The Wrong Bride (Kings of Fury #1) Read Online Gena Showalter

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Funny, Paranormal Tags Authors: Series: Kings of Fury Series by Gena Showalter
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Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
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I tried to respond, to demand answers and help, but the lights in my mind dimmed one by one until…

Darkness swallowed me.

Chapter

Two

Epic Entrances: When Love Collides…Literally

From A Beginner’s Guide to Berserker Bliss

Author Unknown

Adull throb in my temples yanked me from a sea of gloom. Moaning, I blinked open my eyes. Sunlight filled my room, searing my corneas. Too bright! I squeezed my lids tightly closed.

Had I contracted some sort of virus on my flight home?

Wait. Did I fly home? Or board a plane? Or drive to the airport? Or leave the hotel? I scoured my brain for the last available memory.

We’re going to trade, you and I.

A woman’s smug voice filled my head, confusing me further. Out of habit, I reached up to stroke my dad’s necklace and stiffened. The coin. It was gone.

Heart thudding, I forced my lids to open for good. Ugh. Still too bright. I didn’t care. Desperate to find my most prized possession, I patted the area around me. No sign of the necklace. But I refused to panic. No doubt the piece had gotten tangled in the sheets.

I slipped my gaze over the expanse of pink silk—um. Silk? Widening my search, I discovered a matching canopy hanging over an iron railing. Not something I’d seen before. Nor was the high ceiling covered in copper tiles. Or the crystal chandelier centered between four marble columns that bordered a tiered dais. Where was I?

A spacious room of pure luxury greeted me as I eased into an upright position. Stunning florals papered the walls, and sheer white material draped recessed windows. The sitting area boasted two velvet settees, a mother-of-pearl coffee table topped by a vase overflowing with fresh primrose, and two portraits of a gorgeous redhead.

This definitely wasn’t my farmhouse or the hotel. Especially considering a small black and white ball of fluff with wild eyes and what looked to be a fortune of diamonds around her throat perched atop a plump pillow at the foot of the bed, judging me for everything I’d ever done and a million things I hadn’t.

Were those stones the real deal? Inner shake. Focus! Canine. I geared up for an uncontrollable sneezing fit. Seconds passed.

Minutes.

Nothing happened.

I don’t understand. I could breathe, but the dog was right there. A nametag dangled from the collar. Thora. Hmm. That name. I’d heard it from someone.

Oh! Isobel! That’s right. The redhead. My gaze zoomed back to a portrait of her smug face. You’ll love my sweet Thora.

Why would I be here with Isobel’s dog? “Staring is rude,” I told the pooch.

She bared her teeth and growled.

Oookay. Note to self: Do not initiate a conversation with the furbaby.

I kicked my legs over the side of the ultra-soft mattress, determined to investigate my surroundings further and escape the tiny beastie. Yes, I said beastie like a true Scot. I stood–Whoa! And the shocks keep coming. I sank onto the edge of the bed, an ivory gown overlaid with delicate rose-patterned lace falling into place over my dangling calves.

A wedding gown. A sexy wedding gown. The cinched bodice dipped deeply in the center, revealing a swell of cleavage, while the free-flowing skirt sported a hip to hem slit on each side. Scarlet stilettos hugged my feet, complimenting the black cherry polish now decorating my toenails.

Surely I hadn’t married some man I’d just met and couldn’t remember. Mouth going dry, I yanked my left hand up to my face, expecting to find zero rings. My jaw slackened. No! No, no, no. This wasn’t possible. I might not have my necklace, but I’d gained a ginormous rock.

No way book nerd Miss Darcy would ever forget her wedding.

Trembling, I removed the ring to search for an inscription. Anything that might offer a nugget of information. Etched inside the gold band were three circles linked together. Uh, were those freckles on my ultra-pale arm? But I didn’t have freckles. Or pale days.

More confused than ever, I slipped the ring back on my finger because where else was I supposed to put it? The thing must cost a fortune, and there was no way I could pay for its loss.

Perspiration dotted my palms. I stood and teetered on the stilts. Where was the bathroom? I needed a mirror. Now. Spotting a door, I rushed forward. And toppled to my face. Argh!

Undeterred, I ripped off the shoes, lumbered to my feet, hiked up my skirt, and started again. The knob turned, and I soared inside an enormous closet filled with racks of designer clothing and shelves lined with extravagant heels and leather purses. Things I’d only ever seen in magazines and movies.

Not a bathroom, but it didn’t matter. A full-length, gilt-framed mirror waited in the corner. I surged deeper inside. The second I caught sight of my reflection, my choppy scream filled the air. I slapped a hand over my mouth. No! This had to be a trick. Or a joke. Yes, yes, a horrifying joke.


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