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)
“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, blocking any 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 we are talking 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?”
“Me? Spy?” I forced a laugh, but the too-shrill notes made a mockery of my casual attitude. “Hardly. I don’t even know who this Deco guy is. Or you!” And Örök? Never heard of it. “I just want to go home to my business, before I lose the loyal customers who trust me to keep my appointments.”
Maybe someone would be concerned when I failed to open and call the police. Oh, please, please, please!
“I am King Viktor Endris, the decider of your fate. I suggest you tell me everything that led to your arrival in my land. Leave out no detail.”
Whoa. All pretense of good humor evaporated. He claimed to be the very person Malachi had sent me to corrupt. But was this Viktor guy also an immortal berserker sharing a body with the spirit of a turul? No. Of course not.
The two men must be working together to, what? Trick me? Produce some kind of blackmarket reality show? But why risk going to jail for a prank or skit?
I must be totally missing the mark. So what was this? What, what?
Proceed with caution. “I’ve already told you everything I wish to tell you.” Yeah. Saving details for later was the smartest play. Curiosity wasn’t a bad thing.
“Your wishes have no bearing on this situation,” he snapped. “Talk. You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”
“Hey,” I barked, tapping his backside to ensure I snagged his full attention. A technique I used when a dog focused too intently on a trashcan, as if imagining an all-you-can-eat-buffet. But, um. Hmm. Viktor was packed tightly beneath his leathers, the muscles delightfully firm.
He missed his next step, but quickly righted. The jostle returned my thoughts to something that mattered. Our conversation.
Onward and upward! “I don’t know you, don’t trust you, and I’m not sure what you have planned for me. Plus, I’m stressed, hurt, starved, and hanging over your shoulder, Neanderthal style. I’m in no mood for snarly dudes with a Tarzan fetish. Gift me with a little grace and you’ll reap the rewards.”
He puffed up his chest. “I think I liked you better silent.”
“Same, caveman. Same. And please note, you were the one who rapid fired all the demands.” Why are you antagonizing him? Stop! “But I will take my own advice, gift you with some grace, and tell you a bit more of my story.” I’d dole a detail here and there, keeping him on my hook—for compensation. “First, you gotta put me down.”
A deeper growl rumbled in his chest.
Ugh. Did he verge on another eruption? Though he wasn’t really a berserker, I needed him to remain calm. Out of habit, only habit, I stroked his lower back the way I did for anxious dogs and cats, cooing, “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”