The door broke with a satisfying sound.

Inside a few candles lit the room, along with a hearth fire. But neither provided the smoke I smelled, a thick, acrid scent—tainted.

Beside me, Rolf coughed, shaking his head sharply as if to clear it. Black magic.

The little female stood in the center of the room, eyes wide. My shoulders softened at the sight of her.

The friar is hiding behind the table. I scent him. Rolf told me.

But my attention was all for Sage. She planted herself in between me and my enemy. Trembling, looking as if she might faint, but staring me down. Normally the monster inside me would have smelled this fear and leapt to attack. Instead, the beast savored the honey in her scent, tasting it like good mead, wanting more. I had the feeling after an hour holding Sage close, the monster would loll on the floor like a drunk, curl up at her feet, basking in her scent.

Thorbjorn? Are you all right?

I’ve never felt this way before.

“Who are you?” Sage’s pulse fluttered in her throat.

“No one you should fear,” I told her, and tucked my weapon away.

The friar burst from his hiding place, wild, a knife in his hand. He jerked the little one back and held the blade to her throat.

I started forward, and Rolf’s teeth caught the edge of my jerkin.

No. We must keep her safe. Think. Do not give in to the rage.

“My master is coming,” the friar snarled. “He will not allow you to take his brides.”

His master is the Corpse King, Rolf said, and snorted as if he’d been sprayed by a skunk. That is the stinking magic I scent. The friar must have done a spell to call him.

Red suffused my vision.

Steady, Rolf warned. If we lose control here, in this room, the woman may not survive a fight.

“Do not hurt her,” I choked out of a misshapen throat. If I wasn’t careful, the Change would soon take me, and I’d transform into the beast, half-man, half-monster.

I saw my reflection in the whites of the woman’s eyes. I frightened her.

The thought enraged my beast further.

Cool. Control. Rolf’s voice trickled into my head, calming me.

My beast backed down.

“It’s over,” I told the priest. “We are taking all the women. They will be safe with us.”

The little one jerked in the friar’s hold, her eyes on me. Her breath caught at the knife pressed in further.

“Be calm,” I said to her. “I will not let him hurt you.”

“Come any closer, and I’ll kill her—” the holy man said. The girl whimpered and clawed at his arms, but the knife nicked the skin of her neck.

“Put the knife down and we’ll spare you.” I added a push of authority to my words. Humans responded to dominance as well as wolves, they just didn’t always recognize it.

The holy man half-lowered the knife before he realized what he’d done. With a snarl, he reversed the move.

I rushed forward at the same time the woman’s leg kicked back and hit the holy man between the legs. The knife flashed in a sure movement towards her neck, and would’ve completed its arc if I hadn’t grabbed the holy man’s arm and wrenched it away. His bone snapped.

The little female darted away with a sob. I hesitated, holding the holy man, wanting to go after her.

I’ve got her. Rolf said, darting into the hall. I waited.

A gust of unearthly wind, and Rolf came striding back into the room, the frightened woman caught in his arms. Rolf pulled Sage flush to him, her back to his chest, and crooned, “Hush. No harm will come to you. I promise.”

She wept silently.

“You dare hurt her,” I growled at the fat man. He was so round and heavy while our woman was thin, almost childlike in size. He could’ve hurt her.

Killing him would barely stoke my rage.

Thorbjorn, Rolf’s voice in my head steadied me.

“What have you done?” I pushed the holy man to the table where there was a smoldering pile of wood and bone. I coughed at the scent of evil. “This is a spell.”

“Yes.” The holy man reeked of fear and drink. His broken arm hung awkwardly at his side. “Soon my master will be here. If you kill me now, he will only avenge me. If you let me go, he will be merciful.”

This was the spell I spoke of, Rolf said. A fetch for the holy man’s master. A flare to alert the Corpse King of our attack.

I chuckled without mirth. “Your master cares not if you live or die. Your death will gain him another corpse slave. His magic is such even the dead do his bidding.”

The fear blazing in the holy man’s scent told me it was true.

“We will tie you to wait for him,” I said.

“Take me with you,” he licked his lips. “I am useful. I will be your slave, instead. You can have the women.”

Anger blazed through me again. “We are taking the women anyway.” I waved a hand at Rolf. Take her away. I do not want our mate to see this.

Rolf shifted his grip and the woman whimpered. Her cries made the beast mad, and I fought for control.

“Stop,” I snapped at my warrior brother. “You must be gentle. Do not hurt her.”

I am not the one who hurt her. My warrior brother pulled back the little one’s sleeves. Bruises bloomed on her arms, a few blue over the mottled green and yellow of old marks.

“Who did this to you?” I half-shouted at the woman.

Have care, Thorbjorn. You’re frightening her.

“Who laid a hand on you?” I asked her, calming my tone.

Her lips pressed together but her eyes darted towards the holy man.

I whirled to the fat man cringing in the corner. “You’re a dead man.”

“No,” he whined. “No.”

“No,” a soft voice burst out behind me. The woman pushed away from Rolf. He let her stand on her own, but his arms caged her gently.

“Please… don’t kill him,” she begged softly.

“He hurt you.” The cretin had left marks on her—my mate’s—small arms. He deserved to be ripped apart. I passed a hand over my face—forcing myself to keep calm. My palm shook. Inside me, my beast howled for justice.

“He is not an evil man,” she said. “He does not mean to be.”

“Yes, thank you, Sage,” the fat man muttered.

“You will be quiet,” I ordered him.

“He doesn’t know any better,” Sage continued, though tears streaked her cheeks. I would break the holy man’s bones, one bone for each of her bruises.

“He laid a hand on you and threatened your life,” I said. “No man threatens a Berserker bride, and lives.”

She blanched.

“Your mercy will give him a clean death,” I added.

“No, please,” the holy man squealed. “Mercy.”

I ignored him and kept speaking to Sage. “How long did he touch you? Did you invite his touch?”

She tensed like a rabbit sensing a predator.

Careful, Thorbjorn. Rolf said. He pulled the little one closer to his muscled body, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her mind is clouded by fear. She may not understand what you ask.

“Did you want him to touch you?”

She bowed her head. “No,” she whispered.

“She decides,” I told the friar. “She decides what manner of death you deserve.”

“No,” Rolf forced the words out. It was hard for him to speak like a man, so soon after the Change. “Do not make her choose. She has suffered enough.” Death is not a gift we should give our mate.

Take her into the hall, I said.

Once he drew her backwards, out of sight, I threw back my head and roared my rage to the ceiling.

Thorbjorn? Another Berserker linked to my mind. Brokk. Do you have the holy man?

I do. He touched the women, harmed them. Soon, he will die.

I stalked forward, towering over the holy man. The stink of his fear blended with the sharp smell of human waste. He’d soiled himself.

“Tell me truly,” I growled. “Did you know she did not want your touch?”

With a weak cry, he rushed at me. I stepped aside, caught his head and snapped his neck. A clean death. More than he deserved. I gave the crumpled body a second glance as I walked out of the room.

Brokk’s cry rang in the pack bond. The Corpse King! He is coming!

“We lingered too long,” I called to Rolf. “Run.”