Chosen By The Berserker (Warlords 0f Farian Book 5)

by Bailey Dark

  When I turn and face in the direction of my groom, it’s completely black. There’s no light filtering through my veil any longer, it’s as dark as night. I almost jump when my father’s voice rings out beside me.

  “I, Alban Charleroi Deslionne, offer you a Daughter of Ryrn,” my father intones.

  My heart pounds, waiting for my groom’s reply. “I,” a silky voice purrs from in front of me. I feel weak at the knees, relieved to hear a normal voice. Kane’s voice is deep, without grating on my ears; an addictive sound. “I, Kane Enfer of the line of the Gods, accept this Daughter of Ryrn.”

  “She is yours, lest the Gods strike me down,” my father says, his voice booming through the throne room.

  The ceremony is complete now, but grooms may offer a final proclamation if they wish. So, I wait, knees quaking, as I face my groom in complete darkness. I hear a soft breath in front of me, and I know it’s him. My stomach does an odd, little flip at the sound.

  "She is mine, the token of a debt now paid, lest the Gods strike you down," Kane says. I shiver at the sound of his voice, at the dangerous implications of his words.

  Soft footsteps as my father steps backward, leaving me alone before Death himself. I fix my eyes forward, praying to the Goddess of Peace that he can't hear my heart pounding in my chest. I hear the soft rustling of fabric as Kane closes the distance between us. The shadows around me grow deeper and I wonder if he himself is nothing more than darkness.

  But then I feel the firm touch of his hand on the small of my back. He’s cold; even through the veil I can feel the chill emanating from him. He guides me forward, fingers digging into me. I don’t feel any claws. I try to breathe regularly, to convince him that I have no fear. But I can’t help the gasp that slips from my lips when my world tips upside down.

  I’m going to the Underworld.

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  Chapter One

  Altair

  The purple hue of the dusky sky is fringed with orange. The sun is rising, though the daylight hasn’t yet driven out the night. The stars are still visible, winking above the city and the palace. From the roofless tower, I can hear my people below. The sounds of the city echo towards me, reaching high into the sky. Music and laughter. Laughter that will soon fall silent forever.

  I narrow my eyes, staring angrily towards the mountain range in the distance. I can almost see Maaz and her Bloodbane witches soaring over the mountain peaks on their deadwood brooms. But it’s only a flock of birds.

  I’m running out of time. The night is disappearing, and the days are passing too quickly. I relish the night. Every morning, as dawn approaches, I can’t escape the memory of the day Maaz cursed me. Cursed me to become the beast she saw when I refused her. I close my eyes, envisioning the moment.

  Maaz, dressed in the blood-red gown slinked into my throne room as if it were hers already. She had dragged her long, black fingernails across my throat and down my chest, grinning.

  I will never forget that grin. Cursed, she had said. Cursed for a thousand years or until I find a Bloodbane witch to break the spell and bind herself to me willingly. Cursed to die, along with all of my people, at the end of the thousand years.

  And time is running short.

  My stomach twists as Maaz’s cruel smirk flashes through my mind again. The wind caresses my cheek, and I open my eyes to stare down at my city once more. My coat snaps out behind me as the wind speed picks up. It’s coming from the West, towards the mountains.

  I scowl, probably a reminder from Maaz. A gloat. A boast. She thinks she’s won already. Fury sweeps through me, sending my blood singing with blood lust. I swing my arm towards the flag pole beside me, where my banner proudly waves, and drive my fist through the wood. It splinters loudly, and the pole breaks in half. It clatters to the stone floor of the tower, the flag coiled beneath it.

  I stare down at it, at the black hawk poised to strike on the background of red fabric. My crest. My boot falls over the hawk as I drive the heel of my boot onto the hawk, soiling the flag. It’s a useless symbol, anyway. Behind me, I hear the soft sound of Navi clearing her throat.

  “When did you get here?” I ask, kicking the flag away.

  She stoops and collects it from the ground. Always the loyal and patriotic soldier. “When you destroyed a perfectly good flag pole with a single punch,” she says soberly. She folds the flag and cradles it in her arms.

  I scoff. “Just let it go, Navi. That flag won’t mean anything soon.”

  “Quitting right before the end?” Navi asks, her green eyes flashing. “I expected more than that from our King.”

  “King,” I echo softly. “A failure, you mean.”

  “Altair,” she whispers, placing a thin hand on my shoulder. “There is hope yet.”

  I turn to her, twisting my shoulder out from under her touch. She tucks her long hair behind one of her pointed ears as I stare coldly at her. “Don’t feed me lies, Navi.”

  “Your Majesty, the scholars have identified the one who may be the key to ending the curse. We know where she is now.” Navi’s eyes glitter. “Let me retrieve her.”

  “They found her?” I ask as the sun’s first rays slip over the horizon. Disbelief taints my voice. We’ve searched for her for hundreds of years, many of the scholars said it was impossible. That her existence was only a legend, a rumor.

  I have waited almost five hundred years for this moment.

  “I will go,” Navi says.

  “No.” I turn to the rising sun. “I will.”

  Chapter Two

  Verity

  The lipstick is too red for my tastes, a sharp contrast to my ivory skin. I sigh and wipe at it with a towel, smearing it a little. Tara clucks her tongue at me and uses a finger to gentle nudge my face towards her. She takes the towel and adjusts the makeup.

  “What’s on your mind? I thought we decided on that lipstick yesterday,” she says. “Let’s go nude.”

  I puff out my cheeks as she rummages through her makeup bag for a more natural lip. “I wouldn’t say that I’m getting cold feet . . . but I am apprehensive, let’s say.”

  She paints my lips with the nude coral tone. Much better. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can back out now if you want to, run away even. I’ve got your back.”

  “Tara, you know I can’t,” I say. “My parents, well, they need this.”

  Tara purses her lips and steps back to survey the whole picture. “God, you look gorgeous. Come look.” She maneuvers me in front of the floor-length mirror so I can see myself. “You’re the prettiest bride in the world.”

  Dressed in a sleeveless ivory lace gown that hugs my figure before falling loosely to the floor in twirls of tulle, I do look the picture of a bride. Even if I don’t quite feel it. “The nude lip looks much better,” I remark, twisting my head to the side to admire my hair.

  Tara, my maid of honor and best friend, adjusts her purple gown and huffs. “Henry is such a manipulative bastard.”

  I know instantly what she’s talking about. We’ve had this discussion many times since I first accepted Henry’s proposal. “Hey.” I eye her. “It’s not unusual for a husband to help his in-laws financially.”

  My father ended up with expensive medical bills after his chemotherapy a few years ago. He and my mother pay them off little by little, but they won’t have made a dent in the debt by the time they pass. And worrying about the debt falling on my shoulders has made them physically sick numerous times. We do what we can. Henry saw the struggle and promised to help if I married him.

  “Yeah, but most men don’t bribe women into marrying them with that,” Tara says pointedly. “I mean, would you have married him if he hadn’t led with that offer?”

  I sigh. “No. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Tara snorts.

  “Henry is a good man. He can be kind and affectionate. And he obviously knows how much I
care about my parents, that’s a good sign.”

  “He’s also a bit of a dick most of the time,” Tara says as she picks at her manicured nails.

  “Okay, maybe more often than not,” I mumble. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to help me feel confident in my decision, not try to talk me out of it.”

  She grips my shoulders and stares intensely into my eyes. “What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t have your back? I just want you to be happy, are you going to be happy with Henry?”

  “I . . .” I take a slow breath in, “I . . .”

  She frowns, “Verity.”

  “I need some fresh air,” I say, waving my hand in front of my face like a fan. In less than an hour, I’ll be walking down the aisle towards Henry. I’ll be binding my life to his for the foreseeable future. It’s a lot.

  A lot a lot.

  Tara ushers me towards the door. “Go outside and get yourself together. I’ll come get you in time for the ceremony, and if you change your mind just text me. I’ll drive the getaway car.”

  I flash her a grateful smile as I hurry to the back door leading out of the manor. Henry picked the venue for the ceremony and reception; a beautiful villa on the hills of Connecticut. I peek out the door before I exit, checking to make sure no guests are lurking around, or Henry for that matter. But the way is clear. The villa is a sprawling house with several wings. I picked the most secluded one to keep my big reveal a secret, and to give myself some privacy to think.

  Ever since Henry and I became engaged, it’s been wedding this and wedding that. We’ve been sorting through guests lists, budgets, invitations, the legalities of marriage, and even moving. Of course, I’m the only one doing any moving, since Henry has the nicer apartment.

  And in New York City, apartments are do or die.

  As I climb to the crest of the hill, I feel the true weight of my decision settling on my shoulders. In my fantasies, my perfect man was never Henry. It was the quiet librarian at the New York Public Library that I’ve never talked to before. Or it was the stunning, gentlemanly man who’d helped me catch the taxi that almost drove off with my purse. When you don’t know the man, you can make up any personality you want. Henry doesn’t have many of the qualities of the perfect man.

  Of my perfect man.

  He’s arrogant, brash, and rude to waiters. But he tips generously anyway. Though I’m not sure if that’s because he is generous, or if he likes to flash his money. An investor and entrepreneur, Henry built up his empire in his early twenties. I’ve been there since the beginning, and we were close at first. But the more successful he became, the more he changed.

  The sun is warm on my bare shoulders and the air smells faintly of freshly mown grass and lavender. Behind me, I can hear the sounds of the wedding, conversation, laughter, the tinkling of music. Henry footed the entire bill, with a few contributions from me. As a librarian at an inner-city high school, my salary would never have colored this extravagant affair. But it’s what Henry wanted. And, I’ll admit, it does feel like a fairytale. But I’m not sure if Henry is my prince.

  Suddenly, the breeze picks up considerably, sending a chill through me. I wrap my arms around myself, bouquet in hand. The leaves in the nearby oak trees rustle loudly. It sounds like whispering.

  I sigh and turn away from the mansion, facing instead towards the city. I can’t see New York from here, but I can imagine it. The gentle park and woods here are so different from the hustle and bustle of the city. A cloud passes over the sun, casting a long shadow over me.

  A dark shadow.

  I toss the bouquet between my hands. Maybe the sudden change in the weather is a bad omen, a sign that I shouldn’t go through with this. I’ll feel terrible if I bail on Henry. My family will still be in trouble if I do, and he’ll probably resent me for the rest of our lives. I don’t want to think about what a man with his kind of money could do if I made him angry.

  Tara will be here soon to escort me to the ceremony. I never thought getting married would be so difficult for me. The shadow over me stretches forward and swirls. Odd for a cloud. I look up and see blue sky above me, and then black closing in on me.

  Fear grips my gut as a giant, black creature descends from the sky. Its wings stretch out impossibly long, as wide as the hill. And it reaches out a clawed bird’s foot towards me. A scream lodges in my throat as I look into its eyes.

  Hazel eyes set into a panther’s face.

  I’m hallucinating. The stress and pressure of the wedding has finally gotten to me and my brain is responding by creating a hallucination of a monster. That has to be it.

  Because monsters aren’t real.

  Something like this can’t be real.

  I stumble backwards, tripping over the tulle of my gown. One of my sparkling heels falls off, but I don’t reach for it because the monster is close. In seconds, that clawed foot is wrapped around me, squeezing me tightly. Finally, the scream frees itself from my throat and shatters through the silence. I drop my bouquet as the ground falls away. When I’m high over the tree line, supported only by the beast’s foot, I let my fear overtake me.

  Darkness claims me.

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  About the Author

  Bailey Dark is obsessed with all things dark, hot, and supernatural. From Fae to Aliens, her heroes are thoroughly alpha and pure raw masculinity. When she’s not writing (which is hardly ever) she’s busy watching every movie in the marvel universe, or binging supernatural on her couch. So come along, and enter her dark world. . . .

  https://www.baileydarkromance.com/

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