Page 13 of The Stolen Bride

When You’re Just Not That Into Him: How to Say Goodbye and Survive

–HOW TO TRAIN YOUR BERSERKER

By Elizabeth “Elle” Darcy-Bruce

Viktor carried me through camp, his words rolling over in my mind. Me, supposedly the one he’d been “searching for.” A wild statement that had come from out of nowhere, considering I wasn’t his precious supposed firebrand, Valkara. There was no reason good enough for a berserker king to hunt for a once clueless human pet groomer.

But now I had to give more credence to Malachi’s claims. Maybe I did come from a berserker family. Maybe the kings were caught in a generational feud, and Malachi hoped to use me to oversee Viktor’s downfall. Now at least Viktor knew of the plan. Perhaps he intended to use meagainst Malachi. That wasn’t just a thing that happened in books and movies, I’d bet.

Or perhaps he simply meant he’d put an ad inThe Immortal Timesfor a maid or whatever. No matter his reasoning, this revelation gave me leverage.

Which I needed. Look at all these real life berserkers, with their sinewy muscles rippling and eyes gleaming with primal intensity. Tattoos inked skin of every shade in a plethora of shocking places. I knew this because some males fought naked. All embodied untamed power.

I admit, I grinned at the sight. Basically, I was living a dream come true right now. If not for Malachi’s mission and Viktor’s, well, everything, I might’ve asked to vacation here. Except, my business. My bills and obligations. I sighed, my shoulders rolling in. Real life called, and I needed to answer.

Two guards stood in front of the largest tent. Viktor approached, and the pair stepped apart, separating the cloth that hung over the entrance. He soared inside without pause.

Oh, wow. A tapestry depicting an epic battle dominated an entire wall, the needlework so fine I almost smelled the metallic tang of blood and felt the fury of the warriors. A large, weathered wooden desk occupied the center of the space, the surface cluttered with maps and scrolls. The bed was surprisingly luxurious, with overstuffed pillows and genuine furs. Two curtains blocked off an area in the corner. A makeshift bathroom, I hoped.

A step up from the “shelter” in the forest.

Without warning, the king tossed me on the bed. I scowled and sprang to my feet. “Okay, we need to have a serious chat about your manhandling.”

Prince Bodi followed us inside. He stopped at the door, still glancing between us.

“I’m Clover, by the way,” I told him. “Clover Deering. Freshly kidnapped and eager to return home.”

“How did you and Vik?—”

“Report,” Viktor snapped, cutting the poor guy off while striding to the desk and riffling through the papers.

The prince shook his head, doing the brain reboot thing again. “The turul-shifters have breached our parameters.”

“I know. I killed three of them after I acquired my excess baggage.” He pushed the papers aside, not caring when they floated to the floor. “Where’s my key?”

I was the excess baggage, wasn’t I?

Bodi cringed, radiating guilt and shame. “I’ll help you search. I’m sure we’ll find it.” With barely a pause, he added, “Commander Tibor and his team had eyes on Deco, but he?—”

“Deco is here?” Viktor forgot his precious key and strode to his comrade to grip his shoulders and shake. “Tell me!”

“Better be careful,” I piped up. “Any mention of Deco can end with the loss of your head. Or so I’ve been told.”

Viktor tossed me a menacing scowl. “Do not insert yourself into a private conversation.”

“Sure thing.” I held up my hands, all innocence. “For future reference, it’s not exactly private when you’re standing in front of me.”

He didn’t seem to register my point as he refocused on the prince. “Respond to my words.”

“He is here, ja. Or he was,” Bodi corrected. “He vanished inside the stones four hours ago.”

Oooh. The stones. What were they, and how did someone disappear inside them? And yes, I listened while feigning disinterest, acting absorbed in the task of givingmyself a tour. But if this Deco character had escaped into those stones, I could too.

“For Deco to make it to the stones, I can only conclude I have a traitor in my midst,” Viktor grated, easing into a swift back-and-forth pace. “The shifter king must suspect I’m close to finding the key. He seeks to hinder me.”

I flittered here and there, picking up items. A Viking helmet with runic engravings. Bundles of dried herbs resting atop a metal first-aid kit. A ceremonial drinking horn beside another bottle of Brennivin. No, thank you. Various musical instruments scattered across the floor, even a Stradivarius. Oh, wow. That was a cool million dollars just sitting there. And hello, my beauties. There was a pile of daggers for anyone to pocket.

Don’t mind if I do. I plucked two of the smaller blades free of the cluster and shoved one in each pocket of my shorts.

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