Falling Warriors Series Collection (Books 1, 2 & 1.5)

by Nicole René

  "Don't call me sir," he ordered absently. He leaned back from her with a frown; not crowding her, but not giving her room to escape either. Looking over his shoulder, Tyronian grabbed the dress she was holding when he found her and held it up between them.

  “This is the one you picked?" Namoriee bit her bottom lip, nodding.

  "Yes."

  When Tyronian didn't say anything in reply, Namoriee looked up at him only to see him staring intently at her lip that she held trapped between her teeth.

  The hunger in his gaze startled her.

  He brought his right hand up, cradling the back of her head delicately as he pulled her closer. His thumb brushed against her lips, tugging the bottom one free.

  "Namoriee..." Tyronian inhaled sharply. His eyes grew more flared when Namoriee parted her lips in reaction to his touch. "I want to kiss you,” he said his voice, low and heated.

  She froze in shock, a thrill that she didn't understand going through her. A man has never looked at her the way that Tyronian is now. The lust and the hunger she saw reflecting in his gaze made her very aware of how close they were standing. Her breasts were flushed against his chest, his hands in her hair holding her head still so that she couldn't escape him.

  He surrounded her.

  "Please…" Namoriee whispered, unknowing if it was a plea for him not to do what he said—or to do exactly what he wanted. He dipped his head, eyes closing as his lips hovering over hers, his body coiled tightly in his strain to maintain his control.

  "I won't," he groaned finally, pulling away from her as if it pained him. His blue eyes opened when he stepped back. He looked as if he wanted to lift her up into his arms, pin her back against the wall, and claim her.

  "You don't need to fear me Namoriee," he told her quietly, grazing her cheek with the back of his hand. He watched his hands movement as it touched her smooth, unblemished skin that she knew was heated with the blood that rushed to them, like they were heating up, just for his touch.

  "I made a promise to myself, and to you," Tyronian grated out, pulling his attention away from her cheek and staring straight into her eyes. "And I keep my promises. I won't claim you. Not yet."

  Namoriee sagged in relief, or disappointment-—she wasn't sure. With one last show of incredible self-control, Tyronian let her go and put more distance between them. She followed his movement with her eyes, not moving from her position against the wall. She watched as he went back to Leawyn's chest that held her dresses and stopped. He ruffled through them for a moment until he grabbed one. Holding the dress with both his hands, he started down at the material with his back to her.

  "Remember what I said," Tyronian said finally, laying out the dress out carefully atop the closed chest, before stepping away. He paused, his hand idling on the door handle. He looked over his shoulder so that he can once again pierce her with his gaze.

  "When you're older," he reminded her quietly. His meaning and the vehemence behind the words was unmistakable. It hovered around them like an invisible rain cloud.

  He nodded his head toward the dress lying on top of the chest. "Wear that one." And with that last command, he pulled open the door and dipped under, closing it softly behind him.

  When you're older.

  Namoriee slumped against the wall, slowly sliding down until she was sitting on the floor with her knees bent to her chest. Her heart was beating erratically, different emotions consuming her. She turned her head to stare at the dress that he picked out. Namoriee slowly pushed herself up, the need to look at it was strong, as if a spell was cast urging her to look. Her eyes stayed glued to the dress as it drew closer with her movement until she was standing before it. Namoriee reached out. Her hand suspended over the garment, the slightest tremble going through them.

  It was just a dress.

  Fabric sewed together by twine, but it held so much more meaning.

  When you're older.

  Namoriee closed her eyes and gripped the material, ignoring the tear that slid down her cheek.

  But it wasn't just a dress.

  Whether you like it,

  It was acceptance.

  Or not.

  It was submission...to him.

  The feast was in full swing, and the night was aloud with laughter and joyful conversation. Namoriee was still serving the men, but she knew Leawyn would make her stop soon since half of the tribe’s inhabitants were on their second serving of their meal, and drunk.

  The men's sexual appetite was also very much active. Many of her fellow serving girls were already perched on the warrior's laps. Some, who were openly groping them. Why, just a few moments ago, Namoriee had passed Tanna, who was already pleasuring the man who claimed her for the night sexually as she straddled him, uncaring of the audience their act had attracted. Namoriee lost count of how many wondering hands she artfully escaped. She might be a slave, but she was no whore.

  A Sicares warrior caught her eye, his goblet held in his hand as he raised it high, signaling that he needed a refill. Namoriee quickly made her way over to him and smiled politely in response to his greeting.

  "Enjoying your night?" Namoriee asked as she grabbed his empty cup and began filling it with more ale.

  "Well, I am now that you’re here." His smile and tone were purely flirtatious.

  Namoriee had to hold back the urge to roll her eyes at his response. Out of all the tribes, the Sicares annoyed her the most. Especially the men.

  The men and woman were open—more open than even the Izayges—with their sexuality. The few times she had visited the tribe with the healer she use to serve...it was a wonder that they didn't have more people than the Izayges did. They didn't believe in boundaries, and that made Namoriee nervous. Especially when she caught the heated glint in his eye as he looked her body over. It was the same glint that Tyronian had looked at her with earlier that day, but, unlike Tyronian, this warrior's look didn't make her body heat up in a delicious way. It made her uncomfortable. Namoriee quickly placed his now full drink down on the table and gave him a tight smile.

  "Enjoy the rest of your night, sir."

  She turned away to leave, when a hand on her wrist made her still.

  "Why don't you stay awhile? Or better yet, why don't you follow me to somewhere quieter. I'll make it worth your while. My name is Cantos, what's yours?"

  "Not interested," she responded, deadpanned. She turned around, took two steps, before the grip on her wrist tightened and pulled. It unbalanced her, and she gasped when she suddenly found herself looking up at Cantos as she landed in his lap.

  "Much better," he announced with a lecherous grin. Then, to Namoriee's horror, he leaned in. His lips never got the chance to touch hers, however, because right at that moment, she was yanked out of Cantos lap and pushed behind a broad-shouldered back.

  It was Tyronian.

  "Touch her again, and I'll cut your head off."

  And he was furious.

  "What did you just say to me?" Cantos asked sharply, getting into his face.

  Tyronian didn’t even flinch, he only narrowed his eyes at Cantos. "I said touch her again, and I'll cut your head off." His voice was more of a growl, his body vibrating with anger.

  "You dare threaten me?"

  Tyronian smiled a slow, dark, smile. A viciousness entering his eyes. "I don't make threats," he shoved Cantos back into his seat roughly. "I make promises."

  With nothing else to say, he turned his back to Cantos and faced Namoriee, who shrunk back at his expression. He started to lead her away with a hand on her lower back.

  "If you wanted the whore for yourself, you could have just said so. Or better yet, we can share her. I'm sure she'll—"

  Everything inside of him grew still in fury at Cantos's words. His fists clenched, and before Cantos could finish his sentence, Tyronian spun around and sent his fist sailing in Cantos's jaw, sending him crashing against the table with a bloody lip.

  He heard Namoriee gasp, but he didn't pay attention to it as he
grabbed her wrist and walked her resisting form away.

  "Tyronian, no. I have to finish—"

  "You're done serving,” he bit out angrily. “You’ll never be serving again.” His tone booked no room for argument.

  He stopped at the table he was sitting at before with Xavier, Leawyn, and Tristan, ignoring the different looks they shot him. He bent down and righted the chair that he caused to topple over when he stood up so abruptly when he caught sight of Namoriee and Cantos. Just thinking about the way Cantos was looking at Namoriee, caused anger to flare up inside of him. The moment that Cantos had pulled her over his lap, Tyronian saw red. He wasn't even fully aware that he had marched over to them. All he was concerned about was getting his woman off Cantos's lap. It was unreasonable, but Tyronian was filled with jealousy at the fact that his lap won't be the first one that her luscious behind sat on. The possessiveness he felt over her was ridiculous, but he couldn't help but imagine taking her over his knee and making sure she knows that the only lap she’ll sit on would be his.

  He easily tugged Namoriee down onto his lap, forcibly keeping her there when she tried to get up. He ignored Tristan's amused chuckle and continued eating as if he hadn't just publicly staked his claim on Namoriee for everyone to see. It was a clear message.

  Namoriee was his.

  Namoriee just wanted the feast to be over. Leawyn and Xavier had long since left. The look in Xavier's eyes made Namoriee shiver. It was not hard to figure out why her chief whisked her friend away so suddenly. Namoriee couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Leawyn. With their absence, it left Namoriee, Tyronian, and Tristan at the table.

  It couldn't have been more uncomfortable.

  Well, uncomfortable for Namoriee at least. Tyronian—much to her annoyance—seemed perfectly content. He easily carried on a conversation with his cousin, Tristan. Meanwhile, here Namoriee was, forced to sit on his lap for everyone to see. A piece of chicken appeared in front of her mouth, bringing Namoriee out of her muses. She looked up to see that he was looking intently at her and shook her head in refusal. His expression hardened.

  "You need to eat."

  It was pure self-control that made Namoriee held back her urge to snap at him. She has been eating—thanks to him. After he had settled her onto his lap after the ordeal with Cantos, he had forcibly kept her there. Namoriee made many attempts to slide off him and slink away, but it was futile. His arm around her waist was like a steel band holding her there. Then, he had taken it upon himself to feed her—by hand. He fed her almost half of what was on his plate and giving her sips of his wine as if she was a wee babe. It was the most food that Namoriee has had during a meal her entire life.

  "I'm not h-h-hungry," she said, turning her head away from him.

  She jerked, startled, when she felt his hand lightly trace the length of her ribs through her dress. She snapped her head back to look at him.

  "You're too skinny, my sweet. You need to eat more."

  Namoriee felt her face flush with embarrassment. Was she too skinny? Probably. But that didn't give him the right to point out that fact and make decisions about her eating habits. Besides, unlike him, before working for Leawyn, she had to work hard for the little food that she could provide for herself. She wasn't entitled to meals like him because of her status. In fact, her saving grace was the anonymous person who would leave food at her door when she seemed to need it the most.

  Her embarrassment quickly morphed into anger.

  She was leaving. Now.

  Tyronian knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as Namoriee shot him a nasty look. He sighed, tightening his grip against her struggles as she tried to get off his lap.

  "Let me g-go!" She screamed, trying to physically remove his arm from around her. It was cute.

  "I'm only trying to take care of you.” That was most definitely the wrong thing to say.

  "I don't need anyone to take c-care of m-me! I can do th-that myself!" Her small hands squeezed his arms, trying to slide out from underneath him. He was going to have to let her go eventually before she hurt herself. She let out a frustrated growl. Giving up momentarily in order snarl at him angrily.

  If looks could kill...

  Tyronian grinned, amused. She was cute when she was mad.

  "Let me go, Tyronian."

  His grin widened. He loved when she said his name. He reached up and smoothed back a few errant strands of her wavy hair that had fallen over her eyes during her struggle. He pretended that she didn't try and jerk away from his touch.

  "I'm not ready to let you go. I don't think I'll ever be.” He stared into her eyes intently. He wasn’t just talking about letting her off his lap.

  Namoriee's eyes bulged, clearly shocked at the statement, and her cheeks flamed. A disgusted groan brought their attention back to Tristan, who was standing up from the table.

  "I'll see you later, cousin." Tristan said briskly, his eyes focused on Kassia who was the frequent tribe whore. They watched him go over to her, and she squealed when he threw her over his shoulder, smacking her behind. Neither of them seemed to care that her bare bottom was showing, even as Tristan palmed it as he walked away.

  Tyronian chuckled in amusement, turning his attention back to Namoriee. His humored died immediately when he saw the look on her face. She was staring at the space that Kassia and Tristan were standing a moment before with a hollow expression.

  "Is that what you want from me?" Namoriee whispered, her voice strained in desolation. She met his eyes, and he tensed when he saw the tears gathered there. "Am I to be used to sate your needs and amusement?"

  Her words made him feel like he had been kicked in the stomach. She slipped off his lap, using his shock to catch him unawares. He reached out to yank her back.

  "Please," she whispered, and looked him right in the eyes.

  He paused, his hand hovering between them as he kept eye contact. Her look was desperate, eyes pleading for him to stop chasing her. To let her go...to break his promise.

  It killed him inside, because he knew, that he would never stop chasing her. He would never let her go.

  It's in that moment that Tyronian knew that he would shatter her world, solely because he would force himself inside of it, and then build her a new one that always included him. He lowered his hand.

  "I'll never stop coming after you," he told her seriously. Namoriee's lips firmed, her eyes flashing with defiance.

  "I'll never stop running."

  And before he could say anything more, she turned on her heel and ran, disappearing into the crowd.

  Namoriee found herself once, again, perched atop Tyronian’s thighs.

  Tomorrow the visiting warriors were traveling back to their tribe, which means tonight was the last day that the warriors were dining with the Izayges. Ever since that night with Cantos, Tyronian made good on his word and ensured that Namoriee wasn't allowed to serve the meals with the other serving wenches. For weeks, he made sure that she was always sitting on his lap during the feasts. He also continued to feed her by hand, which just made her more uncomfortable and mortified. Luckily, no one paid them that much mind.

  Well...besides Tristan who always seemed to smirk whenever Tyronian forced her to sit with him.

  Namoriee was timid by nature, but something about Tristan made her hair stand on end. Though her chief Xavier was scary and intimidating—no one can refute that—Tristan was just as terrifying, if not more.

  With Xavier, you knew what to expect. There was a reason why he was the most fearsome warrior of their time. He had killed his first man at the tender age of seven, and he had yet to be defeated in battle. Tristan was dangerous in different way. Not a lot of people knew that much about him. She knew that he and Tyronian were close, but that was about it. He kept to himself and didn't talk unless it was necessary. He was broody, mysterious, his eyes were ever watchful, constantly taking in his surroundings. As if he saw everything and knew your secrets with just one look. But it was what lies inside h
is brown eyes that made him frightening to her. They were sharp with intelligence, but lifeless. There was ruthlessness inside of him, and Namoriee feared the day that he let it loose. At that moment, the eyes she was contemplating locked onto hers. She quickly looked down, not able to bear his cold depths.

  "Where is my wife?"

  Namoriee snapped to attention, looking up. It was her chief who had asked that question. The table grew still at the inquiry, and she could see the anger and annoyance in his face when she didn't answer him. He turned his full attention to her, and Namoriee subconsciously leaned back into Tyronian's chest. Tyronian's hand pause from stroking her hair for a beat before continuing.

  "Why isn't she here, and why aren't you with her?"

  "I-I was b-but—" Xavier's eyes flashed, annoyed with her stutter. Namoriee almost wanted to cry because it just made her more nervous and her stutter worse.

  "I stole Namoriee away from my dear cousin earlier when they were in your hut," Tyronian answered calmly, effectively diverting Xavier's attention from her over to him. "She's probably still there."

  Xavier stood, leveling her with a dark look. "Your job is to be with her. I can easily find someone else to take your place." It would crush her if she left Leawyn, and he knew it.

  "Yes, C-C-Chief Xavier," she whispered, and looked down quickly to hide the tears that gathered in her eyes.

  "The second your little obsession interferes again, she's gone."

  "Perhaps you should look after your obsession better then, instead of bullying mine."

  Tyronian's words made her gasp, shocked at the coldness in his tone, and the fact that he took that tone with Xavier to stick up for her. She heard Xavier storm off, and a moment later a hand was gently tipping her face upwards. Tyronian's eyes reflected anger, but his touch was gentle.

  "I can't stand to see you cry, Namoriee.”

  "Why did you do that?" She whispered shakily.

  Tyronian smiled, brushing his thumb underneath her eye, as if he was comforting the tears, requesting them not to fall. "You know why, Namoriee. No one gets to talk to you that way, especially in front of me."