Page 7 of The Stolen Bride

“I know who he is. Continue,” Viktor added without evincing a single clue to his thoughts.

“Well, he must hate you, because he asked me to convince you to switch to Team Evil in exchange for paying off my debts. And just so you know, I’ve already refused to cash in.” I didn’t mention the other payouts. Viktor would hear the longing in my voice. How I desperately yearned to meet my sister and learn the identity of my birth parents. A question that had plagued me since discovering my adoption as a teen. But. I would never, under any circumstances, conspire with my kidnapper. I had standards.

“And? What happened when you refused?” Tension pulsed from Viktor as he tightened his arm around me. “Because the Malachi I know has killed countless others for far less.”

An exaggeration, surely. Or maybe he’d confused the actor’s onscreen actions with real life. “He knocked me out.” Although, I hadn’t actually gotten a chance to voicemy refusal, had I? “Do you know anything about the prophecy he mentioned?”

Agonizing minutes passed in terse silence, the only sounds coming from Viktor’s footsteps as he stalked over brambles.

Fine. “Any comments, elaborations, or feedback about my revelation?”

Viktor began muttering under his breath again. Conversation over. Not the greatest start, but not the worst either. He wasn’t as feral as advertised, but he was definitely unhinged.

As soon as the gurgle of rushing water reached my ears, he dropped me and walked off, as if he’d forgotten he carried me. Or that I existed. I crashed into the ground, eating dirt, losing air.

Eyes narrowing, I spit out grains and scrambled to my feet. What the?—

Oh. I spun and took in my new surroundings. A rough-hewn shelter crafted from gnarled branches and leaves, blending seamlessly with the dense forest backdrop. A soot-blackened fire pit possessed a single flat rock seat, hinting at nights spent in raw, primal solitude. The atmosphere hung thick with pine and smoke from old fires. Whispers of the wind danced through the canopy of trees above our heads.

“How very…rustic chic,” I muttered, trying not to let my inner cringe make it to the outside. “Is this where you live? I bet the rent is fantastic. Kudos to your decorator. Brings open-concept to a whole new level. Who needs walls, amiright?”

Viktor prowled about, his volume increasing as he spoke to himself or to a voice in his head. “Is Malachi working with Deco? Why would he? But maybe. Why don’tI kill the first and imprison the latter, and then it won’t matter?”

“Wow. Is execution always your go-to remedy? I prefer to use my master KEY. Keep Educating Yourself.” I firmly believed there was a solution to every problem; I had only to find it. Ask questions. Read books. Meet new people. Repeat.

“The girl,” he continued. “Is she as clueless as she seems? Why send her specifically?” Pause. “Nem, nem.” Longer pause. “Nem! She’s everything I despise. Not the kind of female I desire at my side for any length of time. You are.”

My spine stiffened. How dare he. He didn’t even know me. “You aren’t exactly a prize yourself, mister.” Dang. Only a three on the burn scale of insults. I could do better. “You’re like a cloud. When you disappear, I have brighter days.” Not terrible.

Viktor pulled his hair, pounded his fists into his temples, and muttered, “Answer me! What if she’s lying? Or being used in a way she doesn’t understand?” More hair pulling. “Should I sacrifice her now instead of later?”

Sacrifice me? My fight reflex buzzed, rallying a thousand inner defenses.

Viktor whizzed to me before I could run, dust flying around us. With my chin tucked between his thumb and a knuckle, he forced my gaze to lock with his. “What are you hiding?”

Lots of things. Maybe if I ignored his question the way he ignored mine, he’d forget the whole sacrifice thing. “You’re giving me whiplash,” I grumbled.

“What. Are. You. Hiding.” A second voice joined his, and it was even more gravelly, turning his timbre into a nightmare of aggression. “How did you make the fog thin?”

His confused expression, paired with that jagged, iron-edged tone, ignited something in me. Not fear, but swagger. I didn’t tamp it down as I’d always done with Benjamin. Heck, with everyone. No, I went with it, wrenching free of Viktor’s grip and stalking a slow circle around him, exactly as he’d done to me earlier. And I liked it. A sense of power dulled the constant sensation of being trapped in the wrong skin.

At roughly six-five, the man towered over me. He also owned muscles galore and rocked lightning-fast reflexes. But he let me do this without complaint.

“Listen and listen well. I don’t know a thing about any fog.” I stopped in front of him and jutted my chin. “If you’re working together with Malachi to trick me into believing berserkers are real, you’re going to fail. Let me go.”

“Nem. But allow me to assure you, drága.” Viktor lowered his head. Rings of neon gold flashed in his eyes, and veins of black flickered directly under his skin, forking like lightning. “Berserkers are very real, and we do not appreciate being challenged.”

In a split second, his body seemed to double in size. His facial features sharpened, and his teeth elongated. A prickle of unfamiliar, icy fear raced through my veins. Malachi had told the truth. Berserkers were real, and Viktor might be entering into a rage right this second.

Moisture flooded my mouth, but I couldn’t swallow. Years of absorbing my mother’s stories paid off, certain details dominating my thoughts. The dos and don’ts of keeping a rage machine calm.

Do not provoke.

Do not stare.

Never, ever run.

However possible, soothe the beast and get the heck out of Dodge.

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