Page 27 of The Warlord's Wildflower
“Stubborn as a sunbaked boar,” Beatrice supplies helpfully. “And twice as thick-skulled. Honestly, I'm surprised you got him to stay abed long enough for... whatever happened to happen.”
My strangled groan makes them both laugh. Across the tent, Commander Garron of Thornhide stands stiffly near the entrance, his massive arms crossed over his chest as he surveys the gathering warriors with a calculating gaze. When his eyes flick briefly in our direction, my stomach performs an uncomfortable flip.
No. Not at us. At me.
Then Beatrice, clever as always, leans forward and calls out in her most honeyed voice, “Commander Garron! If you're still considering potential matches from Blackhorn, I need to introduce you to Bridget!”
I glance toward the edge of the grounds, where Beatrice nods subtly in the direction of Bridget sitting alone, posture sharp and haughty as ever. She’s not in our tent, but close enough for Garron to notice.
Garron turns, his stern expression shifting to something approaching interest, as Bridget, who’s dressed in finery far too elaborate for a tournament setting, tosses her glossy hair and preens beneath his attention.
Beatrice leans back, giving me a sly wink.
“Now,” Maeve says softly, her fingers still laced with mine, “Let's see how your Bull does in the ring.”
Chapter Sixteen
Fenric
Istride into the arena and the crowd roars, a mix of adoration and bloodlust, but I can barely hear them. My gaze flicks to the commander’s tent, where she’s standing.
Annie. My sweet, soft, too-good-for-this-world mate. Her big, innocent eyes are wide and staring at me like I’m the last drop of water in a desert.Fuck yes. I roll my shoulders, knowing damn well how it makes the muscles in my back ripple. If she’s going to watch, I’ll give her a show.
The gates opposite me groan open, and out stomps Vorgath the Breaker, Garron’s personal meat mountain. The guy looks like someone took a boulder, pissed it off, and wrapped it in a bullhide.
I crack my neck and smirk. Perfect. This is exactly the kind of fight that gets my pulse racing. Too bad for him, though. I like it rough.
The flag drops, and Vorgath charges toward me.
Let the fun begin.
Dodging his first lunge is easy, like sidestepping a drunk in a tavern. Except, this Bull could easily crush my skull between his thighs. The crowd gasps as I spin away, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. I flash a grin at Annie, just to see her reaction. There it is. Her hands fly to her mouth, her cheeks flushing pink. Adorable.
Then Vorgath’s fist comes out of nowhere, and pain explodes across my jaw. I taste copper as blood sprays from my lips. The world tilts, but I catch myself, spitting red onto the sand.
Okay, maybe that one hurt.
He isn’t done, though. The bastard swings again, and his fist feels like a battering ram when it lands. My ribs scream, vision blurring at the edges, but I force a laugh. “That's all you got?” I taunt, wiping blood from my mouth. “I’ve had lovers hit harder.”
The crowd howls, but the only reaction I care about is Annie’s, and I see her fingers digging into her own arms like she’s holding herself back from running to me.
Gods, I’d love her to. I want her to storm into this damn arena, press those soft hands against me, and scold me for being reckless. I want her close enough that I can smell that sweet vanilla and lavender scent of hers.
But before I can savor the fantasy, Vorgath grabs me by the throat and slams me into the arena wall. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, my skull cracking hard against stone. Stars burst across my vision, but through the haze, I hear her.
“Fenric!”
Annie’s voice cuts through the noise like a blade. My chest tightens. Fuck. I hate hearing her sound afraid, but I love that she cares.
Vorgath leans in, his breath rancid, and he growls, “Your female will mourn you prettily while Garron breaks her in...”
I’m going to rip his damn head off.
Rage burns through me, hotter than the pain. I swing hard, my fist connecting with his nose, bone crunching beneath my knuckles. He reels back, and I don’t stop. I drive my elbow into his throat, feel him choke, stumble. I follow it with a knee to his ribs. He gasps, but I’m not done. I grab him by the horns andslam his face into the dirt. Once. Twice. Again and again, until his nose is nothing but pulp, until the sand is slick with crimson. He groans beneath me, but I can’t hear it over the pounding in my ears.
Silence. Then, cheers erupt.
The crowd loses their damn minds, screaming my name, but I don’t give a shit. I’m already looking for her.
