Lord of Rage. Jill Monroe

       “My magic … it’s gone,” she told him.

      Disappointment flashed across his eyes before it quickly faded. Or he masked it. Come on, Breena, you’re supposed to be good at reading people.

      He placed the barest of kisses against her mouth. “Then tell me stop, and I’ll stop.”

      How could she when she ached to finally live every emotion and sensation the Osborn of her dreams had promised?

      She shook her head. “I can’t.”

      His fingers began to caress the skin below her ears, never thinking how sensitive she was there. Something dark and slightly possessive flashed across his face, turning his features stony. But this wasn’t scary. Oh, it was dangerous, and should be a warning, but it was so, so tantalizing …

      Breena wanted more.

      Dear Reader,

      Writing Lord of Rage was an amazing experience. Not only because I’ve always been a fan of dark, sizzling paranormal romance, but I also got to work with three talented authors—Gena Showalter (Lord of the Vampires), Jessica Andersen (Lord of the Wolfyn) and Nalini Singh (Lord of the Abyss).

      We started out with a single idea—rewrite fairytales with a mystical twist—and from that, the Royal House of Shadows was born.

      And, baby, did we have a blast! Our world is filled with dangerous magic, vampires and werewolves, and I couldn’t resist adding one more creature to the mix—an elusive berserker possessed with a strength and rage so intense, his enemies shudder with fear. Add in a lost princess and watch as the sparks start flying.

      All my best,

       Jill

      About the Author

      JILL MONROE makes her home in Oklahoma with her family. When not writing, she spends way too much time on the Internet completing “research” or updating her blog. Even when writing, she’s thinking of ways to avoid cooking.

      Lord of Rage

      Jill Monroe

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      This book is dedicated to my husband and daughters—I love you all!

      Thanks so much to Gena Showalter, Jessica Andersen

       and Nalini Singh—you were so much fun to work

       with from beginning to end!

      A special thanks goes to Tara Gavin for making it all happen.

      A shout out goes to Deidre Knight, and everyone at

       The Knight Agency, whose support is invaluable.

      And a trip down memory lane thank you to Missi Jay who

       first introduced me to berserkers back in school when we

       played the game on her Atari 2600 instead of studying.

       Prologue

      Once upon a time, in a land unseen by human eye, there was a beautiful princess … destined to wed to further her father’s political gains.

      Not the kind of fairy tales Princess Breena of Elden grew up reading in the warmth of her mother’s solar room. In those stories, the princesses rode glowing unicorns, slept on piles of mattresses, their rest only interrupted by a tiny pea, or lived in towering enchanted castles filled with magical creatures.

      Although, none of those princesses could talk to themselves in their dreams.

      As far as magical abilities, Breena’s gift was pretty worthless. When she was a child, she could talk herself out of a nightmare, which was a bonus to her seven-year-old self, but now, as an adult, it didn’t add anything special. Her mother could look into the dreams of men, was able to send fearful emotions into the hearts of her father’s enemies or even peer into possible futures.

      And once upon a time, Queen Alvina had married Breena’s father for her own father’s political ambition. Joining her magic to the blood drinker’s power. Her oldest brother, Nicolai, could absorb the powers of others, while her other brothers Dayn and Micah could mindspeak with the blood drinkers of their kingdom.

      While Breena’s dream talking was not powerful … she could always connect to one particular warrior.

      That’s how she referred to him while awake. Warrior. As she slept, she thought of him as lover. His dark eyes matched his unruly hair that she so liked to slide her fingers through. His broad shoulders begged for her touch. Her lips. Sometimes in her dreams he’d take her in his arms, his body big and powerful, and carry her to the nearest bed. Or down to the hard floor. Sometimes it was even against the wall. Her lover would tear her clothes, ripping them from her body, then cover her skin with the softness of his lips or roughness of his callused palms.

      Breena would wake up, her heart pounding and her nipples hard and throbbing. She’d ache all over. She would draw her knees to her chest, trying to suck in air, clearing her mind of the need and the wanting.

      Once she caught her breath, and her heartbeat slowed, she was left feeling only frustrated. She spent the time just after waking trying to remember. To get back into the dream. She’d been with her warrior a hundred times in her sleep, but what came after the clothes ripping and touching? Her dreams never told. Nor could she ever fully see his face. While she knew how he smelled, tasted and felt like beneath her fingertips, he remained elusive. Mysterious. A dream.

      But one thing was for sure. If the man barged out of her dreams, through her door and stalked across her chamber, she’d be frightened. He was little more than savage. Fierce and primal. He wielded a sword as easily as she brandished a hairbrush.

      Hairbrushing. Now that was important in the life of a princess. Especially one whose sole job was to marry. Breena sighed, and began to pace the confines of her room. Her feet as restless as her spirit.

      And she knew those kind of thoughts would lead to danger.

      In all the fairy tales her mother had read to her while growing up, a princess always got into the most trouble when she yearned for something more. She’d be tempting—no, challenging—fate, if she strode with a purpose to her window to gaze below, out past the castle gates, to the trees of the forest, and wonder … what if? What’s out there? Is there anything more than this?

      She might as well swing the doors open wide and invite in disaster and offer it a cup of sweet tea.

      Besides, how was she prepared for adventure? Out past the gates, armed with only a few paltry magical abilities, she’d be as lost as that little boy and girl whose trail of bread crumbs was eaten by the birds. If she could defeat a fearsome ogre with a fabulous meal plan, then what lay beyond those gates might