that he is my heir because he is the widower of my daughter. T’is the law of the agreement of claim before witnesses.” “But we never married.” She frowned “That usurper! How dare he make such an assumption?” “His claim is valid but now that you are back and claimed by another he will have no choice, but to relinquish his claim or declare a challenge, which my dear child, unless he submits to Sigurd may mean a pack war.” “He must fight Sigurd alone.” 146

Eva Gordon “That will be Radulf’s choice. If this Northmen lycan could slay the undefeated Bork the Mad, Radulf will attack with his pack rather than face such a mighty warrior.” “Hah. Radulf tried to swim toward the long ship where I was held and when he saw Sigurd’s imposing frame, he turned and headed back to shore.” “Radulf claimed that you attempted to leap off but were kept hostage and that this red haired giant defiled you before all. But we knew it was false when an escaped wench told us the truth.” She scoffed a bitter laugh. “You see how he lies! The wench spoke the truth. I refused to jump and hid behind my noble protector after Radulf yelled obscenities at me. I chose to stay with the man who rescued me from the berserker bearskins.” “I will seek council from Lupa and the Lupercal. Perchance they can help resolve Radulf’s claim.” Her voice grew soft with sorrow. “Father, what of Galien’s family?” “They have prospered since we sent them the cattle. Naturally they are broken hearted but at least they still have the younger boy, Arnou. Hugues had mentioned earlier that he may take him to teach him to be a squire and Lupercii.” She felt a pang of guilt that they had been told that Galien died falling off a cliff and that they were loyal to her family, even though it had been her fault their son had been murdered. “What does Arnou say?” “The boy admires my men. No doubt when he is older he will make a fine squire.” Lupa stepped in. “Milord, how do you fare?” “Now that Emelisse has returned I can die in peace.” Lupa loomed over them and scowled. “There will be no such talk. Soon you will begin exercises in our warm springs.” He shook his head. “I will drown.” “Betwixt Hugues and Emelisse’s giant of a mate you will do no such thing.” He turned to Emelisse. “Milady is more stubborn than you dear daughter.” Emelisse rubbed her nose on his. “Rest and after you sup you can meet Sigurd, Son of Gunnolf.” He gave a feeble nod. “T’is a fine title.”

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Chapter 16 After enjoying his long steaming hot bath in the underground pools of the Lupercal, Sigurd was given garments more befitting a Frank nobleman than a Viking raider. He shaved and braided his hair. On a bench near the pool, Sigurd glimpsed his reflection in a mirror. He still looked imposing but more civilized. When he first appeared before Emelisse’s pack, sun baked and reeking of human sweat with his windswept red hair in wild disarray, he must have looked every bit the barbarian. Clean and in fine garments he was ready to present himself thus to Duke Chanteloup. His hearing honed in on the sound of small steps. Emelisse. “So how fares my red wolf?” Her voice was pure melody. Odin, but she was the most exquisite woman. His gaze rested on her scarlet linen gown with a bejeweled belt around her waist accentuating her soft curves. He had only seen her in her torn gown and in the colorless garbs he had snatched for her during their journey. She too smelled of a fresh bath and her hair was neatly combed. On top she wore a crowned diaphanous red veil. No longer the runaway hopeless thrall, she was the royal duchess of a fine manor. He gaped at her splendor before checking his drooling tongue. He stood slowly from the bench, wearing his fine blue tunic and leggings. His dark blue cloak gave him a noble bearing. The fit was tight but adequate. Earlier his manservant took his measurements and informed him that new garments would be sewn to fit his greater frame. “Emelisse, you are indeed the most beautiful woman I will ever set eyes on.” She gave him a mischievous smile, her dark eyes twinkling in jest. “Was I not before?” He raced for her like a magnet and drew her in. He gathered her head between his two hands. Her hair felt like soft silk. His voice was husky. “From the minute I saw you being carried like a sac of grains on the bearskin’s back, I knew you were the dark haired beauty of Hungerd’s prophecy. But now, you shine like the brightest star.” She sighed, her bewitching dark twinkling eyes shined as she gazed at his. “Oh, Sigurd. I too loved you from the moment you stood facing your greatest enemy, trying not to scowl your rage.” He bent and kissed her probing her mouth with his hunger. His length hardened as it rubbed against her. He wanted her now beneath him. She held his chin between her soft hands and moaned blissfully. His hand moved to her bosom searching for the peaking nipples. Her pale neck beckoned to be

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf gently licked and nibbled. A shy knock broke his predatory drive to take his love prey. His first instinct was to growl in warning and have his way with his mate, but he quickly remembered that he was in her fine estate not the deep wood. His fangs wanted to rip the intruder to shreds but he let go of Emelisse and smoothed his cloak. “Milord and lady, the Duke wishes to meet with you both in his room.” It was the chambermaid. He suppressed his frustration and gritting his teeth he spoke. “Thank you, we will attend to him.” He opened the door and raised an eyebrow at the lycan servant. The chambermaid, her eyes on the ground curtsied and ran up the stairwell to the main castle. Emelisse gazed at his fierce expression. She smiled and poked his side. “I shall see to it that we share a chamber tonight.” He scowled. “I do not need permission to bed you my ulf hexen, but if it pleases your father that I ask permission then I shall.” “Don’t worry, he shall accept our claim. He is most grateful that you saved my life.” He adjusted his sword belt and nodded. “Take me to him.” She touched his sword hand. Her brows knitted with concern. “Please, you must be gentle, he is gravely wounded.” “Do you think I’d shame my honor and yours by upsetting your father, a helpless man?” She pursed her lips. “Certainly not, but you must understand that as his only child he will be overprotective.” He gave her a roguish smile. “He is not as over protective as I am, my litte runt.” She let out a low breath and frowned. She poked him on his chest. “Especially don’t call me that in front of Father.” “T’is in jest and only betwixt us.” He bowed, lifted his elbow for her to join him and together they left for Chanteloup’s chamber. Emelisse knocked on the door and then stepped in. Isabelle sat on a high chair next to her father. The linen bandages now only covered the left side of his face. He was propped on pillows and one of the maids was taking away the remaining poultice and dirty bandages in a small bucket. The aroma of cedar incense still permeated the air. His eyes skipped over hers and cast a scrutinizing glance at Sigurd’s imposing frame as he loomed behind her. “Father, how do you fare?” She walked up and kissed him on his unbandaged cheek. She turned and lifted her hand toward where Sigurd stood. “May I present Sigurd, Son of Gunnolf of the Northmen Wolfskins, my alpha mate.” She tried to look as confident as possible. She so wanted them to approve of each other. Chanteloup locked eyes with Sigurd. The two alphas were sizing one another. Each stiffened, accessing and looking for weakness. Gallantly Sigurd was first to break the staring competition for dominance and bowed. “T’is a great honor to meet you Duke Chanteloup.” Chanteloup nodded. “I owe you my gratitude for rescuing my daughter.” He sniffed the air and shook his head in disturbance. “To claim 150

Eva Gordon her without my permission and blessing would normally be considered an act of defiance against our lycan society decorum.” Isabelle patted his fisted hand. “Milord, surely the circumstances did not allow for such formalities.” “Certainly, nonetheless, I am her father.” Emelisse watched helplessly as Sigurd’s face flamed red in both anger and shame. “But father…” Chanteloup raised a hand to quiet her. “However, since you are a lycan not acquainted with our ways and fought so heroically to bring back my beloved Emelisse, then I shall listen to your petition to claim her.” He clenched his jaw. “But I have claimed her. She is already…” Emelisse stepped in front of him. “What Father is saying is that he accepts our claim but now simply wants you to ask in our manner.” She turned her begging eyes to her father. “T’is not right, Father?” Isabelle held Chanteloup’s hand in reassurance and he cast Sigurd a wry smile. “Emelisse is correct. Though you omitted this step, I am willing to hear your request now, Son of Gunnolf.” Sigurd knelt on one knee to ask for her hand. About ready to speak, Chanteloup interrupted. He waved him up. “First, I wish to address my daughter.” Sigurd raised a brow at her and stood. She shrugged at Sigurd. Isabelle guided Sigurd to the back of the chamber. Surely, he would follow their conversation with his wolfen hearing. She knelt by her father. “Because he is your chosen, his bond heals your heart and that as you told me earlier, he suffered the flames of a spell to create a bracelet that will protect you in his absence.” “T’is true, father.” His voice took in a worried tone. “Yet, do you not feel intimidated by his size? He is but a giant and you my dear child are a …” She strengthened her back in an attempt to appear somewhat taller. “Runt? Yes, he knows of my birth. I am stronger than you think and he is the gentlest of lovers and if you ever treat me like I’m a helpless little…” Now he interrupted her with a hearty laugh. “Take no offense.” She shot a look at Sigurd, who looked mortified that her father had asked such a question. Now it was her turn to embarrass her father. “In the matter of bedding we fit quite well.” From the corner of her eye she noted Sigurd’s face turn blood red. Both Chanteloup and Sigurd gaped, followed by awkward silence. Isabelle suppressed a laugh and stepped closer. “Milord, her mark is red as a scarlet rose and since she stands here unbroken and not bruised, I say she speaks the truth.” “Enough said!” Chanteloup grimaced and curled his upper lip to display his fangs. His low growl boomed in the chamber. He closed his mouth and turned his face away from her. Her elbows on his bed, she spoke in a gentle tone. “Father I meant no disrespect. Understand that after Radulf murdered Galien my plan was to leave all of you and live hidden among fellow humans. I wanted no part of lycan society. Worse, I did not want a forced marriage to Radulf.” Tears 151

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf welled and she sniffled. “Yet, I could never turn my back on Feronia and you Father. Until Sigurd, I thought I could never love a lycan.” He turned to her and smoothed his fingers through her hair. “Dear Emelisse, I’m sorry I sent you away and you lost your child. I should never have accepted Radulf’s claim on you. Nonetheless when he finds out, he will challenge.” His tone became sharp. “Let him declare war, I only want you to be happy.” Sigurd’s commanding voice echoed. “I will defend your honor and territory.” He glanced at the imposing warrior. “From what I hear, you are undefeated in the field of battle against the Saxons and feared by many. I welcome your being here in our defense.” Isabelle stood and paced a circle around Sigurd and Emelisse. “Milord, war may not be necessary. Lupa has informed me they will be meeting to discuss the matter at hand.” “Good. Most packs have been favoring lycan to lycan challenges rather than pack wars that deplete us of members and could expose us to needless attention.” He turned his attention to Sigurd who had his hand gripped on his hilt, ready to seek and fight Radulf and his entire army if need be. “Well Sigurd, Son of Gunnolf, do you still wish to ask my permission to take my daughter as a wolf maiden?” He waved him to approach. Sigurd quickly went to his bedside and knelt, his head bowed in respect. “Yes, Milord. I beg your permission and blessings to take Emelisse as my mate.” Isabelle handed Chanteloup his sword. Though it was a struggle in his convalescing state to hold his mighty weapon, he managed to touch Sigurd’s left and right shoulder with his trembling arms. “I knight you as a den brother of the Chanteloup pack.” He handed the sword back to Isabelle. She helped him guide his hand onto Sigurd’s head. “I hereby grant you permission to claim my daughter. On the next full moon, you will bring me game and we will then hold our Lupercal ceremony. In the meantime, our Lupercii priest who is our holy Christian priest in our chapel will marry you.” He raised a brow but continued his vow. “I promise to love and protect your daughter with every bit of my spirit and strength.” Emelisse realized she was holding her breath and finally breathed out. She was now his and though it gladdened her heart she hoped it would not bring bloody war. “Very well. Stand son and wait while we send for the priest.” Isabelle walked to the door. “I will summon him, Milord.” Sigurd cast him a questioning look. “A Christian priest, Milord?” He chuckled. “Only a formality and for the records. The lords of the land must know that my daughter has entered holy matrimony under the church. The real claiming wedding will happen after the moon hunt.” That same evening, Father Carl who was really a Lupercii priest but had been trained to infiltrate human society by becoming a Christian priest, quietly wed Sigurd and Emelisse. He lived on the premises with the love of his life, a female lycan consort, named Bernice.

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Eva Gordon Sigurd was completely content with Emelisse. Their nights together were bliss and his days were carefree. During the warm days of early fall he discovered Emelisse’s many talents including her accuracy at archery. She had a hawk’s eye for hitting her target. He smiled to himself as he remembered yesterday’s practice. He walked with her and inspected the arrow through the bull’s eye. “You are an amazing woman and such a light bow.” “T’was especially made for me.” She returned her arrow to the quiver and gazed up at him. “Father finally realized that a bow would suit me since I had little interest in womanly things. After all, hitting a target was not considered too dangerous,” she feigned a swoon, “for a runt with a frail heart.” “T’is a perfect weapon. You are indeed most skilled and dangerous. Who taught you?” “Our master archer, but it is Feronia who guides the accuracy.” He raised a brow. “Feronia?” “Every time I aim, I ask Feronia to guide my arrow to hit the target true and clean.” He nodded. “Thus is so with Brynhild, my sword.” This morning’s ride was even more impressive. Emelisse showed him the fine art of falconry on horseback. Life would not be boring with his little ulf hexen. As he rode back alongside Emelisse, with the small bird on her arm, he took in a breath of the cloudless day. Hungerd’s prophecy had come to pass. He belonged to a pack and had an ulf hexen that fulfilled his every desire. These wolfen were very different from wolfskins. More ceremonial and obsessed with law and classical learning than the wolfskins who prided themselves on being more tied to nature. Up north, humans were wary of their kind and thought of them as wild men, but here they knew naught of them. He smiled at Emelisse as she returned her merlin, Alglaia, back to its mew. He waited by the horses and looked at the vast land rich with timber and game. He felt a pang of guilt thinking about Brynhild and how she had dreamt of raising a pack. In a few days he would leave Emelisse and take his adopted pack on a hunt. He would return with a fine stag or auroch for Chanteloup. The Duke was still bedridden but had pleased everyone by announcing he now felt sensations in his toes. Emelisse came from behind and wrapped her arms around his girth. “Lupa told me that your new teacher will instruct you on the ways of the Lupercal.” He turned. He worried that the teacher would think him slow-witted and not worthy. “When will you introduce me to this teacher?” She twisted her heart shaped lips into that mischievous smile he so loved. “T”is I who has been selected to teach you about our ways and customs.” He bowed. “I’m your most obedient student.” “After we return our horses and sup I will take you below to the Lupercal. Lupa wishes to speak to us.” He looked forward to finally being allowed to enter the mysterious underground Lupercal temple built on top of a Roman villa. He had heard of 153

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf the mysterious female alpha lycans who ran the council. Lupa, the leader, was the woman who Emelisse admired more than anyone. After sharing a meal with Isabelle and most of the pack, Sigurd followed Emelisse down a spiral staircase below the hot water springs. The huge oak door to the entrance was guarded by an armored lycan. He sniffed and bowed his head in respect as she allowed them in. She turned and smiled at him with those lips that begged to be ravished. “We must remove our boots and leave them here,” she said pointing to a shoe rack filled with a variety of footwear. He did as he was told and noticed the floors were heated. His eyes washed over the fine mosaic tiled floor in the Roman style Emelisse had told him about. The walls were alabaster white and there were pillars and fine sculptures of muscular men and attractive woman. The best part was the collection of massive statues of wolves with distinct markings. In the center above a flowing fountain was the voluptuous statue of the goddess, Feronia. At her feet was a large wolf that looked at her with great longing. He had been impressed with her castle but now he had to confess this hidden temple was even more marvelous. Emelisse guided him through various chambers. She opened one door. “This is where the human Lupercii meet and next door is where the council of twelve Lupercal priestesses gather.” Each chamber had marbled floors and cushioned long benches for sitting in front of a stage. There were also cushioned embroidered pillows big enough to accommodate a large wolf. He had never seen such luxury. She squeezed his hand to follow and they entered a spacious area. “This is the amphitheater. We hold performances by our own bards and musicians. Have you heard of Greek Tragedies?” Feeling ignorant he shook his head. “Nay, what are Greek Tragedies?” “Wonderful plays that will make you laugh and often cry. We enjoy the performances around Midwinter and the Lupercalia when all the packs gather around the Lupercal.” “Indeed, your father must be greatly respected to have the Lupercal here on his own territory.” “With the fall of the Roman Empire, the Lupercal founded this hideaway and my forefathers built the castle on the mountain. Since the Lupercal leads our packs and my father is the host, he is called the Alpha of the Lupercal.” Her lips twisted in ire. “Radulf covets that title.” His blood boiled at the mention of Radulf. Not only because Emelisse disliked him so, but also because he had claimed her. Thinking her dead Radulf dared to claim Chanteloup’s territory as Emelisse’s widower. He looked forward to meeting him in battle, not as a man but as a wolf fighting for mate and territory. “I will enjoy seeing him growl on discovering that you have been claimed.” She visibly shuddered. Her fear of him irked him. “So where is this vast library you are so fond of?” Her eyes widened. “This way.” They walked down the hallway and she opened a white door between two columns. Inside was an older woman who gave them a brusque nod as they entered. There were shelves upon shelves of scrolls. He never learned to read and wondered if he still could learn. 154

Eva Gordon “In here we keep all the knowledge since ancient times. We have all the treasures of great learning, in literature history, science, alchemy, medicine, philosophy and mathematics. I spent half of my childhood reading. As an oracle of Feronia I was required to be tested on all knowledge. ” She pointed to a small chamber in the corner. Her enthusiasm was delightful. “That’s where I learned from my tutors.” “Will you teach me the letters or is it too late?” “T’is never too late.” His heart gladdened. He craved knowledge of the world’s history. He had heard of great warriors that conquered the lands. “Will you read to me?” “I would love nothing more. On cold winters near the hearth, t’is the second best thing to do.” She batted flirtatious eyes at him. Lupa entered. “I knew this was the best place to find you Emelisse.” She watched Sigurd with her deep blue eyes. Like Emelisse, she had dark hair. “You are the red lycan of my vision.” He had met her briefly when they first arrived and she was a witness at their brief Church wedding. “My Lady Lupa.” She smiled. Her raven hair was sprinkled with gray and she looked like a handsome wise woman. “Let us meet at my chambers.” They followed her back to the Lupercal council chamber. Brynhild would have flourished in such a place. He swallowed his sorrow, not a day went by that he didn’t think of his sister. Was she smiling somewhere? He had not seen her since their harrowing escape. Mayhap, satisfied that he was in good hands Brynhild was now serving in Valhalla. “Please sit.” Lupa pointed to a bench in front of a long oak table where eleven female lycans of various ages sat facing them. They were taller than the lowered rank female lycans. He waited until Emelisse sat before sitting. His pulse raced but he tried to keep a stoic face as Lupa and her entourage cast eyes on them. There was ancient power and wisdom behind their gaze. Lupa stood behind her place in the center and addressed them. “My mistress Sibyl, the seer who delivered our fair wolf maiden, predicted that it would be Emelisse who would choose an alpha warrior that would unite all of our packs. Though you have claimed her, as a male should, we knew that it was she that would choose you from her heart, not a pre-arranged match and certainly not an alpha such as the power hungry Radulf. Sibyl never mentioned a foreign lycan but nor did she deny that such an occurrence would happen.” Her eyes narrowed at Sigurd. He remained stiff, a warrior’s demeanor. “Emelisse informed us that you killed bear men like you were swatting horseflies.” He raised an eyebrow at Emelisse on hearing her description of how he fought against his enemies. She returned a sheepish smile. Lupa continued. “Hugues himself witnessed you killing two bear men. My Lupercii informants tell me that the Vikings refer to you as Red Wolf the Undefeated.” “All of my life I have trained for the day that I would avenge the death of my family and pack at the hands of Bork and his twisted son Mord the Blood Claw. I killed Bork to rescue Emelisse, but hope to someday face Mord in battle for killing my brother.” 155

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Lupa’s voice was stern. “Our lycan society is not one of blood revenge. Though we occasionally allow it we do not favor it. You see needless deaths bring attention to our secret society. Though the Northmen know of your kind, our people do not. We value our secret more than life itself.” His lip twitched and he felt his face grow warm. From the corner of his eye he saw Emelisse looking at him with great love and admiration. She fulfilled him but he could not live and know that his brother’s killer roamed the earth. He took a breath. “I will not lie before your eminent council. There will come a time when I must seek justice for my brother’s death.” Lupa continued her scrutinizing stare. This was her domain. “The bear men have the twisted notion that the wolf age will destroy all humans and their kind. I don’t doubt that they plan to seek us out. You see, my northern lycan, they are right. My vision has seen our kind and our forest brothers, the real wolves ravishing all of mankind.” There was a murmuring from the other female lycans. She growled and they became silent. Emelisse’s eyes widened. “Nay, Feronia has taught us to protect man. How can you have such a vision?” The other women nodded and looked at Lupa for guidance. Lupa pointed at Sigurd. “Tell us of what we call hydrophobia and you call dog frenzy that took your pack and beloved sister.” He frowned at Emelisse. “I see my wolf maiden has told you of my tragic loss.” “Nay, t’was not Emelisse but my vision. This rage will grab hold of our packs and in our fit we will kill everyone in our path.” He stiffened. “We must stop this from happening.” Lupa looked at Emelisse. “Fortunately, Feronia has shown Emelisse and me the cure and the prevention for the hydrophobia.” Emelisse reached for the parchment from the pouch around her neck. “Yes, I have the list of all the materials but it will take time to find all the items needed.” “Actually, my assistants have found all the required tools, including the saliva from our cave bats. I have cured a dog, which had been bitten by a badger with the illness. We will need to work day and night to ready the preventive potion for our packs as they gather for the midwinter solstice.” Sigurd lifted a brow. “Do they come here?” One of the other Lupercal females, Diana, answered. “Each pack gathers in its own territory on the longest night of the year. We send a Lupercii to each pack to offer special prayers for the coming year. They will deliver the potion against the miasma while the packs are together. But first we need to test it on a lycan to make sure there are no ill effects. Once we know, they can be given the potion the following spring.” “I will help you day and night if need be,” said Emelisse. Lupa sighed and smiled. Sigurd spoke. “Has a human ever been cured?” “Nay, not because we have not tried but there have not been any cases. Until then we don’t know if it will work on humans or lycans for that matter. The potion for prevention works on dogs and wolves but we have not yet given it to humans and lycans.” 156

Eva Gordon Sigurd stood. “Test it on me.” Emelisse yelped. “Nay! Not until we give it to more animals.” Lupa gazed at Sigurd with newfound admiration. “Most brave of you, but there is no way of knowing it works unless you are bitten by an infected beast. And though it is with Feronia’s guidance and blessing I would never risk such a test on a lycan or human.” “I beg to be the first to undergo the preventive potion. I have seen what this rage does and I would never want to die in such a manner.” Lupa glanced at Emelisse. “Do not worry. The preventive potion has not harmed my kenneled dogs.” Emelisse scowled and folded her arms. “Sigurd is not a pet dog.” Lupa nodded. “Agreed. For now let us discuss other more immediate matters.” Emelisse bit her lower lip. “Milady, such as Sigurd’s claim on me?” “Yes, we have come to a decision to resolve Radulf’s claim.” Sigurd clenched his jaw. He would do whatever was necessary, even fleeing with Emelisse to keep her at his side. Lupa turned to the rest of the women and they all nodded. She sat and placed her fingers under her chin as if in thought. “We do not believe that a pack war is necessary for the claiming of a wolf maiden. Therefore if Radulf wants to continue to claim you then he must fight Sigurd wolf to wolf, with nothing but teeth, claws, and sheer strength.” Emelisse blurted out. “That’s wonderful.” The women all raised brows at her confidence. Lupa chuckled. “T’is true, Radulf without his pack will not stand a chance against your champion, but do take care. He is not one to lower your guard of.” She glanced at Sigurd. “The minute you meet your death, be it by accident or an assassin, he will have second claim.” “Even if he refuses to fight?” Emelisse asked. Her face frowned in worry. “His claim was granted by your father, including the presenting of the full moon kill, which I recall was the largest stag ever hunted.” “If he is a man, he will fight for her,” retorted Sigurd. He would not allow him to live knowing if anything happened to him she belong to Radulf. Lupa gave a brusque nod. “Let us all hope his temper dictates the challenge and you rip his throat out, but do not be too sure he will not gage his chances of beating a giant of a lycan such as you Sigurd, the Red Wolf. He may have a cruel temper but he is not foolhardy. Who knows, he may even give up his claim?” Emelisse turned to Lupa. “Do you think he knows I have returned alive and well?” Lupa shrugged. “Of that I’m not sure. News may not have reached him. Nonetheless, all lycan packs are fighting the Viking raiders so for the time being he is preoccupied.” She stood. “Sigurd feel free to visit our Lupercal. Emelisse and I will be in our laboratory until the sun sets.” His face grew somber but Emelisse gave him a brave smile. “Don’t worry, I will see you back up in the manor.”

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Chapter 17 The lycan wedding between Sigurd and Emelisse took place in the great hall. The feast would include the auroch, which Sigurd had hunted and presented to her father. It was the biggest bull ever slain and her father had been impressed. Chanteloup had not fully recovered yet and was only able to take a few steps but he was making progress. With the help of his consort, Isabelle, and two sturdy oak canes he managed to stand behind Lupa who was officiating the wedding. Sigurd gave him a polite nod and searched for Emelisse, who he had not seen for two days as she prepared and remained cloistered with the Lupercal female lycans. Their rituals were far more complicated than that of his wolfskin brethren. Weddings of his kind were officiated by the eldest wolfskin with a simple exchange of vows between the alpha and his mate. The sound of drums and flutes was exotic. Women wearing white togas sang a haunting chorus and danced in followed by Emelisse dressed in white linen and veiled from head to toe. As she stepped forward the chorus silenced. She came and faced him, lowering her veil to reveal her exquisite face. Her lips were painted red and along her throat and neck were the temporary markings he displayed when in wolf form. The color they were painted matched his blood red tattoos. Lupa, dressed in a flowing silver silken cloak, smiled at them and turned to Emelisse. “Emelisse, Sigurd, Son of Gunnolf claimed you. Do you claim him as your alpha life mate?” A shiver ran up her spine. Life mate. “Yes, I claim Sigurd as my alpha life mate.” Lupa glanced at Sigurd. “Do you claim Emelisse as your wolf maiden, to love and protect as a shepherd does his flock?” He gazed down at his beloved ulf hexen. “Yes, I claim Emelisse as my wolf maiden, to love and protect to my last breath.” Lupa presented Sigurd with a jeweled sharp dagger. This was not his pack’s customs and he was not keen on harming her, even if it was a small symbolic cut. Bravely, Emelisse lifted her palm to him. So trusting. Lupa stood holding a long white linen scarf that would bind their wound after they exchanged their blood. He took her left palm, kissed it tenderly then sliced, drawing a trickle of blood. He then took his own left palm and slashed. He felt the warm blood emerge and he pressed his on top of hers. Lupa took the white scarf and began binding their two palms together. Lupa placed Emelisse’s right palm

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf on top of the scarf and his palm over for a second wrapping. His pulse joined hers. Each breath, each heart beat, each thought became one synchronous moment. Lupa smiled and spread her arms up toward the towering ceiling. “Let us honor the blood union of alpha and wolf maiden.” Sigurd took her mouth and kissed her. At that moment he felt complete. The world knew she was his. The joyous cheers and then boisterous howling echoed throughout the manor. They finally broke away from their tender hold. He bowed to her father standing on one crutch. Chanteloup offered his arms in warm embrace to Emelisse and then to Sigurd. He helped support him and returned him to his seat. Chanteloup lifted his goblet. “Let us feast on this joyous occasion.” The festive feast and dance continued into the night and Sigurd had never been so filled with drink and mirth. Lupa in her infinite wisdom approached him and Emelisse as they sat. “T’is time for you and your mate to retire.” He smiled down at Emelisse with drunken lust and she too turned her flushed face to him. He stood and slowly bowed to all. “I bid all of you good night. Emelisse and I will return to our bedchamber.” The crowd cheered encouraging words some full of vulgar insinuations. He lifted Emelisse and headed for their chamber. Emelisse squinted at the morning sun beckoning her to awaken. She smiled at Sigurd who snorted quietly. Her head rested on his shoulders. His large naked frame was sprawled over the expansive feathered mattress. A night of drink and lovemaking had finally tired him. He was always the first one awake, oft at dawn before the birds. She tried to get up quietly but he grabbed her by the wrist. “Where are you going ulf hexen?” “To the garderobe, Milord.” He drew her to him and kissed her wholeheartedly, his breath still with the scent of fine wine. She moaned approvingly but he let go. “Very well, then but do not keep me waiting. I’m not finished with you.” She chuckled. “Have we naught been mates for a score now?” He suppressed a yawn. “T’is true, but now we are properly claimed before all.” She felt a spasm in her nether area just at the thought. “Splendidly claimed. I will send our meal up and return shortly. Later we can bathe in the underground baths.” He shot her a lustful smile. “I have wondered what it would be like to enter you beneath a warm pool of water.” She giggled. “Hmm, t’is a wicked thought.” She donned her robe and left. As Emelisse was returning, there was a bang on the doors of the castle. Her heart skipped a beat. Nay, not Radulf. Please, not yet. She peered from above the stairwell as servants ran to open the doors. A waft of chilled air rushed in like a harbinger of doom. Her eyes widened as she watched 160

Eva Gordon Galien’s father, Helgot and other village folk carry a young boy on a stretcher. It was Galien’s younger brother Arnou and his arms, legs and torso were mauled and torn. He must be close to death from blood loss. She had only met his family from a distance but loved them as she had Galien. Emelisse had to help. She flew down the stairs, her robe floating behind her. Isabelle already dressed for a ride ran to him and knelt by his side. “Dear Helgot, what has happened?” “A wolf, Milady, with the miasma madness.” His tear filled eyes begged. “Can your healers Lupa and Emelisse help my boy?” Emelisse gasped. Poor Arnou was but twelve. To die of hydrophobia t’is a cruel demise. “Yes, we will do everything in our power to help.” He bowed. “Thank you Milady, thank you.” She felt Sigurd’s smoldering eyes and turned to see him holding on to the balcony. He must have heard. The dreaded disease that killed his pack was here. His stricken face flushed red. Isabelle’s eyes were wide with horror. “And the wolf?” “Shot full of arrows,” Helgot explained. Emelisse licked her lips. “Did you bring the carcass?” He nodded. “We dragged it by a rope.” Isabelle turned to one of the lycan servants. “Bring the wolf to Lupa.” She took a quick look beneath Arnou’s closed eyes and cast a quick glance at the gathered humans. “Anyone else bitten?” They all shook their heads. Isabelle sighed. “We will send men to comb the land for any more such animals. You must all remain inside until we determine it’s all right to venture out.” Emelisse brushed the boy’s bangs from his face. Her heart ached to see the resemblance between Arnou and her beloved Galien. The same fair features. Handsome in a boyish way. Youthful innocence. “I must save him,” she whispered to herself. Isabelle grabbed her arm and took her aside. She whispered so as not to alarm the distraught father. “Emelisse, Lupa is not sure if the cure will work on a human.” “T’is his only chance.” Isabelle looked at the pleading eyes of his father, who nervously twirled his deer cap in his calloused hands and sighed. “Very well, I will inform milord.” Emelisse walked to the man who never knew that she and his son had been lovers, the man that she could have called father, the grandfather of her lost child. “Leave him and I will send a messenger for you once we know more.” He squeezed his deer cap in his gnarled hands until his knuckles turned white. “I must stay with him. I lost another son but a spell ago. My wife wishes I stay.” A pang of guilt coursed through her. “Yes, I know. Galien.” She held back her tears and bit her lips. It must appear strange that a noble woman would even know his name. She smiled with trembling lips. “You must trust me, you will not lose another son.” His eyes widened. “Dear lady, you knew of him?” 161

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She slowly nodded. “I had the pleasure of a dance, once.” He raised a brow in surprise. “He was a fine lad.” She looked down and smoothed her cloak. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She turned her chin up. “Please, you will need to go. I vow that I will save your son, even if it means moving heaven and earth.” He gaped but understood that she meant her promise. “Yes, Milady.” Two lycans escorted him and the others out. As the massive doors slammed shut, Emelisse turned and shouted for some of the men to take Arnou to the Lupercal below. Sigurd dressed in only his breeches was beside her. “I will go with you.” She shot him a look conveying her love for the man that was trying to help the kin of her beloved Galien and nodded as she followed the men carrying the boy’s stretcher. Sigurd watched as Emelisse and Lupa cleaned, sewed and repaired the boy’s torn body. He had lost so much blood and had not regained consciousness. “Should I boil more water?” Lupa gave him a quick glance. “Yes and bring the bucket of leeches.” She wiped her brow. “Over there.” She pointed toward a shelf near her collection of dried bats. He set the bucket down by the boy who lay on a small mattress. Emelisse was using a molder and pestle to make a greenish poultice to add to the wounds. She still only wore her shift beneath her cloak. Her hair had been tied back in a haphazard way. She spread the ointment and bandaged the stitched smaller lacerations. He recalled how she had saved his life from the lethal wound caused by the spear thrown by a bearskin. If anyone could save the boy it would be Emelisse with her healing touch. Lupa scooped out the black leeches. “Hand me the bandage after I place them on the wounds.” She uncovered a large bite wound that nearly severed the boy’s arm. Emelisse did as told, not batting an eye about what Sigurd thought would make any woman, mortal or lycan scream in disgust. Her pulse was rapid, but only because of her haste to help the boy, not from fear of working with blood and blood sucking creatures. He knew then that she was indeed the bravest human. “Anything more?” Lupa shook her head. “Take those rags out in the back and burn them. You can go and tell the chambermaids to bring us some food and Emelisse fresh garments.” Sigurd looked down at him. “How soon before the boy is given the potion.” Emelisse finished a wrap. “We will administer the special solution as soon as his wounds are taken care of.” Sigurd knitted his brow. “And that is all?” Lupa stood and picked up the fish spines kept in a silver tray. “Nay, Red Wolf. T’is only the beginning. All of these will be poked deep into his gut, each day until the next full moon.” He felt great pity for the boy who would have to endure such pain. “How will you convince all the pack members to follow such orders?” 162

Eva Gordon Emelisse wiped her hands on a rag. “The preventive potion is far less painful, a mere three pokes.” He sighed in relief at the less painful potion but knew that he would suffer as much as the boy was if need be in order not to get the frenzy. Emelisse extended her leathered arm and watched as her merlin landed on it, taking its reward of chicken gut. The bright leaves of early autumn had fallen and soon winter would come. Feronia had warned them that it would be a severe winter. She gazed at the horizon. Soon Sigurd and the others would be returning with fresh meat to stock for the cold months. She wished she had gone. Though she had proven to be a fine archer, on their hunt they would be in their wolf forms and even on horseback t’would be difficult to keep up. On their return they would shift and ride back as humans. He had been away for only a few days but she had missed him so. She rubbed the bracelet that kept her heart steady in his absence. Arnou had reached the point where Lupa had declared him cured. His parents had been elated and agreed to allow Arnou to stay and be trained as a squire. Little did they know that he was being trained to become a Lupercii under the tutelage of Hugues. Though the healing had been slow and painful, the boy had shown remarkable fortitude. Emelisse had held his hand and guided the boy to use his breath in controlling the pain from the sharp hollowed fish spines. For his bravery Lupa had rewarded Arnou by letting him keep the curly haired water dog that had been used to test the preventive potion and survived after purposely being exposed to a frenzied with hydrophobia fox. Lupa was anxious to try the potion on lycans but said that it was not ready for humans. Emelisse did not mind. She would wait. Humans did not go on a killing rampage like lycans had from the frenzy miasma. It was of utmost importance to perfect the potion for lycans before all others. During their prayer rituals to Feronia both she and Lupa had been told the potion was ready and that in order to save humanity it must be brought to the packs. Lupa met her by the mews. “I caught the distant scent of our pack, he will be back in your arms by sunset.” She was overjoyed. “T’is the best news.” “We will prepare the potions by next spring for all the others.” “Sigurd certainly wants to be the first, though I think the alphas should be the last just in case there is a problem.” Lupa whispered. “Actually, Sigurd was the first.” Emelisse spun around. “What? When? He never said anything.” “After Arnou took his second treatment, Feronia appeared and told me the potion was ready and that Sigurd must be the first.” Emelisse frowned. Feronia had told her the same in a dream but she was reluctant to allow Sigurd to try it. Lupa told her there was a small risk of developing hydrophobia from the potion. “But what if he develops it?” Lupa shot her an angry look. “Are you questioning Feronia?” She lowered her head in deference. “Nay, it’s just that I love him so.” Lupa smiled and draped her arm around her. “I know and that is why he wanted to try it. His greatest fear was that he would end up like his sister and kill those around him.” She squeezed her. “He told me he would dread 163

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf having the madness and not be able to protect you from himself. He also told me about the horrible nightmare he had after the boy had first arrived. How robbed of reason he had killed you. Imagine, how someone who loves you that much fears such an outcome?” Emelisse understood. The few nightmares Sigurd had revolved around the frenzy that attacked his pack. Their deaths disturbed him more than the deaths of his parents and brother. They died in battle. His father’s pelt had been buried in their cemetery alongside the Chanteloup lycan ancestors. He believed that his father was now at peace. But he felt that Brynhild would never know tranquility with the blood of an entire village on her hands. She did not know he had told Lupa about the last severe nightmare he had. She recalled how he woke up screaming. His body was wet with perspiration, his fangs out and in midshift between man and wolf. He had told her that he had dreamt that he had the frenzy and had torn her apart. Relieved it had been a nightmare, he held her all night and finally fell back to sleep. Lupa went to the edge of the keep and smiled as the soft breeze swept through her black hair. Emelisse joined her sniffing the air like a wolf trying to catch the scent of the riders, which no doubt were too far away from her to detect. “Sometimes I wish I had been born a lycan.” Lupa gave her a sidelong glance. “And forfeit your alpha mate?” She drummed her fingers on the ledge. “Dear Feronia, never. I just often wonder what it would be like to run on all fours, free and naked.” “T’is possible, with only two legs,” Lupa quipped. She felt her face flush with heat. “Milady, t’would be too cold and most immodest.” Lupa shrugged. “I came up to talk to you about your dreams. Tell me, did Feronia visit you last night?” Emelisse’s eyes widened. “Vividly and with a dark wolf besides her. She told me that our lycan kin to the north require our help. The dark wolf came to me but I awoke before I could talk to him.” “That was Fenris, the chained lycan, her alpha mate from millennia ago. They both thought each other dead. She told me that she changed her name and traveled south to help others so that they may have the happiness she had lost. Thanks to Hungerd’s message you told me about, I conveyed to Feronia to free the giant wolf, son of the Norse god, Loki.” Emelisse leapt up and screamed for joy. “Truly?” She could not imagine living, thinking Sigurd was lost to her. She caught her breath. “So our gods know each other?” Though she respected Sigurd’s beliefs it had never occurred to her that his were just as real as hers. Lupa nodded. “Feronia has never revealed to anyone how they all came to be, but yes, t’is true. They are in a heavenly dimension beyond our scope of understanding and have quarrels and battles as we do. The bearskins have told the Northmen that with the release of Fenris, Odin and all peoples of the world will die in what they call the Wolf Age.” Emelisse tossed her hair into the breeze and looked up at the moving clouds. She scowled. “Nay, Feronia will not allow humanity to disappear.” Lupa’s voice was patient. “That is why she gave us the cure for hydrophobia. It was with this rage that our kind was to destroy man. Fenris confirmed such a tale and they asked us now to destroy the bearskins that 164

Eva Gordon plan to wipe out our kind and then destroy man. But first Sigurd will head north and find his lycan brethren and unite them in preparation for war.” “When?” Emelisse felt her skin grow cold. She recalled how the bearskins had slain and eaten hapless men during her imprisonment at their camp. “It would be best to wait until the bearskins enter their lairs for their winter slumber.” Lupa placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, the northern lycans are not too far from the borders of our Frank Kingdom. The few that are left live away from man and travel with real wolves.” “Oh?” “I have told your father about my communion with Feronia and Fenris. When Sigurd returns he will send for him to meet with the entire Lupercal Council.” Her stomach tightened in panic. “I hope he does not have to leave immediately.” “Nay. It will be another two moons or so before the dead of winter.” Emelisse sighed in relief. At least she would be with him for a moon cycle. Perchance she could go with him, but knowing Sigurd he would not want her riding out with him in blizzard conditions. Most likely he would travel as a wolf, with his thick furred winter coat. A howl from below hailed the advancing lycan riders. She stretched her neck to look out. Sigurd led the pack, his glowing red mane like the sun almost burning her eyes with its sheen. He glanced up at her as if hearing her call and brightened that stern face with a smile. She grinned back in joyous anticipation and ran down to meet him.

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Chapter 18 Emelisse could not be happier. Sigurd had returned with plenty of meat to store for winter and with admiration from her father’s pack. During their welcome feast they boasted of his prowess as a hunter. Isabelle and the others also mentioned his talent as a sculptor of wooden figurines. Her alpha filled her with great pride. She was floating and in a love stupor after their many nights filled with love making. It was nearly noon and it was about time to dress and wait for him to return. He and her father were meeting with the Lupercal about the bearskin army. She would catch up with their plans later. The doors to the Lupercal were locked during this critical meeting and they were not to be disturbed. Isabelle was with them to help with her father. He was now able to walk, though still with a slight limp. Her chambermaid had laid out her soft lilac and green embroidered gown. The finely tailed dress had been a wedding present from Isabelle. The hearth warmed the chamber and she quickly dressed and headed to the garderobe. She opened the door and gazed one more time at the carved wooden statue Sigurd had made for her of Alglaia, with her wings spread out as if in mid-flight. As she walked to the kitchen to ask cook for a meal, she heard the thundering sound of riders. There was a commotion of shouts and she ran into the courtyard. A fierce fist was pounded on the locked gates. Hugues stood arguing with the enraged lycan. She recognized the growl. Radulf. “Let us in Hugues or I will have my men use the battering ram.” “My master is at the Lupercal. I have orders to not let anyone in until he returns.” Hugues signaled for his archers to be ready. Emelisse stood frozen and watched Hugues with terror stricken eyes. She peeked through a crack. Defending the castle would be a useless endeavor against Radulf’s close to seventy lycans and a few Lupercii knights. Last count Chanteloup only had a pack of twenty ready warriors, including Sigurd. The rest were non-combative lycans and the twelve Lupercal members who resided in seclusion. She noted behind the riders were the wounded, no doubt the result of fighting berserkers. No other army could cause such injuries. Radulf must have decided to make a stop at the closest lycan manor to help with his injured before returning to his own territory. Radulf dismounted from his destier and walked to the closed gates. “I smell my wolf maiden. Open the door and let me have her!” He howled in joy, followed by his raucous pack. Its sound made her cringe in disgust and terror.

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Hugues held his shield and drew his sword. “Nay, not without milord, Duke Chanteloup.” He shot Arnou a quick glance. “Go down to the Lupercal and warn my Lord.” The boy nodded and ran. He made a deep guttural snarl. “She is mine!” Emelisse stepped back and gasped. What would he do once he found she was claimed by the very lycan who had humiliated him and prevented his taking her from the long ship? A growl signaled the men to begin battering the door. Radulf roared. “Emelisse!” The battering ram pounded the wooden gate. The lycans’ brute strength splintered it in two thundering thuds. They hacked away with axes and opened a gaping hole large enough for men to pass. The archers fired but his men held their shields and the few that were struck continued forward. Radulf charged. “Stand down or die!” Hugues turned to her. “Milady, go inside.” A female lycan, Cassandra gripped her arm. “Come, you must not stay. I smell his need.” Emelisse knew what need he was talking about. Once he caught her scent he would not be satisfied until he bedded her. Perchance in front of all. She followed Cassandra inside and barricaded the doors. The splintered gate fell away and Radulf’s lycan pack ran in shouting their battle cry. Behind the door the clash of weapons mixed with growls and whimpering groans meant her father’s pack were being cut down. Cassandra reassured her. “Word has been sent to the Lupercal.” Her despair rose; Sigurd would soon emerge like a beast warrior and be outnumbered. Yet, Lupa as head of the Lupercal had the authority to halt the impending melee. Pray she comes. T’was the only hope. In one thundering thud of lycan brute strength, the robust wood door to the castle crashed open. They entered the hall and subdued the few that fought or tried to get away, including two lycan guards who growled and fought. Radulf strolled in, removed his blood stained helmet and shot her a deadly look. He took his leather gloves off, touched a finger to a bleeding wound from his forehead and licked it in a most lecherous way, whilst never taking his eyes off of her. Behind him another lycan held Hugues by the throat while the sounds of the ongoing skirmish outside between her father’s outnumbered lycans and his continued. “Come down Milady or watch your fellow human bloody your floor.” Cassandra held back Emelisse, but she patted her arm and whispered. “Sigurd and father will be up soon.” Cassandra was not convinced. “The chambers below Milady are thick and too far down. What if Arnou can’t get them to come up?” Radulf held out his hand. “Now, Milady. Allow me to brighten your wolf mark.” She pushed away from Cassandra, her head held high, her eyes pure hate. This was her home he was invading. Her pack he had harmed. She tried to keep fear from her tone. “Very well, just don’t hurt Hugues.” He grinned, his long sharp fangs like daggers. As she stepped toward him, Radulf grabbed Hugues, bit his ear lobe off and threw him to the ground bleeding and holding the gaping hole where he 168

Eva Gordon once had an ear. Hugues writhed, moaning in pain. Emelisse screamed and ran to Hugues but before she could administer to him, Radulf lifted her and drew her in. His smell of sweat and old blood made her almost wretch. His men kept her pack away with drawn swords. She struggled with fists but it was useless against his solid brute strength. “Kiss me useless runt!” He stabbed her mouth with his but immediately let go in horror. She nearly stumbled backward, straightened her shoulders back, wiped her mouth and spit. Radulf’s face reddened in fury. “Nay!” He sniffed her and his eyes darkened. His hand became clawed and he clutched her gown and tore at it, exposing her red wolf mark. She had been claimed and was no longer his. He glowered at the claimed mark and fisted his hands back to human hands. She glared at him with defiance. “My alpha mate and I have claimed one another.” He slapped her face, sending her flying. She lay on the ground holding her bleeding lip and reddened face. Held back at sword point, her father’s angered pack’s growls of protest echoed throughout. Radulf growled. “You are mine, whore!” He came forward and glowered at her. “Who has claimed you?” She found hidden strength and stood to face the enraged lycan. “A far more dominant lycan who will piss on your white hair.” Perchance her boldness was due to fear or madness. Holding her bleeding lip. She laughed. His eyes darkened. Not a good move to humiliate an enraged alpha in front of his pack. He punched her in the gut, not with all of his lycan strength but enough to severely punish. She yelped but no further sound came out. Holding her middle, she fell on her knees. He stood over her, huffing fuming breaths making him sound like a raging bull. She went on all fours in a foolish attempt to crawl away from the maddened lycan. He growled. “You will pay for your betrayal!” Emelisse saw the flash of a dagger. Would he really kill a wolf maiden? She was dizzy and barely noticed the door from the underground stairwell slam open with a deafening crash that shook the manor. Like the sun appearing through dark clouds, a red haired colossal war god appeared. Sigurd. He stood at the entrance with the determined crazed look of rage that she had only seen in battle facing the bearskins. His face matched his flaming red hair. His emerged fangs made him look demonic. Dangerous. His roar was ear piercing and brought the world around them to silence. Radulf loomed over her frozen at seeing the giant enraged alpha Viking. Sigurd was a head taller and twice as wide as Radulf. She called out to Sigurd but no sound came out, her voice gone. Not bothering to reach for a weapon Sigurd charged in the lightening speed that only a lycan had. Radulf drew his Frankia axe but before he could wheel it, Sigurd lifted him by the throat, his boots dangling in the air. The need for breath caused him to drop his axe and dagger and grip onto Sigurd’s hold. Radulf struggled wildly and hung choking to death. Radulf’s pack moved drawing their sword, ready for a massacre in defense of their pack leader. “Grrrr.”

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Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Sigurd shot the pack a fierce stare and squeezed harder, warning them not to dare step closer. The pack stood motionless waiting for some signal from their mute leader. Her father limped over to Emelisse with Isabelle by his side. He growled. “Snap his neck.” Sigurd grinned with deadly fangs. “Gladly.” He lifted Radulf even higher. Lupa entered. Her commanding voice was fierce. “Nay, put him down!” Sigurd ignored her, squeezing him tighter. His claws were out and dug into Radulf’s throat. A steam of blood ran down his neck. His legs kicked helplessly like a caught rabbit. Lupa ran to Sigurd and implored him. “Look around, if you kill him many will die. Including Duke Chanteloup and perchance Emelisse.” Sigurd glanced at the ready warriors and let out a slow breath. He dropped him on the ground like useless trash and walked over to Emelisse growling at one of Radulf’s lycans who stepped away from him. She reached for him. He knelt and tenderly held her. “What pains you?” She licked the copper flavor of her own blood and croaked. “My face and stomach hurt but I will be all right.” He wiped the blood from her lip with his finger and kissed her forehead. “Don’t move.” He stood and picked up Radulf from the ground where he held his reddened throat, gasping for breath. He punched him knocking his front fangs out, two lycans moved in. Chanteloup came to his defense and growled at Radulf’s men, ready to attack if need be. His father’s rage was equaled to the rage of her alpha mate on seeing Emelisse being abused. Lupa held her hand up and shouted orders. “T’is his right to seek equal treatment for his mate’s injuries.” The men bowed their heads and reluctantly stepped back. They would not challenge her absolute authority. Radulf snarled, blood and drool running down his chin as Sigurd held him up and penetrated his fist into his ribs; the sound of breaking bone reverberated throughout the castle. He landed on the other side of the hall. Holding his side, his jaws clenched, Radulf mouthed out a raspy whisper. “I claimed Emelisse first.” Sigurd sauntered toward the bloodied lycan. He drew him up by his cloak. “She is mine! Pray she heals from her injuries before you do or you will get more of the same.” The warriors looked at their downed alpha and at all twelve Lupercal female lycans, supreme leaders of their society who they must obey above all others. The Lupercal women formed a tight line between Sigurd and Radulf. They growled in warning at battle ready lycans. The Lupercii men, both Radulf’s and Chanteloup’s were on their knees in deep respect. Emelisse was huddled in the arms of her father and Isabelle. She was grateful for the female lycans. The Lupercal was the only thing standing in the way of a lycan blood bath. She had to admire Lupa who strolled around and stopped in front of the raging alphas. To harm or kill the leader of the Lupercal would result in the pack being declared rogue and no longer members of their society. Their souls condemned for all eternity. Lupa placed her fists on her hips. “We have greater enemies to fight than one another.” 170

Eva Gordon Radulf righted himself to a sitting position holding his broken ribs. He spoke as blood escaped his mouth. “The law says I had first claim.” Sigurd shot him a fierce look and growled ready to pummel him again. Radulf flinched visibly and bowed his head. He had lost his dominant status in front of all. There was no greater shame for an alpha male. “Nay, there will be no more fighting over Emelisse.” Lupa glared at Radulf. “I know of your mistreatment of your lovers both lycans and humans. Your throttling of a defenseless wolf maiden in front of all has convinced me that you do not deserve a mate. However, the law states that as first claim, we have decided that you alone can fight for her. Not with human weapons but with fang and claw.” She gave Sigurd a fleeting smile. “Now that we are all gathered do you wish to declare such a challenge?” Radulf wiped his blood and spit out a tooth. “Nay, but I declare second claim on proof of the Viking barbarian’s death.” Sigurd spoke under gritted teeth. “You will not have her even on my earthly death, for if I die I will ask Odin and my father Loki to come from the dead and kill you.” Lupa turned to him. “Sigurd, it is the law.” She glared at Chanteloup. “Her father accepted the claim and though I disagreed with his decision, knowing of Radulf’s cruelty and Emelisse’s hatred of him, it is still his right and so we of the Lupercal must honor it.” Chanteloup looked down sheepishly and Emelisse felt the shame he must feel. He must now be swallowing his regret to have promised her to such a brutal cruel man. If only Sigurd had been allowed to kill him. Now she had to worry that the conniving Radulf would find a way to bring about Sigurd’s demise. She winced but protested. “T’is only greed not love of me that he still makes the claim.” Chanteloup tightened his arms about her. “My daughter speaks the truth.” He turned to Radulf. “I know of three wolf maidens who you might consider as a mate.” Radulf grimaced. “They do not have titles as I do and as Emelisse does.” Chanteloup brows grew angry. “How dare you act like a human! T’is not our ways! We mate for love not for gain.” Lupa clapped her hands. “Enough! You will all help bring the wounded to the healing room and the rest of you will repair the damage done to Duke Chanteloup’s manor. Let me make it clear to everyone. Milord Chanteloup is the supreme alpha.” Radulf’s men bowed to the duke in respect. Chanteloup straightened his back. “I am alpha of my manor, t’is true, but it is Sigurd who is supreme warrior alpha.” He glared at Radulf. “You all witnessed the new dominant wolf.” Lupa touched Sigurd’s corded arm. “I will tend to Emelisse first so that she can help with the healing.” Without moving his furious stare from Radulf, Sigurd nodded. His fangs were flashed for all and he snarled a deep menacing growl of warning. Sigurd never left Emelisse’s side while Radulf and his warriors were on the premises. He was relieved that she was only bruised and her ribs not broken. Radulf could have injured her more if he so intended. The pig 171

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf probably wanted to rape her and so did not want to damage her too much. Her pretty lips were swollen from Radulf’s slap but her teeth were intact. Radulf on the other hand was still convalescing. The mending of bones took lycans at least a few days. The other wounded lycans from their previous battle with Viking bearskins were on the way to recovery. A few had lost their limbs and some their lives. The Lupercii that served under Radulf had not fared so well. Many died within days of their arrival to Chanteloup Castle. Though Lupa and Emelisse were excellent healers there was little more they could do. To a few of the suffering, Lupa administered a lethal drink that would gently allow them to drift into painless death. He boiled more water and as he placed a bucket down he saw Emelisse stagger in with a wet cloth over her head. She had always slept long hours, oft not waking til nearly noon. She had been up for most of the last two nights with very little rest. He ran to her and guided her to sit. “Enough, Emelisse. I will take you to your bed.” When would she realize she did not have to be so hard working and brave? “Nay, I just need to tend to the soldier who lost an eye and then I will sleep.” He glanced at the lycan that slept, a white patch over his socket. “Lupa can administer to him.” Lupa was preparing a greenish brown poultice and nodded. “Sigurd is right, you need rest.” Emelisse shot her a look of concern. “Milady, how can you go on without rest yourself?” She sighed and pointed to the assistants all around her cleaning and tending to the wounded. She put her pestle down. “I am not alone, besides you are injured and you know as well as I do that your heart recently swooshed again.” Sigurd knitted his brow with worry. “T’is true?” Emelisse rolled her eyes. “It happened for a brief spell. I am well.” Lupa’s tone was firm but kind. “Your alpha’s heart helps but only so far. You still need more rest than others if you are to continue loving this fine hero of yours.” She turned to Sigurd. “Take her upstairs and don’t let her come down until daybreak.” He gave Emelisse a roguish smile. “I would be most honored to obey our esteemed lady of the Lupercal.” He swooped Emelisse up. She half protested. “What about the animals in our alchemy chamber?” “Arnou is watching over them.” Lupa lowered her voice. “The ones that might have the hydrophobia are locked and kept from reach by men bumbling around.” With her head on Sigurd’s shoulder she suppressed a yawn and acquiesced. “Very well.” Lupa touched Sigurd by the arm. “You, milord Chanteloup and I will meet later in the day with Radulf to discuss the berserker bear men attacks.” Sigurd frowned. “Do not tempt me to kill.” “That was not a request, but a command,” Lupa retorted. He bowed his head. His face grew red with rage. “As you wish.” He carried Emelisse all the way to the castle, not saying a word. The image of Radulf beating his mate was eternally edged in his mind. If this had happened 172

Eva Gordon on his land, no one would have stopped him from ripping his throat out. The Lupercal’s code of ethics was oft hard to swallow. Emelisse looked up. “Sigurd, don’t look so sour. Radulf has learned his lesson. He will obey you.” He pushed the door of their chamber open and attempted a smile at the chambermaid who was adding more wood to the hearth. A clean bowl of water and fresh linens were neatly placed for her use. He gently set her on the bed. The chambermaid curtsied. “Milord and Lady, if you wish I can bring food and drink up.” He nodded and widened his smile. He knew many feared him, a barbaric lycan with no knowledge of the arts, sciences or written language. A rogue of lycans who had no governing body to rule over them. She twisted and ran. He looked down at Emelisse. “Am I so forbidding?” She scooted up the bed and feigned fright. Her eyes full of mischief. “Indeed very imposing. A most dangerous beast warrior with no morals.” “Humph!” He sat on the bed causing it to dip and drew her to him and smiled. “My little runt. You of all the pack should fear me the most, yet you trust me so openly.” She gripped his face betwixt her hands and bit his lip as she spoke. “T’is true I trust and fear you equally.” She then shined her dark eyes at him. “You are my chosen alpha, and t’is losing you the only fear I truly have.” He kissed the tip of her nose, not wanting to hurt her sore lip. He pushed her down and climbed on top, careful not to crush. He furrowed his brow attempting a threat on this spry of a woman who did not fear him. “You will not leave the room until I deem it so.” “Mayhap you wish to tie me as you did so well on our first meeting?” He twisted a brow. “T’is a fine suggestion.” He narrowed his eyes. “For now, I prefer my body to keep you still.” She sighed in pleasure. “Hmm. T’is more pleasant than twine bindings.” His fangs sprung out and he mouthed her exposed delicate throat. She yielded to his hunger. He gently bit and then licked. Her hardened nipples and wetness called for him. He would burst but knew she was on the brink of exhaustion and still bruised. He could not risk injuring her. Her heart had swooshed indicating she needed complete rest. He lifted himself up. “Rest my beauty. I will require your attentions in the evening.” She frowned and then yawned. “Tell my father I’m well and don’t kill Radulf, at least not today.” “Not killing him will require every ounce of control I possess, but I promise, I will not kill him today.” She smiled and closed her eyes. By the time he had added more kindling to the fire she was already breathing heavily in sleep. He made sure she was tightly covered beneath the blankets before leaving her. Sigurd entered the Lupercal assembly chamber and glared at Radulf who did not dare meet his eyes. The stiff and sore white haired lycan sat at the end of the massive oak table surrounded by three members of the Lupercal. Sigurd growled from deep within his throat at Radulf before sitting between Lupa and Chanteloup. Hugues with his ear bandaged up and two other 173

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Lupercii sat across from him. Isabelle was the only lycan alpha female not there. She was down in the infirmary caring for the wounded. He tapped his empty sword belt. All their weapons had been left outside the chambers. The image of Radulf hurting Emelisse made his fangs emerge from his drooling mouth. He needed no weapon to slay the wicked alpha. One pounce and he could snuff his last breath. He relished the taste of his blood in his mouth. He smiled at the scent of raw fear. Radulf had picked up on the threat and shuddered. Good, you will die with fear in your heart, just like how you frightened Emelisse thought Sigurd. He felt the fur on his back and he curled his lips up to display his fangs at Radulf. He was ready to pounce. Dark red fur began to emerge from his corded arms. Lupa interrupted his dark thoughts. “Sigurd, we leave all malice outside our sacred Lupercal chambers.” Chanteloup barked at Radulf. “Tell Sigurd what you have been told.” Her father also tasted the blood of revenge. Radulf fisted his hands on the table. Chanteloup stood, leaning over the table. “I ought to kill you for what you did to my daughter and Hugues.” He snickered. “Yet, seeing you grovel t’is better than your death. Go on, say it!” Sigurd, his jaw clenched, glowered at Radulf. He fought the urge to shift and lose all trace of human sense. Radulf’s lip twitched. He lowered his head and displayed his throat. “I submit to you, Sigurd Son of Gunnolf.” He took a breath and continued. “I give you my blood vow that I will not go near Emelisse.” Chanteloup’s tone was harsh. “And?” Radulf swallowed and gritted his teeth. “You are my dominant alpha.” Sigurd frowned. Radulf’s clear submission meant he no longer could kill him, at least according to the Lupercal rules. Wolfskins had no such rules. Harm to one’s ulf hexen meant certain death. Now that Radulf was lower in rank he could only harm him if he broke his blood vow. Sigurd fumed. “T’is not my wolfskin ways.” Lupa shot him a sharp gaze. “You are on our territory and must obey our laws and ways. Did not Emelisse teach you of Feronia’s kindness?” He nodded. Part of him wanted to take Emelisse with him up north, where he could live as he pleased. He swallowed the drool in anticipation of tasting Radulf’s blood. His hope of killing his rival was dashed. Lupa smiled. “Your sister Brynhild now serves Feronia and her mate Fenris.” The shock of hearing his sister’s name from Lupa made him lose all thoughts of revenge. He cast a shrewd eye. “How do you know this?” He scoffed. “She only talks to me.” “I knew you would have doubt, so I asked her to reveal something only the two of you know about. She told me to tell you that Guda’s alpha crown is still hidden under a boulder near Hungerd’s cave.” His eyes widened. His mouth gaped with his fangs still out and ready to kill. He quickly closed his mouth knowing that exposing his canines unless in challenge was rude. No one, not even Emelisse knew of where they kept the crown and some of his mother’s jewelry. He swallowed. “You truly are a seer, perhaps as gifted as Hungerd.” 174

Eva Gordon “I am a servant of Feronia and am guided by her loving wisdom.” She took a scroll and spread it. “Our task is to learn from Radulf as much about Mord the Blood Claw as we can.” She stared at him. “The bear man who killed your brother.” She turned to Radulf. “Tell us about the last battle.” Radulf took a long breath and addressed Sigurd. “Milord, this fierce bear man, Mord the Blood Claw seeks to avenge his father’s death and has warned that he will destroy all of the wolfen kind.” He surreptitiously cast Sigurd a quick accusing eye as if it was his fault so many died. He bowed his head low to make sure he did not tempt fate. Sigurd sniffed his fear. “He and his father believe in the bearskin myth that by killing our kind he will stop the coming wolf age where both man and bear will be destroyed.” Lupa nodded. “Feronia believes this truth as well and that is why she is guiding us to find the cure to hydrophobia, which if spread amongst us will bring about this apocalypse that will destroy us all. For now, we must stop Mord the Blood Claw.” Radulf clenched his jaw before speaking. “Their witch woman, Bolla changed many of my captured Lupercii men into bear men. You know that my army have never retreated from combat but we were out numbered.” He looked at Chanteloup. “This witch warned us that she would find Emelisse and eat her heart.” Chanteloup looked ashen but spoke in an angry tone. “She will not get near her.” Sigurd’s blood boiled at the threat against his ulf hexen. He glared at Radulf. “She is mine, no one will harm her, not bear, wolf or human.” Radulf avoided his eye contact and continued. “As we left, she told us they would come to these mountains. She is being guided here by magic. This is how I surmised Emelisse had returned and why we came here for succor before continuing on to my territory.” Lupa stood. “The days grow cold and I have seen Bolla and the long ships head back to the far north. Their nature is calling for their long winter slumber. In the spring they plan to return to our shores. Not only will they cause death and destruction along their paths, but also reveal our secret society to humans. All packs have been called to arms. Only lycans will fight. Our Lupercii will stay back. Radulf, you will return to your castle and ready your men for the upcoming battle.” Chanteloup shook his head. “Why not attack them while they are vulnerable when they are in their lairs?” Sigurd addressed him. “Bolla cast a powerful spell that even Hungerd, our wolf witch could never penetrate.” Chanteloup tugged at his gray beard. “Lupa, perchance Feronia can reveal its location.” “I have tried, not even Fenris who has been freed at last knows naught. But trust me, he will try his best to find their secret lair.” Her face turned pensive. “Sigurd, Fenris did tell me in a dream that there are Northern lycans, wolfskins who have begun to amass near our borders to fight the bearskins. You must seek them out. Together our packs will defeat these bear men away from our homeland.” Sigurd bowed. “I will seek them Milady.” “Our meeting is adjourned,” said Lupa. 175

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Chanteloup stood and took his walking oak staff and bowed. “Milady.” He scowled at Radulf and gave a low growl as he walked out. Like Sigurd, Chanteloup would never forgive the lycan for abusing his daughter. Sigurd turned to Radulf. His tone was harsh. “I wish to assist you in sending you off to your own territory.” The sooner he left the less likely he would end up tearing him asunder. Lupa glanced at Radulf. “Most of your men have healed, some unfortunately will be invalids and one of your Lupercii will need to stay until he is well enough to ride.” “I will not take the useless with me. As for my loyal Breton Lupercii, Blaez I will send off for him after he fully recovers.” Sigurd had been told that Blaez was as cruel as Radulf and the only human Radulf had trusted and valued. His gut told him it would be best to send him off immediately. However, due to his severe mauling he would not be able to move until his stitches healed completely. Emelisse had attended to him and it was because of her he lived.

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Chapter 19 Emelisse added more poultice to Blaez’s wounds. He flinched at her touch and scowled at her. She never liked Radulf’s loyal Lupercii and because of his haughty attitude she was not so gentle in treating his injuries. She added a stinging lotion. “Oww!” Tired and short-tempered, she fought the urge to let him die of a miasma. “I’m sorry Milord, t’is a foul wound.” Blaez had hoped to someday attain the Lupercii high priest title in the Lupercal. However, now that she was no longer claimed by Radulf that goal had somewhat diminished. Lupa never cared for him and would have only appointed him on pressure by the most powerful lycan. Blaez had a cruel heart just like his master and was especially brutal to humans that he deemed would reveal their secret lycan society often massacring an entire village to insure silence. The man had been feverish for days and yet he somehow pulled through and was taking some broth. He was alert but weak. As she applied a fresh bandage, a shadow appeared behind her. Thinking it one of her own pack she turned to see Radulf looming over her. His cold blue eyes scrutinized her every move. Trying not to tremble, she stood and glared. “You were told not to be near me.” He began to growl but then quickly suppressed it. He had been told the consequences of threatening the maddened Viking’s wolf maiden. He twisted a smile. “I am leaving on the morrow and wish to bid Blaez farewell. Alone, Milady,” his tone menacing. “I will be done soon, if you wish to…” “I shall wait here,” he said and sat on a chair near another wounded lycan. She tightened Blaez’s fresh bandages, perhaps too harshly because he grimaced and spat out. “Be gentle Milady.” Emelisse took a cloth and wiped perspiration from her brow. “I see you are on your way to recovery, thank Feronia.” She stepped away. “I will leave you alone but keep your voices down.” She pointed to the lycan with the maimed eye. “He has no memory and we hope that sleep will return it to him.” She cast Radulf a warning eye. “Linus may stay in your father’s service. Though he is an alpha, he will be a useless member of my pack.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She felt a flash of rage. To abandon a loyal warrior because of his permanent damage was most despicable. Almost as much as it had been to kill her helpless Galien. For a fleeting moment she wanted to stab him with the dagger that rested beneath her cloak. He would defend himself, hurt or kill her but she would have the satisfaction that he would come to a grisly end. Nay, her loss or further injury from Radulf would drive Sigurd to madness. She bit her lip. “He is welcomed here.” He chuckled. “I’m eternally grateful Milady for your tender hands on healing my men.” He grinned in a sinister way and grabbed her wrist. “What an interesting bracelet?” “Let go.” He dropped her wrist. “Is it a wedding gift from the Viking?” She pulled her wrist away as if he had contaminated it with his touch. “He is not a Viking, he is a Northern lycan and my mate.” She glared at him. “Yes, a fine gold ring from my claimed alpha.” Radulf shrugged. “T’is a simple gift from the so named Red Wolf the Undefeated.” He scoffed. “A mere trinket when you could have had fine jewels and a grand manor.” He had referred to Sigurd’s Viking name, ignoring the fact that he was no longer a raider. She would not allow him to anger her further by insulting her mate. She gathered the old bandages and ran up the stairs. Opening the door, she ran into a wall of a man. Sigurd. He steadied her, with a soft hold on her shoulders. “Emelisse, you look like you just had an argument with Bolla herself.” His nostrils flared and frowned at the residual scent of his enemy. His fangs emerged. “You were with Radulf. I will kill him.” “Nay, wait.” She grabbed his arm, feeling his corded muscles ready to pulverize. “He simply came down to say farewell to his Lupercii advisor, Blaez.” He rested his fists on his hips. Every bit the dangerous Viking, every bit the angered alpha wolf. “He upset you!” “Just seeing him upsets me. But leave him be. The Lupercal would not favor it if you beat or worse kill an inferior lycan.” He cast a roguish smile. “T’is no rule about pissing on an inferior lycan is there?” “As much as that would amuse me, you know as well I do that we need the cooperation of all of our lycan brethren to battle the bear men berserkers.” He relaxed and lifted her chin. “You look pale.” She wiped her forehead. “I’m just hungry.” He lifted a doubtful brow. “Nay, you were up too early to tend to Radulf’s Lupercii.” She smoothed her cloak. “T’is true.” The dark circles under her eyes she had seen in her mirror spoke of her exhaustion. “Let us ask cook for a hearty meal, perchance the stew she makes so well?” Sigurd and Emelisse stood watching as Radulf and his men left the gates of Chanteloup Castle. The road was dusted with early snow and he felt 178

Eva Gordon Emelisse shiver under the chill wind. He draped his arm around her and drew her closer. Radulf twisted his neck up and shot him a sinister look. Sigurd gritted his teeth. “One more day and I’m afraid I might have lost my control and broken his neck.” She tilted her head up and gazed at him, her dark eye lashes falling in agreement. “I have to admit nothing would have given me more pleasure than to see the ripped throat of Galien’s murderer.” His heart twisted at how she still thought of the woodsman. He could not admit to her that like Radulf, he too was glad to have Galien out of her life. He did not doubt her love for him but knew that a small part of her heart would belong to Galien and their unborn child. He supposed he could live with that. He had no choice, not when his heart belonged to her and it was his bed that she warmed. Their future children would someday hearten her. His voice sounded pained but steadfast. “It’s not too late, I could shift and avenge your true love’s death.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “T’is you I love.” He twisted a smile. “Part of you must wish that you and Galien had left and found a safe haven in some human city.” He clenched his jaw. “I accept it.” Her soft hand took his and placed it over her bosom. It rested on her soothing heartbeat. He had made her well. “Nay, Sigurd. As much as I loved Galien, know you are the one meant to be my true life mate. You are Feronia’s gift.” Tears welled in those dark eyes and he knew then that she spoke the truth. He took her hand and kissed it. “Forgive me. You lost a child.” “My child comforts Galien. Together we will have children who will make us smile and make us cross with their mischief. I must tell you now; though I was a runt I was quite rambunctious.” “I can only imagine. You have not changed a bit my little ulf hexen.” He had always thought of having sons, mighty wolfskins who were able to shift at will. But now, he hoped to have a girl who would have Emelisse’s feisty temperament and beauty. “So how is Blaez?” He wished Radulf’s Lupercii had been able to travel. There was something about the seasoned warrior he did not trust. Perhaps, it was simply because he belonged to Radulf’s pack and was marked by his scent. His kind marked their human companions. Blaez belonged to Radulf. “Much better. He will stay with the Lupercal for the duration of the winter.” She shrugged in resignation. “Lupa tolerates him. He is the son of a physician and knows of some healing. He translates from Latin and Arabic quite well. I suppose we will find some use for him as soon as he recovers.” “Does he know of the work on hydrophobia?” “Nay, only our pack and the Lupercal know. Lupa wants to make sure the potion is perfected before she sends out word. Although, she might consult Blaez.” He shook his head. “I don’t trust him or any of Radulf’s pack.” “I will let her know about your misgivings. After all, as the first lycan to test the preventive potion you especially should have some say in the matter.” She gave him that worried look. “You do still feel well?” 179

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf “Other than the slight fever the next day I feel no ill effects. Swallowing ale and eating is still a pleasure. Don’t worry, it has not harmed me. Wags the dog and that wolf cub she gave the potion to are healthy as well. We have gone beyond the time when we might have developed symptoms, so do not worry your little heart.” Wags the dog had even been purposely exposed to a diseased fox and he never developed the madness. Arnou recovered from the treatment and now he and Wags were inseparable. The special spines used to insert the potion into Arnou were kept in a locked chest. Lupa needed more and would send a crew soon to fetch the fish for more of the spines. The fact that Sigurd had been given the preventive potion was kept a secret from all except her and Lupa. She poked him in the rib as she loved to do when emphasizing a point. “Well, still, be careful. Just because Wags never developed hydrophobia doesn’t mean a lycan will not. You must not risk being bitten.” He tapped his sword. “Brynhild will guard me.” The wind picked up and whipped the snowflakes into a blizzard. The ground was slippery with ice. Isabelle called from below. “Emelisse, come down before you get ill from the cold.” She rolled her eyes but Sigurd knew the alpha lycan, her surrogate mother, was right. Humans were prone to illness. He picked her up and threw her over her shoulders. He enjoyed patting her bottom as she struggled helplessly. “I can walk!” “That you can my ulf hexen, but for now I wish to carry you.” He entered the manor with his now compliant cargo. He set her down and smiled as she strengthened her back and dared anyone to look at her. The lycan servants went about their business. She tried pushing him back with her hands, but he did not budge. “I did not wish to be carried!” Isabelle suppressed a laugh. “Emelisse, when will you learn you can’t argue with an alpha lycan?” Emelisse puckered her lips in a twist. “Humph!” She looked at both of them accusingly. “When will you all stop treating me like a runt?” Isabelle brushed the snowflakes from her cloak. “My dear, humans are susceptible to the cold, remember last year we lost two of our Lupercii in the winter from an illness of the lungs. We all love you and want to keep you safe.” She looked down. “I know. Oft I still feel jealous that I was born a mere fragile human.” “You are not so fragile,” said Sigurd. “Not anymore.” She lifted her bracelet. “Thanks to you and this.” Isabelle gave him a chastising look. “Well, that protects only the heart. You as her mate should know that cold weather and exposure to bad humors is not good for humans.” “I assure you Milady, I’ll not allow Emelisse to be harmed in anyway.” He gave Emelisse a mischievous smile. “In that case it would be wise to step out of these wet clothes and see to a warm meal,” Isabelle ordered. Emelisse batted her eyes and bowed. “Yes, Milady.” 180

Eva Gordon Satisfied Isabelle left. No wonder Emelisse had felt so overprotected. Still, it was out of love not disrespect. He knew better than to order her. She liked it when he suggested she listen to his wisdom. “Mayhap, you wish to join me in the hot baths?” She shivered and her eyes brightened. “Splendid!” Emelisse took off her wet cloak and handed it to one of the maids and then ordered them to bring them fresh garments. As soon as the clothing was brought down they headed for the underground hot springs. She ordered the lycan that stood by the springs to let them be alone. Had she the same wicked thoughts he had? Making love in the warm waters was something he had savored for too long. His erection was throbbing as he watched her disrobe. Her backside was especially pleasing as she dropped her shift on the blue and green tiled floor. Goose flesh appeared on her skin as she stepped in. She slowly sank and turned, exposing those wonderful round breasts with hardened dark nipples. “Oooh. Come in.” He closed his eyes and took in her skin’s wet scent. He unbelted, took off his tunic and practically ripped his breeches off. His iron stiff erection pointed at her as if it was its own entity. The cold air of the cavern did nothing to reduce the blinding heat he felt. He was after all a wolfskin from the land of ice. Her dark eyes widened at his length and she gave a flirtatious laugh. “I see Milord is not too cold.” She swam to the deep end and floated on her back. He recalled his memory of her first bath near the berserker camp. How he had obediently turned his back, as she demanded. Now watching her nude floating like a water siren he drew in a breath. Her raven hair and her mound’s dark tuft were a sharp contrast to her pale white breasts, belly and legs. He stalked her buoyant beckoning figure to the deep end. A wolf honing in on his prey. He jumped next to her, causing a splash that reached the far end of the floor like a huge wave. She sunk under the impact of his weight on the water. She treaded water and splashed his face in fun. She giggled and swam away. A teasing siren. He laughed and reached her. She tried to squirm away but like an insect caught in a spider’s hold it was useless. “I never told you how I enjoy fishing.” She dug her nails in his shoulders and nibbled on his chin. He cupped her round bottom and pressed her against his hard cock. A wave of pleasure shot through him and he moaned. Her dark eyes bore through him. “I’m afraid we Franks do not eat as much fish as the Northmen, so I hope that I’m just as tasty.” He shot her a wolfish grin. “Better.” He took her to the depth of the pool where he could stand comfortably. Holding her afloat on her back with one hand he lowered his head and seized a dark erect nipple with his mouth. Sucking gently at first and then hungrily. Her hand moved to her mound and she whimpered and he felt her spasm. He moved to the other needy nipple and she gasped and bucked. His fingers were titillating her, in preparation for long lasting pleasures. Aching to join her, his penis nearly exploded. No, he wanted her pleasure to last until she could forget everything except him. He licked the mineral tasting water around her soft throat and then with fangs out kissed her deep in her mouth. Her hand reached and fondled his hard 181

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf length. He shuddered and was sent nearly to the brink of insanity. He broke away from her mouth. His voice was husky, “Ulf hexen.” He drew her into his arms and carried her to the edge of the shallow pool. He turned her around exposing her round soft delectable bottom. “Hold on my sweet ulf hexen.” She moaned. “I can’t wait.” She held on to the side as he parted her legs. He guided his hard erection between her thighs into her wet slick vagina. He gritted his teeth to control himself, lest he spill too soon. He thrust her sodden hair to the side and kissed her neck as he gently pumped. His fingers found her sensitive nub. He would take it slow, making her quake with pleasure. Her fingers gripped the pool’s edge as she moaned a primal, almost soundless scream of pure ecstasy. His own need for rapture could no longer be contained. His arms reached to hold on to the sides with her in between him. He thrust into her until he too lost his inhibition and howled as together they rode the waves of their climax. Satiated he turned her around and kissed her gently on the hollow of her throat as she continued to shudder in residual sensations as the female is oft to do. “Hmm.” She gazed up at him. “I wonder how many heard your howl?” He laughed. “Mayhap the entire mountain.” In the dim light of the torchlight he saw her flush red. Upstairs was her father and wolf mother. “Oh.” He moved a wet bang from her eyes. “Emelisse, you are a grown woman and my mate, t’is no shame.” “I suppose.” He looked at the door. “Don’t worry the pool attendant did not stay near when he smelled my need.” He lifted her and then jumped out and draped a pool robe over her. “Come, time to dry and return to our own chambers.” Emelisse headed for the infirmary to check on Linus. His memory had returned and he was justifiably angry that Radulf had thrown him out of his pack. Before tending to his eye she thought she would check on Blaez who had been moved to his own private cell. She heard the Lupercii moaning and growling from inside. What is that? She rushed and slammed his door opened. A young female lycan chambermaid was on top riding on Blaez’s erect cock. She froze her mouth agape. The maid, Antonia, bared her fangs, shot her a primal look and then snapped out of it. Her eyes were downcast. “Milady.” Blaez chuckled. “You look so shocked, yet your own alpha’s howls of pleasure made all of our cocks scream for release.” The mortified chambermaid bowed. “T’is the moon, Milady.” The moon was indeed full and although the lycans shifted at night, their stronger primal urges carried over during the day. Antonia dismounted and rapped a blanket around her naked body. Emelisse fumed at how he boasted of hearing Sigurd, and she sighed. “T’is well, Antonia.” She glowered at Blaez. Lupercii men enjoyed the pleasures of the wild lycan females. “I see sir you are on your way to a full recovery.” 182

Eva Gordon He did not attempt to cover his still hard erection. “Now, can we go back to letting Antonia heal what really ails me?” She scowled. “I will check on your stitches on the morrow.” She quickly left. Though she felt embarrassed by her intrusion, she could not help but wonder what it would feel like to ride Sigurd in such a way. Was it even possible? He was so much bigger than Blaez in every way. Lycan alphas preferred a more dominant sexual position. The wolf maiden on top was unheard of. Lycan females on the other hand were dominant over human men so such a mating position t’was not unusual. Still she felt strangely aroused. She walked over to Linus who was sitting and eating his morning meal. He smiled. “Milady.” “How do you feel?” “My head still hurts but I don’t think it’s from my head injury anymore.” She gently removed the bandage and took a close look. Only a thin white scar remained. “T’is true. Your skull is completely healed. Your head ache is from the adjustment to seeing the world with one eye.” He pushed his bowl of stew away and pressed his two hands between his temples. “I am no longer a viable member of a pack.” She felt sorrow for the once powerful alpha warrior. “T’is not true. You still have your sense of smell and will catch prey with one eye. And Lupa can use a permanent guard at the Lupercal.” He scoffed. “A one eye guard.” “I will not allow you to wallow in self pity. I was born a runt with a frail heart and have learned to live thus.” She peaked under his leather eye patch. “Good. Tonight, you will join the others on the full moon hunt.” “But…” “Cassandra will guide you. Understood?” “Yes, My Lady.” He took in a breath. “Thank you and I need remind you that you are no longer a runt.” “I’m glad you don’t agree with your pack leader.” “Radulf was my leader and it gladdens me that Chanteloup has accepted me in his pack.” “You will be a great asset of that I assure you,” she said. “After all you are an alpha and who knows, a fine wolf maiden may come your way.” He chuckled. “Mayhap, someday. I’m thinking of returning to my ancestral home in the Alps, I can join my cousin’s pack.” “I’m sure he would love sharing pack duties with another alpha as would my father and Sigurd.” She looked toward the hall. “I wish Blaez would go away, he makes me feel unease.” Linus clenched his jaw and nodded,“Milady, I must warn you I don’t trust Lupercii Blaez. Send him back to Radulf.” “How can we, the winter snow is too dangerous to travel in. Anyway, how much troubles can a mere human cause around here?” “At night he often sneaks into your alchemy laboratory.” Her brow furrowed. “Pray tell.” “Mostly he lurks around as if looking for something, I know naught.” 183

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf “Hmm. I will have him moved upstairs to the manor.” She smiled. “In fact you are ready to go upstairs, as well.” “Good, Milady.” She left to discuss Blaez with Lupa. Now that there were no more injured she could help Lupa. She could also spend more time with Sigurd who had made himself busy by training their few warriors to Viking fighting techniques. Soon he would be leaving to find his kind and she hoped to accompany him despite his misgivings. A wolf maiden’s place was with her alpha no matter the peril. Sure it would be cold but with her big red wolf along she most certainly would not freeze to death. Again, she was distracted by thoughts of riding Sigurd’s stiff manhood. In the laboratory Lupa told her to label each vial of preventive potion. “Make sure you keep them in the ice box.” Lupa turned to Arnou. “Come, I need you to help me with organizing our maps in the library. Emelisse, you only need to label what you can.” “Yes, Milady.” Emelisse liked the peace of working alone. She decided to only label twenty and rush back to join Sigurd for a refreshing bath. Since their escape in the hot pools she looked forward for their time together down in the cavern. She labeled the last vial and closed the icebox. The sound of soft paws scurrying around and a snarl made her hold her breath in dread. The door to the back room where the animals were kept was ajar. She braved a walk to peek into the torch lit room. Behind her the door closed and locked. The sound of steps scurrying away made her realize that somebody locked her in. She reached the door and shook the doorknob. Her heart racing, she knew she had to calm herself in order to think rationally. She returned to the back room to check on the animals. The wooden barred enclosure where the new ailing fox was kept was broken as if an axe had cut through it. The sharp toothed foaming mouth from the miasma ridden fox slowly stalked toward her. She took out her dagger and slowly backed away. It made awful gurgling sounds in between snapping sharp growls. The poor creature was suffering and in its maddened rage was determined to bite her.

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Chapter 20 Sigurd took off his helmet and threw his shield down. The hair on his back stood erect. He sensed something was wrong. “Hugues, continue observing them. I need to make sure Emelisse is well.” The Lupercii nodded. “Yes, Milord.” Hugues turned to watch the men in the yard practice their swordsmanship. Returning Brynhild to her sheath, he bid the men farewell. His wolf sense told him to find Emelisse before cleaning himself of sweat. Perchance, she would come with him to the underground pools. He hung his chain mail and sword belt, already cooling off. He sniffed his armpit and decided to wash. Humans had such a bad body odor when sweaty. Emelisse could not be in any immediate danger. He had to stop worrying about her. She had gone down to meet Lupa. He shrugged. Ah, better he clean himself first. Later he would look for her in the alchemy chamber where she and Lupa worked their magical curative potions. As he headed down the hall he saw his sister’s apparition. Startled he froze. “Brynhild!” She was dressed in her Valkyrie chain mail. She did not return his smile. Her face was stern. “Brother, go to her. She is in great danger.” As quickly as she appeared she vanished. All thoughts of seeing his sister mattered not, he ran towards Emelisse. Chanteloup saw him dash by. “Sigurd, what’s wrong?” He had no time to answer, he simply charged. He reached the lab. The door was locked, perhaps from the inside as well. He twisted and shook the handle, to no avail. He growled. He smelled fear, her fear. “Emelisse!” He slammed his bulk into it and crashed in. He scanned the room. The door to the animal room was open. He rushed in. Emelisse was on top of a table, broken jars on the floor as if thrown. She cowered with her knife in preparation of a strike. On seeing him she screamed. “Leave!” He ignored her and rushed in. She did not look injured, just afraid for dear life and now his. She pointed behind him. “The fox with the madness is loose!” Sigurd stiffened and sniffed the air. In his haste he had forgotten to retrieve his sword, which along with his shield was still in the practice hall. A low menacing growl signaled the advancing disease raked fox. He spun around and growled. His fangs emerged and he shifted. His clothes ripped. He chomped on the foaming at the mouth fox that sprung at him. As he bit down to break its back the biting frothing critter wriggled and sunk his sharp

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf teeth deep into a leg. He felt the dagger like fangs that though small stung like a bee sting. He yelped and shook it until t’was no longer alive. He dropped the limp fox and licked his throbbing wound. “Sigurd!” Emelisse wailed. She leapt from the table and hugged his wide wolf neck. Isabelle, Chanteloup and many other lycans ran down to the room on hearing the uproar. They gaped as the dead fox and Sigurd’s big wolf form bleeding from his leg. He shifted and shoved Emelisse away. “Don’t touch the wound or its spit.” Her eyes wide she shook her head but did as she was told. Horror on her face. Panting he stood and hovered near her. “Did it bite you?” She stared at the fox, gaping jaws spilling the poisonous saliva. “Nay, I managed to stay out of its reach. I threw jars at it but it was determined to bite me.” Chanteloup signed in deep relief. “Blessed Feronia. But you, Sigurd, were bitten.” Isabelle grabbed Emelisse and drew her in a protective hold as if Sigurd would suddenly charge them all with fangs and foaming mouth. “You must leave before you develop the frenzy!” Sigurd glanced down at the bite. Though savage it was not deep, yet it had carried the poisoned miasma. Chanteloup nodded vehemently. “Son, if you wish we can lock you in our dungeon and when the time comes, I can …” Panic in her voice Emelisse struggled in Isabelle’s arms. “Nay, he will not fall ill.” Lupa stepped in. “T’is true, he was given the preventive potion long ago.” Chanteloup shot her a sharp look. “What preventive potion?” “Feronia sent me the formula on developing the preventive cure.” He fumed, his fists on his hips. “Secrets!” He paced and scratched his head before whirling around. “How do you know it works?” She furrowed her brow. “T’is not for certain but Wags and the wolf cub were both given the potion against the miasma and they survived being bitten.” Chanteloup raised an eyebrow. “You kept them here after they were bitten?” His voice boomed. She scowled at him. “They were locked up. Only I had the key.” He pressed his hands on his temples. “They do not carry the blood of a lycan!” Lupa reached for a clean linen and soaked it in dark fluid before handing it to Sigurd. “Clean the wound and then the mess. The rest of you step out of here.” “Come child, let us leave,” Isabelle, gently pulled her away. She twisted and broke free. “I will stay here and clean up.” Her father implored her. “Emelisse, please. Let Lupa and Sigurd clean.” She ignored them and turned to Lupa. “We cured Arnou and he was all human. Can we treat Sigurd the same way in case the potion does not work?” 186

Eva Gordon Lupa frowned in annoyance. “Feronia herself told me the potion would prevent it. Still, giving him extra treatment should not hurt.” She barely stifled a look of horror. “The chest!” They all turned to look at the direction of the chest that contained the special hollow fish spines that had been used to cure Arnou. Emelisse ran past them and looked inside. “Destroyed!” She poured the contents out. The fine honed in needles were smashed into bits and pieces. A mallet lay next to the chest. Sigurd growled. “The same person who planned Emelisse’s murder.” He gritted his teeth to remain human. “That’s why the door was locked, the fox set free and the spines destroyed.” He sniffed the mallet. He flashed a fierce look at Lupa. “How much did Blaez know?” Lupa paled and clapped her hands over her mouth and let out a smothering a gasp. “I had him translate the cure to hydrophobia in several languages. But I never told him where we kept the materials or that we had a preventive potion. I did not wish to tell anyone until we completed our supplies.” She pinched her nose and shook her head. “He knew about the spines that saved Arnou but not where they were kept.” “Linus warned me that Blaez had been lurking around. He must have found them,” said Emelisse. Sigurd wrapped a tight bandage over his small wound and dressed. He straightened and noticed fear in their eyes. “He will die.” Lupa grabbed him. “We must question him first. That is if he’s still here.” Emelisse agreed. “In this storm, I doubt he has left.” Chanteloup turned to Isabelle. “Find him and if he is gone send a pack to hunt him.” “Yes, Milord.” She bolted out, as fierce as an angry mother wolf. What would stop her from ripping his throat out? Lupa scanned the shelves and walked around. She opened the icebox. Everything else remained untouched. Her eyes narrowed. “Sigurd is right, if it was Blaez his only intention was to kill Emelisse. Infected without the method to cure her, he knew she would die slowly and in pain. T’is what Radulf would have ordered him to do.” Sigurd raged. “Next time I see him, no one and I mean no one will prevent me from sending him to hell.” “Lupa, how long before he develops the illness?” asked Chanteloup. She scowled at him. “Did I not tell you that he was given the preventive potion?” “Yes, but…” “You dare question a gift from Feronia?” Chanteloup had calmed down. “Nay, but Milady, if it does not work we are all doomed.” Sigurd stiffened. He knew better than anyone the consequences of what would happen if he developed the rage. He would kill and if not, his bite would infect others until as predicted the end of man and his kind would come to an end. He swallowed. “Milady, how much time?” “If you are indeed infected, the symptoms will begin within three moons. After that you will most likely be spared.” 187

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Emelisse sounded hysterical. “You see t’is a long time.” Seeing her distraught look broke his heart and he drew her into his arms and he kissed her on her head. “All that matters is that you are safe.” She was about to say something when a howl followed by several other howls interrupted them. Chanteloup nodded. “Isabelle found him.” Emelisse caught up with Sigurd who had already reached the lycans that circled the prone body of Blaez. His neck was broken and his body sprawled askew in a distorted fashion. He had either fallen or been thrown from the tower above. His hand still gripped a Franciscan axe with a fresh blood on it. Lupa was carefully examining the body and picked up lycan hair. “Milady, did he slip?” “Nay, t’is not an accident.” Sigurd’s eyes narrowed. “T’is a worthy end to a coward.” Linus pushed his way through the crowd. He was panting and looked out of sorts. His tunic had a sliver of blood that dribbled out of a slice from his belly. Emelisse reached for him. “You are injured.” Linus held his head down in shame. “I did not mean to do it.” Lupa sniffed the body. “I thought I recognized your scent on his body.” They all gawked at the lycan with the eye patch, an alpha kicked out of Radulf’s pack. And now the shame of killing a Lupercii rested on his shoulders. “I… I saw Blaez running from the Lupercal, from where you do your alchemy. I followed him up the steps to the tower. Curious, I stalked him. I smelled his fear. When I ordered him to explain himself he came at me with an axe and I pushed him away. I only meant to disarm him but not being used to having just one eye, I misjudged.” He looked from Chanteloup to Lupa. “I don’t know why he attacked.” Emelisse spoke. “He tried to kill me by locking me up with a loose fox suffering from hydrophobia.” His eyes widened. “How would such an animal be found on the manor?” “We are working on a cure to the disease and he we was…” Lupa cast her a sharp look and interrupted. “Suffice it to say, someone purposely let the fox out to bite Emelisse.” Linus’s eyes furrowed in worry. “Nay, Milady, tell me you were not bitten.” Emelisse smiled and gazed up at her hero. “Thankfully not, Sigurd managed to kill the critter.” He raised a brow and let out a breath. “Thank Feronia.” He turned to Sigurd. “Milord, pray tell, did you avoid the bite as well?” Emelisse shot him a look to stay quiet, but he ignored it. “I have been bitten, but Lupa gave me the preventive potion earlier.” Despite everything he had gone through with the rage destroying his sister and pack, he had faith in Lupa. Why not tell the hapless exiled wolfen and the others? The crowd murmured amongst themselves and many shouted that he must leave. 188

Eva Gordon Chanteloup growled them into silence. They all bent their heads in silent respect. “Sigurd is my son-in law and now a son to me. He risked his life to safe his mate, my Emelisse, from the schemed murder attempt by Radulf’s loyal Lupercii. The cure has come from Feronia herself. If the rage does not happen in three moons then he is safe. Still, as your leader my primary priority is to the safety of the pack. Tonight, Lupa and I will call a meeting with the Lupercal to make a decision about Sigurd.” “Nay, what decision?” asked Emelisse. Sigurd gently massaged her neck. “Come, let us go back in and let them bury that pig.” She turned to Lupa. “Milady?” Lupa twisted a sad smile. “Go rest Emelisse, we are all in Feronia’s hands.” Sigurd watched Emelisse sleep. Her tussled hair hid her tear stained face. She had cried all night while he tried to reassure her he would come back to her even it was after death. At midnight as the full moon waned the Lupercal and Chanteloup had decided what would be best for the pack and for Emelisse. Lupa as head of the Lupercal tried to convince them of her conviction that he would not develop the disease but to no avail. The pack members had voiced their concerns and some even threatened to leave and join another pack. A lycan as large and powerful as Sigurd would be beyond any one’s control if the rage took over him. Chanteloup, being their leader, reassured them that he would represent them even if it was to vote against the man he had started to think of as the son he never had. The rest of the Lupercal council had agreed that it was not worth the risk. The rage of Hydrophobia would not only sweep through their pack but could devastate the entire human kingdom to a horrible death. He recalled how Lupa had spoken to him after the decision in private. “Sigurd, I have faith that you will not develop hydrophobia, but the pack does not. The choices are that you leave to go north to a place where no one resides and remain in isolation or stay here and be locked up in our secure dungeon for three moons.” “I will not stay locked up, especially if I develop it.” He raked his hair back and paced. “I will not have Emelisse see me like that.” “If I thought you would develop the disease, I would insist you stay locked up and not have the death of others who might run into you on my conscious.” “You are that sure?” “As Feronia as my witness, yes. After all she is the one who sent us the gift. We earthly creatures do not have the knowledge that our goddess and her kin have.” He scratched his scalp and pressed his lips together as he paced around her bower. If this goddess was false then he could not risk dragging Emelisse with him. “Emelisse must stay.” “Wise decision. Chanteloup with tears in his eyes ordered his pack to attack you if you attempt to take her. I have no doubt you could slaughter many if not all but can you kill the father of your mate and her wolf mother Isabelle?” 189

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf He closed his eyes and swallowed. “Nay, I could not.” She gave him a weak smile. “Go. Seek Hungerd. Fenris wants you to gather our Northern brethren. I look forward to seeing you after the three moon period.” “What about Radulf?” “He will not dare show his face. We voted for him to be declared rogue. I promise, an attempt on a wolf maiden’s life has deemed his claim as null and void.” “Still it is not safe for Emelisse to remain here if he returns.” “He probably thinks she is dead, but you are right, once the winter ends news will travel.” Her eyes lit up. “We will send a message about her death. Isabelle and a few trusted lycans can be sent in wolf form.” “Can we trust the entire pack?” “Chanteloup’s pack will make a blood vow.” The temptation to take her was irresistible. T’is his right. She could be guarded by Hungerd’s magic. Yet to risk killing her parents and most of the pack would devastate her and he would be dishonored not only from her but also to himself. And then there was an inkling of worry that he may still develop the illness. He would not be able to protect her from himself. “I promise she will remain here at the Lupercal temple. She will be safe. Remember Radulf fears you.” Emelisse suddenly sprung up from her slumber interrupting his thoughts about the last conversation with Lupa. “Sigurd, I’m going with you!” She jumped off the bed and embraced his armor-covered body. His bear fur cloak was fastened and he was ready to leave. Oh, but she felt so soft. How could he leave her for even a fortnight let alone three moons? That was if indeed the preventive potion worked, if not, this day would be the last day he would ever see her beautiful face, her bewitching eyes, her nubile soft body, and her aroma and taste that made him burst with ecstasy. He took her hands in his. “Sweet Emelisse, you must wait for me.” “Nay, what if you never return?” He kissed her cold hands, so fragile in his hands. “If I don’t return then indeed the disease has taken me.” “We are mates, my place is with you! If you die then I wish to die along with you.” Her teary eyes begged him. His voice took on his alpha commanding tone. “I would not wish the madness on you.” His tone softened. “Don’t you know that my worst nightmare would be to lose my mind and tear you apart like the bear men tore apart living men. Let me die a thousand deaths before I kill you in such a matter.” It was such a nightmare that made him convince Lupa to give him the potion. She turned from him and grabbed her cloak. “I will take the risk. If it is meant to be that you kill me then so be it.” He roared. “You are staying ulf hexen!” She ignored him and began to gather her traveling clothing. “I will follow you and that is that.” She laughed. “Unless of course you wish to break my limbs.” 190

Eva Gordon Her stubborn bravery is what he admired most. His massive dangerous hulk frightened even the most hardened warrior, but not her, the fragile runt. She knew he would not hurt her and yet she teased him with the strength he could use on her. He was gladdened that she wore her magic bracelet so her heart would be safe. He folded his corded arms. “Humph.” He knew he might have to resort to a more severe method of making sure she did not follow him. T’was not the way he wanted to part. He reached in a sac and took out rope. Her eyes wide with realization and she tried to run but it was too late. He grabbed her and bound her hands and tied them to the bedpost. She kicked as he tied her ankles to the post. He made sure the bindings were tight enough to not come lose yet not enough to bruise. Although the way she struggled, he knew she was harming herself. “Sigurd, untie me. Now!” Before she could wake up the entire manor he held her head still and kissed her long and hard until she calmed and kissed him with equal vigor. He let go and looked deep into those dark bewitching eyes. He was almost compelled by their magic to unbind her and bring her along. Still, reason returned and he was resolved to leave her. “I promise, as soon as it’s safe I will return for you.” “Please, Sigurd I must go with you.” She pleaded, her voice soft and her eyes laced with tears. “I must go alone.” He turned to leave. “You walk out that door and I un-claim you!” He turned to her. “T’is not possible my love.” She furrowed her brow as she struggled. “Galien would not have left me. Mayhap, I should have belonged to him.” He clenched his jaw. She was trying to hurt him as he was hurting her. “Know that I love you.” He opened the door and slammed it shut. Outside their chamber, half of the pack had gathered. Chanteloup stood, his eyes big with sorrow. “Farewell son.” “Farewell, Milord.” He looked back at the door one more time and then at Isabelle who handed him a bag of food provisions. “Thank you, Milady. She is bound to the bed. Do not let her out for a day lest she escape on the fastest steed. Please make sure she wears the bracelet.” “I promise.” He walked out trying not to let Emelisse’s hollers make him change his mind. He opened the massive wooden door and into the cold face of winter. A sturdy shaggy mount and packhorse were readied for him. Lupa and Arnou stood next to the horses. “Sigurd, trust me you will be well. Do not seek out Mord the Blood Claw and sacrifice your life thinking you are doomed.” He found her confidence heartening. “Rest assured I don’t plan to enter Valhalla so soon.” Arnou handed him the reins. “Milord, when you return I wish to squire with you.” He smiled at the boy who was the brother of Emelisse’s first love. While the lad had undergone the painful treatment to cure the frenzy Sigurd had promised him that he would teach him swordsmanship and that one so brave would grow to be a Lupercii warrior. “I would be most honored.” 191

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Lupa put her arm around Arnou as Sigurd mounted his horse. “Bid Hungerd good tidings.” He bowed his head. “I shall.” He clucked and his horse stepped onto the snow-covered trail, with the packhorse trailing close behind. As he rode off, his wolf hearing picked up Emelisse’s distant call. “Sigurd, I love you. Come back to me.”

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Chapter 21 Released from her bindings by Isabelle, Emelisse leapt off the bed and ran down the stairs. “Sigurd!” Isabelle with the lycan advantage of speed caught up to her before she reached the massive wooden doors and picked her up by her waist and set her down like she was still a child. “Emelisse, he is long gone.” She struggled in her strong hold. Her father limped in and the others stood by. If she managed to break free of Isabelle’s grip, the pack members would grab her and hold her back. A human and a runt at that had no chance of getting away from an entire pack of lycans. She rolled her eyes in surrender and Isabelle relaxed her hold. “I can follow with a few lycans, perchance Linus, he is an alpha.” Linus stepped forward. “I would be honored to lead an expedition to be near your mate.” Lupa, still wearing her winter bear furred cloak, shook her head and spat out at the alpha lycan. “Quiet that foolish tongue of yours.” Linus clenched his jaw at her sharp tone. He suppressed his anger. The poor lycan wanted everyone to know he was still useful. Emelisse turned to him. “Lupa is right, t’is too risky. But thank you all the same.” He looked disappointed. “Yes, Milady.” Her father ordered a guard on each exit. He turned to others, with fierce eyes on Linus. “All of you leave!” Except for Isabelle and Lupa, they lowered their heads and silently left. She flashed him an angry look. “Father, you would keep me a prisoner knowing I belong with my mate?” Her father gripped her shoulders. “Sigurd loves you too much to risk your life. He was the one who begged that I not allow you to leave. He even told me of the secret passage to the forest from the Lupercal.” Her jaw dropped. “Nay.” Sigurd and Lupa were the only ones who knew of the hidden opening. It had been her only hope to escape. Lupa spoke gently. “Emelisse, we have prepared a bower for you below. T’is next to the baths and close to the library.” The steaming baths conjured up memories of making love with Sigurd and she longed for him even more. Lupa interrupted her thoughts. “You will have ample time to read many new works that have arrived.” She sighed. It was no use. She was stuck. “Very well.” He would come back to her, he must. Lupa hooked her arm in hers. “Come. Our potions need to be readied for the spring.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Together they walked down to the Lupercal where she would continue her alchemical work. When Sigurd returned unharmed, others would know that the potion was effective. Had that been his destiny all along? Tonight she would cleanse herself to enter the temple and seek answers from Feronia. She would fast and pray for his safe return. Sigurd wished he could sail north on a drakkor. T’would be faster. The horses with their thick coat and great size were built for cold but traveled ever so slow. It had been only six days but his heart ached for Emelisse. Stroking his new beard, he surveyed the bleak landscape. He dismounted and brushed snow from his hooded cloak. Somehow he had to get to Hungerd quicker. He would shift and run. The provisions they packed were for a man. He would hunt and live as a wolf. He took off his clothes and tied them in a bundle in a makeshift pack to carry on his lupine back. He un-tacked the big horses. They shook off the sweat from the blankets and stood there watching him, as if waiting for him to groom them. He bore his fangs and spooked them with a snarl and a wave of clawed hands. They bolted and then plotted back in the direction of Chanteloup’s manor. Bred for icy conditions, Chanteloup’s hardy horses had taken the coastal trail back home on numerous occasions. Further ahead the snow was deeper and the more direct route would have been more treacherous for the horses. He shifted and marveled at just how much warmer it was with his wolf coat. As he loped, it occurred to him that he should have left a note that he was travelling as a wolf. That is, if he had known how to write. Since the horses were not tacked Chanteloup would figure out he let them go on purpose. T’is common practice to travel as a wolf in the winter. A sudden gust of chill wind whipped his fur and he slowed to a brisk trot. A blizzard was beginning to develop. He found a secluded fairy ring of trees and curled up in a ball as wolves do to create their own shelter from their thick fur. He closed his eyes and rested as the snowstorm howled. He was thankful that Emelisse was back at the manor, warm and safe. Emelisse kept busy helping Lupa with the experiments and alchemy. She sat on her stool and twirled her bracelet that had kept her heart well. The gold ring held the only connection she had with Sigurd. She swallowed her grief. The entire mountain was covered in snow, not even the lycans as wolves ventured out too often. Was Sigurd warm? The door creaked open. “Good morrow.” She turned to see Lupa walk in carrying her scrolls to make notes. “Milady.” Lupa set the parchment down and closed the door. “Don’t fret when I tell you that Sigurd’s horses were found yesterday before last night’s severe storm hit.” “Nay, why would they come back?” She made to move to the door and Lupa held her back. “He must be hurt.” She gasped. “You don’t think he has come down with hydrophobia?” “The horses came back without their saddles. He must have decided it would be best to travel as a wolf.” “Why was I not told?” 194

Eva Gordon She shrugged. “Your father was afraid to tell you. Like you, Duke Chanteloup must have thought he was starting to come down with the symptoms.” “Symptoms? That soon?” “In some cases, yes. But I know the potion works.” She shook her head. “T’is wise he travels by wolf. The horses would have slowed him down.” She so wanted to believe Lupa. “So you don’t think…” “Did not Feronia tell you child that he would return to you?” She bit her lip and lowered her gaze, avoiding Lupa’s domineering blue eyes. “Yes, Milady.” “So you see, t’is nothing to worry about.” Lupa paced with her hands behind her like she did when something concerned her. “There is one more thing.” Emelisse was almost afraid to ask. “What?” “Linus left not long after Sigurd’s two horses appeared.” She raised a brow. “Do you think he went to search for Sigurd?” Lupa stopped her pacing and took out a note. “Nay, he wrote your father a note thanking him for his hospitality and offer to join his pack but that he wished to return to his cousin’s pack to the east.” She nodded. “He had mentioned returning to his ancestral home.” She furrowed her brow. “Odd, he would want to leave in the dead of winter.” “That’s exactly what your father said. His sudden departure raised my hackles. I became wary on the day he offered to guide you to Sigurd. After he had been told no, he acted rather miffed. Arnou told me he kicked a bucket in the barn and swore.” “It’s been hard for him, not only did he lose an eye but to be thrown out of Radulf’s pack. He wanted to prove himself by escorting me. You did call him foolish. T’is no wonder he was angry.” “That was my conclusion, as well. Yet, when your father showed me the note I sensed something was wrong. Like you I wondered, why would he leave now, during the harshest winter we have ever experienced? And so soon after Sigurd’s horses returned?” A chill climbed down her spine. It was Linus who killed Radulf’s Lupercii, Blaez. He claimed it was in self-defense, yet even with only one eye, a lycan could easily disarm a man. “You don’t think he was spying for Radulf?” “I found gray fur a few days ago near where we keep our materials. My fur is black and you of course have no fur. Suspicious, last night I shifted and followed his paw prints up the trail before new snow covered them. He was not heading east but northwest, in the direction of Radulf’s manor. I followed him nearly all night” “Does father know?” She nodded slowly. “Yes.” “Will our pack hunt him?” “Too late. You see when he reached the other side of our territory two of Radulf’s lycans in wolf forms were waiting for him. I hid and waited.” “Are you sure?” “I recognized Tala, one of Radulf’s alpha females and mistress. She has ambitions of joining the Lupercal.” 195

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Emelisse felt like her legs would buckle. “So Radulf will know I never died.” Her blood ran cold. “He will come for me, especially thinking Sigurd has the miasma and will not return.” “Your father is planning to send you away.” “North to Sigurd?” She felt sudden hope. Her recent worry turned to joyous hope. “Nay, to Toulouse with your half cousin the Duchess Wilhelmina. Radulf does not know about this kin.” She frowned. Though she loved Toulouse she never liked the older bitter woman, a human relative on her mother’s side. She had been barren and was widowed three times. Rumors of poison always surfaced, but her wealth kept suspicions quiet. “She hates me.” Last time she had seen her was shortly after her grandfather’s death five years earlier. “When and how in this storm?” “On the morrow. Our pack will take you past the river and then you and Hugues and his Lupercii knights will escort you. Hugues will stay with you until Sigurd returns.” There was no other way. To stay would mean facing Radulf, yet what would happen to her father and her pack? “But my father and Isabelle?” “They will be under the protection of the Lupercal Council.” “Radulf will challenge father for dominance.” Chanteloup had recovered from his paralysis but no longer had the strength to fight a much younger stronger alpha. “And he will accept the submission.” “Nay, I will not allow father to submit to him.” Chanteloup’s voice startled her. “Emelisse, once I accept his dominance he will not harm me, t’is our law.” “Laws which he breaks all the time.” She ran and embraced him. “I won’t allow it.” He comforted her by smoothing her hair. “I would rather he rip me to shreds than let him harm you.” She wept. “I knew I should have gone with Sigurd.” “Shhh. He did not want you to risk such danger.” She shook her head.. “I know Sigurd. Like his sister Brynhild, he would throw himself off a high mountain rather than hurt me.” Lupa’s tone was stern. “Our word is law. We will protect Duke Chanteloup. When your large red wolf returns, Duke Chanteloup will regain his status.” Emelisse blinked back her tears. Would Radulf dare go against the Lupercal? He would not be foolish enough to risk going rogue. He would not dare. On orders of the Lupercal, all packs would gather to tear him apart. Chanteloup twisted a brave smile. “Isabelle is packing as we speak. Come back up and sup with us. The next time we see you I have no doubt it will be with your giant of a mate.” She wiped her tears and smiled. Her father must have a twinkling of hope that Sigurd would not die from hydrophobia. Lupa addressed Chanteloup. “Let me have a word with Emelisse before she joins you.” “Yes, Milady.” He kissed Emelisse and went up to the manor. 196

Eva Gordon “Arnou and I have hidden our potions in close proximity to the magic well near the village. We sealed them in a treasure chest and buried them in the snow. When Sigurd returns we will retrieve them.” “Will I return by then?” “Nay. I will tell Sigurd to bring you back. I cannot trust anyone but your mate to return you to the safety of our territory.” Sigurd finally arrived to the edge of Hungerd’s territory. It had taken him an entire moon to reach her. He had lost weight and his fur was matted. He hunted when he could, but for the most part he wanted to reach the north lest early symptoms of the rage arose. He ran all the way. Only stopping to rest for hours at night or when snow conditions were so blinding it had been necessary to wait out the storm. Panting, he rested on the rocky beach and licked his sore and bleeding paws. Keeping only his sword, he had left his bundle of clothes and provisions long ago to move faster. He worried about Emelisse. What if Radulf had not believed Emelisse had died? What if he returned? He had to believe that even Radulf would not disobey the Lupercal’s orders to stay away from Chanteloup’s territory. Knowing the coward, he would not make his move until he knew for certainty that he was dead. He forced himself to get up and limp all the way up the icy steps to Hungerd’s Cavern. Alas, he made it. The ravens cawed at his intrusion. Instead of a growl, he whined like a wounded pup. A soft voice beckoned him in. “Come in son of Gunnolf.” He dragged himself in and breathed in the wonderful scent of fresh cooked fish and the warmth of the circular hearth. She sat on her high chair, looking older than time. She cackled. “Fenris said you would arrive today so I fixed your favorite dishes.” He stood by the fire and shifted. It had been a long time since he had been a man. On his knees he slowly stretched his spine. His aching joints and muscles soon recovered. He rubbed his arms to heat them in the sudden shock of being naked. She pointed a gnarled finger at him and a warm hide soon covered him. “That should warm you up. Too bad your body is not as hairy as your face.” He touched his full beard. He must look old. “After I sup I will shave.” “Eat, shave and dress.” She pointed to Northmen clothing on a long table. Red from the heat of the fire he threw the hide down and reached for the fish, bread and ale she had laid out for him. Famished he ate the large fish with his fingers and wolfed down two loaves of bread. He drank the entire flagon of ale letting it drip down his chest and burped loudly. He was not quite human. She cackled. “Had enough?” “Thank you.” He felt his face flush on acting more animal than human. “I have not eaten for three days.” Her eyes were shrewd like a hawk’s. “So, although you will not develop the frenzy, you come all this way without your fragile little ulf hexen?” “How did you?” He waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind.” 197

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf “This goddess Feronia happens to be Fenris’s lost wolf maiden. She convinced Odin himself that you are living proof that mankind will not be destroyed by our kind. Your ulf hexen and Lupa, servants of the goddess, have developed the potion that will stop our kind from getting the dog frenzy as the bear men predicted.” “Yes, I know.” He smoothed his beard. I’m happy you are acquainted with Feronia.” “Fenris now unchained has gathered our kind to join you.” His eyes widened in newfound hope. “Wolfskins?” His hunger had kept him focused on the scent of food and not anything else. He flared his nostrils and took in a whiff. There were many. Their scent came from below the caverns. “Yes, you will meet them soon. A pack of forty. Their leader, Egid was killed by the bearskins shortly after you left with your ulf hexen.” “So, how did they not go mad during the full moon?” “Fortunately, Kveldulf their old leader, Egid’s grandfather and the alpha females helped. He is too old to control them during the full moon. All this time we have locked them in my dungeons, a most unpleasant and crowded situation.” Her eyes twinkled in mirth and she smiled. “Egid’s widow ulf hexen, Heith is quite attractive.” His eyed darkened. “I have my chosen ulf hexen.” “T’is only a suggestion if you feel like your manly urges need tending to.” He glowered. “Emelisse is the only one who can fulfill such needs.” He raised a brow. “Did Egid and his ulf hexen have children?” “Sadly, their human ulf hexen daughter died of fever before the bearskins attacked.” He felt sadness for their loss, making him yearn for Emelisse even more. At least she was safe from danger and Radulf. The Frank lycan either thought her dead or unattainable while Sigurd still lived. On his return, Lupercal or not he would kill Radulf once and for all. An attempt on Emelisse’s life by his Lupercii, Blaez, had earned Radulf a death sentence. “When you are ready to return with them I will conjure a drakkor. Kveldulf will stay with me. He amuses me.” “I wish to meet them.” “First wash yourself and dress like the leader you are meant to be.” She pointed to the clothing and Northmen chain mail near the hearth. Chanteloup swallowed his pride as he ordered his pack to allow Radulf and his warriors to enter his manor. It would be foolhardy to have them break down the gates in the middle of the winter. He would tell Radulf that they had decided to send Emelisse to Paris where she would soon meet Sigurd on his return. He felt Isabelle’s reassuring hand on his as they watched them enter. Isabelle growled and pointed to Linus who rode beside Radulf. “How dare he show his face back here!” Chanteloup wished he could kill him and Radulf but for the moment, he would have to wait for the proper time. He whispered to her. “Lupa is ready 198

Eva Gordon to place Linus on trial for attempting to kill a wolf maiden. He will be declared rogue.” She sighed. “I doubt Radulf will allow that.” He twisted a smile down at his faithful companion. “At least Emelisse is safe.” Only he, Isabelle and Lupa knew of her true whereabouts. He no longer trusted his pack, which pained him greatly. He felt most were loyal but even if one was not, Radulf would know that she was not in Paris but in Toulouse, which was only a few days ride from his castle. Perchance Radulf would simply return back to his own manor. Radulf rode his destier into the hall and dismounted. He signaled for his men to dismount and follow. He took off his helmet and bowed. “Duke Chanteloup, and Lady Isabelle.” Chanteloup glowered. “What are you doing here besides bringing back Linus for trial?” Radulf turned to Linus who grinned back. His booming laugh echoed throughout the hall. “You want me to hand over my trusted warrior over to the Lupercal for trial?” Chanteloup pointed an accusing finger at Linus. “He tried to kill my daughter, no doubt on your orders.” Radulf lifted a brow. “Blaez released the fox, Linus here merely broke some fish spines, t’is an accident. Is that not right Linus?” “Yes, Milord.” “An accident! How does one accidentally use a mallet? You destroyed the method to cure the hydrophobia!” Chanteloup’s fangs stood out and he tightened his fists. Radulf’s voice was calm and reasonable hiding his evil intent. “Blessed Feronia, it was not Emelisse who is ill. Better that barbarian mate of hers.” He scoffed. “I doubt the so called potion will keep him from going mad. It is you who should stand trial for allowing an infected lycan to escape. Do you not realize how many innocents will be torn asunder by a maddened giant of a wolf?” He tightened his jaw in despair. The potion had to work. “He is heading north where no man or wolf live.” “And then what? Do you really think that once the frenzy takes over he will simply stay put? Nay. He will kill everything and everyone in his path.” He patted his hilt. “He may even return here and destroy you all.” Lupa stepped out from the shadows. “Both you and Linus will stand trial by our Lupercal Council for causing a lycan to become infected with hydrophobia.” She moved closer wearing her fine white furred cloak. She scanned the members of his pack. “Put down your weapons and pledge your submission to Chanteloup.” Radulf advanced toward her with his fangs out. “I have come for my wolf maiden. As for you Milady, you are no longer head of the Lupercal.” There was a loud gasp, not only from Chanteloup’s pack but also from Radulf’s. Since ancient times the head female lycan of the Lupercal was considered a goddess incarnate, the voice and confident of Feronia. To dishonor her meant being dammed for all eternity. Chanteloup had enough. He drew his sword and attacked. 199

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Radulf deflected his blow with his shield. He threw his shield down and danced around Chanteloup who was still recuperating and had not practiced. The clash of their swords pierced the air. Within seconds, Radulf spun around the older lycan and disarmed him. Chanteloup’s sword went skidding across the floor. Radulf hit him on the head with the hilt of his sword. Chanteloup grunted and fell to his knees. Isabelle ran to him and covered him with her body. She brandished a dagger from beneath her cloak and with sharp fangs out growled savagely at Radulf. Radulf returned his sword to his scabbard. “I like a savage bitch.” He glared at Chanteloup who pushed Isabelle away in shame. “Say it old wolf. Say that you submit to me as your dominant alpha.” Enraged Lupa shouted orders. “Radulf, you have no right to take over our territory. You will obey me and lay down your weapons.” From behind her the female alphas members of the Lupercal shifted and stalked snarling toward Radulf. Radulf signaled to his band of female alphas who shifted and attacked Lupa’s pack. The skirmish did not last long. Outnumbered by the younger battle worn females, the Lupercal pack submitted to their new masters. Only Lupa who remained in human form stood. He growled. “On your knees bitch!” Tala the strongest female alpha in his pack walked over to her. “I am now the head of the Lupercal. Do as he says or I will tear your throat out.” Lupa growled. “Feronia will punish all of you.” She nonetheless went on her knees and bowed her head. Chanteloup with tears in his eyes knew that Lupa did not stand a chance against Tala. He bellowed. “This is sacrilege!” “Silence! Old man.” Radulf sauntered over to Chanteloup who glared up at him. He had expected to submit but he could not stomach the Lupercal destroyed. Isabelle stood in front. “Let him be.” Linus grabbed her and held her back as she squirmed. Radulf smiled down at his defeated enemy. He took out his cock and pissed over Chanteloup’s bent head. “Say it old man!” Chanteloup closed his eyes in shame. Radulf’s hot piss wetting his head was the worst humiliation he had ever experienced. He gritted his teeth. “I submit to you as my dominant alpha.” Radulf shook the remainder of his piss on Chanteloup. He turned to his men. “Take Duke Chanteloup, Isabelle and the Lupercal to the dungeons where they will remain until my disobedient wolf maiden shows up.” Lupa shifted and leapt away and headed down to the Lupercal. The door shut and locked behind her. Radulf roared. “Get her!” His pack ran and crashed through the door. Chanteloup prayed that she would get away through the secret passage.

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Chapter 22. . Emelisse had been in Toulouse for two months. She missed working with Lupa. From her window she watched the view of the Garonne River. The ice that covered it when they first arrived was now melted. The winter’s harsh assault was starting to subside. Flowers bloomed and songbirds announced the coming of spring. Living with humans was not as pleasant as she thought it would be. There was always a foul odor of waste, both human and beast that permeated throughout. The poor were not taken care of. Many begged in the streets wearing nothing but rags, some without limbs others old, and too many children. She missed the smell of the mountains, the wood and the evening moonlight serenade of the wolf pack. But most of all, she missed Sigurd, her mate. She even missed his sour reddened face when she insisted she do risky things, such as riding on her own and venturing to the nearby human village. How she missed the simple peasants of her mountain. The people here were not as friendly. Women her age and status were boring and were only concerned with finding a wealthy husband. Wilhelmina had become infatuated with Hugues, which gave her a more cheery disposition. She was also old and her tongue no longer as sharp as she had remembered it. After washing up she would take a stroll with Hugues. Hugues dressed in full chain mail held his hand out for her as she stepped down. “Good morrow, Milady.” “Have we heard word from Father?” “Nay, but knowing your father, he does not want to reveal your whereabouts.” She closed her eyes. “And Sigurd?” She fingered her bracelet. “Has he succumbed?” “If Lupa says he will be safe then it is the word of Feronia herself. Surely, you must as her oracle know Milady.” Emelisse looked at the wispy clouds on the blue sky. It was past the three moon period. Feronia had reassured her in a dream. Was it possible that on arriving back to his home ground, he had decided not to return? Had he found someone else to keep his bed warm? Such doubts about his love for her were irrational. He was not a human, but a lycan. Their bond to one another could never be broken. Only his death would keep him from returning. “I have dreamt with the goddess. She told me he was well. She also told me not to remove my gold ring. That is all.” “T’is good advice, Milady.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf “Let us walk by the river.” It was early morning and Wilhelmina was still sleeping. She never came down until nearly noon. Despite her homesickness the past few months had brought her some joy. Being around normal people in the market selling exotic goods and meeting folk invited to Wilhelmina’s fine manor for gala banquets had kept her entertained. She had been introduced as the wife of a Frank knight defending the kingdom against the Vikings. The sea faring raiders had become increasingly bold in their marauding. All feared that they would be hit next. Toulouse was well guarded and inland, but there were worrisome rumors. No one understood such a dread better than she. She had been captured by the berserkers and later had traveled on Thor’s Hammer along with captured Franks to be sold off as slaves. Yet, Sigurd was a Northman, a Viking wolfskin. Her alpha life mate. As they walked along the banks of the River Garonne, a flock of bluebirds flew and landed on a tree, chirping away as the glorious day of sunshine. She blinked up to the sky. Please, Feronia. Send Sigurd back to me soon. Sigurd picked up a white shell from the beach and smiled. He knew Emelisse would love to add the specimen to her collection. It had been a long cold winter without his beloved ulf hexen. He breathed in the fresh sea air. The potion had kept him from falling prey to the frenzy just as Lupa had promised. He added the shell to his wooden chest and placed it next to the wooden carving of the nude figure of Emelisse. He had carved out a bit every evening before retiring to bed. The wood statue was finally complete. Hungerd had said the detail was miraculous, especially the way her hair cascaded down to her round rump. He was not sure he would share it with Emelisse on his return. Why show it to anyone when he would soon have the real thing? Over the past several cold months he had gotten to know the pack of fierce wolfskins. Each had a story on how they had suffered under the relentless attacks by the bearskins. He also befriended the lonely ulf hexen, Heith. She had taken special attention to spin garments for him, cook his favorite meals and sing ballads she had written about him. Curious, none of her songs ever mentioned Emelisse, which was always his main topic. She preferred to sing about a battle to the death with Bork the Mad or fighting the Saxon army. He knew that she was falling in love with him. It was in her eyes and her scent. Except for bedding him, she had acted like his mate. She did have a beautiful voice, luscious golden brown hair and a shapely round plump body with breasts that were large enough to get lost in. Yet, he felt nothing for her. She was not his life mate. He wished she understood whenever he turned away from her touch. He suddenly imagined how Emelisse’s face would glow with delight on seeing the shell collection and he felt his cock harden. His love for Emelisse had been tested the previous night. Heith had come to him as he slept to seduce him. She dropped her cloak and stood naked at the entrance to his private chamber. Her voice was pleading. “Make love to me.”

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Eva Gordon He had lain awake thinking of Emelisse and the joy of seeing her again, holding her delightful spry body. He straightened up on his elbows. “I cannot!” She sat on his bed and drew back his fur covers. “Sigurd, please.” Her big green eyes pierced his with determination. “I want to have your child.” It was spring and she was fertile. Sniffing her wetness he had become aroused and threw her on his bed. Her chunky white thighs spread wide to welcome him. He admired her large hips that would accommodate a large child. Just as he was ready to enter her, his eyes caught sight of his wooden replica of Emelisse. Realization flooded his mind. If Heith became pregnant by pack law she would become dominant over Emelisse. He would not be allowed to mate with Emelisse until the first child was weaned. Heith was kind and warm but she was not his passion, his love raged only for Emelisse. His face soured. “Nay, I will not have you.” He jerked away like she was a corpse, foul and revolting. He stood and walked to the hearth and poked at the fire. “Go and get your sleep.” He leaned against the wall. Her hand outstretched she begged. “But you want me.” She sprung up and gripped his arm. Her voice was one of desperation. “You told me how small Emelisse is, do you really think she can bare your son? Let me be the one to give you strong wolfskin children.” He too had been concerned since his child may be big boned as he had been. Heith knew his only weakness was his fear of losing Emelisse. Could she be right? Yet, according to Emelisse it had been foretold that she would have children with her chosen mate. The Goddess Feronia had sent the cure for the frenzy miasma, how could he doubt her word? He raked his disheveled hair back. His scowl must have been fierce because she gasped and moved away. “My life with Emelisse is of no concern to you!” She pressed her hands in prayer form. “Dear Sigurd, it is you I am concerned with.” He looked down at her disappointed eyes and felt pity. “You are pretty.” He sighed. “I promise there are many a wolfskin who wish to find an ulf hexen such as yourself. My heart belongs to Emelisse. She is my mate, you know that.” “But you’re a wolfskin, I know naught of our southern wolfskins, the Franks,” she scoffed. She picked up her woolen gown, and sat twisting at the hem. Her eyes filled with tears. “I have fallen in love with you.” What had he done? Though they had never touched or spoken of love, he should have not allowed her to cater to his needs as a mate would. He had always made it clear how he longed for Emelisse and knew how much she mourned for her mate. Their friendship was based on sympathizing with one another about missing their mates. Heith knew every detail about Emelisse and watched how he lovingly had carved her likeness on his wooden figurine. Still he knew that as the days went by any mention of Emelisse had always pained Heith. Her voice either grew sad or she changed the subject. Such signs should have warned him to keep a greater distance. Perhaps he should have left sooner. She tried to reason. “Emelisse will understand. I can tell her how your manly needs had to be met.” She smoothed a finger along his groin. 203

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf His brow grew in horror at the thought that she would mention such a thing to Emelisse. “Nay!” He pushed her away causing her to fall on her rump. “I can love no other.” His tone was harsh. He picked up the carving of Emelisse and pressed it to his heart to emphasize his fervor and then pointed it at her like a wand. “Leave!” She glanced at him and gave him a wane smile as if coming to her senses. “I know you love her. Please forgive me.” He took an indrawn breath and offered her a hand up. “All is forgiven. It has been a lonely winter for both of us. I promise you will find love again.” She donned her cloak and left. The seagulls squawked, interrupting his thought of his evening encounter with Heith. He glanced at the drakkor Hungerd had conjured up. This time it would be manned by wolfskins. The sail boldly displayed a red wolf. Heith approached him. He suppressed a frown. “If you wish, I can stay with Hungerd,” she offered. He felt a pang of guilt. “Heith, you are too young and beautiful to remain isolated in such a harsh place. Besides, Hungerd is old and once she dies the bearskins will learn of this place.” She visibly shuddered. “Do you think they have awakened from their winter slumber?” “Absolutely. Once they gorge themselves they will regain their strength and come looking for me and my Emelisse.” He hated to see the hurt on her face on mentioning her name. “You will be safer with my pack.” “I understand Milord.” She returned to get her personal belongings while the rest of the ship was loaded with the provisions. A cawing raven flew down and spread her wings. She shifted into Hungerd’s old form. “A wise decision not to bed that one.” He scowled. “I would never betray Emelisse.” “You are a male. But, still I admire your resolve. Knowing your ulf hexen she would never have forgiven you, stubborn streak that she has.” He laughed. “Indeed. My little runt has the spirit of a Valkyrie.” Hungerd’s eyes rolled back and she suddenly gripped him with fingers that felt more like talons. She was having a vision. He held her tight lest she fall. She spoke in a fervent voice. “A strong wind will push the drakkor. Your ulf hexen is in great danger. You must hurry to her side.” He squeezed her, careful not to break her frail body. “How so?” She snapped out of her trance. “T’is a blur. Perhaps I’m too old to seek out answers.” “Tell me what you saw!” “I saw her protective bracelet removed. I tried to see more but I could not. My age is clouding my mind. Be thankful I conjured up the drakkor. After such a feat I doubt I can practice as I once did.” He swallowed hard. “How strong a wind can you conjure up?” “That gift I have asked of Fenris. T’is his magic that will push your sail.” His fangs sprung out for a kill. “Is she on her father’s territory?” “I know naught.” His eyes darkened. “It must be Radulf.” He shouted to his pack. “We move, now!” 204

Eva Gordon Hugues grabbed Emelisse and ran along the streets of Toulouse. The Viking raiders struck during the darkness of midnight. Many of the buildings were aflame and people rushed about screaming and running for their lives. Wilhelmina had refused to leave her manor, hoping that her small battalion of warriors would fight off the shiploads of Vikings. Panting Emelisse could barely keep up as he pushed her in a dark alleyway and covered her with his body as Vikings ran by. She held her breath and watched from behind Hugues’ protective body. At least these men were not bearskins. His sword drawn, he would take as many as he could before being cut down. Mayhap it would be better if he put his weapon down and surrendered. “Hugues…” “Shhh.” Fortunately the raiders did not notice them in the din of the chaos of screaming people and clang of weapons. When they were alone she whispered. “I can tell them I am Sigurd’s wife. They fear him.” She lifted her bracelet. “They will recognize the runic symbols.” “Nay, Milady. They may think you bought it from traveling merchants.” “I will tell them I am an ulf hexen wife of the Ulfhednar, Red Wolf the Undefeated.” “If we can get to the horses, we can ride back to Duke Chanteloup.” The horses were on the other side from where they stood in the passageway. People ran in trying to hide, attracting the Vikings in their direction. These raiders were capturing rather than killing unless in selfdefense. The business of ransoming for riches and taking slaves for trade had become just as important as looting for goods. More raiders arrived. It was too late, their escape was cut off. “Run!” Hugues fought two axe wielding Vikings. He killed one, but two more arrived. On seeing their companion killed, one let out a berserker cry and charged at Hugues. He parried and lunged, his sword went through the Viking’s gullet. The raider fell on his knees spraying his blood everywhere. Hugues grabbed Emelisse and ran out. They made it to the other side of the road when a Viking twirling a flail hit Hugues and knocked him down in what looked like a lethal hit. He fell hard. In the dark she could not tell if his skull had been split in two. “Hugues!” There was nothing more she could do as she watched her father’s friend plummet mortally wounded if not dead. She ran but the Viking closest to her grabbed her cloak and caused her to fall to the ground hitting her head on the hard cobblestone. She touched her head and felt the warmth of blood, her blood. Everything became a blur as she felt rough hands pick her up, the world went black.

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Chapter 23 In the dead of night, under the full moon, Sigurd and his men shifted into their wolf forms. They each carried their bundled weapons and garments in a harness sac that Heith had made for carrying on their backs. Heith would walk with two alpha females, while he and his pack raced to reach Chanteloup’s castle. The closer he approached the more he caught Radulf’s scent. The entire territory was marked with his foul scent. Images of Emelisse being harmed by Radulf haunted him and he roared as he sped through the deep forest leading to the castle. This time he would not show mercy or obey the so-called Lupercal laws. He would tear Radulf to shreds. As they approached, they heard the distant howls of Radulf’s pack. They were far from the castle on their full moon hunt. He led his pack through the underground entrance that Emelisse had shown him leading directly to the Lupercal. Once inside he noticed that the alchemy laboratory was boarded up and the torchlights that normally were lit throughout the tunnels were extinguished. He tried to catch a sniff of Emelisse, but only found her residual scent. The smell he picked up instead was the stench of lycan excrement and urine, the aroma of pure filth. He heard growls from behind two pairs of gleaming wolf eyes; they were female lycans that he did not recognize. He growled asking them who they were. They attacked and his pack numbering close to forty leapt on them. The two were dead before he could stop the killing. He sniffed them. Radulf’s scent. One of his females whined by the door that led down to the dungeons. He walked over. On close inspection he knew that the scent, though foul, was that of Emelisse’s father. Was Emelisse down there as well, rotting away? No, her scent was nowhere. He shifted and crashed through the door. With his pack, he ran down the spiral stairwell to the deep dank dungeons. Inside he found Chanteloup chained to a wall with Isabelle and most of the Lupercal alpha lycans chained by a metal collars around their necks. They were in wolf forms. They lay on their own excrement and piss, the remains of tasteless gruel was spilled on the ground. A heap of rat fur lay to the side. They had resorted to eating rats. The lycans’ fur was mangy and covered with filth. Chanteloup was the worst. His ankles were additionally chained to a metal ball. Sigurd shifted and searched for the key. It lay on the other side of the prison cell. He took it and unlocked Chanteloup’s shackles. The one on his

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf neck was so tight that his skin had fused to it. Sigurd used his hands to pry it open. Chanteloup whimpered and fell to the ground. Sigurd turned to his alpha females. “Shift and unshackle the rest.” They obeyed and soon they had freed the rest of the pack. The imprisoned wolves shifted and moaned as they stretched. Their human forms looked far worse than their wolf forms with open sores and bruises. How long had they been here? Isabelle crawled on all fours toward him and sniffed, her hair was matted and grayer. Her once white teeth were yellow and her breath made him wince. Only her voice was human. “The potion worked. You are free of hydrophobia.” She shot him a weak smile. “Emelisse will be so happy to see you.” Except for Chanteloup, the rest were all alpha females He took a small bowl of water and offered it to Chanteloup. He drank, with most of it spilling down his chin. “Milord, what happened?” His voice nearly gone, he croaked. “Radulf has taken over the Lupercal and my estate.” The long gray beard made Chanteloup look ancient. “He is keeping us here until we tell him where Emelisse is.” His voice echoed through the dank dungeon. “Where is she?” Isabelle drank from her cup held by one of his female wolfskins. She nodded thanks and stood on wobbly legs. “She is safe in Toulouse down the Garonne River, east of here.” His eyes widened. “No, she can’t be there.” Isabelle gripped his wrist. “She stays with a second cousin that Radulf does not know about. She waits for you.” “You don’t understand. Vikings are planning raids up the river.” “How do you know?” Chanteloup’s vigor suddenly returned over concern for Emelisse. “We sailed alongside them on the Garonne River but disembarked near your territory.” At least the Vikings were not bearskins. He raked his hair. If they did manage to capture Emelisse, she would tell them she was his mate. That is if she didn’t have the mind to fight them for pillaging and enslaving. Approaching yips and howls meant Radulf and his pack were returning. As they got closer they would smell the foreign scent. Chanteloup growled. Starved down to nearly a skeleton and injured he looked up the stairs. “If you don’t kill him, I will,” he raged. Sigurd held him back. “He’s mine.” He looked at his small but loyal wolfskin pack, already with their hackles up and snarling. They were outnumbered by Radulf’s pack but being bigger wolves with many moons of training under Sigurd. They would be more than a strong force to contend with. Sigurd shifted into his towering red wolf form and roared for his pack to kill anyone that refused to submit. They gathered at the place of arms and hastily prepared. Soon the pack ran outside the castle’s gates and stood looking down, waiting as Radulf’s pack headed up the mountain. Radulf’s white wolf form was in the lead and he came to an abrupt stop. He sniffed the air and glared up at Sigurd as if he was assessing the situation. Radulf gave a wolfish grin on seeing the two to one odds in his favor. He emitted a low growl and two other alphas joined him in the front. One of them was Linus, his missing eye socket made him look even more menacing. It was he who must have been Radulf’s spy. Was it 208

Eva Gordon him and not Blaez who released the maddened fox to bite Emelisse? It all made sense, he killed the Lupercii and feigned remorse. He must have returned to Radulf and told him that Emelisse was not dead and that Sigurd had been bitten by the frenzied fox. His betrayal made Sigurd’s blood rage burn. Behind him the released members of the Lupercal, Chanteloup and Isabelle added to his army. He twisted and growled at them to stay back. The last thing he wanted was to tell Emelisse that he could not protect her weakened parents. Chanteloup ignored his request but obeyed when Sigurd snarled his orders. Radulf and his pack took this minor distraction to attack. In a blur of fur, claws and fangs the packs fought each other. The sound of raging growls echoed throughout the still snow covered mountains. Radulf and his two male alphas surrounded him. Sigurd bared sharp fierce canines at them as he spun around watching their every move. They attacked. One struck his haunches while Linus leapt on his neck. Radulf snarled nearby but was waiting for his lycans to wear him down with deep lacerating bites. Sigurd fell to his side and managed to throw off Linus who whirled around and sprung on him again while the other lycan moved to take a chunk out of his exposed belly. Sigurd roared and gripped him by the throat before he moved to bite his gut. He squeezed the smaller wolf’s throat and ripped. Blood gushed from the dead lycan as Linus gripped the back of Sigurd’s neck. Radulf moved in and bit into his hind leg. He pulled Sigurd’s leg while Linus tried to dig into his neck. With the strength of a wounded bear, Sigurd twisted and dug his teeth into Linus’s leg. He ripped it away from the body and Linus yelped as he dragged himself off in a trail of blood. The force of Sigurd’s momentum also caused Radulf to let go. During the melee Radulf recovered and he leapt onto Sigurd’s throat for the lethal bite. He felt his fangs digging into the soft of his throat. The gray body of Brynhild came out of nowhere and took hold of Radulf’s ear, ripping it. Though he did not let go, the distraction was enough to lessen his hold and Sigurd twisted away and grabbed on to Radulf’s now exposed throat. He sunk his dagger fangs in, tasting his blood and he shook him like an empty sac. Radulf made a feeble attempt to fight but soon succumbed as his throat was ripped into gruesome threads of sinew. Sigurd dragged Radulf’s bloodied white fur up a boulder. He dropped Radulf beneath his paws and boomed a deafeningly howl. The howl of the dominant wolf king. The death of their dominant alpha meant their death or surrender. Radulf’s pack submitted, no longer willing to fight and instead accepting whatever the new leader desired. Even Tala, Radulf’s loyal consort reluctantly approached. Sigurd growled at them from his perch. He urinated over Radulf’s body. He picked up Radulf’s corpse by the throat, only a strand of tissue and sinew keeping it from rolling off. In one swift move he dug his fangs in one last time severing Radulf’s head from his body. The lycan’s head bounced down the hill. Once it reached the ground below it transformed into Radulf’s human head, eyes wide open and fangs still emerging. Sigurd turned and kicked dirt with his hind legs on the headless body. He shifted and kicked Radulf’s remaining human body down the precipice. 209

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf He stood with fists on his hips with his bloodied naked body and wild red hair under the full moon’s light. He stood and watched as the lycans bowed in submission uttering words of their complete obedience. “We submit to you. Guide us dominant alpha.” Tala, the alpha female that had coveted a position within the Lupercal bowed but he could smell her loathing of him. She would be one to watch. On hearing of Sigurd’s return Lupa and her Lupercii in training young apprentice, Arnou arrived. The hall of the castle had been turned into an infirmary for the wounded as the sun rose and the lycans began to shift back to their human forms. Sigurd had allowed Isabelle to dress his deep lacerations. The one by his throat would be a permanent scar. He smiled. It would be a reminder of killing Radulf. Isabelle added a bit more poultice to his thigh. She had cleaned herself up and almost looked like her old self. She dabbed at his wound and shot a look past him at the massive wooden door. “Lupa!” All eyes moved toward the direction of the once powerful leader of the Lupercal. She too looked haggard but not abused. Where had she been all this time? She would be glad to know that the female alphas who had taken over the Lupercal for Radulf were either dead or punished into submission. She advanced toward Sigurd and bowed. “Now you command two packs.” Chanteloup stood and limped over. He had shaved but still looked pallid and his spine bent like an old man’s. “Nay, he commands three packs.” Sigurd and Lupa both raised brows in unison. Lupa scratched her chin. “You have given your pack to Sigurd?” Sigurd stood to protest. “Milord, t’is not necessary.” Though he had less than a dozen loyal members left, it was a symbolic gesture. “Your mistress Sibyl, spoke of a mighty warrior that would unite all the packs and become Emelisse’s mate and sire a great leader.” “But, Milord…” Chanteloup pointed at the wolfskins, now dressed in their Northmen chain mail. “You have brought our brethren from the north and together we will fight the bearskins.” Lupa nodded. “Someday your great grand sons will even reach to all of our wolfen brethren.” Sigurd scoffed. “First we will need to defeat the Saxons.” Lupa’s eyes widened. “Emelisse awaits you in Toulouse.” “We leave soon,” reassured Sigurd. “But you are still wounded. Perhaps you should rest for a few more days.” Chanteloup interrupted. “Nay, Sigurd says Viking raiders are planning to enter the Garonne River and attack Toulouse.” All their attention turned to the women that were at the door. Sigurd was relieved they had arrived safely. Heith and three wolfskin female alphas were guided in. The ulf hexen was out of breath. They must have run most of the way. Sigurd introduced them; including Heith who brought renewed attention. A wolf maiden would be a wonderful addition to the southern packs. Lupa bowed. “You are most welcomed.” 210

Eva Gordon Heith, her face ruddy, understood a little of the language and bowed in return. She turned her attention to Sigurd and took in one more breath before speaking in an alarmed tone. “Jarl, at least five drakkors passed us heading up the river.” He felt his face flush red as his eyes opened wide and terror stricken. He gripped her by her shoulders. “I thought we would have more time.” She nodded vehemently. “They were moving fast.” “Were any carrying the sail of the Bear’s red claw?” “Nay, not that we can see from the distance. T’is too early in the spring for the bearskins.” She spoke out of experience. The other females spoke at once telling him that though the ships were coming they would not come in this far into the mountain territory. They would only raid townships along the river banks. Chanteloup must have seen the gravity of their conversation. “What is it?” “Vikings have entered the Garonne River.” Isabelle hands covered her mouth and gasped. “Emelisse!” Sigurd turned to one of his men. “Gather every wolfskin to get weapons and horses ready. We leave now!” He turned to Chanteloup. “Radulf’s pack and yours will stay here with you Milord.” The moon was waning so his warriors would remain men. The Duke’s lycans would be left behind to protect the territory. He knew the Vikings were going to strike, but thought he might have more time. “You will need all of our warriors,” protested Chanteloup. Sigurd placed his huge hand on the Duke’s shoulder, “You must stay and guard against the bearskins who my seer, Hungerd says have set out to find our kind to destroy us. Bolla, their powerful witch woman will seek out your territory. She wishes to kill Emelisse.” Chanteloup looked aghast. “Just because she got away?” “Bolla wants to stop the coming wolf age and she wants to start by killing Emelisse who she knows is part of such a web.” Lupa nodded. “The wolf age would have come about because of hydrophobia, which would have corrupted all lycans causing them to kill all mankind. With the potions for our kind no such thing will happen. Fenris now released has told his masters that we will stop the coming wolf age and the Gods have given him their blessings.” Chanteloup raised a brow. “Does this Bolla not know that we can stop the coming wolf age?” Lupa shook her head. “She knows. You see the bearskins really wish for the coming wolf age. Feronia has told me that they live on an isolated island far to the west beyond where no man has traveled. They will wait until all have died of hydrophobia and then return to claim the world.” Sigurd sighed. “That is what Hungerd warned me about. The potion changes everything and they know it.” Sigurd donned his warrior helmet. “Once I find Emelisse, my pack and I will return and protect your castle.” Heith touched the bandage around his throat. Her fingers traced the injury. “Sigurd, what happened?” He gently removed her hand and smiled. “Radulf’s farewell bite.” Her eyes grew big. “Your enemy is dead?” 211

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf “Sent to hell.” He turned to Isabelle. “Milady if you would be so kind to see that Heith and the others are fed and bathed.” “Of course, Milord.” Isabelle gestured for Heith and the new arrivals to follow. Sigurd eyed his men. “Let us move.” Based on where they last saw the long ship, Sigurd and his men would arrive at least a day behind. Emelisse opened her eyes. Her vision was a blur and her head ached from the bump above her eyebrow she had received from falling on the cobblestone. Her heart fluttered and ached. She moaned and tried to sit up. Her vision cleared and she made out three other prisoners sitting near her along the banks of the river. It was a gray day as grim as her circumstances. An older gentlemen wearing garments of wealth spoke. “We thought you would die.” She gazed across to another group of rounded up prisoners. Ordinary folk. They were tied by a rope to one another and were lifted on board several ships. “Why are we being kept here?” “We my dear are the nobility. I surmise they will try to ransom us for gold and silver. Those poor folk are to be taken back as slaves.” One of the captured men had a bloodied head. Hugues. He was hurt but alive. He was folded on his side as if asleep. Blessed Feronia. Somehow she must help Hugues. She was relieved that at least for the moment she would not be brought to a ship. The thought of sea illness made her prefer a quick death. Her heart hammered. “My cousin Wilhelmina?” She scanned for her amongst the prisoners. Certainly, she was worth a huge ransom. “The duchess is dead,” said one of the other prisoners. A boy wearing a fine furred and jeweled cloak. “Just as well, she was so mean.” The older man shot him an angry look. “Have respect young man.” Wilhelmina did not like leaving her bower. She must have fought like a wild cat not to leave the comfort of her domicile. Emelisse looked down at her fine gown and most exquisite cloak. On hearing about the raid Hugues had insisted she wear her best clothes and jewels. He told her that the nobility would be ransomed and would not end up as slaves. She felt her neck. The gold necklace she had worn was gone as were her rings. She gasped as she glanced down at her wrist. “My gold bracelet. It’s gone.” The old man spread his fingers. “They took all of our jewels.” No wonder her heart ached. Its magic was the only thing keeping her from causing her heart from ripping in two and killing her. She placed her hand over her head and began to do the breathing exercises that had kept her alive before she met Sigurd. The boy frowned at her. “You look ill, Milady.” “I need my bracelet.” “Nay, what we need is a sword,” said the boy as he glowered at the Viking who stood guard. On the ground was a pile of precious gems, jewelry, religious artifacts and her bracelet.

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Eva Gordon Emelisse gathered what little strength she had. With her head and heart aching she stood and advanced toward the big Viking. “You sir, I want my gold bracelet.” He turned and shouted at her in his language. He shoved her and she fell back on her bottom. The other prisoners looked down in silent terror. They must have thought of her as mad to complain about a stolen trinket. But it was more; it was what kept her heart well while separated from Sigurd. If she did not get it soon she could end up dead. The Viking spat on the ground and returned to standing watch over them. She moved to get up again, but the old man gripped her by the arm and pulled her in. “You are going to get us killed.” His harsh whisper heated her ears. She twisted her arm away. “I need my gold bracelet, it will prove I’m married to a Viking.” He let go of her arm and gave her a look of horror. “You daughter of Duke Chanteloup cannot be married to a Viking. Your cousin told me that you are wedded to a Frank knight.” “T’is a long story.” “Nay, the knock on your head has made you mad.” She touched the cut and bump on her forehead. She tried to get up but as she did her legs wobbled and she fell back. “Mayhap you are right,” she said to old man. An old Viking with the authority of the chief walked up to their guard. She wished she knew what they were saying. They looked at her and they both laughed. Things did not bode well. Two other Vikings approached and they nodded. The towering chief or jarl walked over to them. “I am Holmfast the Fist.” He pointed to the boy and then the old man. “Take them to Gizor’s ship. We will ransom them.” He looked at the other older but noble looking woman, who had been in too much shock to have spoken. “She will be taken on board my ship.” He smiled. “I have been told you are the King’s Aunt.” He nodded and all three were taken leaving only her. She eyed her bracelet. He would be sorry when he learned that she was Red Wolf the Undefeated’s wife. It might mean she would have to show him the mark of the wolf but no matter. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by his booming voice speaking in her language. “A rich woman, daughter of a Duke I hear.” He picked her up and drew her in. He thumbed her bruise. “One as pretty as you can bring me more coin from Arab merchants who are looking for harem slaves.” Her heart was swooshing and she felt beads of sweat form on her brow. She felt like fainting and her eyes locked at the bracelet on the loot pile. So close. She made the effort to speak when another Viking interrupted Holmfast. He held on to her as they spoke. She did not understand Dane language but there was one word she understood, Mord the Blood Claw. The chief furrowed his brow in concern and nodded. He turned his attention back to Emelisse. “You will stay with the other women over there,” he pointed to a horse pen. 213

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Why did the other Viking mention Mord? She had to know. Curiosity overtook her senses. “Mord?” He raised an eyebrow. “You have heard of the berserker jarl. He and his crew plan to lay waste to every wolfskin in this territory. Don’t worry. By then you and the wenches will be sailing south to be sold.” It was fortunate she did not reveal that she was Sigurd’s wife and an ulf hexen. Such a revelation would no doubt have brought him quite a reward for her capture. If she begged for her bracelet back he might inquire about the runic symbols. He pointed to one of his men, who walked over, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder in much the same way Sigurd had. From the corner of her eye she caught site of Hugues who was sprawled on the ground while the others were boarding the ship. Had he died? An injured slave would be useless anyway. A sudden pang of pain in her heart made her whimper. He set her down with the other young women. All she remembered was one of the women reaching for her and holding her tight before succumbing to darkness. Sigurd dressed in his reindeer tunic and Viking armor signaled his men to leave their horses in the wood before walking over to the pillaged city where they would be just part of the raiding party of numerous ships. The raid must have just happened the previous night. He was Red Wolf the Undefeated and most knew that he was an ulfhednar. His wolfskin pack had no experience as Vikings, but they would fight with him to the death. The raiders were already getting ready to set sail. He had to find Emelisse. Her sea illness would certainly kill her. He sniffed the air trying to hone it on her scent. He headed straight in the direction of one of the older jarls, Holmfast. Holmfast raised an eyebrow as he saw Sigurd approach. “Red Wolf! Word has spread that you are the wolfskin that killed Bork the Mad.” Sigurd growled and his men behind him joined in a chorus of menacing growls causing the Viking and his men to draw their swords. “Where is she?” Her residual scent was everywhere. Holmfast looked genuinely confused. “Who?” He stepped forward with sword drawn and before Holmfast knew what was happening, the blade rubbed his jugular. “My ulf hexen!” “Here? I know naught of such a maiden.” Sigurd sniffed and caught sight of the glitter of her bracelet that lay on top of the loot. His heart twisted in horror. He threw Holmfast to one of his men. “Hold him.” Holmfast’s men stood still, not wishing their jarl harm or challenging the more powerful wolfskins, who exposed their fangs in a silent growl. He took the bracelet and placed it over his heart. “This belongs to my mate, where is she?” he roared. One of the Vikings spoke. “It was taken from a noble lady. She is being kept in the horse pen along with other women.” “If she is harmed, I will feed your guts to the ravens.” Holmfast’s eyes widened. “You are one of us!” “Nay, I’m a wolfskin and our packs will defeat Mord and his berserkers.” Holmfast spat out. “Mord the Blood Claw will destroy you all.” 214

Eva Gordon Sigurd’s eyes darkened. He growled at his men. “Kill the raiders and burn their ships.” The wolfskin holding Holmfast pushed him forward, making him fall to the ground. The old jarl suddenly came at one with a dagger and was killed with a swift sword. The jarl’s men attacked but they too succumbed to the lethal and powerful wolfskins. Sigurd holding the gold bracelet ran in the direction of the horse pen while the other Vikings attacked his raging pack. “All of you. Get up!” Barked a Viking. Emelisse was on the ground and blinked her eyes opened. One of the women spoke concerning her state of semi-consciousness. “She is dying, most certainly of plague.” The man understood and eyed Emelisse with wide-eyed fear. He loomed over her. “Can you stand?” She decided to play along with their fear. She would do anything to stay off the ships. She sat and touched her forehead and moaned. Then coughed. “What ails you?” He bellowed. “T’is a fever.” She was sweaty, so feigning a pestilence would not be too difficult. He narrowed his eyes and drew out his sword. He turned to another raider. “Take the women to the ship.” He pointed the sword at her. “You will remain here until we know what to do with you.” She nodded and then wrapped her arms around her knees, cocooned within her cloak. Would they leave her alone? All the horses were gone. She looked around fugitively. She was lucky she was not being dragged off or slaughtered like the others around her. If only she could get back to Hugues. He might still be alive. The Viking in charge was speaking to the others. Were they discussing her? Finally he signaled to one of the men to stand guard whilst the rest headed back, perhaps to further discuss what to do with her. Her chest pain had subsided but without her bracelet to protect her frail heart she did not know if she should take the risk and run. The guard sat and drank from his ale horn. A decision would have to be made soon since they were loading the ship with treasures and captured people. A sudden ruckus of clanging weapons made the guard look. Could it be the arrival of the Frank army? Worse, was it Radulf? He stepped forward to look and she quickly climbed over the fence and ran. Without looking back she headed away from the river. She had to find a horse. As she ducked into a corner another Viking caught her. He was the same one who had ordered her to stay put. “You lied wench! You are no more ill than I.” He lifted her and threw her over his shoulders. “Let me go, my husband is Red Wolf and he will rip your throat out.” She decided that telling him the truth might help for the moment. In the distant she heard growls and howling. A lycan pack was attacking. If it was Radulf, he too may slay her. He paused mid-step, like she had struck him over the head with a rock. “That must be why they just struck.” He ran and hid in an abandoned barn. He set her down. “Show me the mark.” 215

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf She was feeling faint from being carried upside down and after catching her breath and sense of equilibrium she pulled her gown up and revealed the five-towed wolf paw. The din of lycans and Vikings fighting began to spread. He drew her in and held his sword against her throat. He smiled with a wicked grin. “I will ransom you.” He turned his head to the side. “Bolla has more gold than Red Wolf, of that, I’m sure.” Feeling the cold blade on the hollow of her throat she sputtered. “If you take me to Red Wolf you will be greatly rewarded and be allowed to live.” “Shhh.” If it were not for the sword begging for her blood she would have laughed. Did this barbarian really think he could hide from a lycan on her trail? If only it was Sigurd, but most likely it was Radulf and his pack. Was Sigurd even alive? A woman dressed as a warrior appeared before them. Brynhild. The Viking gaped. “Who are you?” “Let go of her and my brother might let you live.” Emelisse wanted to speak but could not. Sigurd’s beloved sister was always there when she was in trouble. It was like she was her guardian angel. Was she there because Sigurd was indeed here or was she here because he was dead? One word and she was afraid the scared Viking might take her head. He tightened his hold on her, like a shield. Did he fear magic more than an outraged lycan? Outside the clang of weapons and battle cries echoed throughout. The lycans were still men since it was daylight but their super strength gave them an easy advantage. Brynhild displayed her fangs and stepped closer. “Let the ulf hexen go!” He threw Emelisse on the ground and charged at Brynhild. She vanished and Emelisse gathered her wits and ran out the back. The Viking tried to give chase but was attacked by a lycan she did not recognize, one who bore the armor of a Northman. She dared not stop. She headed for the wood. Out of breath and her heart starting to pain her she stopped and looked toward the riverbanks. The long ships were on fire and the captured were running in every direction. Why were these lycans in Viking armor? She tried to look for Radulf’s white long hair. She was not familiar with all of his men and noted that these pack members were taller, in fact almost as tall as Sigurd. Who were these wolfskins loyal to? It was best to hide and wait until the battle was over to find out what was really going on.

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Chapter 24 Sigurd and his men charged toward the horse pen where Emelisse and the other women had been kept. Gone. He sniffed and quickly caught her scent as well as the fear scent of all the other women. They must have just been moved. He ordered his men to head for the ship and free them. Ready to leave he stopped mid-step and flared his nostrils. He caught a whiff of her trailing in the opposite direction. He ran following her aroma into a barn. He nearly stumbled over a dead Viking. His throat had been ripped out by one of his wolfskins. Foolish raider must have struck first. He lifted the corpse. Her scent was all over his beefy hands. He had held her prisoner. His fangs out, dripping saliva he growled low and dangerous. No use in shredding up a dead man. The wolfskin, Asuald, who killed the Viking stepped out of the shadows and bowed in submission. “This dog had your ulf hexen. She is bound for the wood. Alone.” He paused and smiled as he honed in on her and nodded. She could not be so ill, since she had the energy to run. He patted Asuald on the shoulder. “Good. Tell the others to gather all spare weapons and release the villagers.” He removed his bandage, his throat wound now closed. “Yes, Milord.” He sped off. Holding on to the enchanted bracelet in one hand he raced to find her. He arrived to where her scent was the strongest in an oak grove but she was nowhere in site. It was as though she had disappeared from the very spot where he stood. He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Emelisse!” A rain of leaves hit his head and he looked up at the tall oak tree. She chuckled from above. “I wager you never knew I had the talent of climbing trees.” He squinted above. She was up on the highest branch. He laughed wholeheartedly. “Great Odin, woman, are you not afraid of falling and breaking your neck?” She smiled down at him. “I came to wait out the raids. Yet after I climbed and sat I felt my wolf mark burn with awareness and I knew, t’is my mate.” “Come quick then ulf hexen and greet your mate properly!” She loosened her cloak and threw it down. She sighed. “The cat has climbed the tree but knows naught how to climb down.” He growled. His gums aching with drool. He wanted to hold her in a tight embrace and make sure any hurts she might have incurred were

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf properly licked. Could he reach her? He was not as nimble as she. He began to remove his sword belt. Without his chain mail he might make it up. He paced around the tree’s girth. “Shall I come up and get you my fine kitten?” “Nay, I can do it.” She carefully placed one foot on a lower branch testing it for sturdiness and then stepped on it. She continued to climb down ever so slowly. He held his breath and stood helplessly watching as his beloved mate perilously reached for the next lower branch in the towering tree. Then the next, the sound of each branch nearly breaking was pure torment. A sound so faint he was sure she could not hear it with her human ears. To lose her now that they were finally reunited was making him mad with worry. He had kept his hands fisted to suppress his urge to turn them into claws and climb after her. His weight would snap the branch in half. He lifted his arms in case she fell and he would have to catch her. He sighed in loud relief as she was now within grabbing distance. He reached but she waved him off. He scowled, his impatience more than he could bare. “I can do it on my own.” His fangs protruded and a deep growl emanated from his throat. He wanted to disagree but knew how prideful she was about doing difficult things on her own. He had painfully waited for so long, he could certainly wait another few minutes. On the lower branch she squatted ready to jump. He held his hands up. His voice was his most dominant tone. “Stop! I will grab you.” She froze and gazed down at the ground. Her legs were wobbly and would break if she jumped. She frowned. “Very well, you may help me down, but only because I asked,” she added stubbornly. He took her by the waist, but rather than putting her down immediately, he seized her mouth and ravished it. She wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist, and did her own ravishing with her tongue. His length throbbed. It had been an entire winter since he had tasted her. It was spring, and his longing for her and raging lust maddened him. The fact that she had risked a great fall from the tree was enough to make him never want to let her go. The scent of her blood made him stop. She had a gash on her forehead. He set her down. “You’re hurt.” He licked her wound and kissed her and then went back to licking her cut. He was lost to what to do, yet she let him do as he pleased, moaning in pleasure. The sound of a familiar voice broke his spell for his dark eyed ulf hexen. “Brother, you will need to take better care of Emelisse.” He let go of Emelisse but held her by her arm, sensing her unsteady legs. “Brynhild.” Emelisse gaped. “I see her.” Brynhild smiled at her and turned to Sigurd who reached for her with his free hand. She stepped back. “If you touch me, I will disappear.” He quickly withdrew his hand like she had turned into fire. The last thing he wanted was to lose her. “I miss you, dear sister.” “Not necessary. I’m always here.” She touched her heart. “I am now a servant of Feronia and her mate Fenris.” Emelisse’s eyes widened. “You know my goddess?” 218

Eva Gordon “Our goddess. You and Sigurd have united the north and the south wolf clans.” Emelisse sighed. “Just as our seer predicted.” “Hungerd, will be pleased, as well,” said Brynhild. Sigurd lifted a brow. “Did you visit Hungerd?” “She died not long after you left. She is reunited with her mate Ulf.” “She is finally at peace.” He cast a worried look. Brynhild only appeared during dire times. “Have you come to warn us?” “Yes. Hungerd’s protective cloaking spell has disappeared since her death. Bolla has told Mord the Blood Claw where the Lupercal resides. They are heading toward Emelisse’s territory and plan to hasten the wolf age to kill mankind and all wolfskins. She plans to use the frenzy miasma to poison all wolfen.” Emelisse stepped close to Brynhild. “Lupa and I have received the potion from Feronia to prevent the illness.” Brynhild cocked her head. “Very wise. Bolla will try to corrupt our kind by releasing garmhunds carrying the frenzy. She does not know of Feronia’s gift.” Emelisse raised a brow. “What are garmhunds?” “Monstrous hounds with four eyes and a chest covered with blood. They live in the Gnipa Cave deep beneath the center of the earth. These thirteen beasts are whelps of Garn, guardian of Helhein. Bolla cast a dark spell to release them from the cave and has given them the frenzy miasma.” Sigurd frowned. “Surely, that will bring on their deaths as well.” Brynhild shook her head. “Nay, they are under Bolla’s dark spell that controls them. After they attack, the bearskins will wait on an island, known as Fimbul, an ocean away beyond the Celtic Islands to the far west where no man has set sail. That is where their winter lair is.” “How do you know?” “Fenris told me. Fimbul is a land not discovered by man and is mostly ice, a land mass of hot geysers that spring forth from its core. They will wait until all men and all wolfskins are long gone before returning.” Emelisse bit her lower lip. “Once hydrophobia destroys us all, they must plan to return and claim the earth.” Brynhild nodded. “Lycans with the dog frenzy will kill on every full moon until all men are killed or driven out to the farthest reaches of the continent. The bearskins will do their evil task year by year and then sail away to the safety of Fimbul.” Emelisse paced. “There are wolfen throughout the east as well. If we don’t ready the potion all will succumb to the frenzy.” She stopped and turned to Brynhild. “We must give the lycans the preventive potion,” blurted Emelisse. Brynhild smiled at Emelisse. “Done. Feronia told me that Lupa has dispensed the potion to your father’s pack and is ready to send it to others.” She stood with her shiny golden armor and bowed. “Dear lady.” She then dematerialized. Sigurd barked. “Wait!” Only her voice remained. “Hurry back.” Her voice whispered. “Take care of one another.” 219

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf They must ride hard and fast, thoughts of ravishing his ulf hexen needed to wait. After their encounter with his ghostly sister, Sigurd took out the bracelet and placed it back on Emelisse’s wrist. She felt the surge of warmth around her chest and the steady beat of her heart. She took a long breath. “We must find Hugues, he is wounded.” He nodded. “Come, let us not tarry.” Together they raced to gather his men. It was important to return her to her father’s castle to warn them of the impending attack. She spoke as she tried to keep up with Sigurd’s long strides. “I knew Lupa would have the potion ready.” “Good thing Lupa hid the potion from Radulf.” She stopped. “So Radulf came to our castle?” He spun around to face her. “Yes. Before coming here, my wolfskin pack and I went looking for you at your sire’s castle. Naturally as it appears to be your habit, you were not where I left you. This time it was good you were not where you were supposed to be.” She raised a worried brow. “Oh?” He held her by her shoulders, tenderly as if something was wrong. “My father? Is he…dead?” “No, he lives. Radulf had him and the entire Lupercal shackled in the dungeons.” She gasped, visibly shaken. “The dungeons?” The subterranean dungeons had been built to house lycans during the full moon, however recently better quarters had been built for their kind in the manor. The dark, dank dungeons now were kept only to house those criminals deemed ready for execution. No one had used the rusty shackles and collars in years. “When we arrived they were nearly starved and in poor health. Needless to say he and Isabelle are now well and are anxiously awaiting your return.” She took in a breath. “Thank you for rescuing my father and Isabelle.” Her eyes widened. “How is Lupa?” She could not imagine the leader of the Lupercal being treated so disrespectfully. “Lupa and Arnou escaped from Radulf and hid.” She was gladdened to hear that Galien’s little brother was safe. “I was afraid Radulf would kill Arnou.” “Lupa and the boy took the potions and concealed them in a safe place.” “Blessed be. I was so worried that Radulf would destroy the potion if he ever came to my father’s castle.” Her face darkened in anger. “I will kill Radulf myself for tormenting my father.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Not necessary. When I heard how he ordered Linus to use the frenzied fox to kill you and then lay the blame on Blaez, I was most anxious to send him to hell. You will be happy to know that I pissed on his head and buried it behind the garbage heap.” “Dead?” They started walking again. “Pissed on his head?” She stopped, making him twist around frowning. “You killed him, despite his pack?” He nodded. “I had help from my wolfskins. You will like them.” He gripped her hand and towed her along. 220

Eva Gordon “How did you find them?” She asked out of breath. He stopped to let her rest. At least he didn’t carry her like his belongings. “Their leader had been killed so Heith, his young ulf hexen and his pack lived in Hungerd’s cavern. They were locked below in Hungerd’s dungeon during the full moon. On my arrival they were happy to accept me as the new pack leader.” She raised an eyebrow. She did not like the idea that there was an available wolf maiden for the entire winter he was gone. How could she not trust his faithfulness? She felt a combination of shame and jealousy. Her chin up, she asked. “Did this ulf hexen keep you warm?” He laughed. “Heith did find me quite attractive.” She frowned. “Oh?” Would she have to share him? Not possible. She fumed. He gripped her shoulders and seared her with his fierce blue green eyes. “Nay, you my little runt are the only one who keeps my bed warm. No other ulf hexen can take your place in my heart or on my bed.” She did not like the smirk on his face, but was relieved nonetheless. “Nor will I allow any man to bed me. But if you ever bed another I might consider…” His eyes darkened. His tone a near growl. “None but me will ever bed you. You are mine and I’m yours. Never forget that.” She opened her mouth to agree and once again was swept away as he bent down and holding her face between his calloused hands kissed her passionately, like it was their last kiss. Emelisse and Sigurd’s pack of wolfskins entered the gates of her father’s castle on top of the mountain. Hugues had been well enough to ride with his bandaged head covered. She was awed by all the lycans, most from Radulf’s pack. They all bowed in submission as their new alpha leader, Sigurd, rode in. Even Tala, the powerful alpha lycan and Radulf’s lover, had bowed. His face was dangerously fierce, daring anyone to challenge. He growled at a few causing them to grovel on the ground and moved on. Waiting at the entrance was Duke Chanteloup. Emelisse ran to his arms. “Father. I missed you so.” He no longer felt as strong as he once did. She wept. He looked so gaunt. His soothing hand brushed her head. “Dear child, you are safe.” Isabelle ran to them. “Emelisse!” Her hair sprinkled with more gray. Emelisse hugged her and rubbed noses with her wolf mother. She too felt like bones. What had Radulf done? All three embraced and she never wanted to let go despite the fact that behind her stood Sigurd and his wolfskins, still armored like Vikings. “Father, you have met Sigurd’s pack.” “Yes, if only briefly. They rescued us against the forces of Radulf and his now conquered pack. I thought we would never see the light of day until your big red wolf came with his pack and freed us.” “And did Radulf’s pack bow to you as well father?” “I’m old and I requested they submit to Sigurd, he is after all the strongest alpha.” She frowned. “Nay, this is still your castle.” 221

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf He laughed. “Of course, my dear. Only the packs are his. Combined we have well over one hundred lycans. Only an alpha such as Sigurd could handle such a task.” An attractive young tall plump woman with golden brown long braids came running out. She had a comely face, with large green eyes. “Sigurd, you are back!” She ran and hugged him. “I missed you so.” He stiffened, not returning the embrace. He smiled down at her, his face turning a bright crimson red. “Now that Emelisse is back to my side, I’m quite well.” She turned to Emelisse and curtsied demurely. “Sigurd taught me your language, but I still speak little. I’m most delighted in finally meeting you, Milady.” “This is Heith, ulf hexen and widow.” He smiled sheepishly. “Now you will have human companionship.” Emelisse cast him a questioning eye and smiled at the woman. “A pleasure indeed.” She accessed the big boned curvy woman from head to toe. “You will find that you will soon have many alpha lycans begging to meet you.” She nodded with a pained look in her eye. “Sigurd tells me such.” Emelisse did not like her disappointment. Was she besotted with Sigurd? Of course she was. Her blood boiled. This woman had spent an entire winter with her life mate. If she had fangs they would have leapt out and sunk on her pretty little nose. She looked at Sigurd who twisted a roguish smile at her. He had to have smelled her jealous distrust. He was having fun with her. Scoundrel. Isabelle turned to Sigurd. “Lupa is anxiously waiting to talk to both of you down below at the Lupercal Temple.” Chanteloup spat out. “She can wait until they have supped and rested.” “Milord, we must meet immediately. We have bad tidings,” said Sigurd. Chanteloup raised a brow. “Oh?” “The cursed bearskins led by Mord the Blood Claw are heading toward your castle. They will arrive in about a fortnight.” Chanteloup grimaced and rubbed his spine. “Let him come and see that I have recovered from his delivered wound.” He shook his head. “How does he know where to find us?” “Bolla the bear witch is using seior, magic, to find us. She will not rest until she destroys every lycan,” said Sigurd. Chanteloup’s face went from angry to pensive. “Very well, the three of us will go down and tell Lupa the news.” He barked at one of his men. “Bring food and drink to the Lupercal.” Isabelle took Heith by the arm. “Come, we will talk to the cooks about a welcoming evening banquet.” Sigurd had not been the only lycan to have caught a whiff of her jealousy. Emelisse saw how Heith could not stop staring at Sigurd. She gripped Sigurd’s arm, feeling the same possessiveness he must feel toward her. The thought of another female touching her mate made her feel a pang of rage and worse, she felt resentment toward Sigurd for leaving her for an entire winter despite his logical reason for doing so. Had he taken comfort with this woman? 222

Eva Gordon Lupa and Arnou were in the library. She was dictating while he took diligent notes on parchment and feathered pen and ink. She whirled around as they entered and ran to Emelisse, rubbing noses and then hugging. “How are you?” Emelisse beamed. “Well enough, now that I’m reunited with Sigurd and back home at last.” Sigurd was relieved Emelisse appeared happy. Earlier her accusing eyes bore through him. Surely she must know there had been nothing but friendship between him and Heith. Why had Heith hugged him like she belonged to him? He would have to talk to her about such unsuitable behavior. Later, alone with Emelisse in their private bed chamber, he would make love to her all night. Lupa turned her attention to Sigurd and pointed to him with a wave of her palm. “Living proof that my potion works on lycans. Feronia can never be doubted.” “Indeed,” said Chanteloup with a broad grin. “Lupa poked us all with the cure.” Lupa laughed. “And no negative reactions except for a slight whimper at the sting.” She turned to Emelisse. “I have sent out instructions with our Lupercii to all our neighboring packs and next I will see to it that your northern pack is given the potion by the morrow,” she said to Sigurd. He bowed. “Well done, Milady.” She cast him a shrewd eye. “You appear well fed despite such a severe winter.” “T’was easy to hunt with a large pack,” he answered. Emelisse stepped away from him. “Indeed you look more than content.” What was she referring to? He liked a fierce ulf hexen defending what was hers, but could she really doubt his faithfulness? He frowned. He drew her into a tight hold. “Nay, t’is only now with you at my side that I am truly content.” Lupa cackled. “Emelisse, is that jealousy I smell?” She tried to break from Sigurd’s hold. “Let me go.” He loosened his grip on her. “Emelisse, I swear to you, may Odin strike me dead, I did not betray our love.” She scowled at him. “Bedding a wench is not the same as loving one.” He howled. “You are right. I did not bed Heith, if that is what you mean. Though I must admit the ulf hexen so desired me, however I never succumbed to her affections.” “She appears to still desire you.” She reminded. Chanteloup eyed Arnou who shrugged. Lupa draped an arm around Emelisse. “He smells of honesty.” Like she had been drunk and had blurted nonsense, Emelisse reddened. “I’m sorry, Milady.” Her eyes dashed at Sigurd. “Forgive me.” He folded his arms in front. He suppressed a grin. “Your possessiveness is natural for an ulf hexen who has found her life mate. All is forgiven.” Lupa nodded. “I’m sure this evening you will settle this like proper mates.” 223

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Chanteloup raised a brow. “Well no more such talk. T’is too much for a father to hear.” He scowled deeply. “I brought them immediately to see you, let us not tarry. Emelisse is tired.” He scowled at Lupa. “What is so important, it cannot wait?” Lupa cast him a rueful smile. “Feronia wishes the Lupercal to initiate the summoning howl.” Chanteloup gaped. “When?” “Tonight.” Sigurd realized from their serious tone that this type of howling was more than a call to hunt. “What pray tell is the summoning howl?” Lupa gave him a sidelong glance. “Northern wolfskins do not have such a beckoning call?” “You mean a gathering for a hunt?” Emelisse explained. “When the Lupercal does a summoning howl all lycans throughout the land answer the call and come to the Lupercal’s territory.” Such a call to arms was an act of desperation, since such a large movement of warriors could rouse suspicions amongst the humans and reveal their secret lycan society. “How many?” He asked. Chanteloup paced. “Thousands if all members of the pack come.” Lupa shook her head. “We will only summon for the strongest warriors.” Sigurd nodded. “We could use their help once the bearskins attack.” Lupa’s face grew somber. “Feronia came to me in my sleep and told me of the bear men led by Mord the Blood Claw. They number at about four hundred and are heading here to destroy all wolfen kind.” Emelisse sighed loudly. “Their bear witch Bolla plans to use garmhunds to corrupt us with hydrophobia.” Lupa raised a brow. “This she did not tell me.” “My sister Brynhild whose spirit guards us told us of Bolla’s plan,” said Sigurd. Lupa flashed him a look of concern. “How much time do we have?” “At least a fortnight, if not longer. The winter was long so they must regain their strength, which allows us some time to prepare.” Sigurd glanced at Chanteloup before returning his attention to Lupa. “Bearskins are slow but like bears are more powerfully built and not as clever. Still we need to prepare our warriors to defend the mountain.” That very evening the twelve Lupercal female lycans stood on the upper tower and under the new moon night howled a long eerie call. The entire pack joined in. Sigurd was moved. The howling was similar to the long mournful call of death and foreboding. It echoed and in the distance he heard a response. The pack that responded then repeated their summoning howling so that the next pack would listen and so on and so on. By dawn all packs would begin to make their way to the Pyrenees range, to his territory. Some would come from as far away as the Arab kingdoms to the East. Many would arrive within a day; others would not arrive for another moon or more. Still others would come long after any battle. 224

Eva Gordon Emelisse had stayed awake, which gladdened his heart. She took him by his hand. “It’s over. Let us return to our chamber.” He felt the stir of his length and he swept her up. He had waited too long. Tonight he would prove to her that he belonged to no one but her.

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Chapter 25 Emelisse clutched her arms about Sigurd’s taut neck as he carried her to their bedchamber. She laughed as lycans ran out of his path as he marched up the stairs with fangs out and fierce determination. He elbowed the door and slammed it shut with his boot. Her wolf mark burned. She could not help herself, losing all her sensible inhibitions. She growled and bit his chin. He lay her on the bed and untied her cloak. With a clawed hand, he tore open her gown. He gazed at her exposed breasts and hardened nipples without touching. His voice was husky with desire. “I thought of you every day I was gone. No one else, just you.” He sniffed above her as if smelling the finest flower. He closed his eyes as if in deep concentration. His eyes opened and then widened into worried furrows and he stiffened. Had he realized her scent was no longer to his liking? She sat up on her elbows. “Sigurd. What is wrong?” She frowned, feeling the pain of rejection. “Am I no longer to your liking?” “Nay, dear Emelisse, you are very much to my liking. I want to make love to you from now till dawn.” He drew an indrawn breath and stepped back. He lowered his gaze and shook his head. “T’is not a good idea. Not at this time.” “Then what concerns you?” She could not help it and thought of bighipped tall Heith. Did he now see her as somehow inferior? She bit her lip. “Is it about Heith?” He blurted out in a laugh. “Heith? I told you, she means nothing.” Despite her jealous thoughts, her wetness and need to make love to him after so long was overwhelming. Why did he suddenly not feel the same need? “Then pray tell, why?” He sat by her side and drew her into his arm. His hold was rough and his tone serious as his blue green eyes bore into her core. “You are fertile.” Realization dawned on her face. It was spring but even if she was fertile, she knew that oft it would take several tries before a pregnancy happened, even with alphas and their mates. Her lips slowly turned into a smile. Sigurd’s child. Would it be a boy with his flaming red hair or would it be a little female lycan, an alpha to be a future leader? “A child would be wonderful.” He wiped a lose hair from her face. “T’is dangerous now. The bearskins will be looking for us and I cannot bear to have you pregnant under such duress.” He sighed. “You already lost a child. I cannot imagine your sorrow at losing another.” “T’was different. You are my true life mate. I will not lose your child. Even if I become pregnant, by the time I have the child the war with the

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf bearskins will be long over.” She nuzzled under his chin and kissed his throat. “T’is our destiny to win.” He kissed her on her forehead. “It may be a long siege and though we will hunt and store the dried meat we may still run out of food and it pains me to think you will go hungry while with child.” She touched the new scar on his throat. “I have faith that we will win quickly.” He gazed down on her and trailed a finger down to her flat belly. “Heith talked to me about how small boned you are and how my son might be too large for you to carry.” She bristled and fumed. “Heith told you this, did she?” “T’was an innocent conversation after I told her how delicate and small you were. I told her how you were a mighty little Valkyrie and how there was no other woman for me.” A flicker of jealousy made her cringe. “I believe, Heith thinks she would suit you best.” He pulled her. “I will not lie to you, I know the ulf hexen has feelings for me but I have none for her and have told her so.” She tried to him push away but his hold grew tighter, her breasts rubbing against his chest. “Why pray tell, does she have feelings for you?” “I know naught. I treated her like I would any other member of my pack. It was she who in her sad state of losing her own alpha and child began to feel like I might take his place.” She felt sudden pity. “She lost a child?” He loosened his grip on her. “To a fever a year before losing her mate.” Poor Heith. Emelisse could only imagine what it might be like to lose both a child and a life mate. Still, how dare Heith worry Sigurd about her ability to carry his child. Her eyes grew wet with tears. “Lupa is a fine midwife. She has told me that our size difference will not matter since Feronia has approved our match.” Emelisse too had been concerned with becoming pregnant by such a large lycan and had brought her concerns to Lupa, shortly after their mating ceremony. He let go of her and stood removing his cloak and tunic. As he removed his boots, his muscles rippled in the light of the hearth. “You have such faith in your goddess?” Her breast moved up and down in invitation with her excited breath. “Yes, I do.” His gaze turned to focus on her bosom and he licked his lips flashing his fangs. She jumped off the bed, dropped her ripped gown and helped him out of his breaches. Such talk of impending danger and pregnancy seemed to have had no effect on his throbbing cock as it was released from its binding. His breath was slow and rhythmic like her breathing exercises. Cassandra, one of the lycan females had schooled her on what drove men mad. To pleasure him with her mouth was an ancient secret. She grabbed his cock with her hands, brought it to her mouth and licked the tip. He groaned in pleasure. For now, she had something else in mind. “Lay on your back,” she ordered. 228

Eva Gordon He raised an eyebrow but did as he was ordered. “What do you have in mind my wicked little ulf hexen?” “T’is curious to see if I can ride my fine stallion.” She straddled above his groin and gave him a mischievous grin. He smiled as he stretched his muscular arms and placed his hands behind his head. “You would sit on my sword?” She nodded and took his length in her hands to find her wet tunnel. It was not easy and felt like she would rip if she went any deeper. He tilted his head back and growled. “Nice and slow.” She took her time and slowly moved up and down feeling his cock as she rode him. He was too big to ride at a full gallop. He did not seem to mind the slow gait. His hands held her buttocks and his eyes roved over her aroused breasts. The motion rubbed against her sensitive nub and she felt soft ripples of pleasure. Not enough to send her to oblivion but pleasing nonetheless. She glanced down at his muscular chest and chiseled rock hard abdomen. Her powerful destier under her command. She threw her neck back and moaned as a he cupped her breasts with his large hands and then gripped each responsive nipple, using his fingers to pull and pinch. It was exhausting being on top and she felt regretful when she slowed to a standstill. Sigurd moved his hands to her waist aware that she grew tired. “My turn to ride.” In a fell swoop he had her on her back. “Now I have you where you belong my little ulf hexen.” He kissed the hollow of her throat and his fangs sprung out gently squeezing her jugular. She did not move as she felt his dagger like fangs. A guttural growl vibrated over her exposed throat. Her vulnerability sent shivers up and down her spine. He stopped his voice raspy. “Though I enjoyed your equestrian skills, t’is under me that I favor.” His eyes bore into hers until she turned hers away. “Do you submit to me?” Her eyes were downcast while he rested his canines on her throat. “Yes, I submit to you.” She knew the delicate game of dominance among the pack. As the wolf maiden of the leader all would submit to her, but with him she would always submit. This lycan way had always disturbed her but not anymore. In the bedchamber she wanted nothing more than to be his. However outside the bedchamber was a different manner. She would most certainly have to rely on her wiles to make him see her way. His fingers found her nub and all thoughts of defiance floated away like clouds pushed by a strong wind. As she relaxed after a wave of sensation he entered her and once again she writhed in pure pleasurable spasms. He lifted his arms above her so as not to crush her under his weight and buried his length inside of her. He rhythmically pumped until he was soon thrusting harder and harder with urgent need, until he could no longer hold on. She watched as his face shifted from man to wolf as he howled. The warmth of his seed filled her as she too joined him in climax. Supporting his weight he collapsed on top and systematically licked and kissed her everywhere. His hunger had not been satiated just yet. A human man would have soon fallen asleep but not an alpha lycan, his stamina was ungodly. His desire was greater now because she was fertile. Soon she felt his hardness throb and she knew that on this night she would get little sleep. He 229

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf turned her over to her side and clamped down on her wolf mark stimulating her until he drove her to the edge, the fine line of pleasure and pain bringing on a wave of pleasure. He released his hold and she screamed. “Don’t stop.” He lay her on her back again and she once again yielded her legs in welcome. His voice was raspy, “Only the sunrise will stop me.” She gave a flirtatious laugh. “Let it not rise.” All those months of longing for him had made her dream of such a night. He ravished her mouth and once again took her with the hunger of predator for his prey. Emelisse awoke to a soft knock on the door. She opened her eyes and looked around at the bright room. “Milady, I’m here with a meal and drink.” It was the voice of one of the lycan chambermaids. She sat feeling the soreness of a night of love making with a very hungry lycan. She wrapped her sheets over her nude body. “Bring it in.” The lycan woman placed the tray on her bed. “When you are done I will prepare the wooden tub for you.” She eyed the sheets. “I will change the bed clothing as well.” “Thank you.” The chambermaid bowed and left. She lifted the ruffled sheets. Wet with even a few traces of blood. The chambermaid must have caught a good lycan whiff of the love fluids. Without spilling her tray she stood and felt her wet thighs. True to his word, Sigurd had made love to her in every position possible all night. She had dozed off after he had gently made love to her in a spooning position and as the rooster crowed at near daybreak. After finishing her meal she called for her warm bath. Her tub was filled and she stepped in feeling the tension of her sore muscles release. She closed her eyes in complete satisfaction and touched her sore hollow. The door quietly closing made her sit straight up. “Sigurd.” He carried a bouquet of wild spring flowers and a basket of berries. He set them down on a table and smiled sheepishly. “I hope you are not too sore from last night.” “T’is a sweet soreness, but mayhap tonight we should sleep.” He bowed. “I promise, tonight we will get some sleep.” He offered her hand. “I will dry you and kiss away any hurts.” Emelisse walked into the feast guided by Sigurd dressed in blue and wearing a bearskin hide. She wore her finest red gown and red veil, looking dainty and fragile compared to her beast warrior of a husband. They sat in the center next to her father and Isabelle. Lupa gave her a small smile from the end of the table where she sat with her Lupercal women. Heith sat with her mate’s former pack. She never stopped staring at Sigurd. Tala, Radulf’s lover who sat near Heith glowered at Emelisse. She did not like that the two could become friends and perhaps plot mischief. Tala had been relegated to cleaning the stables, a demeaning role for the once ambitious alpha. Chanteloup stood with a goblet of the best wine. “Drink to the return of my beloved daughter and Sigurd, our greatest warrior.” 230

Eva Gordon They all cheered and drank. The evening was a respite from the coming war with the bearskins. Emelisse drank from her goblet and watched. Sigurd swallowed an entire glass in one long swig and then stood. His commanding frame made every head turn, every woman swoon and every would-be enemy cower. The throng grew silent in submissive respect to their alpha. He held her hands and helped her stand. He winked at her before speaking. He glanced around the hall. “After a long winter away from Emelisse I want you all to know how grateful I am to once again have my beloved mate in my arms.” He bent down and then oh so gently kissed her on the lips. Chanteloup raised his cup and yelled “Hossah!” The others repeated the cheer. Sigurd bowed to Emelisse and helped her back to her seat. He sliced a piece of meat and fed her the first bite by hand before eating his piece. T’is a loving gesture from an alpha to his mate. She was most grateful. Here she was on her territory, with her parents and her true love. Had she become pregnant after their first night together after so many months? If not, there would plenty of nights to conceive a child. Sigurd and his wolfskins began walking about and boasting how they could out drink the lycans and a manly challenge began with servants frantically running around pouring more rounds. Men are such a foolish lot. Still she was happy that Sigurd was bonding with the other packs. She chewed a piece of bread in a state of bliss when Isabelle grabbed her by the arm and spoke into her ear. “I don’t like her.” Emelisse whispered back. “Who, wolf mother?” “The wolfskin maiden, Heith. I can smell her envy of you and Sigurd from this distance.” Emelisse watched Heith talking to the musicians. One of them handed her a lute. “Sigurd told me, he had a long talk with her and she seemed to accept the fact that he could only love me.” “Of course she would tell him she accepts it but I know what I smell. She still wants him.” She growled. “I don’t trust her.” Emelisse tried to ease her overprotective adopted mother’s worries. “It’s over, she is no threat and there is no hope that Sigurd would even be tempted by her.” “Nonetheless, do not be so naïve to think that a jealous woman would not resort to poison or an accidental push off the tower.” She growled toward Tala who had whispered something into Heith’s ear. “And furthermore, I wish we could have banished Radulf’s bitch out of our territory. I’m sure she is well schooled in the art of poison.” Emelisse shuddered but then laughed. “Poison? Come now. Tala knows she is on fragile ground. And poor Heith lost a mate and a child. Surely you do not think she would stoop so low?” “Still, keep your guard, beloved daughter.” The raucous shouts from the men drinking and the chatter of the rest of the hall grew quiet as Heith’s sweet voice sang while she fingered the strings of the lute. Her song was in Emelisse’s language. She must have written the ballad recently. Her song of lost love brought tears to many eyes. Her second song disturbed Emelisse. It was of a great warrior who wore armor so thick he could not feel his heart’s love through its stubborn thickness. She sang of 231

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf his flaming red hair like Loki’s fire and his battles with the Saxons. She was singing about Sigurd. Emelisse did not like how Heith switched to singing in her Northmen language, whilst looking in the direction where Sigurd stood, his scowling face turning deep red. Whatever she was singing about was definitely personal. She wanted to stand and yell, enough. Worse, Heith’s eyes welled with tears, yet she continued to sing. Sigurd glanced in Emelisse’s direction and must have sensed her distress because he was soon by her side and took her by the hand. “Come, let us get sleep.” Heith finished her song and the pack cheered and returned to their carousing. Chanteloup tried to stop them. “Wait, the night has just begun.” Isabelle touched his arm. “Let them rest, they have had a tiring journey.” Emelisse was a bundle of emotion and was relieved when Sigurd spoke. “T’is true, we are both tired.” He drew her into his arms in reassurance. “Soon our enemy will be at our gates and until then I wish to spend as much time as possible with Emelisse.” He released her from his hold and she kissed her father and Isabelle goodnight before he briskly escorted her out. Sigurd glanced down from the fortified castle. All entries into the manor were guarded by at least two wolfskins. Two small packs had arrived to help them defend against the massive army of bearskin berserkers that arrived on black drakkors. Scouts estimated Mord the Blood Claw’s warriors were four hundred strong, one hundred human warriors and three hundred bearskins. Sigurd’s pack only totaled one hundred and thirty. Massive wagons hauled by harnessed bears were already traveling on pack territory. The wagons brought a large battering ram, a siege tower, and ladders, as well as other supplies for a long battle. Bolla’s wagon held a large wooden crate with the huge garmhunds that snapped and foamed at the mouth from the frenzy miasma. According to Brynhild who had appeared to him the previous night, the deadly garmhunds were under the Bolla’s control. The bear witch would use seior to guide the mad beast dogs to attack only wolfskins. His sister recommended the best archers try to kill Bolla to break the garmhunds from her sorceress hold. He was relieved that all wolfskins had been given the preventative potion. The potion was not ready for the humans and for that reason he ordered all humans to remain in the locked underground Lupercal once the bearskins arrived. He would order the garmhunds to be killed above all else in case the castle was breached. Lupa joined him at the outlook. “I smell them already.” “Our scouts estimate they will arrive in two to three days.” Lupa scoffed. “They might out number us but we have some ancient secrets from the past.” He raised a brow. “Emelisse was telling me of Byzantine fire.” She had told him that it was a mysterious fluid that ignited on impact. “It was invented by a Lupercii, named Callinicus over a hundred years ago. Only the Lupercal has the secret formula. It’s dangerous to use, but if need be it can even the odds.” Lupa scanned their isolated mountain. “I 232

Eva Gordon worry that they will surround us and starve us out. Using Byzantine fire will certainly prevent such a misfortune.” Sigurd furrowed his brow. “Do you really think Emelisse will be safe down below?” “The secret tunnel to the forest is the only way in besides through the castle. It opens by the magic well. One must know where to look for the latch and it’s covered in brush. It is well guarded.” “And it’s bolted from the inside with a solid lock,” added Emelisse as she approached. He had caught her familiar scent and smiled. Lupa turned to her. “I see you are ready with your bow and quiver.” “Both of you know I’m a fine archer,” she eyed the slits of the castle wall. Sigurd scowled. “We have plenty of archers.” Her hands on her hips in stubborn determination she argued. “I know the odds. Four hundred to one hundred or so. I say you will need anybody who can shoot.” Sigurd felt his face grow warm. “For love of Freya woman, you might be with child.” Emelisse turned to Lupa. “You think I am, Milady?” Lupa laughed. “T’is too early to say, but you did smell fertile when you first arrived. Mayhap, you should remain below with the other humans.” The other humans included only the Lupercii Hugues and Arnou, and Heith who begged to stay near the wolfskin pack that once belonged to her husband. “Hugues will need your help in case there is trouble down below.” Emelisse sighed in frustration. “The only trouble is that spiteful ulf hexen you brought!” Lupa shot her a sidelong glance. “I thought you told me she and you were on friendlier terms?” Sigurd frowned. “I made it clear to Heith that she should stop seeking me as mate.” He should have forced her to leave. The woman was becoming a thorn between him and Emelisse. “She has been really nice, telling me how she hopes to find love again, perhaps if we survive the battle.” Emelisse took off her leather brace. “Then this morning I overheard her talking to Runa, her loyal wolfskin friend.” She scowled. “She said I was a runt and not worthy of being the mate of a great warrior.” Lupa growled. “That bitch!” “Naturally I stepped forward and told her to apologize for calling me a runt.” Sigurd smirked. “Good. I too will talk to her about disrespecting you.” Emelisse ranted. “Do you know she then told me she would never beg my forgiveness for telling the truth and that if I became pregnant I would die in childbirth and then she would have you any way.” Her eyes were downcast. “That’s when I slapped her.” The idea that Emelisse was insulted in such a manner, especially when at this moment she may very well be with child, darkened his mood. He drew her in and held her tight, feeling her small softness and taking in her sweet aroma. And now, this meddling woman was reminding him of his nagging worry of losing Emelisse in childbirth. He hissed. “I will order her to leave.” 233

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Emelisse looked up. “Where to?” “The village.” Sigurd answered. Lupa shook her head. “Except for the mad old man who lives in a nearby hut all have left.” She sighed. “You can’t send her out now. She will not survive with the approaching army. We cannot allow a wolf maiden to be placed in such danger.” He shrugged. “You are right. But once we feed bearskin remains to the ravens she will leave the next day.” Later in the afternoon Sigurd stormed into Heith’s private solar. She put her needlepoint down and smiled despite his scowl. “Sigurd, I so want to talk to you.” “T’is I that wish to talk to you, Milady.” His tone was laced with rage. She lifted a tunic, his. “I’m sewing it for you Milord.” “T’is for my wife to sew my garments, not you!” She stood, her face now red with a mixture of embarrassment and jealous anger. “She practices archery and flies birds instead of taking proper care of her husband.” She reached for him, not daring to touch him. “I sing ballads for you.” He loomed over her. “You told her she would die in child birth!” “I merely warned her about your size differences, t’is risky for one so small.” Her hands fisted in supplication as she begged. “Let me carry your child. Emelisse can raise all of our children.” Sigurd took a calming breath. He did not want to hurt her. She had lost both a mate and a child. Feeling pity he gentled his tone. “Look, I do not love you. Give up any such hope of ever being together.” Her eyes grew wet with tears. “Women oft die in child birth. I was my mate’s second ulf hexen.” How dare she play on his worst fear? He felt his face flush with anger. “Even if she died in child birth, I will never take you as my mate!” His manner dangerous, he bore his fangs and snarled. “Stay away from Emelisse and never call her a runt or I will have you thrown in the dungeon.” He turned and slammed the door to her solar behind him.

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Chapter 26 Emelisse felt guilty. It was her fault Heith had left. When she thought she could trust her she had shown her the secret exit from the Lupercal that led to the magic well near the abandoned village. After all, they would be locked downstairs during the battle. Heith had left in the dead of night by putting a sleeping potion in an ale horn and sharing it with the lycans that guarded the doorway to the inside and the outside. How she learned of such a potion she did not know, but it had been quite effective. Emelisse did not like the woman, yet did not want her to die. She wanted her only to forget about Sigurd. Isabelle came into the library where Emelisse sat trying to read. “Don’t worry, the village’s magic well t’is far from where the bearskins are heading. They care not about finding humans, they only intend to find and kill lycans. Her wolfskin friend Runa was spared to seek her out and return her to the Lupercal or to another territory. Emelisse knew that Runa had been Heith’s confidant since she married Egid, her deceased mate. The alpha female had been the nanny to Heith’s child and had grieved as if the babe had been her own flesh and blood. She knew that Runa would protect Heith with her very life. She felt a pang of guilt. “Perhaps we should search with more lycans?” “We cannot spare anymore to search for an ungrateful human,” spat Isabelle. “Is that what Sigurd said?” “Nay. He insisted in sending more lycans to find her, but Lupa and the Lupercal voiced against it. When one of the scouts said she was far away from the bearskin army, he reluctantly accepted the Lupercal’s decision.” She was glad Sigurd had wanted to rescue the poor wolf maiden. Though he had a fierce exterior, he was a kind leader, sympathetic, not cruel. T’was why she loved him so. The following days had been tense. Heith and Runa never returned. Due to the battle preparations, Emelisse had not seen Sigurd except for a few hours of sleep in the late of night. Emelisse and Arnou had released their falcons for their own safety. She would miss Alglaia and hoped that someday she would return. Arnou frowned as they returned to the inside of the castle. “T’is not right that we remain locked up down below. We will be useless.” “T’is best if we mere mortals stay out of the way,” she said. “Besides, you are a lad.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf He rolled his eyes. “The cubs are to remain above!” “Only those who have had their first shift and are deemed ready to fight.” The younger cubs had long been taken away to the far south to remain in seclusion in the nursery den of another pack.” She knew how he felt. If he were a lycan, he too would fight. “But Sigurd himself says I am good with the sword.” “Then, t’is well that I will have you to protect me.” She saw the sudden look of pride in his eyes. He so looked like Galien. His memory still made her heart ache. Sigurd had spent long hours training Arnou and for that she was grateful. The boy admired Sigurd more than anyone. “Yes, My Lady.” After the initial howls from the night watch men Sigurd and his pack stalked their prey, the bearskins, as they made their way up the mountain in the early hours of sunrise. They waited for Sigurd’s signal to rain them with flaming arrows from the castle walls. Let them come closer. Human men wearing bear and wolfskins marched behind the bigger powerful bearskins. All carried a shield, sword, axe and or spear. In addition the humans carried quiver and long bow. Large bears hauled the wagons. Their grunts carried throughout the crisp mountain air. The first wagon carried a huge battering ram. The second carried a siege tower, which they must have built upon landing. Other wagons pulled catapults and ladders. The rest carried food and provisions. Unlike most Viking assaults of attacking and retreating, these berserkers meant to destroy in an all out battle that would last days if not longer. Sigurd clenched his jaw and growled deep at the sight of Mord the Blood Claw riding a huge dark destrier behind his men. Next to him in her own wagon pulled by two white polar bears sat Bolla, wearing a spotted seal hide cloak. Her wagons carried thirteen garmhunds foaming at the mouth. They snarled and barked behind the bars of their crates. Their sinister sound sent a shiver up Sigurd’s spine remembering how his beloved sister had been so maddened. They were at the advantage. Bolla did not know they were now protected from the miasma. Other groups of bearskins ambled over to various parts of the castle. They were surrounded on all sides. Sigurd gave Chanteloup a nod and the duke commanded his archers. “Aim for the wagons. Fire!” A barrage of flaming arrows sung out aiming for their target. The bearskin shields went up to cover them from the volley of burning death. Two wagons caught fire and the bearskins swatted it with thick woolen blankets. From below the inferno, the bearskins gave a berserker rage and stormed toward the castle. The fire of their battering ram was snuffed out and a dozen bearskins hauled it to the gate. Others brought ladders on all sides of the castle and Mord ordered the siege wall to go up. Bolla stood and shouted. “Bridge!” Sigurd’s master archer aimed for the bear witch but alas his arrow did not make its mark. Lupa who was positioning the bronze tubes that would deliver the Byzantine fire responded. “Sigurd, she is releasing the hounds.” A silver bridge appeared from the top of her wagon and onto the castle. She pointed a staff and the garmhunds scrambled up the magical path. 236

Eva Gordon Lupa aimed the bronze tube but Bolla’s wagon was out of reach. The liquid hit wagons and earth, exploding and sending a wave of flames throughout the bearskin army. Hundreds vaporized instantly, whilst others ran in flames. “Cassandra and Tala bring more of the glass jars!” Lupa did not like Tala but knew she would not betray them at this most urgent moment of need. Sigurd and the pack brandished their swords and fought the bearskins who had made it over the gate. The battering ram pushed by large bears punched a gaping hole. Sigurd killed a menacing bearskin that charged with a giant axe and turned to Lupa. ”Use the fire on the ram!” Lupa snarled. “Too close, it will burn our Castle.” She then aimed and shot further back burning the rest of the wagons and a hundred more men near Mord who galloped away at high speed with Bolla in her bear form at his side. The snarling foaming garmhunds were magically seeking out wolfskins, biting and then seeking others to bite. Sigurd shouted, “Shift!” He and those of his pack of alpha status, mostly females, shifted and attacked. Without fear of getting hydrophobia the wolfskins ganged up on each garmhund tearing them to shreds. The yelps and snarls of the enraged garmhunds created a cacophony of hideous screams. All but the one still at Bolla’s side were killed. By noon, the gate was finally breached by the powerful battering ram and bearskins stormed in shouting with berserker rage. Some of the bears shifted and soon it was a chaotic macabre landscape of death and destruction. The clang of weapons against men and shields, and the growling and grunting of beast warriors shook the earth with its ghastly reverberations. Sigurd sought out Mord the Blood Claw but he was too far back in the safety of a nearby hill with the bear witch. He fought hard, hoping that the bearskins already fighting within the castle would not find the secret door down to the Lupercal where Emelisse was. Emelisse fretted inside the safety of the Lupercal. The secret palace was sound proof yet she heard the din of battle. It was nearly sundown and the battle had raged since early daylight. Hugues walked to her. “By now, Lupa must have used the Byzantine fire, perhaps cutting their army in half if not more.” She sat on a high chair next to the statue of Diana the Huntress “I feel so useless.” “We are mere humans, it is best to let the children of Feronia wage war against the powerful bear-men.” Arnou ran into the hall. “Milady, t’is Heith at the secret door.” Hugues drew his sword out. “It might be a trick.” Emelisse stood and grabbed her quiver and bow. Arnou released his held breath. “Nay, it was her voice. She was screaming that Runa was badly hurt.” “Emelisse, stop!” shouted Hugues as he followed her down the passageway to the secret entry, The outside was guarded by two lycans. Were they dead? “Shhh.” Emelisse turned to Hugues who tilted his head to listen. 237

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf “Please, let me in. I’m all alone now.” Heith pleaded. Hugues stepped in front of Emelisse. “What of the guards?” “Dead. Please you must help me save Runa,” “We must help,” said Emelisse. “Are there any bearskins nearby?” asked Hugues. “Nay. Runa was attacked in the village and wounded. She and I escaped here. Emelisse, forgive me for being unkind to you. I promise. Help me save Runa.” Her voice was desperate and pitiful. “Open it,” ordered Emelisse. “Alright, but I go first.” Hugues lifted the latch and with sword in hand peered out. It was dusk and darkness was approaching. He stepped out followed by Emelisse and Arnou. He scowled. “Get back inside!” Emelisse ignored him. “Where is Runa?” Heith pointed near the well at the prone body of a gray wolf. “Oh, please help her she is near dead.” Heith looked sound, her hair neatly pleated and her face free of tears, unusual, considering her flight and close call with death. Emelisse ran to Runa, trailed by trusted Hugues and Arnou. On reaching the body she observed the fixed rigor mortis in the poor wolfskin. Runa was dead. Was Heith mad? The slam of the door to the secret entry made her and the others whip around. She felt cold unease crawl up her spine. Now closed, it would be impossible to open. Heith sat on the closed door above the ground and laughed. Hugues stood, his tone demanding an immediate answer. “Are you mad, woman? Why did you allow the door to close?” She shot them a wicked smile. “So you will not go in. Fools!” From the wood behind Heith three bearskins and Bolla emerged followed by her mangy garmhund. Hugues stood like a shield in front of Emelisse who hugged Arnou in her arms. Were they to die like this? Bolla walked to Heith and handed her a bag of coin. “Your reward.” Heith curtsied. “Thank you, Mistress.” She smirked at Emelisse in triumph. Despite their immediate danger and suspecting the answer, Emelisse had to ask. “Why the betrayal?” Heith glowered at her with venom in her tone. “It is about time you are snuffed out runt!” Bolla growled. “Leave wench, before I change my mind.” Heith scowled at Emelisse one more time and ran back toward the wood. Would she seek out Sigurd or make her way back to the north? Hugues whispered. “You and Arnou run, I will hold them off as long as I can.” Tear stricken Emelisse nodded and holding Arnou’s hand took a step back. Hughes must not sacrifice himself. She pushed the boy behind her and fingered her bow. Bolla cackled and commanded a hound that suddenly rose from behind a boulder. It was a maddened garmhund. Its four eyes glowed in the darkness. It stalked, baring its long fangs and drooling foam. “My pet loves little boys,” she said as she glanced at Arnou. She turned her attention to 238

Eva Gordon Emelisse and grinned showing broken yellow fangs. “You, wolf witch will be brought back as a special gift to Mord.” Emelisse remembered what Brynhild had told her and Sigurd. In order to break her control over the garmhund, Bolla must be killed. “Run!” ordered Hugues as the menacing demonic hound stalked Arnou. No time to take aim, they ran. Emelisse pushed Arnou toward a tall tree. “Climb!” “But?” “Do it!” Emelisse did not follow him up but instead took out an arrow, her hands trembling as she tried to steady them long enough to grip her bow. Hugues charged at the garmhund. In its maddened state, it leapt toward Hughes. Undeterred by the sword stabbing through its shoulder it locked its mammoth jaws over his jugular and bit down, killing the knight instantly. The bearskins boomed a laugh. Emelisse tried not to look at dear Hugues. Bolla called back the drooling dog. She snickered as she glanced at Emelisse with her arrow strung in the center of her bowstring and ready, aimed at her. “Do you really think your little arrow can harm me, Bolla the bear witch?” Emelisse lifted her chin. “Let the boy go and I will let you live.” “The boy will be a fine snack.” Bolla strengthened her spine. “Let me give you something better to aim at with your feeble little weapon. Bolla’s bone cracking shift began and soon she shimmered into the large white bear. She stood on her hind feet and roared. One of the bearskins advanced on Emelisse. The foaming garmhund sat on the ground waiting for his mistress’s next command. Her hands trembled but she used her thumb to stabilize the arrow and pulled back on the bowstring at the now bigger target. “Feronia guide the arrow true, let my destiny begin.” The arrow sang through the air with the unnatural speed and aim of Feronia’s magic. It struck through the chest with a piercing thud and created a sparkle of bolts on its target. Bolla snarled and bellowed. She stepped forward, not realizing it had been a lethal strike. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed. The work of Feronia’s magic. The bearskins looked on in shock. The garmhund released from her magical hold turned to the nearest bearskin and attacked ripping his throat instantly before another bearskin took an axe and beheaded the miasma ridden dog before the beast could bite him. Emelisse ran but one of the bearskins grabbed her by her waist and threw her on the ground. “Mord will skin you alive for killing the bear witch!” The other one glanced at Bolla. Her eyes had already glazed and stared aimlessly. He grunted. “What about the boy?” “She is the prize we want.” He slung her on his back and they headed away into the woods. Lupa and the alpha females fought hard inside the castle while Sigurd and the rest of the pack tried to keep the majority from going in. “Isabelle, bring the jars.” Lupa had decided it was time to use the most lethal of weapons. She worried that the glass jars of Byzantine fire would set the entire place ablaze if tipped over during the melee. 239

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf Isabelle gingerly picked up the three jars. Cassandra and two other alpha females in wolf form lunged at the single remaining bear that was approaching Isabelle. Tala ran in. “Hand me one.” Isabelle growled. “Go help Lupa.” She stumbled and Tala caught one of the jars. Lupa turned. “Tala, bring it here.” Tala gave her a sinister sneer. “I should have been on the Lupercal. Radulf had promised me I would be the lead alpha. Now you let a foreign lycan lead our packs and a mere runt as his wolf maiden.” She petted the jar like one would a furry kitten. Lupa barked at the others. “All of you get out!” They afforded one respectful glance at their leader, and then followed her orders. “Tala, put down the jar, lest you burn the entire manor!” She scoffed. “My new home in the stables will be safe. Why should I care if your new master’s castle burns down and the Lupercal Temple with it?” “Listen to your words. It is heresy to burn down Feronia’s temple.” Lupa could not imagine setting fire to the great library and precious antiquities. Worse, down below was Emelisse, Hugues and Arnou. “I loved Radulf and would have allowed him to bed the runt!” She stepped closer to the door that led down to the stairs to the Lupercal. “Tala! No, I beg of you!” She opened the door and stood with the jar hovering over the stairwell in one hand. “Submit to me. On your knees. Tell me I will be the alpha leader of the Lupercal and you the stable slave.” Lupa went on her knees and bowed but to her horror she saw a bearskin barrel in from outside and throw an axe at Tala. She growled and shifted, letting go of the jar. The Byzantine fire ignited. Tala and her attacker vaporized and a flaming ball shot down below to the Lupercal. The fire roared back up and lit the castle on fire. Lupa scrambled from the fireball and shifted in mid-air as she leapt from the inferno. Sigurd shifted back to his human form and roared, as Mord the Blood Claw and his remaining bearskins retreated back down the mountain. “Fight me!” Chanteloup approached, he had remained human the entire time. “Thanks to the Byzantine fire and your strategic leadership, he is defeated. Why don’t you and your pack go after him and finish him off?” Sigurd, only wearing deerskin breeches, his chest covered with the blood of others nodded. Though there were still more bearskins, they would use wolf cunning to conquer them. “Nothing would please me more.” As he turned to call for his men, Lupa leapt out of the castle. A thundering explosion from beneath the ground was followed by a burst of flames that blasted out like the breath of an enraged dragon. It turned the entire mostly wooden castle into an inferno. “Emelisse!” He shifted and ran toward the blaze. Another blast caused a large chunk of wall to come hurling toward him. It slammed against him and he felt blood course out of his head. Whimpering he tried to get up before blackness over took him and he lost consciousness. 240

Eva Gordon A blast sounding as if the sun itself had crashed against the earth shook the ground. Emelisse and the bearskins stumbled as they headed toward Mord the Blood Claw’s camp. Huge vents ripped the mountain open and spewed flames from the castle’s underbelly. The fire blazed through the forest catching everything on fire. Only Byzantine fire could cause such devastation. “Nay!” The Lupercal! All was lost. She closed her eyes. Was Sigurd dead? She landed on her knees not caring what the bearskins did to her. Nothing mattered. The sound of a thud was the bearskin dropping behind her. He attempted to shift and remove the Franciscan axe that had been buried within his human skull. It grunted once and died. Arnou stood facing them and waved both arms at the remaining bear to follow. It shifted into a large black bear and raced after the boy at a breakneck speed. Emelisse grabbed a large stick as if it would do some use and followed. If she would die, she would die like a Valkyrie. “Let him go,” she shouted after the maddened bear. Out of breath she continued into the edge of the forest near the village outskirts. A roar erupted on her right. Arnou and a pack of thirty or more real wolves had been waiting for the bear. They bore their fangs and pounced on the bear. Out numbered the bear soon succumbed to their strategic lethal bites. Arnou ran to her and gave her a hug. “Milady, are you alright?” “Yes, but where is…” He grinned, not bothering to hide his pride. “The bearskin fell in my trap. I used my Lupercii skills to call on our forest brothers and sisters.” She turned to look at the downed bear with the alpha wolf digging out its liver. She hauled Arnou away from the carnage. The ground shook from another explosion and they fell. “Our home is lost,” she said. He helped her up. “The Byzantine fire?” She nodded. “It must have been an accident.” “And milord Sigurd and the pack?” “I know naught,” she said with a small voice. “I’m sure our lord escaped. Come, I found some horses.” She smiled at the boy. She had to trust that Sigurd and her family were alive and waiting on the mountain’s other side.

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Chapter 27 Sigurd awoke. He was covered in soot and plaster on a stretcher. A wet poultice lay over a gash in his head that was beginning to heal. He sat up with a start. “Emelisse!” Chanteloup swallowed back tears. “I’m afraid she is gone.” His eyes widened in horror. The thought of her caught in the firestorm after all she had gone through could not be. “No!” His eyes widened. Horror struck. His heart hammered. “There were many tunnels. She must have reached the secret exit.” He grabbed deer hide breeches laid out for him and donned them. A familiar feminine voice spoke. “Nay, Milord. I was near the exit when the fire spewed out. I saw no one escape.” It was Heith. He glared, his tone was accusing. “Why are you here?” He turned his head and saw Cassandra treating Isabelle for burns. The ulf hexen spoke with a small voice. “I came here to escape the forest fire.” He ignored her. “I need to find Emelisse.” Chanteloup clutched his arm. “Lupa and the pack are searching what is left of the Lupercal. No human bones have been found.” Chanteloup his face drawn in loss, glanced at Isabelle. “She tried to enter the castle twice to rescue our daughter before one of your wolfskins knocked her unconscious to save her life.” He explained to Sigurd how Tala had dropped a jar of Byzantine fire down the shaft when she was slain by a bearskin. Sigurd immediately sniffed the scent of the embers; the fire had been out for at least a day. He touched his gash, the healing was nearly complete. He pushed Chanteloup away and stood, his heart could not accept that Emelisse was gone. The stench of smoke was everywhere. In the distance he saw the scorched trees. He raced toward the remains of the smoldering castle and roared in forlorn agony. “Emelisse!!!” He knelt by the entrance to the Lupercal and shifted. He bawled out a thunderous sorrowful howl. Chanteloup shifted and joined him in mourning. Soon others chorused in sorrow. One task was left of him. He must kill Mord the Blood Claw. He shifted and he helped Chanteloup up as he too shifted and stood as a man. He surveyed the damage. “How was the fire stopped?”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf “Lupa would not have used Byzantine fire unless she had the means to stop it. The reversing compound was successful,” explained Chanteloup. “The others managed to release the horses and livestock.” He felt a lump in his throat but mostly he felt rage. “And Mord?” If Emelisse was lost to him then he would join her in the afterlife. He would kill the murderer of his brother and die in battle. “They waded into the lake while their camp burned. My scout said he is preparing to attack again. He has about thirty bearskins left. The Byzantine fire killed hundreds.” Sigurd stood naked, his body blackened with ash. “I will send him to hell.” Heith approached and grabbed him by the elbow. “You are not well yet. Rest for another day.” Fangs out, he snarled. “Let go of me.” Heith winced and released him. One of the females took her away from his furious temper. He smelled deceit in her blood. Was it his imagination or was she somehow responsible for Emelisse’s death? Lupa had already testified it was Tala who started the fire. It was not her fault the Lupercal and castle had burned. He turned to Chanteloup. “May I borrow your sword?” Chanteloup reached inside a sac. “Better you take your own.” He sighed. “Brynhild. Thank you.” “Wait, our lycan pack will join you.” He looked around. The lycans were down to about thirty and they would be needed to defend the mountain. He and his twelve men would kill as many as they could before going to Valhalla. “Nay, stay here and rebuild your home. I go with my remaining wolfskins.” Chanteloup shook his head. “Counting you, it will be thirteen against thirty bears. That will be suicide!” His men stood and lifted their shield and sword. “Sigurd, Son of Gunnolf, we join you in blood battle!” Isabelle moaned and tried to stand. “Sigurd.” He rushed to her side. “Rest, Milady.” He could not help but feel the wretched guilt that it was somehow his fault. If he had gone to kill Mord and Bolla on his own she and her people would still be alive. “She is not dead. I know she lives.” The poor woman would not accept the death of her child. With tears in his eyes, he comforted her. “T’is true, Emelisse lives.” She is now a Valkyrie of that he was certain. Would he see her as he had Brynhild? Or would she appear to him as he breathed his last breath? She cast a weak smile and closed her eyes. Chanteloup gripped his corded arm. “Avenge our fallen brethren.” Sigurd and his pack stood and faced the forest that led to Mord. He pointed his sword up in the air. “Fenris, son of Loki, God of Fire guide me to vengeance!” Though the day was blue and clear a bolt of lightning shot through the sky followed by the rumble of thunder. He howled and the pack joined in. Sigurd shouted a berserker rage and ran down the trail with his bare chest and red hair flowing like living flames from his head. His twelve loyal wolfskins followed. Away from the burnt castle they slowed and silently 244

Eva Gordon stalked above Mord’s camp. They would wait till dusk. The night’s full moon assured their strength would be greatest. Emelisse and Arnou galloped their horses at breakneck speed toward the smoldering mountain. As they rode closer her heart sank. Half the crumbling castle lay in ruin and a gaping hole on the other half revealed the charred remains of what was once the Lupercal. The temple was no more. The lycan library full of ancient texts and scrolls was gone as were the alchemical chamber and the hall of art. She recognized a black wolf that emerged from behind some fallen pillars near the opening. Lupa. She was followed by ten pack lycans in their wolf form. She dug her heels in jolting her horse forward. “Lupa!” The head of the Lupercal stopped and howled. The others joined in with joyful howls. In the distant others heard and responded. She turned to Arnou. “They must have thought we were dead.” Arnou’s horse kept pace with hers. “You must let milord Sigurd know you are well.” She reached the pack and jumped off her mount. Lupa shifted and hugged Emelisse in a tight hold as if to make sure she really was alive. Teary eyed Lupa seemed beyond ecstatic. “I’m so glad you escaped the firestorm.” “We were out before the inferno.” Lupa raised an eyebrow. “Out with bearskins around?” “T’is a long story, I will have to tell you but for now, where is Sigurd?” “He is recovering. He tried to go in to find you when a piece of debris knocked him out.” Emelisse gasped. “I must go to him.” Lupa nodded. “Go toward the tower that still stands, he and the others are there.” On the far horizon she saw smoke. Emelisse leapt on her horse and headed toward where she would reunite with Sigurd. Arnou and the lycans in their wolf forms followed her up the path. It was close to twilight when they arrived in all that was left of the Chanteloup Castle. Her father sat next to Isabelle who had her feet wrapped in wet linens. She ran to them. Her father met her half way and embraced her. “Thank Feronia, you live. T’is a miracle!” She gave him a smile. “It was an act of betrayal that saved us.” She looked behind her father and her eyes grew big with worry. “Wolf mother, you are injured.” She went into her open arms. “My child. My paws were singed but are starting to heal.” “Isabelle had to be dragged back when she wanted to enter the inferno to find you as did Sigurd.” She looked around anxiously. “Where is he?” Chanteloup spoke. “He and his wolfskins went after Mord the Blood Claw and what’s left of his army.” Lupa arrived and shifted. “He should not attack, Bolla may have other tricks.” Emelisse lifted her shoulders up. “I killed her with a single arrow to the heart.” 245

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf They all gaped. Arnou added to her testimony. “T’is true, I saw the arrow dig deep into that evil witch’s heart.” Lupa donned a robe. “Feronia indeed has chosen you. Did she warn you to escape long before the fire?” Arnou pointed an accusing finger at a woman near a wagon trying her best to cover her face beneath her hood. “It was Heith. She tricked us into leaving the underground. She led Bolla and her men to us.” Emelisse furrowed her brows in an angry frown. She had the strongest urge to shoot an arrow through Heith’s fiendish heart. “She dares come here!” Before she could reach the treacherous wolf maiden, Lupa had flashed by and gripped Heith. “Speak woman. Did you betray her?” Her face lost all color. Humans could not lie to a lycan. “Bolla said she would kill me unless I helped her find Emelisse.” She knelt. “Forgive me; I was mad with love for Sigurd.” Chanteloup and Emelisse surrounded the defeated woman. Her father lifted her to her feet with one swift pull by her arm. “You delivered my daughter to our worst enemy. If you were not a wolf maiden I would rip your throat out.” He shoved her away and Heith fell on her rump. He glowered over her. “You were mistaken in thinking Sigurd would want you after believing Emelisse dead. Instead thinking she is dead he marches with his men to his death as a warrior.” Emelisse shot him a look of horror. “Nay. I must tell him I am alive. Where is he?” Her father gave her a sorrowful look. “You can’t. The moon is rising and the battle will soon begin.” “Where, father?” She demanded. Her father reached for her. “He would want you to remain here, safe with us.” A tall ghostly woman dressed in Viking mail stepped from beyond the thicket. Brynhild. “Down by Auroch Lake.” “Thank you!” She said to Sigurd’s sister. “I will go to him.” Her father tilted his head and sniffed. “Emelisse who are you talking to?” Apparently she had been the only one who saw her, except for Lupa who gave her a knowing smile. The head of the Lupercal nodded. “T’is part of the web.” Emelisse, her quiver still slung on her back, jumped on her horse and raced in the direction of Mord the Bear Claw’s base camp where her beast warrior, Sigurd had every intension of sacrificing himself. Sigurd and his wolfskins arrived before the moon rose and fought as men but the bearskins had taken their bear forms and had already killed three of his men. Sigurd and his pack retreated and gathered in the wood. As the eerie crimson colored moon shone through the dark clouds his men began to shift. Mord the Blood Claw remained human and stood back laughing. He lifted his arm swinging a hammer above his head in a circle, as if it were some child’s toy rather than a deadly weapon that busted through shields as easily 246

Eva Gordon as flesh. With a battle scarred and bearded face Mord scowled a grin at Sigurd. Still human, Sigurd buried Brynhild in the ground and challenged Mord. Thunder rumbled as if the gods themselves cheered from the skies. “Fight me, you stinking sow. The ravens need a hearty meal!” Mord the Blood Claw stepped forward as his bulky bears lumbered behind him, waiting for his next command. “Gunnolf’s whelp. It is you who will whimper as I kill you. Bolla must have enjoyed ripping your ulf hexen in two.” His blood raged. Emelisse died in the fire not at the hands of Bolla. He lifted and pointed Brynhild at Mord. “You lie! My mate was lost in the flames and not at the hands of Bolla.” His laughter boomed. “An ulf hexen, Heith, from your pack guided Bolla to her hiding place. Soon Bolla will bring her remains so that we can sup after I wear your red pelt.” Had Heith really betrayed Emelisse to Bolla? How else would this dog know the ulf hexen’s name? “Grrr. You lie!” Yet, deep in his heart he knew scheming Heith would do anything to make him her mate. Sigurd glared at Mord as the bearskin lifted and waved an object at him. It was the wood carving of Emelisse he had given Hugues to safeguard. He hurled it toward him and Sigurd picked it up as it landed near his feet. If she had been captured then Hugues would have been as well, if not killed immediately. He must be telling the truth. Grief sank into Sigurd’s core. Mord snarled. “So wolfskin, believe me now?” The wolfskins beside him made deep rumbling growls, ready to attack on his command. His nostrils flared while his fangs drooled in foaming rage. “I don’t smell Bolla’s foul stench, where is she?” Berserker rage coursed through Sigurd’s blood. He would kill the sow for what she did to Emelisse. Mord scowled. “She must be busy killing your cubs!” Suddenly a gray horse trotted out of the forest near Mord. The rider, a woman, had a dark cloak and had her bow cocked with an arrow aimed at the bearskin. Dear Freya, Emelisse. She lives! His elation plummeted. She was in grave danger. “Emelisse, go back!” Her horse snorted nervously at the sight of the dark bear bodies ambling toward her. She lowered her bow and let the spooked horse prance around the threatening furred foes and shouted in courageous defiance. “Praise Feronia! She guided my arrow and killed Bolla.” Mord removed his armor and roared as he shifted into the largest bear Sigurd had ever seen. His shoulder hump was massive. She fired an arrow but her horse reared causing her aim to miss the mark and pierce the angered bear’s thick neck. He bellowed in pain and ripped out the arrow with his fake claw, shaking it with rage. He stood and snarled with a slaver of sputtering drool plummeting from his gaping chops. She galloped towards Sigurd and his wolfskins and the maddened Mord gave chase. His bears followed with loud bellows. Sigurd shifted. He and his pack ran towards her. On her horse she ran past the outnumbered pack. Running, Sigurd lunged at Mord’s throat. The bear swung with his fake bear claw knocking Sigurd down. The werewolf warrior still clutching a piece of Mord’s fur and flesh tight in his jaws, rolled 247

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf away. The bears stood on two legs swiping at the fewer wolves that could do nothing but growl and retreat from the deadly claws. Emelisse’s heart twisted at the sound of the yelps of the dying wolves. It was heart wrenching but even with the moonlight it was too dark to help with her archery. Brown bodies and gray wolf bodies were indistinguishable in the dim light. She dismounted and let her panicked horse race away. Tears ran down her face. Mord swung his mighty claw against Sigurd’s chest, sending him flying against a tree. He whimpered and lifted his head at Mord, who loomed above ready to swipe a lethal strike at him. “Sigurd!” The massive bear’s head swiveled to glare. Mord stood on his hind legs and honed in on her. It charged over Sigurd’s prone stunned body. Mord left Sigurd and with surprising speed loped toward her shaking the earth as its massive feet slugged the ground. No doubt he thought it amusing to butcher her perhaps before returning to slay Sigurd with a final lethal blow. Emelisse fumbled with her bow and then an arrow slipped from her hold and she ran. She searched for a tree to climb. As she ran for the woods, dark forms appeared from every direction. The howl of thousands of wolves weaved through the trees like a bewitched wind. Mord whirled around grunting, as the shadows separated and he was circled by wolves. The other bears also paused from chasing the mauled wolfskins. She twirled around. Wolves! In the forest, on the mountains, on the path to the lake and open meadow where the battle was happening. Wolves, not lycans or wolfskins but the much smaller genuine wolves. While hundreds howled, a horde of a thousand if not more stalked the bears. Growling and snarling they pounced on the bearskins. More than thirty wolves encircled each bear and attacked with cunning pack skillfulness. The bears bellowed and swiped at them but regardless of the bear’s greater size and human intelligence the wolves swarmed them like a hive of bees on a single enemy. In one simultaneous assault they attacked from all sides. A few wolves met their death at the maddened beast’s dagger sharp claws, but the bear was no match for an entire pack of relentless wolves. Night became a concert of growls, grunts and roars of fury, agony and death. The moon lit the sky allowing her to glimpse the ghastly slaughter of every bearskin. Brown bodies with exposed lacerated flesh lay with their blood soaking the ground. The prized piece of bear liver and intestines were dragged away by the victorious wolves. Soon nothing but empty shell like carcasses littered the plain. Emelisse spun as she heard one raging bellow. Mord still lived, warding off the inevitable attack. His useless claw was on the ground. Mord stood in the center of at least fifty or more wolves snarling at him. Yet they did not attack. Did they think he was too big? Were they waiting for reinforcements? Brynhild grabbed her. “Now Sigurd will destroy our brother’s killer.” She turned to say something but Brynhild was gone. A large red wolf approached. Sigurd. His hackles were up as he stalked Mord. His ears erect and forward as he approached. The other wolves parted. Sigurd curled his upper lip, displaying long blood stained fangs, and snarled. 248

Eva Gordon His jaws foaming with drool as if he suffered from hydrophobia. Yet this was no miasma but years of pent up rage. This was finally facing the beast that killed his brother. This was vengeance. Alone he flew at the standing angered bear and clamped on his throat. Mord seized Sigurd with his one powerful arm and squeezed him with a deadly bear hug, crushing his ribs, whilst the real wolves attacked, ripping Mord apart from all sides. Sigurd’s task was to grip Mord’s bulky throat and keep him focused on him allowing the wolves tear at his flesh without getting hurt or killed. The massive form succumbed and fell with an earthshaking thump. Sigurd released his hold and leapt on Mord’s back digging fangs into the back of its neck. Mord made feeble swipes to defend himself and stand, but more wolves joined in the melee. She fell on her knees and covered her ears from the eerie sound of the solitary death. Moments passed then the victorious wolves howled. She opened her eyes. Standing before was a very naked and bloody Sigurd. He picked her up and kissed her. She tasted the copper of blood in his mouth but she did not care. He lived. That was all that mattered. He finally set her down and howled. It was the call of a wolf reuniting with his beloved mate. Nine wolfskins, larger than the real wolves reached them and they too howled. Some of the real wolves began licking their wounds. A gray wolf on a nearby boulder howled. The real wolves stood and ran back to whence they came. Sigurd grinned. “Brynhild.” Emelisse held his arm. “It was she that commanded the wolves.” Brynhild’s wolf form was nearly as large as his but with gray fur intertwined with streaks of red. As the wolves ran back into the wood, Brynhild shimmered and then stood in her warrior woman form. “Sigurd and Emelisse, hear me. On this day forward our wolfen kind will protect our wild brothers and sister wolves from all harm. T’is a command from Fenris and his ulf hexen Feronia.” Sigurd, Emelisse and the remaining lycans bowed in respect. Sigurd was the first to straighten up. He gripped his sword and lifted it. “Brynhild, on this day forward we give you our pledge to steward our wild wolf brethren and honor their help in defeating the bearskins.” Brynhild nodded and a white tunnel of light extended directly from the moon, enveloped her and she vanished in the blinding beam. Emelisse lifted her chin. “Good bye Brynhild.” She had developed a great love for his sister who had on a number of occasions saved them from peril. She had a feeling that this might be the last time she would see her and was greatly saddened. He drew Emelisse in. “My little Valkyrie.” She elbowed him in the rib. “You are most fortunate I showed up when I did.” He boomed a laugh. “Indeed I am. Knowing that you lived made me fight harder to remain alive.” Sigurd surveyed the makeshift camp of wagons and tents. Two days had passed since they won the battle against Mord the Blood Claw and his bearskins. He ordered the packs to bury their wolfen dead on the battleground where they had fought. It would now become sacred ground. The bearskins remained bears in death and their bodies had been placed on a 249

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf heap and ignited. The mood of victory was not celebratory. The castle was in rubble and the Lupercal temple and vast halls were gone along with all the knowledge of the ages. Lupa and her council of twelve female lycans would search through the ruins for anything that remained. If not, they would painstakingly record as much as their memory could recall of the ancient texts. Emelisse would help in the endeavor but for now she was in charge of tending to the wounded. Isabelle approached, she was already healed from her burns. Heith was behind her with her head bowed in shame. “Sigurd, you need to make your decision on what to do about the traitor.” She growled at the ulf hexen who cowered even lower in submission. His first reaction to Heith’s betrayal was to have her executed. Yet, Lupa had pointed out that in the strange web of life, if Heith had not tricked Emelisse into leaving the Lupercal she, along with the boy Arnou, would have perished in the fire. Emelisse was of the opinion that Heith should be sent away to marry an alpha of another pack. She had such a kind heart, saying that Heith had begged her for forgiveness. He no longer thought Heith worthy of belonging to anyone, no matter how scarce wolf maidens were. He sighed. “I have decided. Bring her forth.” “Come woman, do not tarry!” Spat out Isabelle. Heith knelt on the ground before Sigurd. Her hands outstretched. “Have mercy on me.” She wept. “Everyone despises me, but I do not wish to die.” Sigurd bent and helped her stand. He took her chin in his fingers. “Emelisse has forgiven you but I will never do so!” His tone was harsh. She sputtered. “I… I was forced by Bolla. She would have killed me had I not helped.” “And yet she paid you well for your treachery and worse you accepted it.” “Please Sigurd, I beg of you, I am but a lonely widow.” His heart softened. “I order you banished from our kind. Keep your blood bribe and live among humans. If I find you have told anyone about our kind I will rip your throat out myself. Understood?” “Yes, Milord. I promise.” Sigurd turned to Isabelle. “See to it that her wolf mark is burned off.” Heith gasped and instinctively touched her hip. To remove the mark would avoid any lycan from seeking her out as a mate since the physical removal of the paw print meant she had betrayed her kind. She suppressed a cry. She would be lost forever from all that she has ever known. Sigurd held her by her shoulders. “Up the coast there is a Viking encampment. I will send word to the jarl that you are a Dane and wish to return to your homeland.” Her wet eyes widened. “Thank you Milord, thank you.” Isabelle escorted her away. Sigurd was satisfied with his decision despite the fact that it would be possible for Heith to give birth to a wolf maiden with a human man. Such a wolf maiden could be eventually claimed by a future alpha. He would leave such a fate up to Fenris and Feronia. Emelisse came running almost out of breath. “Sigurd, Alglaia returned. She is tethered on our wagon.” 250

Eva Gordon He smiled and drew her into a tight embrace, careful not to break his delicate wife. He knew how much she loved that little bird. “Well mayhap she will add to our hunts.” She glanced at the charcoaled remains of what was once the most important lycan territory. “Father plans to rebuild but until then he can stay with us.” Sigurd raised a questioning brow. “And where might that be?” “Did not Lupa tell you?” “Tell me what?” “It has been agreed that we will move north to Radulf’s manor.” He frowned. “I would rather stay amongst the rubble.” Emelisse laughed. “You won his territory and all that comes with it. We will remove all of his furnishings and start afresh.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “You can drink barrels of his ale to help you mark the territory.” She then traced a finger from his chest to his loins. “Below the castle is a large hot spring.” “And where will the Lupercal go?” “With us of course, though Lupa says that the Lupercal will only meet there once or twice a year. They will help father rebuild and then stay with each pack in various parts of the world. You my dear husband will be the military commander of all the packs. Like my father you will send out packs to do the biddings of kings and nobles.” “You mean to fight for pay?” He preferred to fight for glory rather than coin but t’is the way lycan packs had supported themselves for centuries. Why not serve the king who only wanted what was best for his people? The Lupercii would serve as spies and the lycans would be left alone to do as they pleased as they had for generations. A clandestine social order within a bigger human society. “My father will explain everything. Anyway, all packs are planning to meet on our next Lupercalia.” He grinned. “The Roman fertility ritual.” The thought of mating with Emelisse during this sacred rite caused his length to throb.

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Epilogue Emelisse watched as her four-year-old son, Gunnolf, played with the horse statue Sigurd had carved for him. He was so like his father, with fiery red hair and already at such a young age he was larger than most lycan children. Cassandra the wet nurse bundled Brynhild and handed the infant to Emelisse’s waiting arms. “This one milks me dry, Milady.” Like Gunnolf, her three-month-old daughter was big and like her brother, an alpha. Emelisse had hoped she would someday have a wolf maiden but after Brynhild’s birth, Feronia had told her in a dream that she and Sigurd would have only two children. Though small she had no problem giving birth to such large children. Sigurd had told her he did not mind only having two since all that mattered was that she was by his side and he had two healthy alpha lycans. Emelisse held the dark eyed babe. “She eats like a wolf.” Cassandra stood and bowed. Sigurd stepped in and bored into Emelisse with his aqua blue green eyes. “T'is I who is as hungry as a wolf.” Gunnolf set his carved toy down. “Father!” He ran to him and Sigurd picked him up and swung him around. He gently bit him on the nose and set him down. “Have you taken care of your mother, son?” He furrowed his brow with confidence. “Yes, father.” Emelisse came to him with her sleeping bundle. “You are back so soon. I would have…” He took her to his mouth and without crushing the baby, he kissed her for what seemed an eternity. He finally broke away and gazed at his daughter. “She has your bewitching eyes.” He leaned over and sniffed her fresh baby scent. “Hmm.” Cassandra came forth. “Milady, let me take them to the den nursery.” Sigurd gave her a roguish smile. “I see you understand.” She curtsied. “Yes, Milord.” She took the babe and Gunnolf by hand. “Your parents will see you after they bathe,” she said with a wink. As soon as the door clicked shut, Sigurd picked Emelisse up. “I made sure we won the battle quick so I could get back to where I really belong.” She sniffed. “I think I too smell your need. Only first, t'is proper as Cassandra suggested we bathe.”

Beast Warrior: Viking Werewolf His voice husky and his fangs out, he whispered in her ear. “We can meet my needs and bathe simultaneously.” She moaned at the feel of fangs along her neck. It had been too long since they had made love in the searing waters of the underground hot spring.

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White Wolf of Avalon Werewolf Kinght

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White Wolf of Avalon Werewolf Kinght  &

 ('' Bledig ran through the verdant spring forest with the speed and confidence of a wolf on a hunt. All his senses were suddenly awakened to every sound and scent. It was as though he was alive for the first time. Not even out of breath he whirled around and his eyes shot toward the copse. Could it be? The musky scent entered his nose. He salivated with hunger as a stag leapt away. His nostrils flared as he sniffed. Though it had disappeared he knew exactly where it was. Taking it for granted that his instincts were true, he smiled and gave chase. He had just turned thirteen years of age and his adopted father had told him that he would no longer be a boy. Yet what he was feeling could not be the transition between boy and man. It was more. It was magical. The scent of the stag continued down the hill toward a rushing river. It shot across the water and he followed, not wanting to wet his clothing he jumped across and landed easily on the other side with the agility of a horse. On landing he turned and his jaw gaped at the width of the crossing. Exhilarating. The scent was beckoning and he continued his pursuit of the creature. He could not resist the chase. He caught up to the stag that was far bigger than he imagined and cornered it between two boulders. Its eyes were white with fear. Why? The beast had the advantage of size. It snorted and lowered its massive head baring lethal antlers in preparation to defend itself. Bledig crouched and emitted a guttural growl. Sharp fangs emerged from his gums. His heart constricted. His hand went to his mouth feeling the blade sharp teeth. Was he becoming a beast? The trapped snorting stag attacked. He leapt out of its way as it sped toward the glen. It could have killed him but instead it ran. Perhaps like him it was not sure what curse had come upon him. His chest heaving he suddenly felt cold unease. Was he cursed? A few days back he had shot a hare close to the sacred Isle. His heart hammered. He was too close to where the fae

White Wolf of Avalon practiced the sorcery of the old ways. There were tales of trespassers being changed into beasts or trapped inside trees. The misty forest near Avalon was teeming with the fae who loved to trick and enchant unwary trespassers. His parents had warned him of hunting in the sacred forest filled with pixies and dark magic. Through the foliage on the pristine blue lake was the fog shrouded Isle of Avalon. The sound of a twigs breaking made him turn and roar a growl as if it was the most natural thing to do. There standing before him was the Merlin, known as Myriddin, the Druid bard and wizard. It was rumored he lived in the forest near Avalon like a hermit. His long white beard and white cloak made him look like he was older than the oldest oak tree. It was he who had trained the new king, Arthur Pendragon. Years back his foster father, a blacksmith had forged a sword for Myriddin that would someday protect and serve the new king. The sword had been taken to the sorceress Morgan le Fey who had enchanted it. His voice was low but with a bit of humor in his tone. “I see the moon waxes to its fullest this evening.” Bledig bowed. “My lord. I beg your humble apology for traversing too close to Avalon.” The Merlin laughed. “You don’t know do you?” He took out two apples from his cloak and threw him one. “Eat.” The mage bit into his apple and nodded with a smile. “Ah so sweet.” Not sure but not wanting to seem distrustful Bledig bit. His canines prevented him from taking a proper bite and he stopped the attempt. He tipped his chin to appear brave and pointed to his teeth. “Are these fangs of your doing my lord?” The Merlin bit off another piece and swallowed before speaking. He frowned as if insulted. “Boy do you think so little of me that my magic would create a spell as minor as mere fangs?” He took a breath, whipped out his wand and pointed it at a small rock, whilst mumbling words in an old language. The rock vibrated, turned into a wren and flew off. Bledig gaped, feeling drool drip down over his lip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He had not meant to offend the great mage. He shook his head quickly. “No. It’s just that my body did things I never imagined.” He fingered where his fangs had protruded. “My fangs are gone.” He went on his knees. “Thank you, my lord!” “Like I said,” Myriddin drawled. “I had nothing to do with your enchanted powers and wolf fangs.” Bledig blinked up. “So I was under an enchantment. Perhaps the fae or a sorceress?” Myriddin snickered with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes. “You will find out soon enough,” he said cryptically. He offered his hand. Bledig took it and in one swoop he was on his feet facing the most powerful Druid. He was amazed how strong the Merlin’s grip was despite his age. “What do you mean soon enough?” Myriddin raised an eyebrow. “Seven years ago when your father forged Excalibur you were no more than a small whelp. But now.” He shook his head. “For a boy of thirteen you are indeed as tall as I.”

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Eva Gordon The Merlin was tall, towering over most men. Pride in his heritage warmed Bledig. “I was told by my tutor, Ulfius, that my real father was nearly a giant.” He had grown taller than his adopted father in only the last seven months. The Merlin smiled. “How is Ulfius these days? I have not seen the old knight since I last visited Avalon.” “He is well. He told me I may soon be ready to become a page or even a squire by the next winter solstice.” He looked directly at the Merlin as if in challenge. “I surmised my father must have been a knight.” Merlin gave a brusque nod. “A fierce one he was.” He gulped in anticipation. “You knew my real father?” He sighed, his eyes downcast as if saddened by the memory. “He was a great knight and a friend to Uther Pendragon.” His heart soared. A knight. His foster parents spoke only a few words about who had brought him to be fostered in their home. It was common for boys born to fae women of Avalon to be given to others to foster. These women were small, the size of a child but when they appeared to mortals they became tall like human women. Only the girl babes were kept by Avalon’s fae women, since unlike the boys they retained the fae ability to shift. His parents knew nothing about his real parents. They told him that Morgan le Fey and a mysterious Roman woman, a great aunt had dropped him off. “Tell me about him.” Myriddin cast him a wry smile. “King Arthur’s sister, Morgan le Fey and your great aunt Silvia will soon explain everything.” “My great aunt?” He had known of her but had never given her much thought. He assumed she had dropped him off on orders of his mysterious fae mother. A woman he had hoped to someday meet. Myriddin looked around surreptitiously as if he had revealed too much. “I must return to the underground.” “Underground? I thought you served Arthur, in Camulod.” He shrugged. “I must remain where we still can freely practice the old ways.” His tone became sad. “I am but an echo from our King’s past.” He gestured with open arms and palms up to the sky as he swiveled his head to take in his surroundings. “My home is beneath the forest close to Avalon.” “I must know. Why did I run with the speed of a horse and why do I have a hound’s sense of smell?” His despair arose. “Am I cursed?” “Bah, cursed to ye think?” He laughed. “Nay, you are blessed.” Myriddin stepped closer. “And what else do you smell boy?” He stood with his fists on his hips, making him look more menacing. He sniffed and closed his eyes. “Your cloak smells of clover and quick silver.” “Hah, clover I used a few days ago and quick silver I worked with the past night.” He tugged at his beard. “I was not aware quick silver had an odor, but then again, I’m no hound.” A new scent appeared magically. Bledig sniffed deeply and sighed with delight as he caught the scent of animal flesh.

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White Wolf of Avalon Myriddin looked down at Bledig’s feet. “I see the sweet apple has been discarded.” He took a piece of raw meat out from his cloak that was a bottomless pouch of goods. He flashed a wide grin. “Perhaps this is more to your liking?” His fangs suddenly emerged with the anticipation of tasting it in his mouth. Without thinking Bledig grabbed and chomped on it, making grunting satisfactory sounds. Satisfying his initial hunger and savoring the taste of fresh blood juices dribbling down his chin, he suddenly realized how rude he was. Mortified at his bestial behavior, he swallowed it in one gulp and wiped his lips with his sleeve. His Roman tutor, Ulfius had taught him proper manners. He felt his face heat up. Before he could open his mouth to apologize the Merlin spoke as if reading his mind. “No need to apologize. By the morrow you will understand your nature and accept your destiny.” “By the morrow?” “Bah, I have said enough. Morgan’s powers are now greater than mine. She will banish me if I say more.” He laughed wholeheartedly. “To think she was once my student. Tis amusing for one as wise and powerful as me to fear retribution from a little fae.” Bledig had heard rumors of Morgan le Fey and the mysterious Lady of the Lake, Viviane. They punished those that betrayed the old ways, of the goddess and gods of the land. It was rumored that since Arthur’s wife Gwendolyn had become a Christian, Merlin had broken his relationship with Arthur, the boy he had raised as his own. He lowered his voice. “Is she here my lord?” He winked. “Soon my boy, soon.” He spread his white cloak. “Farewell young Bledig.” “Wait!” What did he mean, ‘soon’? In a flash of light the Merlin took on the shape of a large white raven and flew off toward an oak tree grove disappearing inside a gaping hole of a large gnarled tree. What would it

be like to shift into an animal? The wind picked up and he caught the scent of his mother’s fresh loaves. He turned and headed home before the evening hit. Bledig rushed into the good sized cottage. Ogwen his foster father had done well as the local blacksmith. He noted the rich aromas, each scent as distinct as a single color. His nose had become as important as his eyes in observing his surroundings. The table appeared to be ready for guests. There were roasted chickens, cooked turnips, three loaves of bread and several flagons of ale. Cari shot him a smile as she shooed away a goat. “Where have you been?” “I ran in the forest to the very edge of the lake.” Her brow furrowed with worry. “We have warned you of the dangers of being so close to the Isle of Avalon. You might have been turned into a boar or some other hideous beast.”

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Eva Gordon He felt foreboding at such a thought, for he felt less human and more beastlike. “Something is different.” He did not know how to tell her. “I ran fast enough to keep up with a stag.” She placed her hands over her heart. She had always been superstitious and by the look on her ashen face she probably thought he had been cursed. Yet the Merlin had called him blessed. He changed the subject so as not to worry her. “Are we expecting guests?” “If you must know, we are celebrating your birthday and to keep the evil spirits out we have invited, no… received word that…” she hesitated. “Morgan le Fey and a woman named Silvia are coming back for you.” A flicker of fear spread across his face. “Back for me? Why?” She scratched her head and shook her head with fret. “We meant to tell you earlier but our hearts were torn. We dreaded the day you would leave us on your thirteenth birthday.” “Father never mentioned it. And does Ulfius know?” For the last seven years an old Roman Knight, Ulfius had tutored him twice a week in everything from Latin to mathematics, to swordsmanship. All he knew was that Ulfius had been sent by a great aunt he had never met. Could this Silvia be his great aunt? Bledig had pestered Ulfius for answers but he had told him that he was honor bound to simply teach him and not divulge anything more until he was a man. Last meeting Ulfius had asked him if he had dreamt of hunting on all fours like a wolf. He had told him yes and then his old tutor had gathered his materials and left in haste before even having him review all the cases in Latin. Whatever had just happened with his more attuned senses and superhuman strength and speed, Ulfius must know why. She twisted a brave smile. “Yes, Ulfius will be here as well.” Something was indeed different. Ulfius rarely visited after dark. He felt tears well. “I don’t want to go!” She took him in her arms even though he towered over her. She had grown shorter the last year and her once dark hair had now turned gray. “We love you and always will.” She looked up at him. “Now go help your father. He wanted you to help him move the large anvil.” He gulped. He was no longer a boy who should be sniffling as if he had skinned his knee. It would not be so bad. He would go with Ulfius and perhaps become his squire and someday serve the king as a brave knight. He nodded and headed to his father’s work shed. Ogwen wiped sweat from his soot covered brow on his always ruddy face. “There you are. Help me move the anvil over there.” “I can do it myself.” Bledig got to it first and lifted it with ease. “Not possible…” Ogwen gaped, his eyes as big as an owl’s. Bledig twisted a smile, trying to suppress his worry. “I need to talk to you about my new abilities.” Ogwen scrunched his brow into a look of deep concern. “What do you mean?” Bledig rapidly explained his new highly attuned senses and his ability to leap and run like a wild beast. Seeing the look of fear creep on

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White Wolf of Avalon his father’s face he omitted the presence of fangs. His nose also caught a whiff of a new scent from his father. Fear. “Does this have anything to do with the magic of Avalon?” Ogwen puckered his lips in thought. “I’ve noticed how alert and strong you have grown the last month. All these years I have raised you knowing you were special from the moment Morgan le Fey and the Roman woman brought you as a mere babe. Why else would they send Ulfius to teach you?” “Yet you never told me anything. Why?” His eyes widened and his ruddy face reddening even more in the light of the furnace. Before speaking he looked around fugitively and then whispered. “I do not interfere with the old ways, and certainly not with the likes of Morgan and the Merlin.” His voice somber. “And tonight they come for me.” “Your mother and I were told that on the full moon near the thirteenth year of your birth it would be your destiny to return with your great aunt, the Lady Silvia.” “Silvia.” Bledig sounded out the foreign sounding name. Ogwen slowly nodded. “Put out the flames, wash up and meet us in the cottage. Wear your clean breeches.” Before Bledig could ask more questions, Ogwen left. He felt his heart suddenly quicken. Something was not right. No. Something felt too right. Exhilarating. A surge of pleasurable energy shot up his spine and he groaned in ecstasy. He fisted his hands and howled like a wolf. Prickly white fur began to emerge from his arms, throat, face and back. He began to shimmer and saw his nose elongate. He fell on all fours. His legs became furred, his feet formed into paws. The crack of his joints reforming should have been agonizing but instead it felt good, like snapping a neck back in place. His senses were even more attuned than they were before. He gazed down at his new body. He was a white wolf, but not an ordinary wolf. A wolf the size of a large stag or a bear. A monster. His ripped garments lay on the ground. It was now dark but he saw things as clearly as day. The sound of crickets reverberated in his head. So loud. “Bledig!!” Ogwen called out for him and rushed in. He eyed the torn clothing. “NO!” He picked up an ax. Bledig stared at the maddened blacksmith ready to charge with the fierce weapon. He must think he had been killed by the giant wolf. I’m Bledig. Would he have to kill his foster father in self defense? He backed away trying to speak, but instead curling his lips displaying long fangs and growling. A small woman with dark hair and a green cloak stood behind the horror-struck blacksmith. “Stop!” Ogwen his chest heaving, did not take his eyes off him. “The wolf has devoured Bledig!” “Nay, the wolf is Bledig.” She moved in front of Ogwen with a smile. “Bledig, it will be alright. You can shift back.” Another woman, tall and elegant with long gray braided hair walked in followed by his teacher Ulfius. “Bledig, I am Silvia, your

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Eva Gordon father’s aunt.” With an outstretched arm she stepped closer to him. “Do not be frightened.” Bledig cocked his head to one side. He recognized her scent, her kind. His kind. No. He did not want to be a wolf. He wanted to be a man, a squire who would fight as a knight for King Arthur. He could not be an animal. Gripped by sudden fear he reacted with his hackles up and snarled at Silvia. Fearless, the woman, his aunt, turned to the others. “Leave us.” Ogwen his eyes wide in alarm shook his head but allowed the small dark woman and Ulfius to escort him away. Alone his great aunt smiled and shimmered. In moments she too was a wolf. Gray with designs of purple stripes in the shape of lightning bolts on her shoulders. She spoke to him in the language of the wolf, and he understood. She trotted out into the woods, and he followed as if under a spell. Together they had hunted and killed a large tusked boar. She had allowed him the first flesh and he had taken it. He ate with great relish. She gave him a wolfish grin and joined him in the feast. Enjoying the succulent tissue, he wolfed it down until his belly bloated like a dead fish. As Bledig shook another chunk off the boar’s haunches, he stared down at his white bloodied fur and then at her. With a wolfish look of horror, he whined and shifted back to his human form. He yelled. ‘No!’ Naked, he ran back home. She tried to catch up, but now old it was hard to keep up with the young alpha with the speed of the wolf in spite of his human form. Bledig packed his belongings and sighed. In one single night his comfortable life had altered. The next morning after his first hunt as a wolf he had argued with his great aunt Silvia about his destiny, one not of his choosing. He was the son of a wolfen, or what his great aunt Silvia called a lycan. He had always longed to be the son of a great knight and a beautiful woman of Avalon, but this legacy of having the blood of a beast was disturbing. It was a brutal world. She had explained the next morning that his parents and twin brother had been slain by a lycan for power. His heart stirred, a deep emptiness revealed itself. A brother? Was that the missing part of his life? The presence he’d felt when he was too young to know better? A silent voice telling him to add more kindling to the hearth or a phantom kick during a night’s sleep. That presence that had left long ago must have been the spirit of his brother. Bledig closed the chest that contained all his possessions. He was to leave the home he had known all his life and go to Avalon with his great aunt and Ulfius, his mentor. He wanted no part of being a lycan or a member of a secret society he knew little of and worse cared little about. He felt a pang of guilt. His real parents had loved him, but he felt nothing for them except a vague need to seek justice and perhaps vengeance. A soft knock on the door to his small chamber snapped him from his dark melancholy. “Come.”

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White Wolf of Avalon Ulfius stepped in. “I see you are ready. The wagon will carry your chest.” He shot him a wry smile, perhaps to cheer him up. “I brought you a fine young colt, new to the saddle. He is still dark gray but in a few years will be as white as snow.” A colt? Bledig should have been more excited at the prospect of a steed but he had too many questions about his nature to care about a new horse. His resentment toward the teacher he had known most of his life flamed his anger. His great aunt had told him that Ulfius was a human that served the lycans. He flashed his fierce blue eyes at him. “Why did you never tell me the truth, Lupercii?” He emphasized the title with a sarcastic tone. The gray bearded and now bald mentor averted his gaze. His crooked stoop hinted at his advanced age. “I as a Lupercii to our goddess Feronia am honor bound to secrecy.” He straightened his back and folded his arms. “I longed to tell you the truth. For your sake it was safer not to reveal your true nature until the time was right. An enchantment by Lady Morgan le Fey has kept Lady Silvia and my whereabouts a secret from Gorlagon and Gargol. They are well aware that I killed their father Guto on orders from my lady Silvia. But now that you have had your first shift you must return with us to be properly trained. They have no knowledge of a second son but if they did, they would seek you out and rip your throat.” “Why kill me when they already rule the Briton packs?” “Lady Silvia as well as the Lupercal prophesized that a white wolf will unite the packs of Britain, Hibernia and Caledonia.” “Do the sons of Guto know of such a prophesy?” “It was thought that Weylyn, your father was the white wolf but then he married Arwen, a Hibernian wolf maiden. You see, the white wolf must choose a mate from our ancient Romano/Hellenic line. Such as a wolf maiden from the Mediterranean region.” He scoffed. “I suppose Guto’s sons are not white wolves.” “Both are dark gray. Gorlagon hopes that he will someday have a son that fits this prophesy. His first wolf maiden from Naples died along with her babe in childbirth. He is now with another woman from an old Roman line from Gaul. His younger brother who is five years your senior is still without a wolf maiden.” “Does the Lupercal know I am still alive?” “Only the leader of the council, Accalia, knows of your existence.” He gulped. Was he really destined to be the king of a pack of lycans? “Gorlagon and Gargol may cross paths with you and sense your nature but they may assume you are of the old Celtic wolf line. That is why we named you Bledig.” “And what had my parents named me?” Ulfius shrugged. “You would have been Weylyn the Second and your brother was named Silvio. As far as they know, Weylyn the Second died at the hands of Guto.” “And you, my teacher have lived near Lady Silvia?” “I live in her modest palace. I have loved her all my life and am her devoted consort.”

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Eva Gordon Bledig had noticed their strong bond. The way they looked at each other was deep with respect and all abiding love and tenderness. She had referred to Ulfius as beloved. “My great aunt explained that alpha she-lycans are barren so that explains why you had no children of your own.” His eyes twinkled. “I never told you but I did have a son, who like you was fostered far away near King Arthur’s court. Sir Lanval. Every summer he would come and stay with me and Silvia. I taught him the ways of the Lupercii. Fortunately he was proud of his legacy and returned to marry a fae, who chose to leave the magical Isle.” Bledig felt his brow tighten. “You betrayed your love, yet my aunt forgave you.” Ulfius laughed. “Forgave me? Hah, it was she who encouraged me to honor Beltane with a fae. At first I refused but after her years of pestering I finally relented. You see she could not live knowing I never had a child because I chose to stay with her. I did not know that the woman who wore the mask that night would be the queen of the fae Viviane. I was honor bound not to tell Sir Lanval of his mother’s real identity, only that she was a Druid priestess of the old ways.” “He is a knight?” All he ever hoped for was to someday become a knight and serve the king. “You will be his squire.” Ulfius chuckled. “Like his fae mother, Lanval is short but still quite stout. Don’t let his size fool you; he has fought well in many battles. King Arthur made him a knight of the Roundtable. And his dark good looks even drew the attention of Guinevere’s lustful eyes. Imagine the queen seeking him out.” Bledig knew that Arthur’s queen was much younger than her king but such a betrayal did not sit well with him. “I will be proud to be his squire but I will not succumb to my wolfish nature. I will remain a man.” Ulfius gave him a wan smile. “So you say now my son, but the glory of your lycan blood becomes pleasurable and tempting on the full moon. Feronia willing you will someday find your chosen wolf maiden.” He latched the chest shut and gave Ulfius a sidelong glance. “I will not seek out such a woman.” He raised a questioning brow. “Pray tell me, does a lycan find her by her scent?” Ulfius frowned as he always did before arguing a point but then softened his stern look. “No, tis not easy. To lycans a wolf maiden has the scent of any ordinary human woman. Once found the alpha will be drawn to her but still he must make sure that she has the blessed mark of the lycan wolf paw upon her left hip.” A sudden surge of tightening in his groin at the thought of gazing upon a woman’s exposed left hip made him feel the flush of heat upon his face. He cast his eyes down, now curious. “These women, are they always born into a pack?” “Most are but more and more are born throughout the land with no knowledge they are wolf maidens. These girls have a strong connection to wolves and hounds but know naught why. We Lupercii often look for wolf maidens amongst human society for our alphas but we must take care, we don’t scare them off.”

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White Wolf of Avalon The thought of an innocent young woman not knowing she would be wed to a man beast made him cringe. He only wanted to be a knight and perhaps someday follow a chivalrous manner of courting with a fair damsel, not some woman with a bestial mark upon her flesh. Prophesy or not he chose to live his life as a man and let the lycans choose another leader. He lifted his chest of worldly possessions and followed Ulfius out and hauled it onto the wagon. His adopted father came out carrying a fine adorned sword with a large moonstone on its hilt. “This is a gift for you my son, may it serve you well.” Inside the moonstone was a white wolf head. Bledig’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Except for Excalibur, which Ogwen had forged for the king, he had never seen a finer sword. He took it in his hand and gazed at it as if it was Excalibur. It shined like the sun itself. Silvia stood beside him. “The moonstone was a gift I gave you on your birth.” “Thank you father and thank you great aunt.” He slipped it in his sword belt and embraced his father and then his teary eyed mother. “I promise I will visit when possible.” Ogwen nodded. “I know you will. Best you leave before noon.” “Father, I’m sorry I frightened you last night.” Silvia cast him a stern eye as if he had said something wrong. Ogwen raised an eyebrow. “Last night? I was only upset that you would see the sword too early.” Bledig was confused. Ulfius shook his head to signal him not to say any more. He understood. Somehow perhaps Morgan le Fey who had escorted Ogwen out of the shed on the previous night had enchanted him to forget seeing Bledig in the form of a large wolf. He patted the sword. “Trust me father, I had no idea.” Cari handed him a sac of provisions for the road while Ulfius brought his new horse he called Saturnus to him. He had not much time to admire the colt but knew that the tall mount promised to serve him well. Silvia clucked for her horses to pull the wagon, whilst he and Ulfius mounted. Saturnus high stepped forward and Bledig knew it would not be an easy first ride. He turned one last time to see his childhood home. Sad to leave his foster parents but gladdened to seek new adventures. He asked Saturnus to canter alongside Silvia’s wagon. “Tell me, did my brother receive a gift from you upon his birth as well?” She reigned in her horses to a walk and he managed to slow Saturnus. “I knew all along that your mother was to deliver twins. Back then I was the pack’s midwife as well as Lupercal advisor. Your brother, Silvio was given a moonstone just like yours. When your mother was killed, she died with the babe in her arms and the moonstone in his blanket. At least she did not see Guto kill Silvio.” “Did Ulfius find the other moonstone?”

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Eva Gordon “Nay. It was taken by Guto who must keep it somewhere in his castle.” Bledig did not know how or when but someday he would take back his brother’s moonstone. It was a promise he would keep.

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Glossary Lycan: An ancient line of humans that shift into large bear sized massive wolves with distinctive tattoos depicting their specific pack. Also known as wolfen, wolf men, wolfskins and werewolves. Their shape shifting is not painful but rather pleasurable. Lycans are superior to humans in many ways. They have the strength of ten men, and the alpha has the strength of five or more lycans. They can heal over night from severe wounds and are immune to most diseases except for the dreaded rabies and the toxin from wolf bane flower. They are very loyal and gentle with their young and pack members. Alpha Lycan: Dominant lycans that are leaders of their packs and can are not under the influence of the moon. They can shift at any time. The alpha male must control his pack of betas. Male Alpha: The male alpha leads the pack. He is the result of a lycan and human woman mating. He is the most powerful member of the pack and like all alphas can shift at any time. Alpha males can only marry a wolf maiden that is his life mate. Female Alpha: A female lycan not under the influence of the moon. She helps protect the pack and serves as a surrogate parent to all the pack children. Alpha females are barren. The Lupercal or Lycan secret governmental body is run by twelve alpha females. Wolf Maiden: A human woman with the special palm facing 5 toed wolf print birth mark, which turns bright red when she is imprinted by her alpha life mate. A wolf maiden can be born

to a pack or randomly among humans, unaware of her role. She is also known as an Ulf hexen in Viking culture. During the Middle Ages she was also called a wolf witch or a woman marked with the sign of the beast. Though she is meant for an alpha mate, she can marry and though it takes longer can get pregnant by a human and have normal males who can then have future wolf maidens. Beta Lycans: Lycans that shift only during the full moon. They must be controlled by the alpha since they can become mindless beasts that roam around and kill. Omega Lycans: Lycans that have been deemed the lowest of the low. In ancient times they were no more than slaves for the higher ranked lycans. The Lupercal no longer allows pack members to be treated like omegas since a near revolt during ancient times. Lupercii: Human men that serve the Lupercal and Lycans. They serve as spies for the secret lycan society and worship the lycan goddess, Feronia. They often take alpha female lycans as consorts. The Lupercii hope that in their next life they will be born as lycans. Feronia: The goddess of the lycans. She is said to have been a wolf maiden who took a shape shifting giant wolf as a lover. She communes with her oracles, especially with the leader of the Lupercal and wolf maidens. Lupercal: Governmental and spiritual body of the secret lycan society. It is run by twelve alpha female lycans. The leader of the Lupercal is often a seer and or sorceress. Their word is law and any who disobey will be considered rogue and or be punished by returning to their next life as a prey animal. Lupercalia: Early spring festival when most wolf maidens and beta lycans become fertile. Rituals allow for wild sex escapades. Den brother or sister: Pack that a lycan grew up with, not necessarily related by blood. Lunar Madness: A condition, though rare, which can occur when an alpha suppresses his shift for too long. It will cause the alpha to shift with the pull of the moon until his system stabilizes. Werewolf Bite fever: An infection that can kill a human from the bite of a lycan.

Wolf bane: A flower that is toxic to a lycan. It is often used as poison because a lycan cannot smell or taste it. Bear men: Also known as bearskins. An ancient line of humans who could shift into bears at anytime. Their shift is painful. Like bears they hibernate during the winter. They can be slow witted, strong and have a short temper. During ancient times lycans killed most off from the continent.

Meet the Author

Eva writes fantasy and paranormal novels with a strong romantic element. Werewolf Sanctuary is Book 1 in her epic Wolf Maiden Chronicles, a paranormal romance series involving male alpha lycans and their human mates known as wolf maidens. Book 2 in the series, Beast Warrior, takes place during the Viking era. She loves to create stories that combine her passion for mythology, romance and werewolf lore. Eva has a BS in Zoology and graduate studies in Biology. She has taught high school Biology, Environmental Science and Anatomy/Physiology. Her background in science and her passion for wildlife biology adds credibility to her writings. She also moonlights as a faculty member of the Grey School of Wizardry, an online school for kids and adults interested in magic and lore. A member of Romance Writers of America, Eva has also taught workshops on wolf lore and falconry for writer groups. She has volunteered at a wolf sanctuary and is involved in The Hungry Owl project, an organization that builds boxes to attract owls as a natural predator of rodents. You can learn more about Eva from her website and her blog. http://www.ravenauthor.com and http://evagordon.blogspot.com/