Page 37 of The Stolen Bride

Viktor cut off his head mid-air, then ripped out his heart. Plop, plop. “The day I need your help, Lovie, is the day I deserve to die in battle.”

I almost stomped my foot. “I deserved that kill.” Yes, it was something I’d never in a million years thought I’d say. But then, why would I ever imagine myself caught in such a situation? Still, I couldn’t deny Viktor’s utter power as he defended us. A mesmerizing sight to behold. Other women might find him incredibly frightening, but I reveled. So sexy! And irritating.

I readied to attack another shifter– Grr. Viktor struck him first. I huffed with frustration. He’d predicted I would lose my temper, and now I knew why. Because of him! And rightly so!

At least the enemy army dwindled as other berserkers removed shifter heads and hearts, too. According to my mother, it was the only way to truly kill an immortal.

Grunts of exertion blended with growls of fury and hisses of pain. Though tensions and aggression surged, none of the warriors had broken into a berserkerage—yet. Ihad wondered if they’d partaken of the herb Viktor mentioned, and now I knew. They had. The well-trained soldiers remained cold, Bodi most of all, working in tandem and adjusting their formation as needed.

Argh! A new flock of turul-shifters arrived. Violence escalated as these soldiers proved stronger than the others, managing to injure some of the berserkers.

My gaze collided with that of a particularly big shifter. Another scout? He perched on a branch just outside the raging battle. White hair slapped his inhuman face. His blood-red eyes fit well with a gleeful smile.

With a crook of my finger, I motioned him over. “If you dare.”

He merely offered a parody of a smile, staying put.

Out of nowhere, Bodi bellowed a raw and primal sound. Everyone’s attention swung to him, even mine. My eyes widened as I took in the devastating scene. One of Viktor’s men lay sprawled on the ground, a turul-shifter nearby, cackling as he held a glowing heart in his hand.

No, no, no. The fallen was the young soldier with the mischievous grin who’d offered me the best cuisine the forest had to offer.

Each berserker, including Viktor, rushed his way, but it was too late. The turul-shifter raked his claws through the organ, and the glow vanished, snuffed out. My own heart ached.

Our young comrade’s attacker died a nanosecond later. It was then the squad of berserkers began to break with rage, despite consuming the herb. They threw back their heads and spread their arms, roaring into the wintery chill. Their bodies seemed to double again, clothing tearing. Black lines forked across their limbs, and glowing goldenrings filled their irises. Razor-sharp talons grew from their fingertips.

Only Viktor seemed unaffected as he fended off attacking shifters.

The metallic scent of blood permeated the air. Cries of rage and pain replaced the grunts and groans. Forget battle. I stumbled backward, ready to run. I could calm Viktor, maybe, hopefully, but not all of his men. And not while Viktor remained preoccupied. Only, I rammed into an obstacle. Or rather, a shifter. He snaked his arms around me, anchoring my body in place while resting the tips of his claws against my throat.

“Thank you for the invite,” he squawked in my ear.

I clued in on his identity: the guy from the tree. Every thought in my brain erased but one:get free!But as I grappled against his hold, he choked me, stealing my breath.

While Viktor’s bigger, badder and meaner-than-before army challenged the remaining turul-shifters, my captor called, “Deco sends his regards, Viktor. By the way, my claws are tipped with vargbane root.” He tapped said claws against my throat, threatening to breach my skin.

I gulped. What did vargbane root do?

The king’s head shot up as he slammed a booted foot into the face of a limp shifter. Something dangerous glowed in his eyes when he clocked my predicament. One of his arms remained raised in mid-air, ready to descend and remove his foe’s heart.

His glowing gaze narrowed on my captor. “Deco wouldn’t play with such a substance, even to hurt me.”

“Oh, but he would. As would I.” Again, the turul-shifter tapped his nails against the column of my throat.

I didn’t take time to ponder the pros and cons of my next action; I simply acted, reaching back to slam one of mydaggers into my captor’s thigh and the other into his face. His body jerked against mine, his clawtips cutting me. A surge of adrenaline dulled a flare of searing pain.

Then Viktor was there, freeing me and ending the turul-shifter with swipes of his claws. Pushed past his control, the king kept swiping. Slash, slash, slash. The gruesome sight…

At the same time, his warriors finished off the remaining shifters, who died laughing with delight, as if they knew something we didn’t.

But, um, my neck. Each puncture burned hotter and hotter. I rubbed at the wounds, anger and affront draining from me. No longer did the violence leave me unmoved.

Sickness churned in my stomach as I gazed at Viktor, his men, and the blood-soaked battlefield.

Viktor straightened and, glimpsing my horror, pounded his crimson covered fists into his temples, muttering, “Find, destroy, happy. Find, destroy, happy.”

I watched in alarm as he slashed at his clothes, his arms, and his legs. Oh, no. If anything, he was worse than when I’d first met him.

“Viktor,” I croaked. “Stop.”

---