Page 3 of The Stolen Bride

“Tell me,” he snapped. “Then I’ll go.”

A lie, guaranteed. No way he’d broken into my home simply to converse about fictional immortals. But it wouldn’t hurt to keep him distracted while I figured out a way to escape that didn’t involve getting blood all over my furnishings.

“Berserkers are mythological warriors who do battle while lost in a trance-like rage,” I said. “Once triggered, they slaughter without mercy and nothing can stop them. Some people believe they are possessed. Norse mythology is the most widely accepted origin. Okay. Bye.”

“You are only half right. Allow me to set you straight. In the twelfth century, a glowing stone known as the Starfire fell from the sky. It caused the spirits of primordial animals to fuse with ten ordinary men and women. Those individuals scattered to various parts of the world. Now, they and their descendants cohabitate with mortals or live alongside this world in a different dimension. But that’s a tale for another day. If we get angry, the beast temporarily gains control of our bodies. If ever we allow evil into our hearts, the beast permanently takes over our minds, too.”

“We?” I arched a brow. “You’re trying to tell me you’re a berserker?”

“Theberserker. I’m King of the House of Griffin, and you are one of my subjects. I know your birth parents. And your sister.”

What the—what?He did not suggest he’d learned the name of my birth parents. Or that I had a sister. Information I’d craved for years, hoping against hope to fill my greatest void. But his records were sealed.And other dimensions? Real berserkers who shared a familial connection with little ole me? Please.

I didn’t care that Malachi’s berserker mythology matched my mother’s, a version I’d found nowhere else. Didn’t care that he’d moved swiftly enough to count as inhuman. There was a reasonable explanation for everything. I just couldn’t think properly during such a high stakes moment. This was a robbery gone wrong, nothing more. Or a psychotic break. A long con?

“I’m giving you one more chance to walk out of my house,” I informed him. If he declined, I’d fight my way past him and jump out the window. I might break a bone or two in the process, but his damage would be greater.

In fact, even now my bottled rage rose to the surface of my mind, no digging necessary.

He notched his chin. “I warn you now. Don’t do what you’re considering–”

Too late. I exploded to my feet, plowing into him with enough force to knock him to the floor. In unison, I bit his ear and raked my nails across his throat.

He growled, irritated, but he didn’t strike back.

Without missing a beat, I broke his nose with a hard punch and sprinted for the only window–“No!”

He caught my waist, stopping me. The cork nearly popped off my bottle, anger burning hotter and hotter. I didn’t resist its clarion call, erupting, kicking, hitting and clawing, showing no mercy.

With blood smeared on his face, he casually told me, “Viktor Endris is King of the House of Turul, and the only original sentinel remaining. Prophecy says–never mind. You don’t need to know that part yet. He’s based by the Danube Bend in Hungary, in a dimension of his own, and he’s feral. He teeters at the precarious edge of turning.”

Turning? Intrigued, I paused long enough to ask, “Turning into what?” A berserker?

“A shifter.”

Okay, so, I extended the pause. “Like, a werewolf?” Was this research for a movie or something? Method acting, maybe?

“In Viktor’s case, a turul. You’ll see for yourself when you give him a wee push and help him over the ledge.”

“You’re kidding right?” He must be. How was one supposed to push a sentinel slash berserker slash shifter slash figment of a stranger’s imagination to welcome evil into his heart?

As I sputtered, the movie star continued. “In exchange, I’ll do three things for you. Introduce you to the wonderful world of berserkers. Pay off your debt as well as setting you up with a nest egg. And finally, give you what you desire most. The name of your birth parents and an introduction to your sister. Sleep now.”

Sleep? Hardly! But a second later, a sting registered along the side of my neck, curtesy of…his nail? Instant fatigue.

“You have much work to do,” Malachi muttered.

A cloak of darkness uncoiled from the fatigue, and I tumbled into a spinning tunnel of nothingness.

Moaning,I fluttered open my eyes. Muted sunlight greeted me, searing my corneas. As I blinked rapidly to clear my vision, memories dawned. The break in. Berserker talk. Or rather, “sentinel” talk. Malachi. A mention of a mysterious prophecy. An offer from themovie star and a failed escape attempt. I scowled. Where was I?

Ignoring the ache in my temples, I jolted into a sitting position to study my surroundings. I should be home in Aurelian Hills. Instead, I occupied a forest and perched on lush grass with a large, moss-covered stone behind me. Overhead, sunlight filtered through a leafy canopy provided by big, beautiful trees. Birds harmonized as a gentle breeze whistled through the limbs.

I still wore my tank and shorts, my feet bare. A fresh cut on my hand throbbed. At least the air was warm and wonderfully fragrant with the scent of wildflowers and rich earth.

My stomach churned. Had Malachi brought me here?Abandonedme? But I…this…why drop me out in the open? And where was “here?”

I remembered his words.Viktor Endris is King of the House of Turul.Based by the Danube Bend in Hungary, in a dimension of his own.

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