How the Warrior Claimed Read online

  How the Warrior Claimed

  Copyright © 2017 by Nicole René

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978–1976250927

  ISBN 10: 1976250927

  Cover design:

  Marisa Shor, Cover Me Darling

  Front Cover photography:

  Joel Hicks Photography

  Front Models: Joel Hicks & Rhianna Grey

  Interior Design & Formatting:

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  All rights reserved. No parts of this publication can be reproduced, distributed, and/or transmitted to any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the published except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or locales are used factiously. Other names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  www.authornicolerene.com

  Table of Contents

  How the Warrior Claimed

  Dedication

  Glossary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Other books in the Falling Warriors series

  Enjoy an excerpt of How the Warrior Fell

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  To my readers, new and old.

  Words cannot express my gratitude to you.

  Namoriee: Nem-or-ree

  Tyronian: Ty-row-ian

  Leawyn: Lee-uh-wen

  Xillik: Xi-lick

  Garnette: Gar-net

  Castic: Cas-stick

  Hunt’yr: Hunt-yer

  Yoro: Yo-row

  Izayges: Iz-uh-gez

  Sicares: Si-cares

  Asori: As-or-re

  Rhoxolani: Rox-uh-lani

  Namoriee hurried away from her lady chief’s hut. She kept her eyes on her feet as she passed the people in her village, dodging bodies as she went. Namoriee felt a slight moment of guilt for leaving Leawyn when she was still recovering, but she couldn’t stay in that room.

  Not with him in it.

  Only when the sound of her village dimmed as she made her way into the clutter of trees did she let out a sigh of relief.

  She turned her gaze up to the sky and closed her eyes in contentment as the sun’s rays bathed her face, causing her body to relax completely.

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

  Namoriee jumped, whipping around to stare at the blond-haired man who was frowning down at her disapprovingly.

  “The woods aren’t safe these days,” Tyronian told her. As if to prove his point, his blue eyes scanned the trees suspiciously before they came back to rest on hers.

  She stared up at him silently, not knowing how to respond. When he moved forward a step, she moved one back.

  Noticing this, he took another step towards her. When she once again stepped back, he stopped, grinning.

  “You’re not afraid of me, are you, Namoriee?” he asked, voice light with amusement.

  She stiffened. “No, I am n-not afraid of you,” she lied, her eyes taking turns between flashing up to his face and down to the ground.

  “Really?” he drawled, arching a brow.

  She felt her eyes burn with emotion she rarely demonstrated. She lifted her chin insolently, unappreciative of his tone. “Yes, really!”

  He grinned, seeming amused at her show of defiance and false bravado.

  “If that is true,” he drawled, casually taking another step closer to her. She tensed.

  An indulgent grin quirked his lips. “Prove it,” he purred. He stopped so that their bodies were just a breath away from each other.

  He must have felt her chest rising and falling quickly against him with her rapidly beating heart, how her lips parted the slightest bit at their closeness.

  Could he smell the scent of her sweat from her hard work around the village?

  They were so close that she could feel his warm breath against her cheek and the edges of his blond beard scratching against her forehead. His heavily muscled frame encompassed her frail one, shadowing her like a waterfall would a rock. His presence was nerve-racking, and it was all she could do not to let him see how much he affected her.

  Her limbs trembled, caused by an emotion she didn’t quite understand. Whatever it was, she didn’t like it. She needed to get rid of him.

  Now.

  Namoriee squared her shoulders and tilted her head so that she could better look him in the eye.

  “I believe I have already,” she replied boldly, proud of herself that she didn’t stutter that time.

  He chuckled and leaned his elbow against the tree he’d managed to back her up against, trapping her.

  “Yes, you didn’t retreat. Good job, Namoriee.”

  She took a sharp intake of breath as he dipped his head, pinning her with his gaze.

  “How long will that last?” he challenged in a whisper. Her eyes widened.

  “I-I don’t know,” Namoriee said, stumbling over her words again, his proximity making her nervous and causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise with awareness.

  His lips were so close to hers—another centimeter and they would be touching.

  He studied her quietly, and her eyes fought a war with her brain over where to look: his eyes, or his lips. He stared at her, not as a man measuring the prospect of a horse, but as a man studying a sword being made. He looked at every detail, taking in every flaw and perfection.

  She felt exposed and self-conscious. Her hair was lighter than the other women in the tribe, more of a chocolate color than coal. Her skin was tanned from all the days she worked outside in the sun. And she felt small as he towered over her, her forehead level with his chin.

  Finally, he met her eyes, taking in her expression.

  “Do I make you nervous, Namoriee?” he asked quietly.

  “Y-yes,” Namoriee replied just as softly. She closed her eyes when he leaned closer, trailing a finger lightly down her cheek.

  His lips brushed against hers when he asked his next question.

  “Are you afraid of me, Namoriee?”

  She inhaled deeply through her nose, opening her eyes that clashed with his vivid blue ones. Her lips trembled when she whispered her answer.

  “Yes.”

  Tyronian said nothing in response, and both continued to stare at each other in tense silence. It was as if the air sparkled with electricity, so potent you could feel it.

  He straightened and deliberately dropped his arm from the tree. His body turned sideways, giving her the space she needed to slip by and escape him. />
  Tyronian stared after Namoriee, her long brown hair flying out behind her like a whirlwind as she ran.

  Away from him.

  She was young, too young even. The fact that he was eleven years her senior should have been enough to keep him away, but it wasn’t.

  He couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the empty space she’d occupied a moment before.

  Because he knew . . . he wasn’t going to let her run away from him for long.

  She was doomed long before this encounter because he had already made up his mind.

  She was going to be his. Forever.

  Whether she liked it or not.

  TWO WINTERS LATER

  “What are you asking, exactly?”

  Tyronian’s eyes narrowed at the question. My cousin is a bastard, he thought.

  Judging by the humored glint in Xavier’s eyes—and the smirk that Tyronian’s fists were itching to wipe off his face—he knew it too.

  “You know exactly what I’m asking, cousin,” Tyronian sneered.

  Xavier chuckled, shaking his head. A glance over at his wife, Leawyn—also Tyronian’s cousin—showed that she, too, was amused at his expense. Being the chief of the legendary Izayges, Xavier looked every bit the formidable warrior he was. He was taller, standing closer to six-foot-six compared to Tyronian’s six-foot-five-inch frame.

  Xavier was broad-shouldered and heavily muscled. His dark skin was riddled with scars from his many battles. His long beard matched the color of his long brown hair, and his wife couldn’t be more of his opposite. While Xavier was dark, Leawyn was light.

  From her bright blond hair, a few shades lighter than Tyronian’s dirty-blond locks, to her petite frame, which highlighted the soft, supple curves of her hips. Dark lashes framed the bluest eyes that sparkled the same way the ocean did under the sun.

  They were congregated in the large hut that was used for their tribe’s meals. Xavier had it built for Leawyn when she mentioned that one of the things she missed most about her village was that they had all shared their meals together. There wasn’t anything Xavier wouldn’t do for his wife, so naturally, he had this giant hut built and the Izayges now had a new tradition.

  “Save yourself the trouble and just say it,” Leawyn said in her melodic voice with a grin that practically broke her face.

  Bastards. Both of them.

  “Fine,” Tyronian growled, fists clenching with his annoyance. “I want to make Namoriee my wife. Do you accept my offer, Chief?” His voice was sickly sweet, full of false niceties and sarcasm.

  Xavier’s eyes glittered with triumph when he nodded his head. Clearly, he was enjoying this. “I accept. You may have her.”

  He nodded his head in gratitude to him. Xavier knew very well that it wouldn’t have mattered if he denied Tyronian—he would’ve claimed her anyways.

  Namoriee was his. He had waited two winters for her to shed the skin of a young girl and blossom into the woman that she was today. From the very first moment Namoriee’s green eyes—so timid and unsure of herself—had caught his, her fate was sealed.

  He remembered the moment clearly; it was as if a lightning bolt struck Tyronian’s heart and stole his breath. The rush of protectiveness that took over his body was shocking, and as the years passed, his protectiveness, innocent at first, became more. She started to grow up, and men took notice. Him included. His protectiveness became possessiveness. His want became need. His lust became . . . something far more powerful.

  From then on, Tyronian had looked after Namoriee, even if it was from afar. It was Tyronian who made sure that she didn’t go hungry solely because of her status, or that she had decent clothing for the winter and a roof over her head.

  When his cousin got married, Tyronian made sure that she would be his new wife’s handmaiden because he knew what that would mean for her, what kind of opportunities that offered her. He was glad that the tales of Leawyn’s beauty weren’t the only rumor that was true. Rumors had spread fast about the daughter of the Rhoxolani chief, of how she was the most beautiful girl in all the land, and had a pure heart filled only with kindness.

  They were all truths, Tyronian had learned; his cousin was in fact beautiful, and she was the most kindhearted person he knew. But she didn’t hold a candle to his Namoriee. She was the most beautiful girl in the land in his eyes, and she was going to be all his. No matter how much she tried to deny it.

  “Where is she?” Tyronian asked Leawyn directly, as she would know best where her friend was.

  Leawyn smiled her radiant smile that enamored so many men. “She’s in my hut with Xillik,” she answered. “She probably already put him down for his nap and is heading back to her own hut.” Leawyn’s eyes twinkled with a mischievousness that made him grin.

  “I’ll take my leave then,” he said. Taking the few steps needed, he placed a kiss on Leawyn’s cheek. He was just about to open the door to leave when her voice made him pause.

  “She will fight you, Tyronian. Not because you are unworthy, but because she feels that she is unworthy. Her heart is strong; don’t be afraid to break it. Just as long as you can put it back together again with even more strength.”

  Tyronian turned, looking Leawyn in the eyes. She smiled gently at him, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Instead, they reflected the battles her own heart had fought. Tyronian didn’t think anyone really knew the effect the war had on his beautiful cousin. Leawyn was strong—stronger than anyone he knew—but even the strongest heart struggled to keep the darkness that came with taking a life at bay.

  “You have my word,” he vowed. Leawyn smiled.

  When she did not say more, Tyronian gave her and Xavier another nod before opening the door and exiting the room.

  It is time to tell my wife-to-be the good news.

  It took forever for Namoriee to get Xillik to settle down enough to sleep. The adorable-yet-crazy blond-haired toddler was insane. He had an overabundance of energy, and he was already mischievous enough to use his cuteness to get away from things he didn’t agree with, like naps.

  Xillik inherited Leawyn’s hair and blue eyes, and when he smiled, two identical dimples appeared on both cheeks. As far as Namoriee could see, the only thing that he inherited from Xavier was his height. He was already taller than the other kids his age.

  Putting him to sleep was a struggle, and when he finally did fall asleep, all Namoriee wanted to do was the same. Which was exactly what she planned to do as soon as she got into her hut.

  Or at least she was, until she walked in and saw the last person she wanted to see sitting on her bed pallet, waiting for her.

  “Tyronian, what are you doing in here?” Namoriee asked nervously, gripping the handle to her door tighter.

  He smiled, and something about that smile instantly put her on alert.

  “Close the door, Namoriee.”

  Closing the door was the last thing she wanted to do.

  “I’m really tired, maybe you can—”

  “I said close the door, Namoriee.”

  Namoriee’s breath shuddered out of her. Something in his eyes told her that even though she didn’t want to shut the door, it would be better if she did. She swallowed against her nerves and did as she was told.

  “Lock it,” he ordered, never taking his eyes off her.

  Her hands began to tremble when she did as he asked and locked the door. He grinned, lighting up his eyes. He crooked his finger at her. “Come here.”

  No way, she thought to herself.

  It was bad enough she was alone in a room with this beautiful man—there was no way she was going to get close enough for him to touch her. His presence did weird things to her body. He made her lose her head, and his touch heated her nerve-endings like fire while her heart froze like ice. The last time he had touched Namoriee, it did things to her body that equally exhilarated and terrified her.

  So, no, she was not going to go to him.

  At least not all the way
.

  Her hut was small, equipped with only the essentials: a bed, fire pit, and chest.

  “Why are you here?” Namoriee asked when she came to a stop in the middle of her hut. It was close enough that she could get away with following his order, but not close enough for him to reach out to her. His amused look told her that he knew she did that deliberately.

  “You know why I’m here.”

  If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have a clue. But this was Tyronian, and he’d been telling Namoriee what was going to happen for a long time. She did know what he was doing here.

  Unwittingly, the memory of that night so long ago flashed behind her eyes.

  It was two and a half winters ago. The night she knew her life would never be the same again.

  The rain was merciless.

  The wind howled loudly as thunder and lightning flashed across the sky, like it was the only way the gods knew how to express their displeasure to the mere mortals below.

  Namoriee shivered as she ducked her head down against the strong currents, trying to hold her heavy cloak against her body as it tried to fly away. Several of her fellow village people quickly ran past, looking for respite after securing their various animals and possessions.

  “What are you doing out here?!”

  Namoriee lifted her head up at the call and met the russet eyes of Tristan as he marched his way towards her. Blinking the rain from her eyes, she tilted her head to consider the displeased face of her lady chief’s brother, and second in line to chiefship, when he grabbed for her.

  “You shouldn’t be out here!” Tristan yelled, trying to be heard over the heavy downpour. She eyed the grip he had on her arm unhappily, but she knew better than to comment.

  “I was instructed to check on the horses. Qubec is due to give birth any day now, and I need to make sure that the storm isn’t causing her stress,” she yelled to him over the howling wind.

  Tristan frowned, tugging on her arm. He started to lead her back in the direction of her hut. “I’ll send someone to check on her. You shouldn’t be out here. Tyronian—”

  Namoriee flushed in embarrassment, knowing where he was going with this. She yanked her arm out of his grasp, much to his surprise.