The Warrior's Touch (A Viking Bear Shifter Romance) Read online

  The Warrior’s Touch

  A Viking Bear Shifter Romance

  Selena Scott

  Ava Clark

  Copyright 2019 by Selena Scott & Ava Clark - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE - AARIC

  CHAPTER TWO -DAHLIA

  CHAPTER THREE – AARIC

  CHAPTER FOUR – DAHLIA

  CHAPTER FIVE – AARIC

  CHAPTER SIX – DAHLIA

  MCHAPTER SEVEN – AARIC

  CHAPTER EIGHT - DAHLIA

  CHAPTER NINE – AARIC

  CHAPTER TEN – DAHLIA

  CHAPTER ELEVEN – AARIC

  CHAPTER TWELVE – DAHLIA

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - AARIC

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - DAHLIA

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN – DAHLIA

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN – AARIC

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – DAHLIA

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - AARIC

  CHAPTER NINETEEN – DAHLIA

  CHAPTER TWENTY – AARIC

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE – DAHLIA

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO – AARIC

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE – DAHLIA

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR – AARIC

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE – DAHLIA

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX – AARIC

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN - DAHLIA

  Other books by Selena Scott

  CHAPTER ONE - AARIC

  They would pay. Of that, I had no doubt.

  As I stood at the edge of the cave where my brothers and I were camped, my gaze wandered out to the cold, uncaring, ice-white sphere of the moon, then down the tree-covered hills and valleys, where an army of orange lights flickered. From here, I could even catch the waft of their fire’s smoke—and their meal, a delectable deer.

  Aye, we were finally close now. Closer than we had been for over a decade. This would be our only chance.

  We wouldn't get another.

  Normally, such a sight—the Waterpaws away from their holdings and on the move—would send fear rocketing through the veins of any smart Viking. Not so with my brothers and me. No, we had entirely different feelings about those lights.

  “You still plotting away?” Grise called from further in the cave, where he was tending to three rabbits cooking over a spit. “Come back in and join us.”

  “You could be spotted,” Chuld added, tugging on his short, white-blond beard a bit nervously.

  Grise snorted. “All the way up here, tucked in a cave that can barely be seen standing directly outside its entrance, let alone leagues away? You amuse me, brother.”

  Chuld made an impatient noise and chewed on the dry elk we'd brought along with us.

  I sat down beside them and sipped some of the sour milk we had in our waterskin. “Brothers, the time has finally come.”

  We had been stationed here for a sennight, seven whole days. We’d first set out as soon as we heard the rumors—the Waterpaws were on the move—and had settled down here as soon as we rode out and found them a few days’ journey ahead. It had given us enough time to find the cave, restock our provisions, and allow our pack horse to rest. We had made a tidy camp, but now it was time to refocus.

  What was to come would not be easy. Not in the slightest.

  There was a reason the Waterpaws had ruled all the Viking kingdoms for generations. Why they only deigned to leave their holdings once a decade.

  It was because they held a monopoly, ruled absolutely, viciously, lethally. No one dared defy the Waterpaws—or at least had lived to tell the tale.

  “Do you think the rumors are true?” Chuld asked, prodding at the flames with a stick.

  “That they're growing weak?” A bitter scowl climbed over my face. “Doubt it. Skarde Waterpaw has ruled with a powerful iron paw for decades now. You saw what he did to our parents.”

  The image flickered in my mind amidst the flames.

  I could see it all now... the game of hide-and-seek, so innocent and yet so pivotal. The blood spilling onto the snow… Mother, Father, and Sif’s eyes closing for the final time… the pounding hoof-slams, coming for us too.

  I looked away, my fists clenching themselves spasmodically.

  Aye, the Waterpaws would pay. I would personally see it was so.

  “But what if they recognize us?”

  Chuld wondered for about the fifth time.

  “Then I'll slice your throat myself,” Grise promised with a dark chuckle.

  “They won’t recognize us,” I said with certainty. “It has been over fifteen years now and they barely saw us that night too.”

  Over the years, Grise had shot up several feet, towering over all of us with a hollowed-out chest yet powerful legs, as well as a lush, dirty-blond beard.

  Chuld, although his beard was scraggly and his body wiry, was an expert swordsman and, if given time to observe his opponent, an excellent shifter.

  And me? The only things I still recognized when I caught my reflection in the water or some ice were the hard eyes that had been there ever since that day.

  Maybe this plan wouldn't be easy. Maybe it would even result in our deaths. But it would be worthwhile. Unquestionably.

  At any rate, now that we’d prepared our food for the night, we would be well served to start planning our next course of action.

  “So, we'll come upon them in the night,” I started.

  “That’s a possibility,” Grise allowed.

  I looked to him sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “At that market, a few towns back, I heard talk,” he confessed. “Not just that the Waterpaws are growing weak, which is why the Decade March is delayed. But also that, because they have lost many men, they are recruiting newcomers in a competition of sorts.”

  Chuld's lips twisted into a nervous smile. “Couldn't that mean...”

  I glared at Grise. “Why didn't you mention this before?”

  He shrugged. “I prefer to do it fast. Get in, get out. Slit their throats and be done with it. But now that we're here...” His face darkened. “That is an awful lot of lights down there.”

  “Manned by an impressive number of guards, I'm sure,” I agreed. “Even if we changed into our bear forms, there would be no guarantee that we'd be able to fight a whole bands’ worth of Vikings before getting to Skarde, Hildre, or any other royals. Knowing Skarde, that Waterpaw bastard, he'll make sure he’s well protected.”

  I rubbed my chin thoughtfully as I tended to the rabbit over the fire. “In the morning, we will venture closer, scout, and find out more. If you are correct and they are holding a competition, then by Thor’s will, we may exact our revenge.”

  “Aye,” Grise said, growing impatient and tearing off a rabbit leg and tossing it into his mouth. “Then, finally… revenge.”

  I eyed my middle brother, the ruddy rabbit blood and grease dribbling down his chin, his eyes glinting savagely in the firelight. Aye, pity for any who got on his bad side.

  My thoughts sobered quickly. The night those monsters had slain our parents and sister, I'd made an oath. Not to rest, not to stop until I'd had my revenge. Anything Grise did to them they more than deserved.

  Aye, though the Waterpaws had been cloistering themselves in their beloved North Umbria for
the past few decades, my mind had never strayed from the task ahead. Every rabbit or elk I ate, every mouthy bastard I fought, every single night I laid my head down to sleep, I knew.

  There was nothing in this world for me, except revenge. Revenge and looking after my two younger brothers.

  That was it.

  ***

  We awoke at dawn.

  Chuld stoked the fire, while Grise fed the mule. Then, we ate the remains of the rabbit and some berries I’d found while doing a perimeter check a few hours earlier. Finally, we packed up and set out.

  Staying a bit behind as Chuld and I ventured ahead, Grise kept a warning hand on the back of our pack mule.

  Kackla came by his name—which meant ‘cackle’ in Norse—honestly. He often let out loud, cackle-like brays.

  As we drew closer to the Waterpaw camp, we used the nearby rock formations as cover where we could. It seemed only a few minutes after we’d set out that I spotted two men just outside the camp, standing side by side, pissing into a bunch of rocks.

  Freezing, Chuld and I backed away, behind a large axe-shaped rock. I pricked my ears up.

  “You really think the king will pull this off?” the taller one said.

  “He has to,” the shorter one said. “We need as many Viking shifters as we can get, otherwise—” He stopped himself, looking around.

  The first one shook his head, and they both fell silent.

  Careful to move without making any noise, we returned to Grise, who had his hand tight on Kackla’s reins, stopping the dumb beast from following a grey squirrel.

  “All good?” Grise whispered to me. “What are we waiting for?”

  “For sense to kick in,” Chuld said with a dark scowl. “Sneaking up on the Waterpaws is one thing. Taking down hunting parties or smaller groups is another. But walking right into their camp, looking them straight in the eye? If we get caught, we’ll be utterly at their mercy.”

  I patted my little brother and ruffled his hair affectionately. Chuld meant well, I knew that, but he could be a damned coward, even in the best of times.

  “Fear not,” I told him. “Before this is over, the only ones who will be at anyone's mercy will be them at ours.”

  And with that, we approached, hailing the two men we’d spied on, who were now heading back to the camp themselves. They stopped.

  The taller one drew his sword with an impressive swipe. “Who goes there?”

  “Depends,” I called back. “If you try and use that against us, we'll certainly be your enemies. But if you allow us in your competition to join your band, then we could perhaps be of some use to each other.”

  The tall man hesitated, while his shorter companion squinted at us with unimpressed beady eyes. “We don't let just anybody in, you know.”

  Grise stared back at them coldly. “Aye? See, one look at you, and I was sure they did.”

  The shorter man spat on the ground and drew his own narrow sword. “I'd mind your tongue.”

  “Or what?” Grise snorted. “You'll try and chop it off with that useless sliver of steel you're holding?”

  Before the other could respond, Grise had transformed into his bear form.

  “Grise,” I growled, but it was too late.

  The two soldiers assumed their bear forms too.

  All I could do was tell Chuld, “Don’t shift. We’ll win this fair and square—two on two”, and let the hot crackling energy overtake my body as I shifted into my own bear form.

  When my paws hit the ground, my bear senses kicked in. These men smelled like too much soap and dried fruits.

  Domesticated overconfident imbeciles.

  Aye. I was going to enjoy this. Not killing them—if we could help it. Just impressing on them who exactly they'd been idiotic enough to mess with.

  Grise was already battling both shifters, deflecting their clumsy swipes. Next second, apparently done with parrying, he charged at the smaller one, his jaws snapping at its throat.

  I dealt with the other one, throwing it to the ground with one mighty sweep of my paw. When it thrashed partially upright, I clambered on top of it, growling in its face as my weight kept it pinned down. As its jaws snapped for me, I clamped down my own onto its muzzle and dug my teeth in nice and good.

  Blood bubbled from between the tawny fur. Grise had already taken a chunk out of the other one’s arm with his teeth and was standing, towering over it.

  “Alright,” I growled to him, letting go unwillingly.

  From further away came offended-sounding shouts—other Waterpaw soldiers running over, most likely.

  Sensing movement, I reacted just in time, smacking the about-to-attack Waterpaw I’d defeated into unconsciousness.

  More shouts and the sound of footfalls on the grass. I rose on hind legs to take stock of the newcomers.

  Their hairy slabs of faces registered rage, fear—more conducive to talking than fighting, now. As much as I wanted to tear into them too… that would not be for the best. Especially considering how many more Waterpaws were arriving.

  Hrmph, my pitiful human form would be better suited to this mundane task.

  Once I returned to my human form, I found seven or so of the not-so-friendly-looking men—soldiers, most likely—circling us, the points of their spears jab-close.

  “You just attacked two of the king's soldiers!” one snarled. “You'll pay dearly for this.”

  Grise growled.

  “We're not here to fight,” I said before he could make a quip that would really get us into trouble. “We’re here to join your band.”

  Their reaction was as though I’d just suggested boiling their toes with some cabbage and having a good old feast of it. The men didn’t budge, while some of the women behind them actually exclaimed, murmuring flickering through the crowd.

  “Can you imagine? They attack two of the king's guards and want to join?”

  “Yeah—and look how easily they did it.”

  “Sounds like a boon for you if we join,” Grise pointed out as he licked blood off his claws, even his bear face showing signs of impatience.

  One of the soldiers turned his back to us. “That is for the king to decide.”

  The crowd parted to make way as he marched through. Seemed like we were supposed to follow him, so we did, exchanging a pursed-lip look.

  Aye, we had made our entrance, alright.

  The only question was: would it all blow up in our faces now that we’d just got here?

  CHAPTER TWO -DAHLIA

  As we sat side by side on the edge of the stream and gazed across its waters, Ingrid sighed, not even turning to look at the disturbance we could hear behind us. “What is everyone in a kerfuffle about?”

  With us seated on our wool cloaks for comfort, the salty breeze was free to toss our hair about. Ingrid’s violet eyes and white-blonde hair shone in the morning sun, a stark contrast to my deep red tresses and sea-green eyes.

  “Probably more stupid visitors,” I grumbled. “Men who want to join us or woo me. Or both.”

  “At least men are trying to woo you,” Ingrid pointed out. “Nobody even gives me half a look.”

  I smiled sadly at her. “You know that's mule dung. There are plenty of outsiders who have given you looks. You just refuse to leave the Waterpaws. And,” I added, “you know I'd trade places with you at the drop of a hat.”

  Ingrid bobbed her head, not looking very reassured. “As if that would work. No one would mistake you for me. You have the royal family curves and flaming hair, while I have...”

  “Eyes as blue as the bluest waters in the bluest lands?” I suggested in a fluting, pompous voice. At my impression of Toke, we both burst out laughing until we were snorting.

  “Dahlia, do not!” Ingrid said, half offended and half amused. “You know how deplorable he is.”

  “Deplorable,” I agreed with a sigh, “but also necessary. ‘He's a damned good commander’,” now imitating my brother, Hildre, with his trademark stuffy voice.

  Ing
rid shook her head as she adjusted her pinafore. “I still don't understand why that means we have to be amused and not repulsed when he is being a creep, or makes one of his lecherous comments.”

  “Oh, we don't have to,” I said. “We're just not allowed to slap him, apparently.”

  Ingrid giggled again.

  This I’d learned from experience, when one cold night, Toke tried climbing into my bed and suggesting that it was a commander’s Thor-sworn duty to ‘protect a lady by doing whatever was necessary’.

  The aftermath was infuriating. Not only had Hildre not reprimanded Toke, he’d also even considered Toke’s insulting demand to have me flogged. Hildre hadn’t gone through with it, but still.

  Apparently, according to Hildre, the Waterpaws needed Toke too badly. Or so he had said.

  Just like how we apparently needed me to marry strategically, regardless of how little I wanted to.

  “I still don't get why you wouldn't give those new men a chance,” Ingrid continued. “Bo and the others aren't so bad.”

  I glared back at the camp. Even from here, we could see where Bo and his friends were, stretched out or lounging in their designated, temporary camp. All of them had dozed off in front of the midmorning fire.

  “You do realize they've been in that exact same position since early last night? And that they slept most of the day before that?” I pointed out. “Their clan is legendary for it too—for being awake for less than a handful of hours each day. What do I want with a man who’s asleep most of the time?”

  “Still,” Ingrid bobbed her head with a determinedly sensible look on her face. “A husband is a husband.”

  I peeled my gaze off the camp and fixed it on the calming undulations of the stream. “Perhaps I must get married, but I still want a say in whom I marry.”

  Ingrid said nothing.

  I huffed. “You like him so much, why don't you marry him?”

  Ingrid frowned at me. “You know that’s not what I meant. Only that I don’t know what to say—we both know the wars of late have wiped away the most desirable husbands. There was Troels, Erike, Frode….”