6. Berne
Chapter six
Berne
IN WHICH OUR HERO SUFFERS A TORTUROUS JOURNEY, FIGHTS A BATTLE MOST VALIANT, AND PREPARES A STEW
It wasn't long before the swaying of his walking had his woman—no, Sirin—asleep on Berne's chest. He could use some sleep himself, but he pushed on, trudging through the deep snow toward home.
Berne had set off for home immediately after dark and had roused Arndis an hour or so before midnight.
Together, they'd gone to find a council representative, and he must have done something to piss the Lady off because Gunna had been the councilor on call.
She'd insisted on being the one to accompany him, pecking at him to leave the other councilors to their rest, and considering she was the head of the council, he couldn't find any way of arguing against it.
The trip back to Sirin had taken almost twice as long since Arndis's lemming form couldn't travel nearly as fast as his bear or Gunna's raptor.
He could have carried her, but he was more tired than he would have liked to admit to either of them.
He hadn't had much time to hunt during the week he was tracking Sirin, so he'd been living off whatever he could fish or forage along the way.
Hours later, they were well beyond the tree line and the moon reflected off the layer of snow covering the vast fields surrounding Sanctuary's mountains.
Autumn had arrived a bit early this year.
Only a few weeks ago, the tundra had been covered in low-lying brush, mosses, and vibrant flowers.
Now, he could see nothing but white and rock all around him.
Perhaps the variety of terrain is why he enjoyed his wide-ranging assignment so much; endless fields of snow got old quickly.
He sighed and looked down at Sirin, a decidedly more interesting sight. He frequently strapped his nieces to his chest or back while he did chores, even now that they were three.1 They also tended to fall asleep when he carried them. This was almost the same—right?
Berne felt something cold on his chest and chuckled when he spotted the source; Sirin was drooling in her sleep.
There was something so achingly vulnerable about it, so intimate, he couldn't help brushing her hair off her face, just so he could touch her soft skin.
Her cheeks were red and chapped from the cold wind, and he wished he had some cream to soothe them.
He'd have to make sure he got some for her soon.
Those soft cheeks shouldn't look so red and angry and it cut him to the bone to see them so abused.
Just like when he carried his nieces, Sirin's head was tucked under his chin and he was surrounded by her scent.
His nieces' warm, cuddly baby smells always made him feel calm and fiercely protective of them.
With Sirin, her smell seemed to curl into his nose and settle deep in his body; she smelled of leather and herbs and something distinctly feminine.
It still made him feel protective but in a very different way.
A way that had him wanting to growl at anyone who would dare harm her, which was likely most of his village at this point.
Her smell both warmed and excited him. He was not going to let them execute her.
Someone who smelled so good and fresh could not possibly mean them harm. 2
The scent of her was a minor distraction and if that had been all, he would have managed perfectly fine. The sounds and sensations of her in addition to her delicious scent were absolute torture and made each step a struggle.
When Sirin slept, his brain interpreted every sound she made as erotic and every slide of her body tantalized.
She would sigh contentedly and he would immediately wonder how he could make her replicate that sound.
She'd moan and stretch, likely from pain or a nightmare, and it made him want to coax those sounds from her in pleasure, stretched out across his bed.
Smacking drew his attention to pert lips he could imagine smiling around his cock and a yawn made him think of what it would be like to have her nodding off because he'd left her exhausted in the most delicious way.
The sounds of Sirin, Berne decided, were the most alluring noises he'd ever heard, and he longed to make a collection of them.
He smiled to himself, thinking of how he might draw out an array of gasps, moans, and whines to begin, then build up to amass curses and screams, before ideally ending with wails and pants.
Best and most tortuous of all, was the soft press of her body against his.
The cushion of her thighs straddled his hips, making him excruciatingly conscious of the heat of her cunt on his stomach.
Logically, it was the same temperature as the rest of her, but he swore he could feel it pulsing heat into him.
Nothing had ever felt so indecent or right, except perhaps the feeling of her breasts pressing into his chest. Yes, he would love to make a collection of sounds and sensations.
The issue remained, of course, walking for hours with her unconscious was not the ideal time to begin collecting.
Even worse, he was struggling not to make his own noises and alert Arndis and Gunna to the strain he was experiencing.
At one point, Sirin rubbed her nose repeatedly over his nipple and he'd needed to cover his choked sound of surprise with a cough.
He kept looking over at the other women to ensure they hadn't noticed anything amiss.
Berne tried to position himself at the front of their traveling group as much as possible, at least from behind they might not notice the flush he could feel rising up his neck and face or see how heavily he was breathing. 3
His only consolation was the physical exertion made it damn near impossible for his cock to stay hard; though it was putting in a concerted effort to do so.
Between purposefully clenching his leg muscles to steal blood, counting backward as often as possible, and mental self-flagellation, he thought he'd avoided notice.
The cycle of arousal and admonishment, blood rushing to his cock and then away to his legs, was exhausting.
It was a horrible battle against his mind and body the entire way, but he managed.
He'd never walked for hours with a stiff cock and after enduring this torture, he never meant to again.
His guilt played a significant role in erection management as well because it was the worst type of guilt.
Sirin was injured, and in a great deal of trouble, whether she understood or not.
He'd assured her this would be exactly like carrying his nieces and instead, he was fantasizing about her in bed and actively managing his body's attempts at popping a raging cock stand.
He hadn't the faintest idea if Sirin would be even a bit attracted to him, and in truth, she might hate him for his betrayal.
Here she was asleep and trusting as a babe, and he was imagining stretching her out on his bed like a monster. 4
Just like carrying my nieces, says I. Ha! Just like carrying the girls my arse!
No, carrying Sirin was not the same, and it was likely a big mistake.
Over the past week, she'd wormed her way into his heart and the thought of anything bad happening to her was a burr in his fur. He needed to think of a plan. He needed a way to keep her safe, regardless of whatever the council might decide.
He thought and walked and walked and thought.
He'd gained habits from his bear and his bear's way of problem-solving was a favorite.
When Berne had an issue, he would walk and mentally worry at the problem, slowly and methodically, turning it over in his mind, allowing the cadence of his gait to both spur him on and calm his nerves.
He could examine thoughts and ideas, and look at them from different angles without judging himself for how long it took, or for how many ideas he needed to ponder.
It might be time-consuming, but he'd found this method of wearing down a problem to be fairly successful.
Eventually, his pattern of slow, determined thinking allowed him to have a workable idea; one that made his cock twitch to life again, sure, but an idea that might actually solve her problem.
Berne wished he could talk to Sirin about it, but he wasn't sure if they'd have time before she needed to go before the council.
And anyhow, they would only need it if things went really wrong, and he didn't want her thinking that was a possibility.
No, he would fill her in if he got the chance, but until then, he would do what he needed to keep her safe.
He squeezed her gently and unwrapped her arm, content in the knowledge he could keep her safe, even if it might complicate matters between them considerably.
Several torturous hours later saw them arriving at the outskirts of Sanctuary.
The entrance to their valley was near impossible to find, requiring knowledge of the location of a secret tunnel into an ice cave and then making one's way through the labyrinth it held.
Once navigated, any entrant would be faced with the Boundary dome.
It could keep those who meant harm out, he was told, and it all had to do with intention.
He'd never meant the village or his Lady any ill will, so he had no means to personally test it.
The dome also kept the village decidedly warmer than the outside.
They had seasons, sure, but they were much milder inside than they were in their immediate surroundings.
Under its protection now, it felt to Berne like the dog days of summer, the hazy heat making him want to strip off his shirt.
He could see sweat begin to glisten on Sirin's brow and he increased his pace.