Page 36 of The Stolen Bride

“How do you usually calm fromyourtempers?”

“The last one happened when I was a little girl. I got physical and hurt my mother.” Shame and guilt coated my voice. “Seeing her pain motivated me to create, well, I call them bottles. I store my emotions in them.”

He frowned. “So you’ve never experienced a true temper as an adult?”

“No.” I cringed. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Ja. Because you’re about to.”

“What—”

A high-pitched, piercing call cut through my response, curdling the blood in my veins.

Our group halted at the top of the hill. Below us, the promised flock stood in battle position, fully shifted and waiting for us. The corners of Viktor’s mouth curved into a smile regular people would probably describe as their worst nightmares.

“Whatever you do, no bottling.” Lifting his chin, he proclaimed to the others, “The killing begins in five, four, three, two…”

Chapter

Nine

Poison-Proof Your Relationship: Romance Detox Tips

–HOW TO TRAIN YOUR BERSERKER

By Elizabeth “Elle” Darcy-Bruce

One.

My heart thudded. I held my breath, anticipating the attack. I didn’t have long to wait. The shifters raced up while we raced down, the berserkers doubling in size while maintaining a tight circle around me.

A shadow swept over our group, and I jerked my gaze skyward. Another flock!

Like the others, they had transformed into half man, half bird of prey hybrids. Their noses and mouths had grown out, creating the world’s ugliest beaks. Jet black feathers rimmed with gold covered their wings and clustered in patches along their arms, chests, and legs. Talons tipped their fingers and toes.

I shuddered at the grotesque sight. Monsters!

The berserkers around me hadn’t yet noticed thecoming aerial assault. They still faced straight ahead, soon to collide with the foot-soldiers. A scream of warning barreled across my tongue, but it was too late. The flyers descended en masse.

With a gasp, I ducked. The bird-men never crashed into us. Oooh! The soldiers had noticed their approach, after all, and paused to reposition at the last second, jerking their weapons high in the air, ensuring the first line drove themselves through the blades.

Howls of pain pierced the air. Blood sprayed. The starting bell. The foot soldiers reached the fray, and brutal combat erupted. Ten berserkers against ninety shifters. Swords swung. Wings and talons swiped. Feathers rained over the snow-packed, crimson speckled ground.

Viktor remained at my side, but he was in no way stationary. He moved around my statue-still form with astonishing speed, attacking his foes and blocking their strikes with equal fervor. His masterful skill astounded me. Not one enemy blow resulted in my harm, even though I seemed to be the target of every shifter. They challenged the king in clusters, attempting to reach me.

My stomach roiled, but not with fear. As the savagery of battle intensified, anger sparked, burning inside cracking bottles. Suddenly, the daggers I held felt like extensions of my hands. How dare Deco and his army do this? I was so close to saving my sister; I refused to stop now.

Determined and yes, vengeful, I swung at a turul-shifter above us. Viktor decapitated him before I ever made contact. The king wasted no time ripping the heart from the headless body. Golden lights like those in his eyes streaked through the organ, fading, then dying.

“Get down and stay down,” he growled at me. “Close your eyes if you must.”

“I’m not some damsel in distress,” I growled back. The death didn’t faze me. Maybe because the creature had attacked us first. Good riddance!

I ran through the moves I’d learned in self-defense class. Use my body as an armory. Elbow, heel, fist, and head. All weapons. Ready, I scanned for my first victim. Him! He looked like he desired a one-on-one tangle.

The eager beaver dodged berserkers and brethren alike, his red-eyes locked on me.

At the half way point, he leaped, tucking his wings against his sides to increase his momentum, becoming a living missile. His feathers shimmered in the weak, wintery sun. I raised my daggers, anticipating impact...

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