How They Fell: A Falling Warriors Novella Read online

  He stepped back from her with a fake smile. “It was good to see you cousin. You grow more beautiful as your baby does.”

  Automatically, her hands rested on her stomach and the bump that her dress hid.

  “Shh!” she hissed, scanning their surroundings to make sure no one heard him. Xavier and she weren’t ready for the tribe to know yet. Well, she thought. At least I’m not.

  Something that made Xavier very displeased. He had wanted to announce her pregnancy as soon as he recovered.

  Tyronian laughed, walking backwards. “Until we meet again, beautiful.” And with a wink, he was gone.

  She shook her head, turning around to finish her shopping, when a flash of movement across the way caught her eye. She stared, trying to convince herself that the person she was seeing wasn’t there.

  It wasn’t possible, it shouldn’t be.

  Because that person was dead.

  She stumbled backward, her heart beating so forcefully, she was having difficulty drawing breath. She stared as blood started to stain the shirt her ghost was wearing, trickling in a spiral and expanding.

  “You’re not real,” she whispered in horror. She clenched her eyes shut when the figure started to walk towards her. “You’re not real!”

  She opened her eyes and jerked when they collided with the ones that used to be alive. They were standing face to face.

  “Lea.”

  She whimpered. She felt something on her palms, and when she looked down at them, they were covered in red.

  Blood.

  She screamed.

  If Xavier had the ability to wonder anything passed his concern right now, it would be how the boy Castic always seemed to be the one to collect him when there was trouble. How the boy seemed to always be in the right place at the right time was boggling to him. He supposed that he should be thankful. After all, if it wasn’t for him practically barreling into him, panting and panicking, he wouldn’t have known where to find his wife who seemed to be having breakdown in the middle of market square.

  His villagers gave him a wide-berth as he made his way through, their gazes concerned and locked on Leawyn, who had curled into herself, rocking back and forth. He hesitated, caught off guard by the sight. He pushed forward until he was crouched in front of her.

  “Leawyn?”

  It was as if she didn’t hear him. He moved the hair away from her face, his brows drawing together at the vacant glaze to her blue irises.

  “What happened?” he barked at no one in particular. But of course, Castic was the only one brave enough to step forward.

  “She just started screaming, Chief. I was helping my momma and I thought she was going to ask me to come over because she was looking right at me.” Xavier followed the direction to which Castic was pointing, noticing the fabric merchant stand that his mother, Jsaya, ran. Once Leawyn learned that Jsaya was Castic’s mother, she made a point to always purchase fabrics from her. He turned back to Castic.

  “Then what happened? Did she say anything?”

  Castic shook his head, looking distressed. “I went to her, I tried to ask. But she just kept screaming. Said blood was on her hands, but I didn’t see a cut.”

  Xavier shook his head. Blame laid heavy on his shoulders. He was about to scoop her up in his arms when their eyes locked. It stopped him cold.

  There’s only two instances that can put that kind of void in someone’s eyes. And Leawyn was two for two.

  “Help me.”

  The whisper was pure hopelessness.

  He stood up with her in his arms, cradling her close. She ignored everyone standing watch by turning her face toward his chest, and his gaze alone warned of them of what should happen if he were to hear any whispers about her behind their back about this. He began his march back to their hut, and when the sky split open with thunder, and the rain drove down from above, he thought it was fitting.

  Because he was done giving Leawyn time to entrust him with her secrets. To do it her way. He was going to be getting the answers he sought.

  Even if he had to follow her into the dark and drag her out of it kicking and screaming.

  Sound.

  So many different sounds.

  “Don’t make me do it.”

  Metal hitting metal, screams of triumph, and pain. There were parts of the field that were on fire; it caused heat to blaze across her face, seeming to boil the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “You won’t shoot me, Lea.”

  Smoke.

  She wished that was the reason for her tears. It would make the betrayal she was feeling easier to hide.

  The hurt.

  “We can rule our people together.”

  Hope.

  Conviction.

  She knew what she had to do.

  Anguish.

  “These are not my people.”

  The arrow left her fingers.

  Sound…it was so versatile.

  The sound of her arrow burrowing inside of flesh and bone would be one she’ll never forget.

  Her silence was driving him mad.

  His wife, who usually was so quick to retort or make her presence known, was silent. She hadn’t spoken a word to him since she asked him to help her. Hadn’t uttered a sound as he carried her through the rain and mud back to their hut. Nor when he had stripped her out of her wet clothes and changed her into dry ones. She hasn’t spoke or moved after he placed her on the bed.

  Or when the storm clouds traded with inky blackness of night.

  He had distanced himself, staring at her from across the room. Her small frame was huddled atop their bed, her dainty feet bare on the floor. The slip he had changed her into was too big for her frame, it dipped down and exposed her shoulder. His gaze trailed down her back, to her long hair that shined like gold and fluttered in the firelight like birdwings.

  His pretty, broken little bird.

  He was going to make her sing.

  He didn’t bother to muffle his steps, so he knew she heard him coming for her. She didn’t move when he brushed his hand down her slim back. His hand curved, trailing upward until it grasped her neck. He felt her pulse against his fingertips, reveling in the steady rhythm. He flexed, pressing into the delicate skin.

  It was a warning.

  And like the docile pet she was, she heeled to the unspoken command.

  She broke.

  “I’m a killer,” she choked. “I killed him, me, and that’s something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life….and I don’t know how.” She looked up at him, and even when her eyes sparkled with tears and gut-wrenching anguish, she was still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

  “Leawyn,” he rumbled. Covetous and angry, because he knew which he she was speaking of. He had banned the name from every leaving her pretty lips.

  “Everytime I close my eyes, I see him.”

  Her voice was no more than a whisper, but he heard it as if she shouted it. He tensed, irrational jealousy coursing through his veins and making his blood hot, but the haunting pain in the words made his cold heart ache.

  “I feel the bow in my hands. Hear the tautness of the string... feel the fletching leave my fingers.” She was facing him, but her gaze was dazed, staring sightlessly over his shoulder.

  “It haunts me, Xavier.”

  “You saved my life.” He crouched in front of her. His fingers left indents in her chin when he held it hostage. “Are you saying you regret that?”

  Her expression crumbled.

  “No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’d lie, steal, cheat, and kill for you. I’ll do anything for you, Xavier. And that terrifies me.”

  She focused on him, her beautiful blue eyes a pool of tears she didn’t let fall.

  “What kind of person does that make me?”

  “Strong," he hissed. His grip left her chin to trade up for her hair. Holding it tight in his fist, he tilted her head back and forced her to look at him when he went nose to nose with her. “A s
urvivor, a protector, a warrior, a—”

  “A killer.”

  He couldn’t stand it any longer. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do.

  With a snarl, he stood, bringing her up with him. He ignored her cry when he used his grip on her hair to drag her outside with him.

  “Xavier, stop!” She yelped, stumbling, having trouble finding her footing in the mud. She gripped his wrist, trying to pry his hands out of her hair. He hasn’t treated her this way since the beginning of their marriage.

  But he didn’t let go, and he didn’t stop.

  When their destination became apparent, she tried to dig in her heels, her face ashen.

  “No.” She started to fight him again. “No! Please, no!”

  There were two guards stationed in front. “Give me your bow,” he barked, snatching it up with one hand when they quickly complied. The other opened the door.

  They stalked inside, Leawyn crying and begging him as they went. The door slammed shut behind them when he launched her forward, making her fall onto her hands and knees.

  There were twenty prisoners, some healthier than others.

  He grabbed one by the neck at random, dragged him forward and forced him onto his knees in front of Leawyn.

  He tossed the bow so that it landed directly in front of her. He held out an arrow.

  “Kill him.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “What?”

  He tilted his head down to the prisoner he still held in his grasp. “Kill him.” It was an order.

  She shook her head. “No.” She pushed herself up hastily so that she sat back on her heels.

  “No!”

  He regarded her coolly. “Why not? You’re a killer, aren’t you?” He mocked, his lips quirking—but it wasn’t even close to a smile. He held out the arrow again.

  “Take it.”

  “Xavier…” she whimpered. “Please don’t do this.” His features twisted, a snarl on his lips.

  “Take it!” He bellowed.

  Her breaths were choppy, and her shoulders heaved.

  But he didn’t care.

  He couldn’t.

  “Now,” he said calmly, standing taller once she finally did what he bid. “Pick up the bow and notch the arrow.”

  “Xavier—”

  “Now, Leawyn.”

  “No!” She sobbed, shaking uncontrollably.

  “You’re a killer!” He yelled, his voice carrying over her cries. “You said so yourself, so this should be easy for you. You’ll do anything for me, right? Then, grab your bow, and kill him. Do it!”

  She didn’t move.

  He jerked the prisoner forward, staring her in the eyes cruelly. “Pick up that bow, right now. I won’t ask you again.” His threat was clear.

  She coughed, trying to find her breath from her sobbing. Picking up the bow, she notched it unsteadily. He easily contained the prisoners struggles, who now plead for his life. He yanked the prisoner’s head back by his hair, baring his throat.

  “You see him, don’t you?” Xavier said, his voice deceptively light. “You look at this scum—who helped in the destruction of your tribe, who lifted a blade to our people, who’s kin killed everything, and everyone you’ve ever loved— but all you see is him!” He spat, disgusted.

  “Please, Xavier,” she choked. “Stop.”

  “He deserved to die, Leawyn.” He screamed at her, pushing her boundaries in more ways than one. “Just like this one does.” He urged the prisoner closer.

  “He is the enemy. You’re the lady chief of this tribe, and my wife,” he growled, full of menace and meaning. “And I am ordering you to kill him.”

  The bow was shaking in her hands as she looked at the prisoner, stared into his eyes.

  Then he saw it.

  The waver in Leawyn, the weakness, the uncertainty.

  The moral consciousness.

  The lightness.

  With a cry, she lowered the bow, dropping it and scrambling back from it like it was a demon. “I can’t do it,” she said, broken. “I can’t kill him.”

  Without pause, Xavier yanked the dagger from his hip, and before Leawyn could stop him, he slit his captive’s throat. She screamed, flinching when his blood splattered across her face but Xavier didn’t care. He let the body go, and it dropped, flapping around like a fish, before it stilled laying in a pool of blood.

  He crouched in front of her, moved a red-tipped strand of hair away from her forehead. He waited for her gaze to meet his, and when they did, they were wide and red-rimmed.

  Shocked.

  Destroyed.

  Scared.

  He lifted his hand that was coated in blood so that it hovered between them.

  “You’re not the killer, Leawyn,” he told her quietly. “I am.”

  Leawyn stared at the door. The wood was thick, matching the hut it served as the blockade to what was within. It’s been days.

  They haven’t looked at each other, haven’t spoken.

  And she couldn’t help but thinking it was her fault.

  She thought back to that night. The look on his face when he had spoken his truth…his eyes.

  He had left her there, with the man he killed. She had started at the lifeless eyes of the man until his blood soaked her dress. She couldn’t move.

  She couldn’t escape.

  He left her to deal with her demons. It wasn’t until the next morning that he had come to collect her, staring down at her with the same dead eyes that his victim had. She remembered how her legs were numb from staying in the same position for too long. But Xavier didn’t help her up; her lesson wasn’t over.

  He escorted her to the lake, handed her a new dress, and left her alone to wash.

  And that was it.

  He hasn’t looked at her in the eyes since.

  She closed her eyes, inhaling deep through her nose. When her fingers gripped the handle, her eyes opened.

  She faced her demons.

  She yanked open the door and went inside.

  It was time for him to face his.

  He was nose-deep into the map of land Tyronian had delivered to him this morning, and he hasn’t been able to come up since. His eyes scanned the vast landscape, the markings of cliffs and ocean, trying to plot the best course of action to bring his vision to life, when his door opened.

  He gave explicit orders for him not to be disturbed. He looked up with a snarl, ready to condemn the person who dared to disobey but it died when he caught sight of Leawyn who’s back was turned from him as she closed the door.

  She turned around to face him, staring at him head-on.

  The sound of the lock sliding into place was loud and the air fizzled with the tension that always seemed to follow them.

  She didn’t speak, and neither did he while he watched her come to him. When she was right in from of him—scarce inches separating their bodies from touching—she went to her knees and reached for his belt. His gaze grew heated, his abs going taunt when she undid the buckle and peeled back the fabric to reveal his cock that was already half-hard.

  “What do you think you’re doing, little girl?” He asked huskily. It was the first time he’s spoken to her since that night. His hand snaked through her soft locks before fisting them at her nape.

  “Shh.”

  And before he could retort, she put the head of his engorged flesh into her mouth and sucked.

  Hard.

  He hissed, his thighs bunching from the pleasure. She went at him firm, sucking him just like he taught her how. Taking him in long strokes and deep into her mouth until she gagged his meaty flesh.

  Gods, he loved that sound.

  His eyes closed, his head tipping back. He was lost in what she was doing and how she was making him feel. Her right hand gripped his shaft, sliding up and down with a firm grip while she licked the tip, her tongue swirling and lapping up the tears his dick wept in appreciation.

  His grip tightened in her hair. His hips jerked, wanting to pump into her mout
h with the same intensity that he would with her tight warmth, but he held himself back. Before, he would have no problem taking control. He wouldn’t hesitate to hold her head still while he choked her with his cock, slamming it deep into her mouth. He’d make her take him until he came on down her throat, forcing her to swallow every last drop. Then, he would pick her up and bend her over his desk and pound into her until she was screaming.

  But that was the old Xavier, one he had already let slip. He promised that he would be better. That he wouldn’t hurt her...or their baby. He already failed thrice—he wasn’t going to do it a fourth.

  An emotion clogged his throat, so suddenly, it startled him. It was fighting with his pleasure, causing his body to fight in this weird battle on which one would prevail.

  “Leawyn,” he choked. He wanted her to stop. He wanted to pull her closer.

  The decision was made for him, because at that moment, her left hand cupped his sac the same moment she tugged his hips to her, taking his entire length into her mouth until her chin brushed against him. It was the move he had done to her multiple times, one he taught her to enjoy.

  With a mix between a growl and a quiet cry, his release jetted into her waiting and willing throat. He groaned, holding her head to him a moment before he pulled back. She looked up at him with hungry eyes when his partially flaccid cock slipped free from her mouth. She must have seen something in his expression, because hers became almost desperate.

  “Xavier,” she whispered, her tone raw. “Please.”

  He wasn’t going to do it.

  She wanted to cry. It’s been days since he’s last touched her, ever since the night she refused to kill the prisoner.

  It was the longest he’s ever gone.

  Even when she was broken and bruised—and he knew she wanted nothing to do with him—he had taken her. He played her body like it was an instrument until she craved his touch. His rawness.

  His demands.

  He made sure he was the master of her body, trained only to serve and want him.

  She needed him...so why didn’t he want her?

  “Leawyn.” He tried to pull away from her, but she wouldn’t let him.