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)
“The same tale we’ve all been taught, I suppose.”
“Yes, but maybe I was told something different.”
Her brow wrinkled, but she replied, “Sometime in the ninth century, an object known as the Starfire fell from the sky, crash-landing on Earth. People ventured from all over to see it. But once they locked eyes with it, awe-struck spectators couldna bring themselves to leave. For months, the crowd grew, and so did tensions among them. One evening, for seemingly no reason, every observer raged-out. A gruesome slaughter occurred. In the end, only ten combatants survived, each exhibiting physical and mental characteristics of different primordial creatures.”
“Yes. The wolf, griffin, bear, dragon, adder, kraken, manticore, lynx, turul, and gargoyle,” I interjected. Pictures of the manticore and turul had been interesting.
“Aye. The survivors discovered they’d become immortal and couldn’t be killed. Well, not without removing their heart and snuffing out the light deposited by the Starfire. But along with their metamorphosis came a dangerous temper that intensified when they were together.”
The gruesome paintings made sense now. “And then?” I prompted. “What happened to the Starfire? Where is it?” What did it look like? How did it change mortals into immortals?
“History claims the Starfire vanished. Many believe the ten survivors absorbed it, but no one is sure, leaving it a mystery of the ages.” She slathered a scone with clotted cream before continuing her story. “The ten separated to prevent another slaughter, each setting sail for home or a new territory with the same goal. Guard against other fallen stars. They called themselves sentinels, and over the centuries, their lineage grew.”
“No other sky fragments produced the same results?”
“Nay. Now, we tend to keep to ourselves. Actually, anyone who shares our secrets with outsiders, without permission from a royal, is to be executed.”
Execution seemed to be the solve-all for berserkers. Such a brutal society.
“All but one original has lost his title or life over the centuries, mostly through challenges or shifting,” she continued, determination hardening her voice. “Mr. Bruce is the best of the best.”
I chewed my bottom lip. He wasn’t the original or she would have mentioned it. Which meant he’d fought his way to the top. But how long had he been in power? He couldn’t be super old. He looked so young. So vibrant.
Thanks to my studies, I knew anyone could challenge a king for his crown, at any time, and the battle didn’t end until someone died. Same for the princes, who were chosen by strength rather than familial line. I’d read about one female king referred to as a berserkatrix. How cute was that?
The shifting thing perturbed me, even though I’d been briefed previously. The soldiers of each berserker tribe mutated into a different beast if ever they allowed evil into their hearts. Scottish berserkers became those awful wolf-like creatures. American berserkers—which I hadn’t known existed, either—transformed into griffins, half eagle, half lion. Was the process reversible?
Could a wolf convert to a berserker again if the evil was purged? Had anyone done tests? From what I’d read, newly turned shifters were supposed to be executed as swiftly as possible. More than the heart was removed. The head and multiple other organs got the boot, too.
The clan considered the berserker-wolves an infection upon the population. Which I understood. Evil was an infection. Kinda like adding yeast to bread. It took over everything. That evil made the wolves capable of perpetrating heinous, depraved acts to feed an insatiable hunger to war with berserkers who hadn’t turned, their only enemy. They thought of nothing but their foe’s destruction. Some shifters and sentinels lived in different dimensions accessed through something known as traveling stones.
I craved more information about the dimensions, but mentions had been sparse.
“May we discuss my thing now?” Mackenzie asked, not trying to hide her impatience.
“Not yet. The quiz has a final bonus question.” I took another sip of my tea. “When and why did the royals cease using titles?” The book hadn’t explained.
“Several centuries ago. They did it to better blend with humans from one generation to the next. Now kings are recognized by their kingdom’s color rather than a title. Though many continue to use the title in private.”
Ahh. Okay, that made sense and confirmed my suspicion. Callen’s color must be blue. “Quiz over. You passed. So what is it you wish to discuss?”
“Well.” She set the cup and saucer aside and looked anywhere but me. “Mrs. Donahue, the cook, is married to Mr. Donahue, the butler. He accompanies the king to clan meetings, and he says everyone there is abuzz concerning the king’s recent behavior. The Donahues are certain you’re the reason for the change in Mr. Bruce.”
Oh no. What had I done now? What had Callen done? “What has altered?”
“Mr. Donahue refuses to say, since disclosing such details would be a dereliction of his duties. But.” Mackenzie drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “We can guess. Mr. Bruce is almost…happy. That’s why I’ve been tasked with offering you a bargain. Seduce Mr. Bruce, putting him in an even better mood, and the staff will pay you. There’s been talk that you desire money.”