Mastered by the Berserkers (Berserker Brides #8) - Lee Savino Page 0,33

simply the gravest ones. There’re also the vices. Pride, avarice, envy, wrath, lust—”

Jarl waved a hand. “I think it’ll be faster to say I’ve done them all.”

“We don’t have much time,” Fenrir added.

“All right. All right.” The friar looked as if he wished he could dart back into the church and hide. He backed away and grabbed the cross, raising it and waving it between him and the tattooed warrior. “I absolve you. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.” He set down the cross, picked up the bowl, and flicked holy water onto Jarl, who grimaced and wiped it off.

“What is that?” Fenrir bent to ask me.

“Holy water,” I whisper back. “It is meant to symbolize washing away his sins.”

“Better use all of it,” Fenrir muttered.

“Now,” the priest turned to me and his tone softened, “Will you confess your sins, child?”

“No.” Fenrir said, stepping in front of me, blocking the priest from getting closer. “She has already confessed.”

“And been absolved,” Jarl added. His smirk made heat roll through me, from my head to my toes.

“I have confessed, Father,” I reassured the friar.

“It did not take as long. She sins a lot less,” Jarl said.

The friar sighed. He turned his back and took up the chalice and ciborium, and began to mutter in Latin.

“What is he doing?”

“He’s performing the sacrament,” I whispered. We waited for the priest to finish. He consecrated the host and held the chalice and plate up over his head, then turned almost reluctantly to us.

He offered the goblet to Jarl while droning a line of Latin.

“The blood of the new covenant,” I translated.

“Blood?” Jarl snarled. He took the cup and sniffed.

“Yes, the blood of our Lord Jesus, who died for our sins,” the priest babbled.

Stay calm, I willed him silently. Do not anger these men. Jarl and Fenrir would not hurt me, but they wouldn't hesitate to slit this man’s throat and find another priest.

“Doesn’t smell like blood.” Jarl sounded more curious than disgusted. He took a sip. I took the cup from him before he could drink more.

“And this is the body of Christ, given unto you,” the priest went on hurriedly, offering the ciborium that held the host.

“The body? Do you mean flesh?” Jarl’s voice was thick with a growl. “You eat the flesh of your god?”

“And you think we are heathens,” Fenrir muttered to me.

The priest was squawking something. I took the Host and shoved it into Jarl’s mouth. He startled but let me feed him. He even licked the crumbs from my fingers until my inner muscles twinged.

I pushed him back so I could take my part of the Host. Before I could hand the goblet back to the priest, Fenrir grabbed it and drained it down.

“Wine,” he said dismissively, tossing the goblet to the ground. “Blood tastes different.”

I closed my eyes.

The friar spoke the rest of the ceremony in double time, barely stopping to coach us through our vows. I’d not attended many weddings, but I was sure he’d left large chunks out. Perhaps the Berserkers’ glinting weapons distracted him.

Finally he waved the cross in front of us and sprinkled us both with holy water for good measure.

“It is done?” Jarl growled. “We are married?”

“Yes,” the priest bobbed his head. “May the Lord bless and keep you—”

“Good,” Jarl said and drew me close to finish the kiss he’d started in the grove. His big hands cupped my face, and he drank of my lips until I stood dazed. Jarl made sure I was steady on my feet, gave my forehead a last kiss. He stepped back and Fenrir took his place beside me.

“Now me,” Fenrir said.

“What?” the priest looked back and forth between us, clearly confused.

“It’s my turn. I wish to marry this woman. You will speak the rites.”

The priest gasped and crossed himself.

My insides curdled. “Fenrir, no.”

“Yes.” He took my arm and pulled me to his side. “I want this, little wife.”

The priest was still gaping at us. “Y-you would marry her, too?”

“Yes.”

“But—” the priest’s protest died in a gurgle as Jarl held a dagger to the priest’s neck. “You will do it,” he growled.

“Jarl, leave him alone,” I ordered.

“Hush, Juliet,” Jarl said. Still holding the weapon on the priest, Jarl loosened a leather bag from his belt. It bulged, similar to Fenrir’s. He upturned it and let the gold coin flash in front of the priest.

“Jarl,” I said. My new husband stepped back.

The priest straightened his cassock. The toe of his boot hit the pile of