Savage Want (Wicked Wants, #3) (8 page)

I’d disgraced the family. I’d failed my father. I’d cut up the face of the man I was supposed to love. My heart felt as if it were bleeding all over the floor.

“If she wants to behave like the animal that took her, then let her suffer the same fate as he.”

I looked up at the Duke’s words. Did he mean...death? Imprisonment? Stoning? Hanging? Dozens of unpleasant endings for me raced through my mind.

Duke Penbroke turned to his guards. “I want the little bitch out of my sight. Take her to a cell while we decide what to do with her.”

Arms hooked under mine to lift me up. Why wasn’t my father stopping this? Didn’t they care that Cecil had tried to force himself on me? What had I done wrong?

I gripped the fabric of my dress tighter, but it was pulled from my hands. Half-naked, I was then dragged out the front doors before the entire manor and thrown into a cart usually reserved for swine when taken to market. The beautiful irony that Torsten’s blade had drawn Cecil’s blood after all was not lost on me.

I
was fitted with an iron collar that was nearly too big for me, as it was fashioned for a man’s neck. The metal was cold, heavy and the rusted bits dug into my neck almost immediately. The warden was a large brutish sort of creature, trapped halfway between swine and human, it seemed. His meaty hands lingered longer on my body than they should have, but it did not matter. With Cecil, I was protected. As his attacker, I was more vulnerable than ever before. By being a woman, I was lost.

The smell of the cell pen reeked, familiar to my nose from only a few nights before. Now, it was I who was marched in like a common criminal, not even granted the opportunity to have proper covering. My beautiful dress had been ripped to shreds and stained with blood. More than once, my hair was pulled to steer me a direction or another, instead of given verbal command.

Across the corridor, if it could be called that, was Torsten’s cell. Perhaps it was a special cruelty paid upon me by the Penbrokes, for to look upon a man who had once been a power leader and warrior, brought to his knees in chains and starved, was a special kind of hell.

I dared not speak to him until the cells had fallen silent and the guard was patrolling elsewhere. Torsten had finally been relieved of his time in the stocks and now lay on his side, facing away from me. His dark hair trickled over one sweating, heaving shoulder, but he made no sound.

I called his name again, but he still did not answer. Even in our pathetic, desperate situation, the torches kissed his bronzed skin with masculine beauty. His wolf tattoo stood out in stark contrast, little red flame-tongue just within view. My heart fluttered at the memory of nights together, seemingly lost forever. He might not die, but I surely would be relieved of my head or worse, once the bedlam had died down in the manor. Fright gripped me for certain, but hurt was far more prevalent in my person. My father had not defended me. He’d hardly said a word in my favor, except to ask what was expected of him. As if what I’d done was his responsibility. The question remained seared in my head, how could I be his responsibility if I belonged to Cecil?

In a hushed whisper that I hoped only Torsten could hear, I told him what I’d done. When I’d finished my story, he moved slowly to roll onto his back to stare at the low ceiling. His profile stood in sharp contrast to the back wall and he licked his cracked and split lips.

Why wouldn’t he respond? Had he given up on me as well? Had I risked everything for nothing? Perhaps I had just been a fun playmate for him as his Northmen destroyed villages. I highly doubted much of my beauty was intact, especially after the treatment suffered at the hands of Penbroke’s awful men. Perhaps the Penbrokes should have flown the banner of the Needle. I laughed nervously. My mind was breaking already.

Torsten cleared his throat, the first sound to come from him since I’d arrived. I froze, waiting for him to speak. When he did, it was only in two words, uttered hoarsely.

“Patience, woman,” he said.

Through the bars of the tiny window my cell afforded to the sky, the moon gazed down in indignant and cold beauty, nearly full. Hearing nothing further from the Northman, I drifted off to a troubled sleep filled with dreams of blood and pointed teeth.

Morning brought cold rain, which freshened the smell of shit and piss in the yard. My morning meal was a lukewarm bowl of gray gruel. I ate despite my stomach’s objections because of what Torsten had said. Had he wanted to merely brush off my inquiries? Did he actually have a plan in the works? I couldn’t see how he could think he would escape. The bars on the cell doors and windows were thick and looked to be old already. Torsten had strength, but he wasn’t Herculean. Perhaps reinforcements were dispatched in order to free him. But Eron had said that Torsten’s camp was considered the backup.

I would not be kept in the pen for long, the law wouldn’t allow it. Either I would face punishment or I would be put to death for what I had done to Cecil’s face. I wanted to be afraid. Any woman in my place surely would have feared for losing her life. Somehow, being free meant everything to me. Freedom was even worth dying for. To never have to be at Cecil’s or the Duke’s every whim any longer and to love who I wanted, in all honesty and heart. My love for Torsten felt real, more valid than any other fleeting ardent crush I’d had in my past. His body fit with mine, even better than Phillip’s had, rest his soul. Torsten and I went together as if we were two pieces of an intricate but rough-cut mosaic. I needed him to be alive and I’d do anything to be within reach of his existence. For the first time, I fully understood what
need
felt like. Aside from my father, I hadn’t felt real care for another, not beyond standard societal expectation.

Torsten was a massive, long-haired and bearded insurgent. I imagined his flesh had never lain upon fine bedding or worn satin and frills. The furs he wore, strapped to his body in no real discernible order, suited him best. He was a wild man, ferocious in heart, granite in the mind and...

I smiled to myself as I thought of his hardest feature. The memory compelled me to look around for his easily-recognized bulk, but he had not been permitted to walk about the pen. Even though I stood ankle-deep in mud and filth, under the rather invasive watch of the guards, I could look up at the sun and see the sky. Day had meaning for me, even though I could be spending my last minutes in life. My former hopes and wishes blew away like drifting sands in a desert, exposing the true value in life: Self-fulfillment. What would make me happy?

Perhaps a song sang in the rain. A ride through a mysterious but beautiful forest. Holding my first-born child. Bathing in the moonlight. In each of those scenarios, I imagined Torsten at my side as my eternal partner.

And before, I’d been so intent on ending his life. I was rather embarrassed at my ignorance. Magus may have considered me Torsten’s charge, but Torsten did not. The words he said to me while inside me were not of a warden to his prisoner. His face softened towards me even though his words were indifferent at times.

“Time to go back to your cell, my lady,” a gruff voice said behind me, rattling me from my internal debates.

I glanced back at the guard, a young man, paid well-enough that his armor was in good repair and his allegiance to the Penbroke family was still intact. Yet being a lady meant I could expect small things as courtesy and a nearly-biased portion of privileges. Repayment would most likely be expected later. I chose not to think of such things as we walked back into the low structure where Torsten waited like a caged beast.

* * *

T
he guards allowed Torsten to have water that night and he drank from the cup offered to his lips in great draughts. I recalled how heartily he’d partaken of his mead and ale. His breaths were ragged though he refused to speak, as if he couldn’t take in enough air. Once he had taken his fill of drink, he was left alone, as were the rest of us. Still no word on what was to be my fate. I could not worry too much about such things, as they were well out of my control.

I watched Torsten move around in his little cell, dragging a length of chain behind him. He did not look at or speak to me. So intent were his gestures, I couldn't find the courage to call for attention from him. I only sat in the corner of my cell with my dirty arms wrapped around my knees. When I tired of watching Torsten, I let my eyes slide closed.

Time passed. The moon glided to her peak in the sky and loosely-woven clouds slipped over her luminescent face. I dozed in a half-dream, mists swirling around my aether-feet as I walked the lands of Morpheus. A ticking sound nudged me back into the realm of consciousness.

An owl, walking sideways in my window, large eyes dilated in the deep shadows, golden rings of irises catching the slightest light of the torch that burned outside Torsten’s cell. The owl bobbed its head and regarded me with an uncanny wisdom. Its feathered feet displayed talons, long and black.

Torsten whispered a name across the way, and the owl flew to him, nimbly avoiding collision with any obstacle, to land on his outstretched hand. Torsten’s eyes met mine as he mouthed words to the bird that even I could not hear, then he released the creature. The owl passed back through the way it’d come, to fly out into the stars.

Torsten smiled at me and pressed a finger to his lips.

He began with a low hum, making strange sounds from his throat, not yet loud enough to wake the other prisoners.

“What are you doing?” I asked, but he ignored me, his words louder, strange and deep.

Beyond my window, what sounded like a pack of wolves howled.

“I was not fully honest with you, Elena.” Torsten stood in the center of his cell, eyes aglow as he looked at me. “I am
berserkin
.”

He smiled, his pupils wide like the owl’s. “I talk to animals. When the moon is right, I may use their power.”

I rose to my feet, pressed against the corner of my cage. Torsten’s eyes were golden. The howls from outside were getting closer.
Berserkin
? Had I not been seeing what I was, I’d never have believed such a thing. People infused with magic from the same animals they could call and use for various purposes. My heart gave a little jump as Torsten’s eyes rolled upwards. Beyond the walls of our prison, I heard terrible screams. Wolves, I was certain. Sweat trickled from my brow, but I felt cold in the presence of such an ancient power. Torsten’s eyes focused on me again.

“You have nothing to fear.”

“I know,” I started to say, but he cut me off.

“No reason to fear me, no matter what, do you understand me, woman?”

I frowned and pressed against the bars, my fingers clutching the cold metal. “What do you mean?”

Torsten’s teeth must have been chattering, for his answer was shrouded in shivers. “Just stay out of my path when the time comes.”

His breaths were sharp and loud through his nose and mouth, in a practiced manner. He stepped forward until he’d reached the door of his cell. His eyes burned like thin golden rings as he took the bars in his hands. Chills ran down my spine as he let out a growl unlike anything I’d ever heard. Outside my window, men ran and screamed. Voices high in terror, begged for mercy. The scent of fresh blood spilt in the air.

A memory sprang to mind, from when I was still captive to the Northmen: The black wolf at Torsten’s camp.

Had it been his eyes that watched me? The metal bars shrieked in protest as Torsten began to bend them, apparently intent to free himself amidst the chaos. Tendons and muscles stood out in his neck from the strain. He grit his teeth together like his beastly namesake and shoved the door free of its hinges.

Torsten was loose.

A bone-chilling howl pierced the near-freezing night air as Torsten stepped over the ruins of his cell door. His muscles were rigid and veins stood out on his arms. The light was dim in the corridor, but I thought I saw claws at the ends of his fingers. I called his name, but when he swung his head in my direction, I understood his previous warning.

No matter what happens.

Torsten’s face had changed, his lips pulled back in a rictus snarl, exposing elongated, glistening canines. His eyes burned with a fire not found in any torch or hearth in man’s world, pupils wide and fathomless. A low growl rumbled in his throat and I shrank back against the wall with a whimper.

Old stories circulated about men who could tap into the powers of the animals. Witch-spawn, blessed with the iron blood of the Northmen. Despite my fear, my heart thudded with excitement. The danger—I liked it. But best to stay out of his way as asked. When he’d stalked out of sight, I rushed to the bars of my cell door, straining to catch a glimpse of the goings-on. I couldn’t see anything, damn it all. But the sounds—like a wet bolt of linen torn and the shrieks of utter terror—were somewhat satisfying. He would escape and I...I would remain in this place, a grave for the not-yet-dead and the destroyed, until I starved or froze in the ever-colder winter days and nights.

A clatter of footsteps sounded down the hall, followed by a strange figure appearing at my door.

“Lady Elena, we must hurry.”

I blinked and gaped. “Eron?”

I had seen the old warrior run through with a Penbroke sword, he had died back at the ravaged Northmen’s camp. Yet, he stood very much alive and well before me.

“Don’t be so surprised,” Eron replied to my unspoken curiosity, apparently quite obvious on my face. “There are more creatures in the world than you can ever imagine. Torsten told you of us, then?”

“Only himself,” I said softly as Eron unlocked my door in the conventional manner.

He must’ve taken the keys off the warden’s body. The pen had fallen if that were to be true. The metal hinges screamed torture as Eron liberated me from my prison. So much had transpired that I’d forgotten how cold I was until thick, warm furs were thrown around my shoulders. Given a source of heat, my shoulders shuddered violently, but there was no time to contemplate such sensations. Eron took me by the hand, his claws poking my palm just so they did not dig into my flesh.