Unspoken by Byrne Kerrigan

Author:Byrne, Kerrigan [Byrne, Kerrigan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Adult, Historical, Fantasy
Publisher: N Ainge
Published: 2012-03-24T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Evelyn watched as swirling black swiftly overtook pools of green, and then infringed on the whites of his eyes. His protruding veins rushed with blood as muscles heaved upon each other until he grew even larger. She hadn’t thought it possible.

Even his flagging erection pulsed with blood and became gloriously full again.

Witnessing the evidence of a power more tangible and elemental then she could imagine culminate into the perfect masculine form before her struck her dumb with wonderment.

This was the Berserker.

With a bestial snarl, he advanced upon her, hands clenched and chest heaving with deep, growling breaths. His teeth gleamed sharper, more predatory.

Evelyn wondered if she was destined to become a blood sacrifice to his Gods.

He ripped the covers from her, exposing her naked body. His eyes zeroed in on the blood, and he growled. It wasn’t the rumbling purr she’d heard before. This sound was filled with lethal menace. Deep and hungry.

“Don’t be angry.” She kept her plea level and soft, swallowing a surge of dread as he stalked closer. “I – I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that… I’d never…”

He paused, cocking his head to the side in a now familiar gesture. Bristling like a great cat, his nostrils flared and he examined her with his cold, black eyes like a curious specimen.

Dear God. The thrill of her first orgasms still pulsing in her veins spiked even higher as she imagined all kinds of terrible ends for her in the clutches of this monster. Why did excitement tangle with her panic? She’d always feared death and avoided danger. Feared there was nothing after for her but bitter judgment and possible damnation for the things she’d done.

For whom she was.

Yet this creature had nothing to do with all that. He was a creation of a different deity. He existed as a holy cleric of some other, more ancient order. He wasn’t bishop, templar, monk, or confessor.

He was an executioner.

His presence forged the outcomes of war and established the conqueror from the conquered. Though he subjugated no one, his sword drew the lines of possession in the soil, and then cut down the opposition. A berserker didn’t discriminate. He killed everyone.

He won’t kill me. Like all her knowledge, Evelyn didn’t understand where this came from. She just—knew.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she murmured, rising to her knees on the bed.

He tracked her every move.

Her trembling hand made her a liar as she reached out to him, resting her palm against his heart. The muscle twitched beneath her touch, his flesh hot and feverish.

That strange ticking rumble, somewhere between a growl and a purr reverberated from deep in his chest and vibrated against her hand. Then she was falling into the air where he’d been standing.

A strong arm clenched beneath her breasts, saving her from toppling head first off the bed. Evelyn let out a small squeak as she was pulled back against his strong body and set between his open legs.

She hadn’t even seen him move. One moment, he’d been standing in front of her, the next, crouched behind her on the bed.

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