Rise of the Shadow Warriors (8 page)

Large hands clasped her waist, lifting her high against his hard frame. Shaina wrapped her legs around his hips and buried her hands deeper into the strands of hair at his nape to pull his face close to her own. She rubbed her covered breasts along his chest and moaned deep into his mouth.

He moaned back. Unable to get enough, Shaina ran her tongue along his, sucking the tip.

Rocking her lower half, Shaina pulled back and nipped his bottom lip. The hardness against her thigh assured that the warrior was definitely interested. Nibbling at his succulent mouth, Shaina gave in to her desire to touch every inch she could reach.

After a few minutes of devouring his mouth, she eased back and opened her eyes. Short, choking noises came from the back of his throat. His eyes remained open. Endless windows of darkness that revealed nothing of his thoughts. Shaina’s face heated and she struggled in his arms until he lowered her feet to the floor. His hands clenched her waist when she sought to pull away.

Had he kissed her back? Shaina couldn’t be certain. Embarrassment heated her face until it burned.

“This will not be a union in deed only,” he murmured.

Shaina shivered. “It’s done. From now on I, Shaina C’Err, belong to Argan Kril and Argan Kril belongs to me.”

Not waiting for him to protest, Shaina summoned the shadows and vanished from the Warlord’s bedroom before she did something stupid like jump on him again.

Chapter 12

Argan grunted when Kavan’s fist made contact with his side, folding him in half. The blow caught him off guard as his mind once again clouded with thoughts of Shaina.

“You fight as if you have a woman on your mind.”

Kavan’s taunt hit close to home. Argan straightened and forced himself to plan through his next move.

“I but think on how you will look with my fist in your face,” Argan taunted.

Laughter came from the Warlords and Raasa watching.

Kavan’s lips lifted in a half smile. As the more serious of the group, the Warlord had not smiled much in the past but since guarding Mikayla, Kavan occasionally showed signs of humor.

“Your fists will not get close, Argan. You would first need remove
her
from your mind.”

He could not know. No one knew of the bargain Argan had struck. He raised his fists and bent his knees, resuming his fighting posture. Argan could have denied the claim. There would be no harm in it. None of them knew of the Shadow Queen.

But after their blood bond, it seemed wrong. She was his bride for better or worst and he would not publicly disavow her.

Kavan wore a smug smirk and waved his hands at the warriors around them as if Argan’s silence proved his point. While he played to the crowd, Argan struck. His fist slammed first into Kavan’s cheek as he boasted then into his chin turning the Warlord’s head to the side with a snap.

Kavan stumbled back, shook his head, then launched himself at Argan with a series of blows. A few landed. Argan danced out of reach then drove home another strike. This one landed into Kavan’s belly. Before he could recover his breath, Argan hit him again and again. A red haze fell over his eyes and his fists powered repeatedly into his target.

 “Hold!”

Years of hearing the one word command penetrated the beginnings of Fenal. Argan stopped, chest heaving. Kavan straightened and the greenish-blue armor covering his torso faded. Why had Kavan felt the need to armor up? Argan shook his head and craned his neck to see why Vaan had stopped the match. The Overlord’s glare could not be mistaken. Anger poured from him in waves despite the youngling he held in the crook of his elbow. Arane bounced in her father’s arms and grinned at Argan.

“A moment, Kavan.”

Argan flinched from Vaan’s brutal command.

Kavan bowed toward the Overlord and stepped back.

“Argan, I would speak with you. Marek finish with Kavan.”

Marek entered the dirt ring to finish the mock battle as Argan left the circle to stand by Vaan.

As soon as he reached his side, Vaan spoke through clenched teeth. “You will tell me what thoughts are on your mind, friend.”

Argan calmed his breathing and faced the now cheering crowd as Marek and Kavan took their fists to one another.

“I am well, Overlord.”

“You are not well,” Vaan snapped. “You have not been well for a while.”

Arane’s lower lip trembled at her father’s sharp voice. Small fangs bit into the fist she stuffed in her mouth. Vaan’s large hand cupped her back as he soothed her without breaking Argan’s stare.

“Kavan taunted you to lose control because you have been distracted and angry. Unlike yourself.”

Argan lowered his head and concentrated on the dust covering the toes of his boots. Truth his mind had…emptied. Thoughts of Shaina and the kiss she’d given him before leaving played havoc with his emotions.

Three days he’d spent tossing in his bed, unable to sleep and hoping she’d return. Had her people accepted her claim of having a husband? Was the one called Ivak continuing to cause trouble for her? Argan hated not having the answers to his questions and not having a way to get the answers increased his frustration.

“Argan, are you even listening to me?”

His best friend sounded stunned at the possibility. Argan smiled and raised his head. “I hear what you have not said.”

Vaan’s brows dipped.

Argan continued. “You miss Mikayla though she has not been gone long and will be back by the next hour.”

His Overlord’s lips pressed downward. “Next time, I will accompany her despite her wishes.”

Mikayla had gone to have lunch with a friend at a neighboring Raasa compound, taking only Balal and Eatan with her. Argan wasn’t sure how she’d solicited Vaan’s agreement to stay behind unless it was the fact that he did not want to leave the youngling unprotected.

“Does Erana sleep?”

Rarely was one youngling seen without the other. Vaan sighed. “Yes and I feared Arane would awake her with her cries.”

Argan grimaced, the youngling had a way of making her displeasure known. Loudly.

“Will you tell me what lingers on your mind? You have not been yourself since you returned from Kaban and suffered from Maso. This discontent in you has only grown.”

Argan should have known Vaan would not let the matter drop. But he was not yet ready to discuss the pledge he’d made with Shaina nor reveal the existence of the Olak’din. What she’d shared with him must have cost her greatly and Argan would not betray her trust.

“All is well.” Argan faced Vaan and a friendship forged in blood and death united them despite his lie.

Vaan allowed the silence between them for a beat. With a heavy sigh he said, “If you need anything, you have but to ask. You have my debt for holding our Raasa home for me and caring for Mikayla while I was away. I can never repay you.”

Arane snuggled close to her father’s chest and Vaan secured both arms around her. He should have appeared odd. The ruthless Overlord and the sweet youngling who looked much like her mother with shiny diamond-shaped green eyes. Instead he looked like a man well content with his life.

Argan nodded. “Repayment is never needed between friends.”

***

Later that evening, Argan switched night patrols with the Raasa on duty. The young male, Seffi, eagerly conceded his shift when Argan asked. Walking the gate surrounding their home gave Argan something purposeful to do. If he had to stay in his room another moment tonight, he would have gone mad. Likewise spending time with his brethren while his temper ran hot was not a good idea.

And so Argan studied the tree lines, watched the night sky shift in shades of violet and tracked how long it took for him to circle the perimeter. On his third go around, someone joined him. Argan recognized the familiar foot falls and continued on allowing the silence to convey his need to be alone.

“There
is
a woman, I take it.”

Kavan’s loose stride matched his own as they approached the back end of the Raasa compound.

“I can not speak of it.” And what would he say? That he had bonded himself to a woman from a legendary race that was not supposed to exist?

Kavan grunted and Argan relaxed. This was why their group was among the best of Vaan’s Warlords. They understood each other in ways that needed no explanation. Battle in life may have given them a sense of brotherhood but their near death had forged ties that would hold them together forever.

“My apologies for the anger I took out on you in practice.” A training circle was not the place for such.

Kavan glanced over. “I am unhurt. It is the benefit of the coccar.”

Argan laughed. “Your eye tells another story.” The dark blue ring under Kavan’s left eye had all the female Raasa tending him, much to Kavan’s dismay. “I think I did you a favor. The women see you in a new light.”

“They are odd,” Kavan said.

Argan agreed. They had lived among the Raasa for over a year and a half. Their ways in some matters were hard to understand. The women feared easily, the men gave in to them often and yet they lived in harmony. When it came to simple injuries, the Raasa women fretted where similar hurts would be ignored by a Kabanian woman.

“Would you change any of it, if the Blessed One granted it?”

Kavan tipped his head back to the sky and pondered Argan’s question. He did not have to wait long. “No.”

“As simple as that?”

They both stopped and faced one another. Argan trusted all his brethren but Kavan was closest to him after Vaan. The silent Warlord’s insight revealed deep thoughts and a broader answer when tough situations arose.

“What Thenl and Dakar did changed us. My mind is grateful for the second chance we have at life and my heart celebrates.”

Argan puzzled his remark. “Speak clearly.”

“In Kaban I took for granted what we had. The victories, the praise but most of all my life. I thought Mikayla would be Vaan’s downfall and expressed it in my behavior without giving her a chance. I was bloated in my beliefs.”

When he paused, Argan prodded. He understood the gratitude but not the other. “How does your heart celebrate?”

“If we had stayed in our homeland, I would have continued in my ways of bedding women and fighting. I would have died in battle with nothing to show for the life I lived except the number of my kills. Now I see Balal and Vaan with their mates and know there is more for us. We can have more than death and blood. I want what they have.”

And in a few short words, his friend had stated Argan’s deepest desires.

Chapter 13

Argan prepared to go to bed when he sensed her presence. Unable to restrain his emotions after days with no contact, his tone came out harsher than he intended. “You will not leave that way again when I am unable to follow.”

“Nothing more needed to be said.”

Argan turned from the bed to face her. She leaned against the far wall opposite his bed, head tilted to the side. With her arms crossed over her chest, one knee bent with a foot braced behind her, her pose conveyed relaxation.

Nothing of the strain and distraction he had suffered during her absence showed. When she didn’t speak further, Argan became thoughtful. From their brief encounters, he’d deduced her penchant for being in motion. By now she usually fluttered about his room and fondled his few possessions. Something was different tonight.

After studying her a moment longer, the muscles in his shoulders tensed. The night hadn’t quite darkened the room enough to hide her face. “Hapfe dung!”

He stormed across the room and tugged her forward where the moon’s rays from his window illuminated her features. His grip tightened on her upper arms. “Who did this?”

“I fell.”

Rage unlike he’d ever known filled Argan until he had difficulty speaking but he forced the words through gritted teeth. “You. Fell?”

“Truth, warrior.” Her own hands came up to stroke his shoulders.

The soft caress had the desired effect and Argan tried to regain his temper. “Cease calling me a warrior. I am a Warlord. Right hand to the Overlord of Kaban. Known to my enemies as the Death Dealer.”

“Hmm.” She grinned and tugged lightly on the end of his braid. “The Death Dealer should ease his hold or I shall have more bruises on my arms.”

Argan released her instantly. Shaina frowned but he ignored her in favor of cataloguing the damage to her face. Long scratches down her right cheek, a darkening bruise in deep purple stained the skin beneath one silver eye and a top lip swollen twice its normal size gave her mouth a lopsided cast.

He clasped his hands behind his back to restrain the urge to touch her again. “Are you so clumsy you can no longer walk?”

Her hand pushed on his arm as she offered him a pert smile. “You jest.”

Argan froze from the sizzling touch. While there wasn’t enough strength behind the effort to move him, his body responded as if she’d run her hand along his hardness.

“I can walk, husband.” A crooked smile accompanied her words.

The smile hit deep in his chest. Argan’s breath caught at the beauty it brought to an already attractive face. He could stare at her all day and never tire of seeing the smile that lit up her eyes with the simple stretching of her lips.

Grace in every step, she crossed the room to the shelf holding his carvings. Her hands picked up a geili bird in mid-flight. One of Argan’s more recent efforts.

“I was chasing Gornan with Justan and missed a jump. I landed on my face.”

Her answer satisfied him. Slightly. Argan still puzzled why seeing her injured had scraped against his nerves. His reaction to women was never like this.

“Have the Gornan attacked?”

She returned the bird to the shelf and spun on her heels to face him. “No. These were scouts. We caught them wandering too close to where their land boundary ends and ours begins.”

Argan accepted her answer. “And the other matter? Did it calm your people?”

Had the knowledge of the bond commitment made her people back off of her? Argan bit back the words but wanted to know all.

“I have yet to make the bonding announcement to my people.”

When she said no more, he asked, “Why?”

Her hesitation tempted Argan to shake her. Instead, he balled his fingers into tight fists and maintained his poise. “What of the man, Ivak?”

At this, her lips pursed. “Ivak is never going to be happy at what I do. All he understands is tradition.”

She was not telling him everything. Her eyes darted around the room as she slid her thumbs into the waistband of her pants. His gaze followed.

Her body was sleek and muscular, a testament to a physical lifestyle. He knew of no other woman who wore weapons so blatantly displayed on their person. Kabanian women expected a warrior to care for and protect them. While capable of producing poisonous venom, Raasa female were peaceful. Neither race boasted of women with a mastery of weapons or outward strength. Except Mikayla but from Argan’s observations she was an exception in many regards.

“You speak of tradition. Is it also tradition for a woman to carry a man’s weapon?”

Silver eyes widened and her lips curled. “A sword is the weapon of those who show mastery.” Slender fingers moved from her waist to glide over the burnished hilts of the blades on each hip.

Argan inclined his head. “In this you speak truth.” He contemplated how much skill she possessed. Legends told the tale that female Shadow Warriors were as deadly as their male counterparts in battle. Did the Olak’din maintain the practice?

He shook his head and rid himself of the foolish questions stirred in her presence. Instead, he chose to focus on her earlier comment and an action he felt compelled to complete. “The last time you were here, you left before we could finish our talk. In Kaban when a warrior takes a woman as his bride, it is tradition that he offer Kutthra.”

Her lips parted, drawing his attention to the swollen and distorted flesh. The sight offended him and Argan wished he’d been there to prevent her from falling.

“Kutthra?”

He stretched the waist length braid out in his hand and drew out his knife. Brief amusement danced through his mind when he thought of how Mikayla would react if she were here. Argan sliced the braid from his nape without further consideration. Extending the long black rope, he waited until she accepted it. When her fingers closed over the offering, their hands brushed. She inhaled sharply as Argan released his hold. The hair dangled from her closed fingers filling him with a sense of satisfaction.

“Kutthra lets a Kabanian woman know that a warrior is taken. It is in bad taste to make sexual advances toward a man after Kutthra.” Of course the man and woman could choose to end their commitment at any time and the warrior only need grow his hair out again. Kabanian unions were often temporary. Argan was not sure if the Olak’din bonded for life like the Raasa. There wasn’t much known about them at all aside from their prowess in fighting and weaponry.

Shaina stared a moment longer as if wanting to speak then tucked the tail into the waist of her pants. “Thank you, Warlord Argan.”

“No thanks are needed. As my bride the honor is yours.”

Her head tipped to the side as she studied him. He remained still under her intense gaze. “You’re more than you appear Warlord of Kaban.”

“I believe at this point you have leave to call me Argan,
Shaina
.”

Her lips twitched. “Argan it shall be.”

Her humor tempted him to step forward and touch her. Seeing no reason to resist, Argan came close enough to feel the rapid rise of her chest. Black streaks darted through the silver mist of her eyes as the lids lowered to half-mast. He cupped her jaw with a tenderness he had not known he possessed and tipped her face up further. The small cut on her bottom lip explained the swelling.

“Argan?”

“I would have another of your kisses,” he murmured before lowering his head and brushing his mouth over hers.

Argan waited and she did not disappoint. Her soft tongue swiped over his lips before she pressed her mouth to his. He groaned deep in his throat at the sensation from the small contact. Her hands fluttered over his shoulders before settling on his chest. His muscles tensed beneath her caressing fingers and Argan had to force himself to back away.

He cleared his throat. “You will tell me when you have need of me.”

“Yes.” She smiled and bowed at the waist as her form misted, leaving Argan alone in the room once more.

The emptiness of the room was more oppressive after the brightness of her presence.

 “Hettel!” Argan cursed and flung his knife. The blade sliced through the material of the curtain covering the window before falling to the floor with a clatter.