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

by Nicole René

  * * *

  Cantos.

  * * *

  The name was like a strike to her heart with a knife. He had touched her, tried to violate her not even a day before, yet she let Tyronian do those acts to her. She didn’t try and fight him, she didn’t cringe or feel aghast at the thought of his touch…at his want to please her body. She welcomed it. Wanted it…enjoyed it.

  * * *

  Instantly, Namoriee felt dirty. She felt as if bugs were crawling over her skin, and her blood cooled. Her breathing sped up, and she was consumed with this unnatural need to bathe and scrub her skin raw. Choking on a cry, she lifted Tyronian’s arm off her carefully, sliding out from under him and stumbled to her feet. She was barely aware that she dressed.

  * * *

  The scenery of her village was blurred from tears as she stumbled out of his hut and down to the lake that they used to wash. She was dirty, and she had passed it onto him. Why? Why did she think she deserved him? Why didn’t she fight him? Why…did she want him? What was wrong with her?

  * * *

  You’re selfish, a horrible voice whispered into her conscious.

  * * *

  She clawed her dress desperately, the fabric suffocating her. She sobbed when she scooped handfuls of water and begin to scrub her skin. The word ‘dirty’ a mantra with each bath.

  Gentle hands gripped her wrists, and she looked up with bleary eyes. She blinked to bring the person into focus, causing more tears to drip off her lashes.

  * * *

  “I’m dirty,” she croaked, anguished.

  * * *

  Tyronian lowered her hands, eyes taking her in. She had rubbed her skin completely raw, and thin trails of blood mixed with water from where her nails nicked her flesh.

  * * *

  He cleared his throat, but his voice was still hoarse with emotion. “Then let’s get you clean.”

  * * *

  He dropped her wrists, and Namoriee wept when he spooled his hands into the water.

  Tyronian stayed with her. Hands scooping water was the only sound between them as he helped Namoriee get clean until there were no tears left for her to shed and her body was shivering from the cold.

  Three months later.

  Leawyn was lying to her. When Namoriee had gone to collect her Lady Chief to begin their travel to the sacred grounds the Warrior Choosing was taking place at, she had heard her. She was throwing up, and she sounded…off. But remembering how she had snapped at her before she hadn’t mentioned her concerns and instead had taken the bags her Lady mentioned and loaded them up on the horse she would be riding since her mare, Deydrey was suspected to be pregnant. That was two days ago, the Izayges had merged with the other tribes, Asori and Siraces as it was custom for them to travel together and Namoriee’s concern grew as Leawyn became sicklier and unsteady as each day passed.

  “What’s going on up ahead?”

  The question brought Namoriee out of her musings. She looked to Castic who had asked the question and, following his line of sight to the crowd that was gathered a few yards in front of them. Her brows knitted together, dread slithered through her. She didn’t know how, but she knew that the crowd had to do with Leawyn.

  “Stay here,” she ordered to Castic before she took off with hurried steps.

  "Evil!"

  "Possessed!"

  "Witchcraft!"

  Those were only a few things Namoriee heard as she pushed her way through the gathered crowd standing and looking down at something on the ground, their faces a mixture of concern and apprehension.

  Even fear.

  Shouldering her way past a particularly obtuse form, she was finally able to push her way up to the front of the gathered crowd and see what all the fuss was about. She gasped at what she saw.

  With a panicked cry, Namoriee threw herself down onto her knees and cradled Leawyn's head as her body convulsed violently on the ground.

  "Get the healer!" Namoriee shouted at the crowd who continued to just stare at them both. "What are you waiting for?" Namoriee cried, her voice thick with tears of frustration, panic, and helplessness as she tried to keep Leawyn's head still as her body thrashed around. Leawyn's body gave a particularly sharp jerk that made her back bow and low growl ripped from her clenched teeth echoed around them. The crowd gasped and pushed themselves farther away. As if Leawyn were to spring at them any moment.

  "Possessed," someone in the crowd hissed in alarm.

  "She's not! Don't you see who this is?" Namoriee cried, pushing down on Leawyn's shoulders to try to still her movements. It took almost all her strength, and yet she still couldn't keep her grounded. "Please, get help."

  "She's a darkling, that's what she is!" Namoriee's head shot up at the shout, watching as the obtuse man that she had to bulldoze her way through before pushed forward, his expression locked in determination and anger. Dimly, she was aware that he bore Siraces armor as he unsheathed his sword at his hip and stalked toward Namoriee and Leawyn. "She needs to be put down before she dispels her dark magic on the rest of us!"

  "No, you're making a mistake," she said fearfully. She clutched Leawyn's head tighter to her chest when he continued to stalk forward. "She's not evil, she's—"

  "Get out of the way, slave," The man sneered, now upon them so that he can look down his nose at them both. "Or you perish as well."

  She shook her head, her body jostling with both Leawyn's tremors and her own. "Please," she begged, her face dripping with her tears, "Please don't...let me explain first. Help us!"

  "Last chance," the man warned dangerously.

  She sobbed, shaking her head as she held onto Leawyn for dear life. Even if she were to somehow able to leave Leawyn to get help, she knew that by the time she arrived the man would have taken her Lady Chief's life anyways.

  "If you dare to risk your life for that evil doer, you deserve to die," he man sneered, raising his sword high above his head. She threw herself completely on top Leawyn's trashing body, shielding her as best as her sixteen-year-old self could to try and take the blunt of the killing blow. Namoriee squeezed her eyes shut tightly against the pain...that never came.

  There was a quick scuffle, and the shocked gasps that followed made Namoriee look up, right as the sharp clang of a blade meeting a blade echoed. She stared dumbly at the two locked swords hovering in front of her face, mere inches from her neck. Her gaze traveled up the length of the steel that was underneath the first, past the tan muscled arm, and straight to the face of Tristan. Tristan's face was the perfect picture of masked fury as he stared coldly at the man, who was just moments ago, going to end Namoriee and Leawyn's life.

  "Tristan..." the Siraces man said, obviously in shock. She could hear the fear in his tone. His eyes widen further when with a quick flick of Tristan's wrist, he twirled their locked swords away from Namoriee and Leawyn. The force of the shove caused the man to stumble back a few paces.

  She flinched when a hand rested on her shoulder and she looked up as Tyronian kneeled beside her, his eyes hard and his lips pressed in a firm line as he looked down at her. "Let her go."

  "Help her," she whimpered, and if anything, Tyronian's expression grew stormier. Shooting a thunderous glare at the man who his cousin still had locked in a heated gaze, he seemed to collect himself and returned his attention back to Namoriee.

  "I will my sweet, but you need to let go of her first."

  She realized with a jolt that Leawyn was no longer convulsing in her grasp and was instead laying still on the ground. She lifted her arms, scooting back so that Tyronian could slid his hands under Leawyn and lift her up. She stood and brought her attention back to Tristan as he confronted their would-be attacker.

  "What is your name?" Tristan asked the man in front of him in a flinty tone.

  "Ati'yer," the hitch in Ati'yer's voice was the sign of his growing unease.

  "Ati'yer, explain to me," Tristan said coolly, "just what were you planning on doing to my brother's wife?" Tristan speared At
i’yer with a look that instantly brought a chill down her spine.

  "I-C-chief, Xavier's wife...!" Ati'yer clearly didn’t know what to say, sweat gathering across his brow and temples. "I-I didn't know..." Ati'yer trailed off, shooting a look to Leawyn.

  "She was possessed!" Ati'yer said desperately, jabbing a finger to where Tyronian now was standing up with Leawyn cradled in his arms. "Evil claimed her body! I was only doing what was expected—what was right!"

  It became deathly silent as everyone held their breath at Ati'yer's words. Ati'yer—sensing that his words of wisdom probably did more harm than it did good—gulped in fear.

  "It did not occur to you," Tristan growled out to Ati’yer, "to come to me, instead of raising your sword? Did it not occur to you, to listen to my brother's wife's handmaiden instead of so quickly going into action purely fueled by your fear and cowardice?" Tristan advanced on Ati’yer with each word he spoke until he stumbled to stop when he bumped into a body behind him. Shooting a panicked look behind him, Ati'yer's face paled further when he was met with the cold eyes of another Izayges, clearly blocking his escape purposely.

  Ati'yer turned his attention back to Tristan who now stood in front of him.

  "Sir, I—"

  "Silence," Tristan growled right before grasping Ati'yer's shoulder, and jerking him forward and right into his sword that he had thrust up. Namoriee gasped with the rest of the crowd, staring in shock at the sword lodged into Ati'yer's gut. Ati'yer made a wet, gurgling noise as blood pooled inside his mouth. A pained grunt escaped him as Tristan yanked his sword out and stepped back, letting Ati'yer fall face forward, dead.

  Tristan swept his bloody blade around at the horrified people who stood around him.

  "Hear now, that Leawyn is Chief Xavier's wife. If any were to touch, or threatens my brother's wife again," Tristan pointed his sword down to Ati'yer's body, " will meet the same fate as him."

  Tristan didn't spare the corpse another glance as murmurs instantly broke out around them. He turned and marched over to Tyronian, taking Leawyn from his arms and settling her into his own.

  "What happened?" Tristan barked at Namoriee, setting a brisk pace over to his horse.

  "I-I don't k-know. I was farther down when it happened, but w-when I got h-here she was on the floor c-c-con-convulsing." Namoriee said, frustrated that she couldn't control her stutter. Tristan handed Leawyn over to Tyronian long enough to mount his horse before reaching down and taking her into his arms again. Using one hand, Tristan turned his steed around. He looked down at them.

  "Send word to Xavier," Tristan ordered.

  "Understood," Tyronian nodded, and no sooner than he did, Tristan kicked his horses' sides and they took off.

  “Tell me she’s going to be okay,” she whispered, staring after Tristan as he galloped away, people giving him a wide berth. Tyronian draped his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, eager to accept his comfort.

  “She’s going to be okay.”

  She closed her eyes. She knew that he had no way of knowing that, but the pure conviction in his voice was enough for Namoriee to believe him.

  Xavier was losing his shit.

  Tyronian watched as he paced around in quick, angry motions as the healer, Aggod, their healer, tried to explain what was wrong with Leawyn. It’s been a day since Leawyn had collapsed, the other tribes have already continued their travel to the sacred grounds. The Izayges were breaking tradition by staying behind, but Xavier refused to move with Leawyn’s condition. Though he would never admit it, he was starting to think that Xavier cared more for his wife than he allowed himself to admit.

  When Tyronian had alerted Xavier that Leawyn had fainted, and how Tristan had managed to save her from being beheaded…well. Never had he seen his cousin so rattled.

  Xavier’s shout broke him out of his musings. “You’re a healer; you’re supposed to fix her!”

  “Chief Xavier, I assure you—”

  Xavier snarled, whirling around to face her. “You assure me nothing! Do your job, or I’ll find someone else who can!”

  They all watched as Xavier stormed out, knocking over a menorah in his anger. Namoriee rushed over and stomped out the flames before it had the chance to set flame to anything.

  “Why hasn’t she woken up?” Tristan asked, disrupting the silence that had befallen.

  “Why are we whispering?” he asked in confusion. “Don’t we want her to wake up?”

  “Hey!” Tyronian yelped after Tristan smacked him upside the head. “It’s a valid question,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

  “As I’ve told the chief, with Leawyn unconscious, it is hard for me to determine anything substantial, but it is my belief Lady Leawyn needs rest, and her body made it so.”

  Tyronian blinked. That kind of sounds like she’s suggesting—“So, basically, she’s been having too much sex?”

  Aggod gasped at his crude (but valid) question, which made his snicker that instantly got cut off when Tristan punched him in the stomach.

  “Idiot,” Tristan muttered to him as he doubled over, groaning. The bastard hit him hard.

  “Be that as it may,” Aggod said once recovered, “we must leave the lady to her rest. I will linger until nightfall and until my chief retires, should she awaken before then.”

  “I will take over, should y-y-you need a break,” Namoriee said timidly. He frowned. If Leawyn were to wake up, it would be likely that they would continue their travel to which Namoriee would make by foot. She needed her rest—something she wouldn’t get if she were to stay with Leawyn.

  “Aggod will keep catch until Xavier comes back,” he said, tone resolute. Namoriee stiffened at the order, but she didn’t try and protest. “Let’s leave Aggod to it.”

  He led Namoriee out by the crook of her elbow. She tried to shake his hand off once they reached outside, but his grip held firm as he continued to lead her away. Once they were far enough away from everyone he released her only long to haul her up by the back of her thighs. Namoriee squeaked in surprise, dainty hands bracing his shoulders. He caught sight of her wide eyes a second before he slammed his lips onto hers. Her lips were unmoving against his until he reached up and grabbed her hair in his fist, squeezing only tight enough for her to gasp at the sting which he used to thrust his tongue inside and brush against hers. He ravaged her mouth, keeping her exactly where he wanted as he controlled the kiss. His tongue stroked against her in long, sure strokes against her inexperienced and timid ones. He groaned when Namoriee hesitantly brushed her tongue against his bottom lip, before sucking it into her mouth.

  “You drive me crazy,” he rasps against her neck as he trailed kissing down her neck and collarbone. “I’ve been dying to feel your lips on mine again for days. You’ve been avoiding me, my sweet.”

  “I haven’t—” she tried to lie.

  “You have,” he growled. “But now I have you in my grasp, and I’m not letting you go until I have what I need.”

  He placed her on the ground and kneeled. Placing her leg over his shoulder, he dove under her skirt.

  He needed to taste her again.

  “No!” she squealed, trying to remove her leg once she realized what he was going to do, but his hand clamped down, holding her limb hostage. Fingers parted her slick folds, before a warm tongue brushed against her; bringing a sensation so divine, she was afraid she would buckle from the force of it.

  “You taste good,” he murmured against her.

  “Tyronian!” He moaned in response, the vibrations adding to the act and making her slicker. He lapped at her like a man starved, using his teeth and tongue in equal force and measures until soon, her legs were shaking, and she felt her womb coiling on the onslaught of pleasure his mouth was evoking. She wasn’t aware that her fingers found purchase in his hair, or when she started to rock her hips, trying to push her mound closer to him as he lapped at her wetness. She could feel herself start to unravel, her stomach coiling as pleasure shot from the highly-s
ensitive flesh that he was devouring like his life depended on it. She writhed when he dipped lower, dragging his tongue down from her nub, straight to slit before shoving it inside hole at the exact moment he pressed down on her nerve-center. She choked as her body stiffened with the paroxysm of pleasure that hit her, mouth open in a silent scream. Tyronian exhaled roughly against her, and she whimpered when he greedily lapped up her release, groaning as if the taste of her was the greatest of deserts.

  When he started to lick her again, it was too much. She weakly pushed his head away, unable to bare any more. He moved out from under her skirt, catching her before she could fall—legs too shaky to hold her up— and claimed her mouth once again. Unlike previously, this kiss was tender, gentle. As if she bestowed him a gift and he was thanking her.

  He gave her once last peck before he drew away from her. She blinked blearily up at him when he brushed a tendril away from her.

  “This is my favorite look on you,” he said huskily. “Sated and flushed.” His eyes darkened with a dangerously possessive hue. “I’m the only one that can make you look like this, my sweet.”

  “I’m not a possession.”

  He chuckled, more patronizing than amused. “Oh, Namoriee. You have no idea how wrong you are.” He pressed her closer to him, until her chest was flushed against his.

  “I’m going to be the man who claims you, even if I have to kill every other that tries to stand in my way.”

  “You’re scaring me,” Namoriee whispered unsteadily.