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  Siebold

  A Berserker Warrior Romance

  Lee Savino

  Silverwood Press, LLC

  Contents

  Free Book

  Siebold

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

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  Siebold

  A wounded warrior wants to claim me as mate...

  For years I’ve lived alone in the deep woods, hiding my powers from the world. But when I meet a wounded wolf on a forest path, I can't bear his suffering. I call on my magic to heal him.

  Then he follows me home and I find he’s no ordinary wolf. He’s a Berserker warrior, cursed long ago to become a ravening monster. His only hope: find the woman who can tame his beast.

  Siebold thinks that woman is me.

  But this handsome warrior doesn’t just want me to lift the curse. Siebold wants me. All of me. And he’ll possess me: body, soul, and heart.

  Because nothing can stop a Berserker when he decides you’re his mate.

  Siebold is a standalone warrior romance set in the Berserker world. You don’t need to read the rest of the Berserker books to enjoy this one, but Berserkers are like a box of chocolates: best devoured in entirety in one sitting…

  Read all the Berserker books

  These fierce warriors will stop at nothing to claim their mates…

  The Berserker Saga

  Sold to the Berserkers - – Brenna, Samuel & Daegan

  Mated to the Berserkers - – Brenna, Samuel & Daegan

  Bred by the Berserkers (FREE novella only available at www.leesavino.com) - – Brenna, Samuel & Daegan

  Taken by the Berserkers – Sabine, Ragnvald & Maddox

  Given to the Berserkers – Muriel and her mates

  Claimed by the Berserkers – Fleur and her mates

  Berserker Brides

  Rescued by the Berserker – Hazel & Knut

  Captured by the Berserkers – Willow, Leif & Brokk

  Kidnapped by the Berserkers – Sage, Thorbjorn & Rolf

  Bonded to the Berserkers – Laurel, Haakon & Ulf

  Berserker Babies – the sisters Brenna, Sabine, Muriel, Fleur and their mates

  Night of the Berserkers – the witch Yseult’s story

  Owned by the Berserkers – Fern, Dagg & Svein

  Tamed by the Berserkers — Sorrel, Thorsteinn & Vik

  Berserker Warriors

  Ægir (formerly published as The Sea Wolf in a pirate boxset)

  Siebold

  1

  Meadhan

  I was halfway to the market when I sensed I was being followed.

  No twigs snapped. No birds sang. No insects droned. But the silence spoke louder than any sound.

  Somewhere, in the secret shadows of the forest, lurked a predator.

  Prickles danced up and down my limbs. I turned slowly in place, one arm tight around my herb-filled basket, the other cupping the back of my neck where my skin tingled.

  Something was watching me. I stared into the sun-dappled shadows, willing them to reveal their secrets.

  I did not know what I was looking for. Most forest predators respected me. Or the power they sensed in me. But not this one. I peered into the underbrush. What animal would be so hungry and desperate to venture this close to the village?

  I should have kept on my way, hurrying to the safety of the crowded market, but something stayed my steps. An awareness, a pressure on the edge of my consciousness.

  It wasn’t just an animal stalking me. I sensed something Other. A darkness buzzing like an angry swarm of bees.

  Evil.

  Magic.

  “Who’s there?” I called, unable to help myself. I didn’t expect an answer.

  Deep in the brush, the branches parted. The whining sound and pressure on my ears and skin increased. My hand flew out, sketching a ward before I knew what I was doing. It was a basic sign of protection, one my mother taught me before I could walk. As soon as I signed it, I snatched my hand back, and gripped my basket so hard my knuckles whitened.

  I never practiced my craft this close to the village. But whatever lurked in the brush made me want to call my power.

  My vision shimmered, my Sight taking hold. There in the shadows under the pine, stood a big blond warrior. His arms and chest were bare but thatched with white weals of old scars. His face bore a thick blond beard. But his eyes were haggard. He was a warrior who’d seen many battles and survived the slaughter and now he was old and tired. Older than he looked, for he seemed the same age as me, yet there was a century of pain in his golden eyes.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” I whispered, though I knew the vision was not real. I stepped back anyway, sucking in a breath when the man disappeared, his form winking out of existence as if he was a ghost.

  The bushes before me rustled, and a wolf emerged. He was big and blond--his fur the same shade as the hair of the warrior in my vision. But that color is natural among wolves. There was nothing to mark this wolf as anything unnatural.

  Then it turned its head and caught me in its golden gaze. Its eyes blazed with eldritch light. Just as the warrior’s had.

  This was no ordinary wolf.

  “What happened to you?” I whispered.

  The wolf lurched forward with half whine, half growl and pushed out of its hiding place. Its body was long and lean, but too thin. Ribs showed through its matted fur. Its mouth hung open, flashing yellowed fangs thicker than my fingers.

  An ordinary woman would run and hope she reached the village before she was attacked and brought down by those teeth and claws. Good sense would say this was a wild creature, a wolf mad enough with hunger to venture close to the village where a hunter’s arrow would put it out of misery. For a crazed wolf, death would be a mercy.

  But this was not just a wolf. My Sight had never guided me wrong.

  I crouched on the path, averting my gaze and inclining my head so it was lower than the wolf’s. A submissive posture.

  The wolf padded forward. Its head twitched sharply, as if shaking flies from around its ears. As it came close the buzzing of evil magic filled my ears. The stench of rot hung over its body.

  “Bad magic,” I breathed. My mother told me of a special breed of warriors, cursed by a witch to take the form of wolves. The spell was meant to give them power. But, like all spells, it came with a price. “You wretched beast.” I reached for my herbs and the wolf let out a growl. I froze at the low rumbling sound.

  “Stop that,” I snapped. I may have taken a submissive posture, but I would no
t tolerate rudeness. Not even from a wolf.

  The wolf blinked at me, and stopped its growl. With swift fingers, I twisted together rosemary, cedar, juniper, and sage. Herbs for memory, clarity, and purification.

  “This won’t break the spell, but it will help.” I tossed the bundle at the wolf’s feet. Its only reaction was to lower its head and sniff, then sneeze. I stifled a smile. This wolf was dangerous, even if it was acting tame. It snuffed, its nose twitching once, twice. The jerky movement of its head calmed. It raised its head again and I Saw the evil hovering over it, manifesting as a dark swarm of flies.

  I jerked up my hands and called my power.

  The magic within me uncoiled slowly, moving through my limbs with a golden ripple. First only a trickle, then a steady stream, as if I’d unstopped a dam. The power wanted to flow from me in a wide arc, a flood.

  The clean swath of magic met the buzzing evil of the wolf’s curse, and swept it away.

  The wolf turned and ran. My power chased it, rolling over its giant furred body, searching for evil magic so it could wash it clean.

  I tried to stop the flow of power, snatch it back, but it was too strong. A wild beast, longing to rage untamed.

  It’d been too long since I'd allowed myself to use my powers. Even now, the golden current flowed through me, imbuing my limbs with power. The pressure rose behind my eyes as I tried to stuff it back into its cage. My stomach lurched and I staggered when it was done, feeling as if I’d bottled a raging river.

  One day I would not be able to stem the tide. I would wield my power in front of everyone, and they all would know what I was.

  But not today. I gathered up my basket and prepared to hurry down the well-trodden path as if I was an ordinary woman on her way to market. Before I turned away, a wind lifted the hairs at the back of my neck. I heard a whisper in the breeze, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  I looked again for the golden wolf, but it was gone.

  2

  Siebold

  The flies buzzed around my head. I snapped at them and they disappeared into dust motes dancing in the sun. The flies weren’t real. But still the buzzing whined inside my head. I scratched and scratched until the scent of blood rose in the air. Thorns stabbed me--I’d shredded my ears with my claws. The magic of the curse healed my ears in a sick-making surge. I gagged, tongue lolling in the air.

  And that’s how I caught the scent. Sweet and light, sun rays and honey sizzling on my tongue. The angry buzzing dimmed.

  I dragged myself towards the scent, wriggling like a worm past thick hemlock branches. Twigs dug into my sides as I pushed forward.

  A light appeared on the path. Bright gold. The sun come down to earth.

  I pushed closer and the light coalesced into a form. A woman. Her face was haloed, her dark skin shining like the honeyed sap from a tree. Her scent billowed over me in soft waves. I lifted my nose to the clean smell. My head cleared.

  The woman knelt on the path. She moved suddenly and I growled.

  “Stop that,” she snapped, and to my surprise, I did. It had been a long time since anyone gave me an order.

  A bundle of green landed at my feet. I sniffed and sneezed at the harsh herbal scent. She murmured something again, words I could almost understand, if the flies buzzing around my head hadn’t started again. My flesh crawled, the evil within surging to attack.

  If I had any honor, I’d run until I found a sea to drown in, and save this woman made of light. But the curse had me in its grip.

  And then the sun before me blazed and drove every bit of madness from my bones. The immense power clamped down and shook me in its grip. I scrambled backwards, and it chased me, tingling up my back and ruffling my fur. I raced until I was out of its reach. But it was too late.

  When it was gone, so were the flies. The buzzing and the rotten stench had been washed off my fur. The madness I’d worn like a decrepit cloak had burned away. Nothing stood between me and my memories.

  Once I was a man. I stood on two feet. I held an axe in my hand.

  And I destroyed every good thing. I broke the bonds of honor and was cast out by my pack. They banished me to the magic that would eat me alive. They gave me to the madness, the mind rot that was both punishment and my only companion.

  That time was long gone. But now, because of her, I remembered.

  I shut my eyes and willed the buzzing madness to return.

  3

  Meadhan

  The market started on the edge of the village and covered a large field. My stall was right along the forest edge, where few liked to tread. It suited me just fine. My customers preferred privacy when they sought me.

  They darted between the animal pens and hustled my way, heads down and gaze sweeping left and right. Only when they’re sure no one they knew was watching did they scuttle forward, ducking into the frame I’d covered in woven branches to make a covered tent.

  “Mistress?” A man with graying hairs and a meek expression appeared beside my stall. He glanced this way and that before leaning close to whisper, “Last week you gave my wife some herbs. They were black, like mushrooms. They helped with… a problem she had.”

  I suppressed my smile and rooted out the herbs in question, a bundle of black ginger, native to lands far east where I lived in my youth. They do not like the soil here, but my power bids them to push through the soil each year.

  I murmured the price. The older man handed over the fee without protest. I did smile at his back when he walked away. His wife was a lucky woman.

  As the sun climbed higher, more villagers dared walk by me. Two girls lingered at my table, giggling and whispering to each other while I portioned herbs for a heavily pregnant woman. When my pregnant customer toddled off, I turned to the girls. I recognized them.

  “Alys and Eira, greetings.”

  “Hello, Mistress.” The girls blushed when I called them by name. One unlinked her arm from her friend and picked up a bottle of infused honey.

  "Is it true this will make a boy love me?”

  I smiled. The girls were no longer giggling.

  "There is no such thing as a love potion,” I lied. "But there are many ways to a man’s heart.”

  Their eyes grew wider in their faces as they leaned further in. I heard the jingle of the coins in their pockets. Coins that would soon be in my hand.

  “Make a man honey cakes and he might find reason to woo you,” I told them.

  Alys pushed her coins towards me, her gaze fixed on the herbs.

  “Alys, Eira!” A male voice snapped. “Do your mothers know where you are?”

  The girls shrank before the burly, bare-pated man in priest’s robes who bustled up to my stall. Under the table, I made a ward sign against evil. Ironic, considering the priest thought I was the evil.

  “No, Father Gerald.” The girls backed away from my stall and began to slink off.

  “Wait,” I grabbed the jar of honey and rounded the table to approach Alys. “You forgot your purchase.”

  Alys shook her head quickly and fled. Father Gerald smirked at me. “She doesn’t want it.”

  “Here,” I held the jar out to him and felt satisfaction as his eyes widened. “Take it.”

  “I have no need of anything you brew,” he sputtered, backing away as if I’d offered him an adder. He lifted his robes and marched away, chin in air.

  “It’s a donation,” I called after him. “For the poor.”

  “What’s this, then?” A round, red-faced woman hustled up. Unlike the others who slunk, she did not lower her voice. “Mistress Meadhan, how kind of you to donate your goods to the needy.”

  “Mistress Donna,” I dipped my head in greeting and she did the same. Then she looked in the direction of the retreating priest and sniffed. “Something stinks around here.”

  “Yes, I believe that’s Father Gerald,” I didn’t bother to lower my voice, either. “He disapproves of bathing. Believes it’s a sin.”

  “I’d be more tolerant of
his beliefs if he kept a good distance away.”

  I bit back a smile.

  With a final sniff, Mistress Donna briskly changed the subject. “You have the herbs for me?”

  “Yes.” I handed her a full basket and her cheeks grew redder and rounder in pleasure.

  “Good, good. There’s many women whose lives have been saved by your brews. I’ll hear nothing against them.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured. “But I have done nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Mistress Donna met my gaze sharply. She understood the danger of being a wise woman, a daughter of Hecate who stood in the doorway between death and life. Some people would be in awe of our gifts, but others would fear the mysteries, and condemn us.

  “No of course not. We simply do our best with the bounty the earth provides. Only a fool would say otherwise.” She bellowed the last part and glared at a man who was slinking past my tent, his face averted as if he did not want to greet us.

  “Shame on you, Llywellyn,” she scolded the man. He only scuttled away faster and she shook her head at his retreating back. “I was the first who held him at his birth. What a fool Father Gerald is.”