Berserker: A Real Man, 18 Read online

  Berserker

  A Real Man, 18

  Jenika Snow

  BERSERKER (A Real Man, 18)

  By Jenika Snow

  www.JenikaSnow.com

  [email protected]

  Copyright © December 2018 by Jenika Snow

  First E-book Publication: December 2018

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model: Fabian

  Image provided by: Wander Book Club

  Cover Design by: Lori Jackson

  Editor: Kasi Alexander

  Proofreader: Read by Rose

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Greta

  Berserkers.

  They were known to be the fiercest of all Norse warriors, charging into battle in a wild frenzy, no protection except the weapon they held in their hand.

  Said to have the spirit of a wild animal inside of them, they were feared … revered.

  And I had fallen in love with one.

  Calder

  I was a wanderer, a free spirit. I was paid to track and hunt, to kill. It’s what I did, how I survived. And I loved every minute of it.

  But I found myself going to the same village because of one person … Greta.

  I shouldn’t want her. She’s far too innocent for the likes of me, more animal, more feral than the fiercest of Vikings. But I can’t stop myself from being drawn to her.

  And then she’s taken from me.

  I’ll track her, hunt her down and bring her back. But that’s not all I’ll do.

  Once Greta is back in my arms, I’m claiming her and never letting her go.

  Warning: This story is totally wild and unrealistic. It holds no actual historical facts and is purely for reading enjoyment in all its craziness. It’s filthy and sexy, features a totally over-the-top hero who only has eyes for one woman, and he'll do whatever it takes to make her his. If you didn’t like Vikings before now, that’s about to change. *wink*

  Chapter One

  Greta

  “She is not for sale.”

  I heard my father say it, but I stayed behind the hide that blocked me from view. I pulled at my apron, saying a silent thank you to the gods for looking out for me.

  “I’ve offered you more than enough for her. It’s an insult to deny me when she has no other offers for her hand.”

  I looked around the corner and saw Egil standing in front of my father. His long blond hair was in plaits on each side of his head, his blue eyes narrowed as he stared at my father with annoyance.

  “She’s worth more than you could ever afford,” my father said without looking up from the piece of wood he was whittling. He set down the small statue he was carving, kept the knife in his hand, and finally looked up at Egil.

  Even from where I stood I felt my father’s anger, felt how tense and thick the air had become.

  “I declined your offer and now I ask you to leave.” My father’s voice brokered no argument.

  I could see Egil’s jaw working as he clenched his teeth. Although I knew what Egil offered would’ve helped my mother and father, my brother and sister immensely, I also knew that everyone in town was aware of exactly the type of Viking Egil was.

  Cold.

  Heartless.

  Dangerous.

  He was unlike most warriors in my village. He had this air around him, one where his anger was tangible. He drank copious amounts of mead, started fights, and was a womanizer. And I knew if I’d been married off to him he would’ve treated me as nothing more than a piece of property.

  He glanced up then, his gaze clashing with mine. I wanted to dart back behind the tapestry, to hide myself from him, but I was frozen in place. He narrowed his eyes further, curled his lip in disgust. He projected all his anger toward me.

  I took hold of my apron and swallowed, trying not to show fear.

  Would he retaliate toward my father? Would he feel he was humiliated, denied his right?

  But he said nothing, and instead turned and left.

  My father looked at me then, gesturing me over. I moved toward him, the fire in front of us crackling, the flames moving over the logs. I sat down beside him, neither of us speaking for long moments. I wanted to ask him why he’d declined such an offer when I knew they could have used the silver so much.

  “You’re my daughter,” he finally said and reached out to pat my leg. “No amount of coin would have me selling you off to a man like him. He brings a bad name to Vikings, is dishonest, and conjures disorder to our very village.”

  I stayed silent, not sure what to say, how to respond. I wanted to thank him, to thank the gods. Instead I looked at my hands, my fingers twined together.

  “Thank you, Father. I’ll do my best to make you proud.” He patted my leg again and smiled.

  “Daughter, I am proud of you.”

  I stood and walked to where I slept, sitting on the edge of my pallet and reaching out to grab hold of a silver platter. It was small and round, a treasure that had been brought back by my brother from the raids they’d done in the spring.

  It was polished, the girl who stared back at me slightly distorted from the curve in the center of the platter. Blond hair hung in loose waves around my face, intricate braids around the crown of my head, ones my younger sister had done as we sang in front of the fire preparing our meal last night.

  As much as I was grateful to my father for not selling me, I also knew that marrying me off would help my family immensely. The money they’d receive, the dowry of livestock and goods, would give them breathing room.

  And as much as I wanted to marry for love, that wasn’t always in the cards. Sometimes you just had to take what the gods offered and smile through it all.

  * * *

  The next day

  I crouched low and brought the bucket into the creek, the water rushing down from the mountains, the liquid cold and fresh.

  “I think I’m in love, Greta.”

  I looked over at my sister, Ilsa. Her long blond hair was in twin braids on either side of her face.

  She was so young and beautiful, yet no doubt had fallen for the charms of one of the village boys.

  “Love?” I asked as I brought the bucket of water out of the creek and set it aside, droplets splashing onto the pebbles on the ground beside me.

  “Yes, with Asgard.”

  “Son of Geir, the blacksmith?” I saw the way her cheeks turned pink, her lips curling into a smile.

  “Yes.” She looked at me, her blue eyes the same shade as mine, so it seemed as if I looked at my own reflection. “He wants to marry, to ask Father for me.” She sat back, her grin wide, her happiness clear.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but heard rustling in the forest a
cross the way. I had my hand by my side, on the dagger my father had given me, had helped me train with. I kept my younger sister close to my side, but she, too, had a dagger in hand. Our father had wanted us to know how to protect ourselves. I still had a lot more to learn, and maybe I wouldn’t be the victor in a fight, but I’d make sure I did some damage before I was taken.

  For a moment we didn’t see anything, but then a man emerged from behind the trees. He was large, the biggest male I’d ever seen, with dark hair cut close to his head, and clear blue eyes that seemed wild. He had a large ax strapped to his side and a sword on his back. He wore animal hides covering his broad shoulders, and dirt covered his face.

  I knew who he was instantly, and my body reacted as such.

  Calder the Feral.

  A berserker.

  A wanderer.

  He was gone more than he was here, the son of a Viking warrior and the Shield Maiden. He watched my sister and me as he moved along the water’s edge, his focus wise and intent.

  His gaze locked right on mine.

  We didn’t move as we continued to stare at him, and he continued to walk past us and toward the village. It was only when he was out of sight that I let a breath leave my lungs and finally looked at my sister.

  “Calder,” she whispered, awe and a little apprehension clear in her voice.

  “Yes, Calder the Feral.” I whispered, too. But mine wasn’t filled with fear or uncertainty.

  Mine was filled with desire.

  Because the only man I’d ever wanted, the only Viking who had ever affected me without saying even a word to me, was the berserker.

  For years I’d kept these feelings to myself, too afraid to whisper them aloud, too shy to even think them when I wasn’t alone.

  And there was only one thing I wanted, one thing I craved so much it kept me up at night.

  To be Calder’s in every way possible.

  Chapter Two

  Calder

  I watched her from across the great room, villagers and Vikings gathered in celebration of the upcoming raid in the spring. The king and queen sat on their thrones, horns filled with mead in their hands, laughter and conversation ringing throughout the room.

  I didn’t belong here.

  I was wild, free.

  I was a wanderer, a berserker.

  Calder the Feral was what they called me. And it was the truth.

  I lived my life on the road, yet I found myself coming back to the small village of Stropa for one reason.

  Her.

  Greta Leifsdotter.

  I took a hearty drink from my curved horn mug, the mead sweet from the honey, the alcohol making my desire for her even more intense. The crowd in the great hall was thick, and she disappeared behind the bodies before reappearing and making my heart beat harder.

  My entire body was tense, my muscles contracting. What I wanted to do was go up to her, gently tug on the back of her hair so her head tilted back and claim her mouth. I wanted to do a lot more than that.

  I wanted to lay her on a bed of thick furs, push her thighs apart, and lick the sweetness from between her legs.

  I groaned, the noise too low for anyone to hear. My cock was rock hard, my leathers feeling tight as my shaft pressed against the hide.

  Lowering my head slightly but keeping my focus on Greta, I tightened my hold on the horn, the wild side of me—where I’d gotten my namesake—rising up.

  She was barely of age, but still untaken, still without children. She was untouched, and the barbaric side of me wanted to change that, wanted to mark her, fill her up. I wanted to make her mine. It was insane that for the past two years I purposely came to Stropa for the sole purpose of seeing Greta.

  Yet I said nothing to her, kept my distance, and just watched.

  Those two years she stayed alone, living with her family, her father turning down marriage offers.

  But having a female wasn’t in the stars for me. The gods had chosen me to wander this world, giving the beast inside of me free rein, letting fate dictate how my life evolved. It’s why I was a berserker, because this fierce rage burned deep within me.

  Fighting, raiding, all of that helped to appease that need, that aggression.

  But all of that couldn’t compare to one thing, one burning power inside of me.

  To claim Greta.

  Chapter Three

  Greta

  I knew he watched me, could feel his gaze on me. But I refused to look in his direction, didn’t want to make it seem obvious that I watched him as well. I held on tightly to my mug, the mead inside warming because I drank slow, savored the flavor, felt the heat of the brew move through my body.

  My father and mother were a few feet from me, my sister and brother beside them. I stood off to the side, social gatherings not something I particularly enjoyed, even if it was in the great hall with the king and queen.

  To be honest, I felt suffocated by the crush of bodies, the loud noise from the Vikings, the chants and cheers. It was all so overwhelming. I felt as though the world was pressing in on me.

  I found myself looking in Calder’s direction. He sat at the table in the corner, villagers keeping their distance, as if he frightened them.

  No, he did frighten them.

  He watched me, the shadows partially concealing him, flickers of light and darkness from the fire in the center of the room washing over him. I felt his gaze on me, as if he were right before me, touching me, his fingers skating along my arms, flames of desire licking across every inch of me.

  My arousal rose, awareness creeping up to claim me. My heart beat fast behind my ribs, beads of perspiration covering me. I excused myself, although nobody was close enough to hear, close enough to even care.

  I pushed my way past the large men, their prowess and masculinity claiming the entire room. I found myself outside, taking a deep breath, letting the chilled air wash through me. I stared at the night sky, the moon full above me.

  I closed my eyes, prayed to the gods for control and understanding of how I felt toward a man who could never be mine. When I opened my eyes, I felt someone standing behind me, their presence strong, the hairs on my arms standing on end. I turned around, expecting the person to be right behind me, but instead I saw it was Calder, leaning against the side of the great hall’s door, his arms crossed, his focus on me. He was a little way away, but his presence was so powerful I felt as if he were right next to me.

  For prolonged moments we didn’t say anything, but I didn’t know what to say anyway. He pushed away from the door and walked over to me, never taking his focus from my face. Gods, he was so much bigger than me. I had to tilt my head back in order to look into his face.

  Could he see—feel—the effect he had on me?

  He stared straight ahead at the fjord and village, the main hall sitting atop a large hill that overlooked everything. The view was beautiful, but from where I stood, and who was next to me, my view was far better.

  Calder turned and faced me, my breath catching. It was hard to swallow the lump in my throat, but I felt frozen. I couldn’t move, couldn’t even think. I wanted to say so much, tell him all the things I felt, that for years I’d wanted him, seen him come to the village and wished I could be his.

  But nothing came from me, and he stayed silent, watching me as if he already knew. Maybe he did. He was a berserker, able to hunt, track, and search. It was his life, and I had no doubts that maybe he was far more adept at reading people than I was.

  “Calder.” I said his name softly, that one word falling from my lips after so many moments of silence had passed between us.

  I could see his body physically tense, his gaze dipping to my mouth.

  On instinct I licked my lips, running my tongue first along the bottom and then the top. This low sound left him, one that I knew very well because I felt it deep in the pit of my stomach.

  Desire.

  Need.

  And then I saw him lift his hand. He moved his fingers close to my face,
and every part of me tightened. He picked up a lock of my hair, one of the braids now between his fingers. He stared at it, rubbing the strands between the digits, almost mesmerized by it.

  I could have stayed like that all night, having him so close to me, feeling him touching me, yet not.

  But he let it go, the connection I felt slowly diminishing. That moment gone.

  I wanted to rise up on my toes and kiss him, tell him not to leave, to take me with him, to make me his.

  But whatever was between us was gone as fast as it had started.

  “You’ll be leaving?” I didn’t know why I asked him that, why I even wanted to know. I knew he would be going. He was a wanderer, never staying in one place too long.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, not speaking. I thought I had said something wrong. “I’m sorry. Did I cross a line by asking?” I didn’t know how to interact with berserkers, with someone like Calder. I was even surprised we were this close right now, this moment moving between us.

  I knew they were wild, the soul of a beast housed within them, feral as they went into battle. I’d never seen one fight, but I could assume he would be fierce, a true Viking in every sense of the word.

  “I didn’t mean to pry.” I licked my lips again and took a step back on instinct. “I didn’t mean to say anything—”

  He opened his eyes, taking a step toward me that brought us closer together once more. “Your voice, it eases me.”

  I felt myself gasp, heard the sound leave me before I could stop it. His voice, so harsh and rough, so serrated around the edges, had my entire body tingling.