Page 4 of The Stolen Bride

Obviously, there was no such thing as other dimensions. Or berserkers. But. He might be a sick, twisted serial killer. This could be a game of confuse-then-hunt-the-innocent-woman. He was a celebrity, after all. No way he actually expected me to–what had he said? Push an immortal king into allowing evil into his heart. And a Hungarian, no less, like my mother.

Trying to cobble together some kind of plan, I climbed to unsteady legs. “Someone? Anyone but the deranged actor with boundary issues. Help!” If thiswasa hunting game, I preferred to know right from the start so I could turn the tables on my pursuers.

Even if Malachi did, in fact, know my birth parents, even if I had a sister I’d never met, I had no interest inworking with the guy. But. Me. A sibling. Was there any greater title?

A deep, guttural roar erupted in the distance, and my blood iced over. Wild animal!

Determined to find safety, I leaped into a sprint, pumping my arms, putting distance between me and the animal. Rocks, twigs, and briars sliced my feet. I didn’t care. Where to go, where to go?

Pine, birch and maple trees abounded. Shrubs, flowers and mushrooms too. No homes, huts or people.

Another roar pierced my ears. The predator, whatever it was, had gotten closer. Heart thudding, I pumped my arms faster. Faster still. Sprinting past trees.

Did I hear footsteps?

Every fiber of my being screamed,Look back!But I’d seen that movie. I knew what happened when the hapless damsel in distress glanced over her shoulder. She tripped, twisted her ankle, and died. No, thank you.

I should hide. But where? Where?! I scanned. More trees, some bushes, and weird gold flowers. I veered left, intending—“Aaaah!” Strong arms banded around my waist as a powerful body drove me to the ground. I rolled with my captor, eating dirt. To my astonishment, I experienced no pain. Obtained no new injuries.

The moment we stopped, I scrambled to my throbbing feet. He stood too, and we squared off.Oh, shih tzu. He towered above me, tall and muscular. Very muscular. He was shirtless, displaying a wealth of swirling symbols tattooed from his neck to the waist of his torn black leathers. Wavy white hair stuck out in spikes around a harsh face chiseled from a block of icy wrath. A thousand threats blasted from eyes the most startling shade of emerald green.

As he looked me over, his nostrils flared, his tether on control clearly fraying. He opened and closed his fists.

My brain nearly short-circuited. Because of his height and muscle mass, he reminded me of the faceless warrior from my dreams.

“The fog is thinning.” He spoke in Hungarian.

Oh, goodness gracious. “Am I in Hungary?” I asked, speaking in Hungarian as well. I hadn’t used the language in a long while, yet the words flowed from my tongue with ease.

He canted his head from side to side with eerie precision. “Why is the fog thinning?” A question with the force of a threat.

My heart jumped into my throat, my trained defenses having trouble bottling a flood of anxiety. “There is no fog, sir.”

He jerked, glaring to the left as if startled by a sound. “Her whispers. I no longer hear them. Do you?”

“Her?” I listened but detected only the rustle of leaves and the call of birds.

“The Valkara.” Those incredible, fathomless eyes glazed over. “Find, destroy, happy,” he muttered. “Find, destroy, happy.”

While he lost his marbles, I resurrected Malachi’s words.He’s feral. He teeters at the precarious edge of turning. You will give him a little push.

If anyone could pass for a legendary rage-fighter, well, it was this guy. But no. No! Absolutely not. Berserkers weren’t real. A genuine king didn’t expect me to nudge another king into an abyss of evil, thereby becoming a shifter. A turul shifter at that. A mythological bird of prey reminiscent of a giant falcon my mother had described in her stories, said to represent sheer power.

I should go. In no world was staying put wise. But if I ran, this maniac would only catch me again. Guess I’d have to do the supersmart/foolish thing and deal with him head on. Actually, the best path forward might be teaming up. Us against Malachi. Not to mention the predator on the loose! At least the roaring had stopped.

“Look. There’s a wild animal nearby,” I told him, using my best team player voice while speaking a foreign language. “How about we find a place to shelter?” Hoping to lighten the mood, I added, “You’ll be in charge of provisions, of course, because the only fishing I do is for compliments.” Eyebrow wiggle. “You can tell me about this Valkara person along the way.”

Low growls rumbled in his chest, and I gulped.

“Whoa there, big fella.” I held up my hands, palms out. “Let’s ease the throttle down a notch or twenty. Okay? Breathe with me. In. Out.”

His only response? Growling louder while taking a step closer.

Years of working with aggressive animals kicked in, and I snapped my fingers while making a quick, piercing “spt” noise. Prevention instead of intervention, that’s what I always said.

He double blinked, the glaze in his irises fading. His huffing breaths decelerated. “Did you…hiss at me?” Incredulity drenched his gravelly voice.

“No, sir, Ispt’ed at you. There’s a difference.” The pooches and kitties I groomed never complained about my methods.

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