Page 5 of The Stolen Bride

His eyelids slitted. “You have five seconds to explain how an unknown human entered my land, bypassing my securities, or I’ll rip out your heart.”

The threat lit a fire inside my gut.Suddenly, I had no desire to bottle my emotions and play nice. But old habits kicked in, per usual. I displayed no outward reaction as a lie, the truth and a stinging retort raced across my tongue, a photo finish expected…

“I hoperip out your heartis just a colloquialism I’m unfamiliar with, because I don’t know how I got here.” Well, well.Truth won. “A strange man broke into my home and knocked me out. I woke up with no idea where I am or how much time has passed.” Hint, hint.Share the location and date, stranger.

But he didn’t. “Is that so?” he all but purred.

Shudders rolled over my spine. Somehow, that purr was a thousand times worse than his growls. “It is.” Time to get blunt. “Where are we? What day is this?”

He stalked a languid circle around me, and I’d never felt more like caged prey. “Why would this strange man bring a mouse to a starved falcon, hmm?”

I gulped. Going to ignore my queries and call me a mouse? Okay. I didn’t miss the fact that he’d referred to himself as a falcon, befitting the turul legends. “He told me…” Nope. Mentioning the berserker thing might get me into trouble, giving this madman permission to rage. “He wasn’t in his right mind. He mentioned a prophecy.” I didn’t know why that detail kept gnawing at me, but it did.

When Mr. Growly Pants faced me again, utter stillness came over him. The kind of stillness a predator usually displayed right before devouring a living meal. I licked my lips, doubting another “spt” would help. But he didn’t attack. He pinched and lifted my braid, rubbing the ends between two fingers.

“I’ve added five seconds to your clock,” he commanded. “Finish your explanation.”

Enough with the timer. “Look, snarls.”Careful. Only afine line divided an attempt to take charge of the situation and incensing the unstable menace before me. As gently as possible, I tugged my hair from his grip. “I want only to return home. Will you help me? Pretty please with cherries on top.”

He performed another of those double blinks before narrowing his eyes. “Who are you?”

Now we were getting somewhere. “My name is Clover. And you are?”

“Clover,” he echoed and grimaced. “A herbaceous plant with dense, globular flower heads and three-lobed leaves.”

So annoying! “Or a strong, independent American woman with pluck and grit.” A pet groomer able to afford zero pets of her own, who enjoyed playing the violin to soothe the discomfort of never fully expressing herself. Not exactly someone a legitimate berserker king would choose to complete kingdom business. Not that Malachi was a legitimate berserker. Or a king. “If you’re not going to help–”

“I’m not,” my companion interjected without hesitation or remorse.

Well, okay then. “Be a dear and direct me to the nearest public area. Then we can say our goodbyes.”

“Nem.” He leaned in my direction, nothing more, but suddenly he consumed all of my personal space. I gasped, then gasped again when he settled his big, calloused hands on my waist, lifted me as if I weighed nothing, and draped me over his shoulder. “I don’t care that you’re afraid of me. We will stay together until I sort through my thoughts and decide what to do with you.”

Chapter

Two

Before You Attempt to Tame Your King of the Wild, Learn to Harness Your Own Power

–HOW TO TRAIN YOUR BERSERKER

By Elizabeth “Elle” Darcy-Bruce

Ihung over the wildebeest’s shoulder, limp, my mind performing circus worthy acrobatics to catch up with my circumstances: a hot, growly muscle man was hauling me around as if I were a sack of potatoes while muttering under his breath about irritating invaders. The nerve!

And how dare he accuse me of being afraid of him? I feared nothing! Usually. I mean, had I entertained a twinge or two of anxiety since our initial meeting? Yes. But that proved nothing except my well-honed defenses required fortifying.

“I can walk, thank you,” I snipped, scrutinizing the towering trees of the forest, on the hunt for an escape route. The underbrush was thick with ferns and shrubs, blockingany sure path out. “Hey! I’m speaking to you, Carry McCarryson. Put me down.”

“Nem. You’ll run.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re capable enough to catch me, that shouldn’t be a big deal.” No reason to deny my intent.

“You shouldn’t run,” he groused. “My beast will like it.”

Malachi had mentioned a beast, too. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. “What breed is it? Your beast, I mean. Because wearetalking about a dog or a cat, aren’t we?”

My captor stepped over a fallen log. “Did Deco hope your vulnerable maiden in distress act would garner my sympathies? Did he send you to Örök to spy on me?”

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