Page 67 of The Stolen Bride

“Hello, Viktor,” he said in the best supervillain voice I’d ever heard. I detected notes of manic anticipation, pure insanity, and stone-cold killer.

“Deco.”

“I’m so humbled you fit my little party into your busy schedule.”

Viktor shrugged. “When I want to kill someone bad enough, I make the time.”

The shifter king appeared unfazed. “And you brought our brother and your firebrand. I was hoping you would.”

Viktor shifted from side to side but otherwise remained stoic.

Deco pressed his fingers to his mouth, mockingly contrite. “Oops. Have you finally admitted her importance to you, or are you still pretending not to know?”

He hiked a shoulder. “She killed your elite with ease. How could I deny it?”

The shifter king narrowed his eyes. Finally, a reaction. He caught himself a moment later and righted his expression, grinning once again. “Welcome my guests of honor, everyone,” he called, and our audience cheered. “He’s going to help me with tonight’sgrand finale. Come, come. See what awaits you in the ballroom.” Deco waved us toward a pair of gilded doors, his excitement returning and doubling. “Let me show you what I’ve done.”

He was too happy. What did he know that we didn’t?

Viktor brushed his fingers against mine in a gesture of assurance before stalking forward. With a prickle of foreboding on my nape, I notched my chin and followed.

Chapter

Eighteen

Crashing the Party: Dodging Drama At the Reunion

–HOW TO TRAIN YOUR BERSERKER

By Elizabeth “Elle” Darcy-Bruce

Another set of guards, dressed formally in black tuxes with embroidered floral vests reminiscent of ancient folklore, opened the doors with a flourish. We stalked into the ballroom, and my jaw slackened.

Ornate chandeliers dripping with crystals cast the room in a kaleidoscope of hues. The polished parquet floor gleamed. Scantily clad aerial dancers hung from ribbons anchored to the vaulted, frescoed ceiling, depicting heroic deeds of the past, and the beautiful turul birds of Hungarian legend. Arched windows lined the walls, allowing views of the courtyard and jungle. Massive mirrors flanked another wall, reflecting the lavish splendor of long tables laden with food. Gleaming golden platters and bowls overflowed with succulent meats and savoryvegetables. The scent of baked bread and decadent desserts filled the air.

I had to give it to Deco. He knew how to throw a party.

Despite being vile shifters, the milling guests awed. Women wore flowing gowns, the colorful and intricate beadwork on their bodices featuring bird motifs. Others donned feathered masks or headpieces. The men sported tailored suits, with wing pins attached to their lapels.

Women in simple black skirts and white shirts with golden sashes around their waists carted trays of prosciutto-wrapped melon, sushi rolls and miniature quiches. Okay, so, I nabbed a few handfuls to keep up my strength. But my last bite settled in my stomach like a lead ball when I spied an elegantly crafted stage.

Two women sat, chained to the floor with heavy links of iron. Juniper! There she was, in the flesh. My sister, my twin, garbed in a subdued golden gown that draped her restrained form. An ornamental comb secured her dark hair, the red highlights gleaming under the light of the chandelier. A jeweled collar encircled her neck, featuring a golden turul with ruby red eyes. Deco’s idea of staking a claim on the prized prisoner?

She was alive and well with no visible injuries, thank goodness!

She reclined on one arm, her calves tucked behind her thighs. She hadn’t noticed me yet. But. My hands. Warmth and tingles erupted from my wrists to my fingertips. Of their own accord, my arms lifted, stretching toward her like magnets drawn to metal. She must have experienced the same sensations. Her arms lifted as well. I had to actively fight to lower mine. What in the world?

The woman beside Juniper shifted and my attention swung to her. Wow. The dark-haired beauty appearedethereal, otherworldly, as if she could meld with a waft of fog at any moment, her mere presence a blend of mystique and majesty. Attired in a luminous cascade of silver, the fabric of her gown flowed around her like tendrils of mist. She’d styled her hair into an intricate braid with threads of the ten colors of the Starfire interwoven in the strands.

Valkara. The woman who wanted Viktor for her own and me dead by fair means or foul.

There was something vaguely familiar about her. Had we met before? But where? When? I wracked my brain but came up empty. Maybe I’d glimpsed her in Viktor’s vargbane-root-triggered memories?

My sister noticed me at last, our gazes meeting. Wonder, worry and hope flittered over her expression. She tried to stand, but the chain kept her seated.

Anger and frustration collided within me, beating at my composure. Both emotions intensified as Deco ascended a set of steps and stalked across the stage.

Conversations quickly turned to hushed whispers. Even the clink of silverware and champagne glasses faded.

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