How the Warrior Claimed (Falling Warriors Book 2)

by Nicole René

  “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 it.

  Tyronian watched as he paced around in quick, angry motions as the healer, Aggod, tried to explain what was wrong with Leawyn. It had been one day since she’d collapsed, the other tribes having already continued their travel to the sacred grounds. They were breaking tradition by staying behind, but Xavier refused to move in Leawyn’s condition. Tyronian was starting to think that Xavier cared more for his wife than he allowed himself to admit.

  When he 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—”

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

  They all watched as Xavier stormed out, knocking over a pricket in his anger. Namoriee rushed over to stomp out the flames before it had the chance to catch on anything.

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

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

  Tristan smacked him upside the 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 sounded like she was suggesting . . .”So, basically, she’s been having too much sex?”

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

  “Idiot,” Tristan muttered to him as he doubled over, groaning.

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

  “I will take over, should y-y-you need a break,” Namoriee offered.

  Tyronian frowned. When Leawyn woke up, it would be likely that they would continue their travel, 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 watch until Xavier comes back,” he said, resolute. Namoriee tensed 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. Only when they were far enough from everyone did he release her.

  She squeaked in surprise when he hauled her up by the back of her thighs, her 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 tight enough for her to gasp, which he used to thrust his tongue inside.

  He ravaged her mouth, keeping her exactly where he wanted as he controlled the kiss. His tongue stroked in long, sure strokes against her inexperienced and timid one. He groaned at the sensation.

  “You drive me crazy,” he rasped against her as he trailed kisses 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 his intent, but his hand had clamped down, holding her limb hostage. Fingers parted her slick folds, then 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 quivering, and she felt her womb coil at 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 to his mouth as he lapped at her wetness. She could feel herself start to unravel, and pleasure shot from the highly sensitive flesh that he was devouring. She writhed when he dipped lower, dragging his tongue down from her nub straight to her slit before shoving it inside her 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 desserts.

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

  She blinked blearily up at him when he pulled away and brushed a tendril away from her cheek.

  “This is my favorite look on you,” he told her 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 p-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 flush against his. “I’m going to be the man who claims you, even if I have to kill every other who tries to stand in my way.”

  “You’re scaring me,” Namoriee whispered unsteadily. His expression lost some of its hardness.

  “Scaring you is the last thing I’d want to do, Namoriee,” he replied, caressing her cheek. “But I need you to understand what fate awaits you.”

  “Do I not have the right to choose my own fate?”

  “No, my sweet,” he said, his tone gently derisive. “You don’t.”

  Her breath hitched when he brought her hand up between them. “You have until your eighteenth winter,” he said quietly, darkly sensuous. He stayed fixated on her hand as he trailed a finger down her palm before clasping their hands together. He lifted his gaze, eyes half-mast as they met her own. “And then, I’m coming for you.”

  He dropped her hand, and she stared at his back as he walked away. Later that night, as she lay in bed staring at her palm, she realized what he had mimicked.

  With a shaking finger, she traced the same path along her palm that he had made earlier that day.

  There were only two acts that would require two people to slice their flesh like that.

  A blood bond . . . and marriage.

  PRESENT DAY

  Tyronian watched as all around him people danced, laughed, and ate in celebration of his and Namoriee’s marriage. A cadence of drums kept tempo for the piccolos and lutes as they played happy and upbeat songs to match the mood of the celebrators. Fires were blazing all around, illuminating the Izayges village and their guests.

  Many had made the travel to witness their union. Ever since the war, the relationship between the Izayges, Asori, and Siraces had improved, and there was a sense of comradery between them that only going to battle for each other could achieve. Their wedding had taken place at sunset, and Tyronian knew that the image of Namoriee walking towards him in her wedding gown would stay with him forever
. She had looked so beautiful; it had made his breath falter.

  Everything was perfect except . . . Tyronian looked to his right, at Namoriee’s empty seat.

  He had tried to give her enough time to prepare herself. She knew as well as he did what would happen tonight. He knew she must be scared, so he wanted to give her a few more moments of innocence before he took it away.

  But, he couldn’t deny that it was getting harder for him to stay at their wedding reception.

  All he could think about was claiming his new wife, whom he had been in love with for years. He thought of how her face would look when he pushed inside her, owning her body in a way that he’d make sure no other man would. His blood surged, his arousal becoming evident beneath his breeches. He gave himself a few moments to calm down before he pushed out of his chair and stood. His absence went unnoticed as he made his way to his home.

  He’d waited two years, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

  It was time to make Namoriee his once and for all.

  The door opened, and Namoriee knew it was Tyronian without having to look up. He had a presence that called to her, like an invisible cord connected them. It was a pull that she spent most of her time trying to ignore, but it only grew stronger.

  From the moment he had stolen one of her firsts, put his hands and mouth where no one had before, her body yearned for him. For that release only he could offer. But it wasn’t just her body reacting to him; it was her heart, too.

  It yearned for him each time he put her happiness above his own, each time he had protected her, or when he offered his silent comfort. However unwilling she was to admit it.

  This time, his presence was pulling her in for an entirely different reason.

  Her heart was pounding with the different emotions that swirled inside of her. Nervousness, no small amount of fear, and another emotion that she absolutely refused to acknowledge—anticipation.

  “You can’t ignore me forever,” he whispered in her ear, causing her to jump. She didn’t hear him walk over. She shivered when she felt his beard brush against her temple as he nuzzled her.

  “Look at me.”

  She shook her head. She didn’t want to look at him. It would make this moment too real.

  She heard him sigh, and then his palm cupped her cheek, lifting her head so that she had no choice.

  “Am I really that horrid that you weep at the sight of me?” He frowned, his thumb catching the tear that had spilled over.

  Namoriee escaped his caring expression by closing her eyes. She didn’t want to see the gentleness he possessed, because in a few moments she knew it would be a lie.

  “Please, Tyronian, there’s still t-t-time,” Namoriee trembled. “Just let me go.”

  Once he stole her innocence, their marriage would be binding. His grip changed; he knew what she was asking.

  He picked her up then, wrapping his arm around her waist and lifting. She gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist instinctively and gripping his shoulders so that she wouldn’t fall. The new position brought her mouth level with his, to which he immediately used in his favor.

  His kiss was gentle and undemanding. He kissed her lips as though they were delicate, like if he pressed too hard he would bruise them. He pulled away, and she shivered at the emotion in his eyes.

  “Don’t ever ask me to let you go, Namoriee,” he said, his breath against her lips. “That’s something I’ll never be able to do. You’ll have to kill me first.”

  He was in complete control of his movements as he lowered her down onto the bed until he hovered above her, keeping his lips meshed with hers. He knew she was nervous and scared, he could feel it in all her trembles, but he didn’t want her to fear him.

  He wanted to love her.

  He refused to be like the other husbands, to force himself on her painfully. Too many times he had heard of maidens who would recall their deflowering with looks of terror and pain encompassing their faces. He didn’t want that for Namoriee, and while he knew that he would hurt her—it was inevitable—he could at least give her pleasure first to try to make it as painless as possible.

  Even if that required every molecule of his self-control.

  His tongue flicked out, sucking on her lush bottom lip until she yielded, accepting his invitation. Their tongues danced with each other, swirling and touching in different tempos until he felt her body lose its tension so that she was soft and pliable against him.

  At the unconscious submission, he turned his attention elsewhere, trailing soft kisses down her jaw and neck. He smiled against her skin when she moaned quietly as he swirled his tongue against her collarbone. He made his way back up until his mouth was pressed against hers again, giving her a peck before he pulled away. Her chest was heaving, which drew his attention to her breasts that rose and fell erratically.

  He couldn’t wait to taste her.

  “I’m going to take your dress off,” he told her as he fingered the bodice of her dress. She visibly stiffened at that. “I’m just going to take it off, nothing else,” he promised.

  For now, he thought as he reached for the hem of the simple but beautiful white dress.

  It had a scoop neckline, quarter sleeves, and a long trail and dip in the back that exposed her spine and shoulder blades. The dress was elegant, fitting of Namoriee’s innocence yet hinting at the daring woman he knew she hid. He tugged the dress off.

  “No,” he barked, a bit harsher than he meant to, when Namoriee covered herself with her arms. He softened his tone. “I want to look at you,” he said as he pried her arms away, leaving her bare to his gaze.

  She was beautiful.

  Her bronze skin, darker than most, shimmered like a star against the firelight. Her long, chocolate hair fanned out on his pillows and around her oval face. He trailed his eyes downward.

  Her breasts were oval, her nipples a lighter brown than the rest of her. He cupped them, admiring how they fit perfectly in his palm. He brushed his thumb over a nipple, causing Namoriee to inhale sharply at the sensation. He bent slowly so as not to scare her, his eyes on hers the entire time while he flicked the peaked bud with his tongue. Her spine arched, so he alternated his attentions, loving the sounds she made each time he did.

  “Tyronian?” she whispered breathlessly when his mouth traced a path down her toned stomach, strands of his hair tickling her skin along with his open-mouthed kisses. She jumped in surprise when his tongue swirled around her belly button, before continuing its path downward.

  “T-T-Tyronian . . . ?” Her alarm was evident when he passed the patch of brown hair over her mound and settled between her legs, palms spread wide across her inner thighs and pushing them apart.

  He caught her gaze when he dove in, giving her one long, flat-tongued lick up her cleft. He placed his hand on her hips, holding her still when her back bowed, hips lifting against the sensation as he teased her with his tongue.

  He didn’t hold back. He licked, suckled, and nipped, relishing in the taste of her and the way her body trembled beneath his hand.

  “Tyronian!” she whimpered, high-pitched and whiny, which clued him in on the fact that she was close.

  He rounded his tongue, stuck it into her tight hole, and groaned when warmth flooded his mouth. He brought her release that way once more before he pulled back, quickly shedding out of his clothes before covering her with his body again, sealing his mouth onto hers so that she tasted herself on his tongue. She stilled when she felt his erection press into her skin, but she relaxed when he made no further movements. She jumped slightly when his hand brushed her ribs.

  “It tickles,” she mumbled in embarrassment at his grin.

  “Sorry,” he lied.

  His hands moved down in between her thighs, and she stiffened, then shivered when he tentatively ran a finger along her opening. She let out a quiet groan when he dipped his finger inside of her.

  “How’s that feel?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Though he had t
ouched her this way before, it had been awhile since he’d last stroked her.

  She didn’t answer, whether because she was embarrassed or she didn’t want to admit that he was making her feel good, he wasn’t sure. He eased his finger out and then pushed it back in gently, trying to prepare her for when he entered her completely. He added another finger, keeping his ministrations slow and easy until her breathing escalated.

  He could feel her walls start to tighten around his digits, her womb quivering. He used his thumb to brush against her swollen nub and watched with heated eyes as she came apart.

  When her eyes opened, feverish and still reeling from her orgasm, he kissed her softly. He saw the apprehension on her face when she realized what he was about to do.

  “Try to relax,” he whispered, aligning himself against her opening.

  He kept his eyes locked on her face when he began to ease inside of her; her features grew tight with discomfort, her nails biting into his shoulders as a pained whimper escaped her lips.

  She was so tight and warm around him, her body fighting against him in such a way that made it difficult to hold back his urge to surge inside of her. He took hold of her wrists and pinned them above her head, interlocking their fingers.

  He could feel the tremble in her hands even as she gripped his tightly. He knew she knew what was coming by the flare in her eyes. He dipped his head, his nose brushing against her cheek as he nuzzled her tenderly.

  “I’m not ready,” she whispered tearfully. He tensed, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

  “I’m sorry, Namoriee,” Tyronian said huskily with barely restrained lust and longing in his voice. “I would do anything you ask of me, but this.” He lifted his head, his expression softening at what he saw. “I’ve wanted you for so long, and now that I can finally have you . . .” he exhaled shakily. “I can’t. I need you.”

  His hips pulled back, and he surged forward while his lips descended, tearing through her hymen and swallowing back her pain-filled cry with his kiss in one smooth motion.