Page 28 of The Warlord's Wildflower
Annie’s hands press to her mouth, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears,for me. Gods help me, she’s never looked more beautiful.
Bloodied and bruised, I move across the arena toward the commander’s tent. Every inch of me aches, but the way she’s staring at me makes it all worth it. I raise my fist to the sky, my gaze locked on Annie. Garron storms out of the tent in a rage, but I don’t care. I’ve won and I’m coming to claim my prize.
Chapter Seventeen
Annie
The arena is a storm of noise. Cheers and stomping hooves pounding the earth surround me. Fenric drives his opponent into the dirt one last time. Blood splatters the sand, and my stomach twists, a cold wave rolling through me. I’ve never liked violence. I don’t get how anyone can watch and not feel sick. I can't pry my eyes away, though.
Fenric is breathing hard, his blonde hair sticking to his sweaty face. His eyes find mine, and my chest tightens so much I can barely breathe. My heart is pounding like it’s trying to break free.
Dakar’s voice booms across the crowd. “The Champion is Fenric of Blackhorn Tribe!”
Fenric's grin is victorious as he strides toward the commanders’ platform where we are sitting. “I’m taking my prize now.”
Before I can think, he vaults effortlessly over the railing, landing right in front of me. My cheeks burn hot, and I suddenly feel so nervous.
Dakar sighs and shakes his head. “Must you always cause a scene?”
Maeve giggles beside me, but I barely hear her because Fenric’s hands are already on me, lifting me up like I weighnothing. The crowd’s roar fades away, and all I can feel is the heat of his chest against mine and the way his fingers possessively squeeze my thigh.
“Put me down!” I whisper-shout at him. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, and my face is on fire. “You’re hurt. You need Elda!”
“No.” His voice is a growl that sends a shiver racing down my spine. His thumb strokes slowly and deliberately over my skin. “I needyou.”
Oh.
My breath hitches and my core clenches.
“I’ll see you all at the feast,” he calls to the others, already carrying me away.
I glance at Maeve, silently begging for help, but she’s doubled over, giggling uselessly. Beatrice’s eyes find mine, and there’s something so sad, so lonely in them. Before I can even dwell on it, I’m being hauled away from the arena.
Fenric kicks open the door to his chambers with one hoof and, before I can protest, I’m flying. I land with a softoomphon the furs of his massive bed. My breath leaves me in a rush, heart hammering as I scramble up onto my elbows.
He’s already stalking toward me, stripping off his leathers, the muscles of his chest and abdomen flexing with each movement. Blood and dirt streak his sweaty skin. He looks absolutely feral like this. It should repulse me, but Gods help me, my body is aching for him.
“Were you worried about me, little blossom?” His voice is rough, teasing, as he braces one knee on the bed, caging me in.
I swallow hard. “Yes.” The word comes out breathless.
His grin is wolfish. “Good.” A calloused hand slides up my thigh, pushing my skirts higher. “I like having a beautiful mate to worry about me. I need you to tell me, Annie. Do you want to be mine? My mate?”
“Fenric-”
“Please, say it.” His fingers trace higher, brushing the lace of my undergarments. “Tell me you’re mine.”
I whimper. “Yes. I'm yours.”
A growl rumbles in his chest, and then his mouth is on mine. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair as he kisses me like he’s starving. Then he’s stripping me bare, pulling my dress over my head, and tossing it across the room. His hands roam, cupping my breasts, squeezing until a thin, sweet trickle of milk escapes my sensitive nipples.
“Fuck,” he groans against my lips.
His calloused palms skate up my bare thighs, leaving fire in their wake. I tremble as his thumbs brush the creases of my hips, his touch worshiping every curve.
“You're so soft,” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles over the swell of my belly. “So gorgeous.”
Then his hands are on my breasts, cupping their weight, thumbs circling my nipples until they peak into tight, aching buds. A whimper escapes me as he leans down, his hot mouth closing over one pink tip.
