Savage Want (Wicked Wants, #3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

fast as they drove a trench through the land and filled it with, what was much of, innocent blood.
    When the day was done, the men would set up a circle of tents, with Wulf’s being in the center, and patrol in ever widening circles to keep wary watch on those who were sleeping or merry with drink. And drink they did. Each conquered sign of civilization was razed to the ground—but not before the entire supply of wine and ale was greedily looted.
    The other ten women were from previous town raids, frightened, pretty things that dared not to talk to me, only gave timid glances in my direction as I enjoyed the most freedom of any captive in the camp. These women were daughters, wives, possibly mothers of lost children and they were treated like dogs. One frail thing, dark haired and wild-eyed tried to escape just as I had, and suffered for her efforts. Her captor bound her hands and kept her within arm’s reach. I took that his name was Ogar, and I asked Torsten about the young woman.
    “What of it?” Torsten asked in response. “Are you not comfortable?”
    “I cannot bear to see her suffer so.” I pulled away from what I’m sure he intended to be a reassuring embrace.
    “She is Ogar’s. As you are mine.”
    I scowled. “You do not own me. He does not own her.”
    Torsten let out a deep sigh and sat with his feet planted apart, his big hands upon his knees. “Your concern for her is understandable.”
    “Are you not the leader of these men?”
    He nodded once. “Ja, but all treasure goes to the Jarl.”
    I glared at him. “Am I treasure?”
    “You are. But not like you think.”
    He fell into silence, despite my continued attempts to question the savage ways. Why was I any different than Davina? Or the other timid women whom I had not yet met? Why were they treated so poorly while I enjoyed relative comfort?
    Other oddities ensued. The men, gruff as they were, tended to avoid me. I did not attempt to engage them in conversation. They did not speak English. The ill-tempered crone that I’d first awoken to was the one who brought me food and whatever else I needed. When I left the tent, hard gazes followed me wherever I went. Grizzled warriors kept watch as I made my business outside of the tent, a distance away from the camp. Sometimes I was permitted to lie by the central fire and to observe the other women as they toiled for their captors. Not once was I commanded to cook or mend clothing. Never was I struck by any man, even though the other poor captives endured stinging slaps to the cheek or being tugged around by only their hair.
    The barbarians had a preference for long-haired maidens, most of which I’d have wagered were proper ladies, snatched away from one estate or another. But gradually, as the days grew ever shorter and winter, harsher, I noticed that the men ceased to abuse them.
    Had Torsten spoken to the warriors because of what I’d said to him?
    The men still barked in their own language, nudging the slaves to their assigned tasks. The eyes of the women held a note of gratitude towards Torsten, striking a chord of possessive jealousy in me. I carried no doubt in my mind that should Torsten’s eye wander, that I would soon take a slave’s place in the camp’s chores.
    One night, I caught a glimpse of a strange lupine beast with copper eyes circling the tents. Odd that the watchmen hadn’t discovered it and chased it off. The full moon glinted off the ruff of black hairs down its back, giving me the impression of the animal’s true size. On silent paws it stalked just out of reach of firelight, pointed ears turning this way and that. Its eyes glimmered in the camp’s firelight. I dared not move in fear that it might attack, but it didn’t. Instead, our gazes met for an uneasy moment before the beast melted back into the night’s deep shadows.
    Torsten returned to his tent long after my meeting with the wild dog, but I made no mention of it. The rope that held me the first night