The Archer: Lost Omegas Book 1

Arrow

CYRENE

She had never felt such rage, it filled every pore, every breath. She could feel nothing else. Not the pain, not the Bond, not Deimos' worry- nothing but rage. And with that rage...power. Strength. The Berserker had somehow crossed the Bond and entered her body. It stretched just beneath her skin, making her own body feel too tight. It was painful, yet exhilarating. Her vision was stained red, the war spirit's power thrummed through her, already working its healing magic on her eye and body.

Lost in the sensation of the beast's possession, she did not see the commander bring down his sword again. Before he cleaved her head in two, the Berseker dodged the blade at the last possible moment, so close she could hear the metal whistle in her ear as it passed. Moving her limbs like a puppet, it grasped both of the commander's wrists as it forced her body to stand, twisting sharply as he did so, causing the man to lose his grip on the handle of the longsword. Catching the blade before it hit the dirt, the Berserker grinned at his disarmed opponent, taunting him as he tossed the weapon several yards away.

Cyrene was terrified. She had no control of her movements during this exchange, made a passenger in her own body. She hated it and struggled against its hold on her body. Her attempts only made the beast chuckle in her mind- the horrible, mocking sound echoed in her skull. 'Your struggles are useless, mate. I will not release control until I have eliminated the threat to you. I will protect you,' it hissed, 'you promised me your surrender tonight, and I will see to it that I get what was sworn.'

It stretched out her arms and roared a challenge to the commander. She tried again to fight against the spirit and claim her body back, but the Berserker shoved her spirit down harshly. This was not a sharing of a body like he did with Deimos. There was no intwining of spirits. This was a true possession. He had complete control of her form as he struck out against the commander with well timed punches and kicks, driving the man back as blow after blow landed on his face, chest, and gut. The Berserker could kill him immediately, but she felt its pleasure at torturing the man. He wanted to draw this out.

'This is my battle to win!' she demanded, 'Release my body! I must be the one to end him!'

'You had your chance, mate. You were losing, getting beaten into the dirt. I will not see what is mine harmed by another.' The Berserker landed a solid kick to the commander's chest, cracking several ribs as the man went flying backward, landing hard in a heap of limbs. She could hear him wheezing and gasping for breath as he stood.

'Please, spirit! I need this, I have to be the one. Please, my mate, give me your strength, but let me end him.' She begged.

Growling seductively, it replied, 'you would be in my debt, omega. I would demand repayment. No one uses my powers to steal my kill without paying my price. Anything I wish.'

She never even hesitated. 'I agree, now let me kill him. I am going to tear him apart!' Cyrene could hardly believe her own thoughts. When had she become so blood thirsty? She never relished taking a life. She killed only when necessary and never took pleasure in the act. But the thought of the commander's blood in her mouth as she tore his limbs from his torso was.... delicious. This was not her! These thoughts shamed her. They were vile and cruel. The spirit! The war spirit's bloodlust was becoming her own, its perverse desire for death and blood spreading like an infection into her own mind and her own desires. No wonder Deimos was so quick to draw blood, to dominate, to kill- the influence of the Berserker was subtle, but powerful and dark.

Laughing again, the Berserker mocked her thoughts, 'I am a war spirit, mate. I will always crave the blood of man coating my tongue. The sight of life flickering out of their eyes.' Cyrene winced as the words amplified her own desire to see them come to fruition. How did Deimos live like this? With this darkness, this evil, tainting his mind?