Page 54 of The Stolen Bride

“You’ll never escape us,” he taunted, as smug as Deco.

Fury sparked.Don’t waste energy engaging with the enemy. I hurried on as fast as my abused body allowed. Not that I made it far before spotting another shifter. And another. And another. They lurked everywhere and none missed the opportunity to threaten me.

“I’m gonna love ripping you open.”

“Are you a screamer? I’m excited to find out.”

“I like your face. Maybe I’ll wear it.”

I kept going, my fury burning hotter and hotter. But it wasn’t my usual fury. There was a righteous tinge to it. Like, how dare they think they had any power over me. I was Clover Deering, firebrand to a king.Theking.

Bottles shook. Soon, my blood graduated from a low simmer to a high boil. To my immense surprise, each new level of heat strengthened me, making my steps surer. The pain dimmed before vanishing completely. I glanced down. Blood no longer dripped from my wound. The edges had even begun to knit together and close.

What! Was I actually healing supernaturally? Oh, not as quickly as the berserkers on the battlefield, but far swifter than humanly possible.

Malachi’s proclamation whispered through my mind.I am now King of the House of Griffin, and you are one of my people.

Viktor’s confession followed.You are of sentinelblood. Griffin.

Well, well, well. I tugged my crimson-stained shirt into place. How fitting. Look at the blood-soaked dog groomer who also happened to be part berserker. Excuse me, sentinel. Exactly as Malachi and Viktor had claimed.

Maybe I didn’t need to hide from the turul-shifters. Or my emotions. I could do battle. And what better place to do so than the camp where Viktor and his men had worked so hard to mount a defense? But which direction was it?

Even when the last bit of light snuffed out, I kept going, listening for the river. Dried leaves and snow crunched beneath my boots, blending with the haunting call of owls and other critters I didn’t want to know about.

Glowing red eyes seemed to hover here and there, there, there. I tightened my grip on the dagger. How good was a turul-shifter’s night vision?

I entered a silvery, moonlit clearing and ground to a halt, struck by a bolt of shock. Ten shifters waited on the other side, standing wing to wing, forming a wall of menace. Nine males and one female, each a picture of confident power. The worst part? Four of those males were former elites, exactly as advertised. They pawed at the ground with their bare feet, almost as feral as Viktor had once been. Unlike their former king, they couldn’t contain their desire to kill me.

Outrage consumed the whole of my being, my bottles shaking harder. “How can you do this? You were chosen by him. Trusted.”

They didn’t seem to register my words.

I couldn’t blame Deco for this. No matter what he’d done, these men had always had a choice. Welcome the evil or fight it. They’d caved. But Iwouldpunish Deco for it. Soon. First, I must survive this encounter.

The guy in the middle—the jerk who’d expressed adesire to wear my face—popped the bones in his neck. “King Deco has realized it’ll be more fun if Viktor comes out of hiding and finds his future queen scattered throughout the forest. We concur.”

I hurled past the future queen comment. So they’d found no sign of Viktor either. That wasn’t good. Deeper cracks spread through my bottles. If anyone deserved to feel the sting of my wrath…

Then. That moment. A bottle shattered. Then another and another. An icy inferno of rage deluged my entire body, and a red haze enveloped my mind. My senses heightened.

Suddenly, the fine hairs on my neck and arms detected a slight alteration in the direction of the breeze. The first of many changes I experienced. Before, I might have only noticed the pine fragrance of the trees and the sweat from the shifters. But now I scented their emotions. Hatred proved strongest, as acrid and sharp as sulfur.

My sights constricted to the threat before me. The pulse beat at their necks. The narrowing of their pupils. The bracing of their muscles. My own muscles bunched, ready for action. If a fight was what they wanted, it was a fight they’d get.

I didn’t care that I was outnumbered and outgunned. I was glad for it. More shifters to kill. And I wanted to kill. I no longer saw living beings, but shadowy prey. Ten featureless targets.

The rest of the world ceased to exist.

I purred, “When I kill you, and I will, I’ll use your bones to build my first throne.” My voice! It was mine, but not. Deeper, throatier, with the hint of a second speaker.

The goad hit its target: their control. Amid grunts, growls and huffing breaths, the shifters surged forward, teeth and claws bared. As they erased the distance betweenus, I sprinted to meet them in the middle, running faster than ever before. I could almost taste death—neededto taste it.

Just before reaching the strike zone, I leaped into the air as if I had wings of my own. An action no one expected. My aim: the soldier in the center. I slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Before I registered a command from my mind, I plunged my dagger into his eye. His throat. Heart. Except, the blade got stuck in his throat and I ended up driving my fist through his chest. Driven by instinct, I wrapped my fingers around his heart and yanked.

His back bowed, and he roared. Then he went still and silent.

I felt zero emotion as I dropped what I held and whipped my attention to the others. First, they stopped, obviously confused. When they spotted what remained of their teammate, they comprehended what just happened. Any remaining hint of amusement evaporated.

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