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
“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
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