Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78886 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78886 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
As I sputtered, the movie star continued. “In exchange, I’ll do three things for you. Introduce you to the wonderful world of berserkers. Pay off your debt as well as setting you up with a nest egg. And finally, give you what you desire most. The name of your birth parents and an introduction to your sister. Sleep now.”
Sleep? Hardly! But a second later, a sting registered along the side of my neck, curtesy of…his nail? Instant fatigue.
“You have much work to do,” Malachi muttered.
A cloak of darkness uncoiled from the fatigue, and I tumbled into a spinning tunnel of nothingness.
Moaning, I fluttered open my eyes. Muted sunlight greeted me, searing my corneas. As I blinked rapidly to clear my vision, memories dawned. The break in. Berserker talk. Or rather, “sentinel” talk. Malachi. A mention of a mysterious prophecy. An offer from the movie star and a failed escape attempt. I scowled. Where was I?
Ignoring the ache in my temples, I jolted into a sitting position to study my surroundings. I should be home in Aurelian Hills. Instead, I occupied a forest and perched on lush grass with a large, moss-covered stone behind me. Overhead, sunlight filtered through a leafy canopy provided by big, beautiful trees. Birds harmonized as a gentle breeze whistled through the limbs.
I still wore my tank and shorts, my feet bare. A fresh cut on my hand throbbed. At least the air was warm and wonderfully fragrant with the scent of wildflowers and rich earth.
My stomach churned. Had Malachi brought me here? Abandoned me? But I…this…why drop me out in the open? And where was “here?”
I remembered his words. Viktor Endris is King of the House of Turul. Based by the Danube Bend in Hungary, in a dimension of his own.
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 this was a 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 in working 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.”