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Authors: Michelle Howard
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woman.”
He had to have misheard her. She could not have meant what he thought. Other than Vaan no one needed him. He served a purpose. He was a trained warrior. One of Vaan’s valued Warlords. But he wasn’t needed .
She ran her hand through her hair, her sigh loud in the silence of his bedroom. “I need you, Warlord Argan. That is the debt I call forth.”
Her words inflamed him. Rigid control kept his hands where they were though his chest expanded with every breath. She had no idea what saying those words did to him. Before Argan could question her further, the floor outside his door creaked. They both turned at the same time. She gripped the hilts of her swords in each hand, legs braced apart. A loud thump pounded on the wood.
“Argan, you are wanted below. There is a dispute among the visiting warriors.”
Frustration ate at him. He had to address the matter with the warriors. “I will attend them shortly,” he called out.
They both waited until the footsteps walked away. She moved, placing herself in the darkest section of his room where no light pierced the shadows. “I should leave. Now is not the best time to discuss this.”
Argan’s lips firmed. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to grab her in his arms and slam into the warmth of her toque. Imagining the feel of her proved too much and Argan groaned feeling the tip of his toqa leak. Her gaze dropped and while he did not think it possible to see him with the poor lighting, her silver eyes widened at the evidence of his desire.
She licked her lips and Argan would swear she moaned. “We will speak of this again.” When her back aligned with the wall of his room, the shadows rose from the floor to conceal and in seconds she was gone from his view.
Hettel! He cursed, crossing the room to get dressed. Argan needed to figure out what game she played for he did not trust easily.
Chapter 9
Argan wiped the sweat from his brow and took a minute to get his breathing under control. The warrior he worked with bent over at the waist, his sword held limply in his quivering arm.
“This is how the Overlord trains each day?” Samil gasped out. The weeks of his training were telling. Time here had added muscle and bulk to his frame.
“Yes.” Inside, Argan smiled at the warrior’s pained expression. Training with Vaan meant early mornings and very late nights unless he spotted Mikayla outside. Then his best friend would end training abruptly, no matter who he was in the middle of battling. Without comment to anyone Vaan would hurry her to the bedroom they shared, leaving no doubt as to what they did once there.
Argan and the other Warlords were used to this, leaving it to Kavan and Balal to keep Mikayla distracted inside when necessary. Like today. Argan glanced around and noted that the other two warriors who had come with him to Raasa were in the same condition as Samil. Out of breath and tired, yet mentally and physically better equipped than weeks ago when they arrived.
Vaan’s brother, Saran, worked hard to get the Kabanian warriors back into fighting condition after the years spent under Thenl’s rule but nothing compared to the intensity of the Overlord’s methods. Argan turned back to Samil who had managed to straighten and grip his sword tightly.
“How is it going, Warlord?” A deep voice commanded from behind.
Speaking of the Overlord .
Argan waited until Vaan stood beside him before waving at Samil. “The warrior here wondered if you train like this each day.”
Vaan grunted and by Samil’s paling features, Argan bet his friend had also added a harsh stare to accompany the sound.
“Do you find my training lacking, Samil?”
The casually asked question was couched in dulcet tones. Argan sheathed his sword and folded his arms to see how the warrior would answer.
“No, Overlord.”
“Then perhaps you think it is too hard.”
Samil paled further and Argan smothered a laugh.
“No, Overlord.”
“What concerns you
He had to have misheard her. She could not have meant what he thought. Other than Vaan no one needed him. He served a purpose. He was a trained warrior. One of Vaan’s valued Warlords. But he wasn’t needed .
She ran her hand through her hair, her sigh loud in the silence of his bedroom. “I need you, Warlord Argan. That is the debt I call forth.”
Her words inflamed him. Rigid control kept his hands where they were though his chest expanded with every breath. She had no idea what saying those words did to him. Before Argan could question her further, the floor outside his door creaked. They both turned at the same time. She gripped the hilts of her swords in each hand, legs braced apart. A loud thump pounded on the wood.
“Argan, you are wanted below. There is a dispute among the visiting warriors.”
Frustration ate at him. He had to address the matter with the warriors. “I will attend them shortly,” he called out.
They both waited until the footsteps walked away. She moved, placing herself in the darkest section of his room where no light pierced the shadows. “I should leave. Now is not the best time to discuss this.”
Argan’s lips firmed. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to grab her in his arms and slam into the warmth of her toque. Imagining the feel of her proved too much and Argan groaned feeling the tip of his toqa leak. Her gaze dropped and while he did not think it possible to see him with the poor lighting, her silver eyes widened at the evidence of his desire.
She licked her lips and Argan would swear she moaned. “We will speak of this again.” When her back aligned with the wall of his room, the shadows rose from the floor to conceal and in seconds she was gone from his view.
Hettel! He cursed, crossing the room to get dressed. Argan needed to figure out what game she played for he did not trust easily.
Chapter 9
Argan wiped the sweat from his brow and took a minute to get his breathing under control. The warrior he worked with bent over at the waist, his sword held limply in his quivering arm.
“This is how the Overlord trains each day?” Samil gasped out. The weeks of his training were telling. Time here had added muscle and bulk to his frame.
“Yes.” Inside, Argan smiled at the warrior’s pained expression. Training with Vaan meant early mornings and very late nights unless he spotted Mikayla outside. Then his best friend would end training abruptly, no matter who he was in the middle of battling. Without comment to anyone Vaan would hurry her to the bedroom they shared, leaving no doubt as to what they did once there.
Argan and the other Warlords were used to this, leaving it to Kavan and Balal to keep Mikayla distracted inside when necessary. Like today. Argan glanced around and noted that the other two warriors who had come with him to Raasa were in the same condition as Samil. Out of breath and tired, yet mentally and physically better equipped than weeks ago when they arrived.
Vaan’s brother, Saran, worked hard to get the Kabanian warriors back into fighting condition after the years spent under Thenl’s rule but nothing compared to the intensity of the Overlord’s methods. Argan turned back to Samil who had managed to straighten and grip his sword tightly.
“How is it going, Warlord?” A deep voice commanded from behind.
Speaking of the Overlord .
Argan waited until Vaan stood beside him before waving at Samil. “The warrior here wondered if you train like this each day.”
Vaan grunted and by Samil’s paling features, Argan bet his friend had also added a harsh stare to accompany the sound.
“Do you find my training lacking, Samil?”
The casually asked question was couched in dulcet tones. Argan sheathed his sword and folded his arms to see how the warrior would answer.
“No, Overlord.”
“Then perhaps you think it is too hard.”
Samil paled further and Argan smothered a laugh.
“No, Overlord.”
“What concerns you
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