Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
He was a man who might have fought to the death with his brother, simply over a challenge. What wouldn’t he do to me?
Unable to mask the tremor in my voice, I asked, “You never told me what a firebrand is.”
“You’d probably say fated mate. Which reminds me. Berserkers are warring extra hard with wolf-shifters, so Callen is gonna be super protective of you, which means he’ll hate you more than ever. Oh, and he knows your scent, so even if you run away, he’ll find you in a matter of hours. Okay, tootles.” Click.
Grrr. I jabbed my finger at the phone, doing an online search about berserkers. Verification I’d gotten their traits right. Thought to be fictional, with stories of near feral, frenzied, undying warriors running into battle naked and leaving mass destruction in their wake, unable to stop themselves. Thought to be possessed by the spirit of the bear, wolf, or boar. The most famous were Norse, possibly Vikings, with a few mentions of Scottish and Gaelic settlements thrown in. To relocate and rebrand to hide their otherworldly origins?
I tried to check for information about Callen Bruce, but a block prevented any pages from opening.
Acid burned my throat. I checked Isobel’s notes and messages. I pursed my lips. All deleted.
What should I do? Continue to tear her room apart in hopes of finding money and the identification she allegedly torched? Or gather my courage and speak with Callen?
Yes. That. He should be here, right? We were only two days into our honeymoon.
I cackled a humorless laugh. Might as well track him down. He had answers, I had questions. Besides, I couldn’t stay holed up in this room forever.
Determined, I power walked to the closet to select shoes. Ugh. Stilettos galore, no sneakers in sight. Not even measly house slippers. Whatever. I grabbed the fanciest pair of heels, hopefully the most expensive, and hammered them into the floor until the heels broke off.
“Wish me all the best, Lady Thorn,” I said, slipping the new flats on my feet and striding past the bed.
In response, she hopped to the floor and trotted off, shaking an admittedly adorable tush. A huge improvement in our relationship, if I did say so myself.
With my head high and my shoulders squared, I soared into the hall, abandoning the anonymity of the bedroom. Buzz and Ponytail waited outside the door. No reason to acknowledge them. I kept going, faking Isobel’s confidence. The musclemen followed me.
Doing my best to ignore them, I catalogued my surroundings. Wow! The vaulted ceiling was painted to resemble the sky, with all its many nuances. Stained glass windows in shades of cerulean, indigo, and cobalt dazzled. So did the stone walls covered with gilt framed artwork, ten of which depicted ten blood-soaked warriors being crowned.
I licked my lips and moved my gaze from the savagery to lovely light fixtures made of azure crystals. Man, they really dug the color blue here. But it worked, creating a space of breathtaking beauty when you factored out the gruesomeness of the portraits. Like that one. A massive, ten-foot canvas caught my attention. In it, warriors who possessed characteristics of different wild beasts ripped out the hearts of their foes.
I gawked at the brutality, and it cost me. Boom! I smacked into a maid cleaning an ornate side table. We both scrambled to save a teetering vase.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, backing off when she clutched the embellished glass to her chest. My nearness had caused enough chaos. I shot a swift, pointed glare to Buzz and Ponytail over my shoulder. They didn’t even pretend to help us. Thanks for nothing, guys.
“Oh nay, ma’am. I mean, nay, Mrs. Bruce. The fault is mine.” The twenty-something cutie executed a stiff curtsy, keeping her eyes downcast, which immediately filled me with guilt. “I shouldna’ have stood in your path.”
Well. It was clear she’d dealt with the redhead before and expected the worst. As if she were at fault for taking up her own personal space. I opened my mouth to reassure her, but the words stalled on my tongue. She’d called me ma’am. Not majesty. No title, no royalty. See? Isobel lied.
Unless there was a reason for the lack? Like, say, hiding one’s immortality from mortals.
Gah! What did I know? “Have you seen Callen? Mr. Bruce?” I’d rather get directions from her than from my shadows.
Frowning, she pointed. “Down the steps, take two rights and a left.”
“Thank you.” Off I went, descending the vast wooden staircase. This time, I kept my gaze straight ahead, not letting myself study the glorious furnishings and stained-glass windows. I was a woman on a mission.
I passed several other housekeepers dusting and opening curtains to welcome in the morning sun. Each one curtsied deeper than the last. But did this prove Isobel right?