Wandering hands woke her up. Someone had pulled the covers off her and now calloused fingers were gripping her knees, rolling her onto her back. Hair tickled her inner thighs, and she felt warm breath on her folds until…
“Xavier,” Leawyn sighed, her back arching when he gave her slit another long lick, warming her up with the slow stirs of pleasure.
“Hmmm.” The vibration of his hum sent an electric shock through her sensitive flesh which made her shiver. She buried her hands in his hair, clutching his scalp to her now gyrating hips, trying to force him to use more pressure.
He was in one of his teasing moods; he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
The bastard.
“Tell me what you want, Leawyn,” he rumbled, dodging her attempts to bring his mouth back onto her slick flesh. He brought his hand up, sinking a finger inside of her, teasing her by pumping the digit with slow, deliberate movements.
“You know what I want.” She moaned when his thumb tapped her there
“Give me the words,” he ordered. “Give them to me, and I’ll let you come.”
That was Xavier to the core. He’ll let her come—not make her come.
Demanding.
Dominating.
Hers.
She knew what he wanted to hear—he made her say it often—and there were some days that he needed to hear it more than others. Ever since the war, there was another dynamic in their relationship. He was still Xavier, but she knew she was privy to a side of him that he allowed only her to see.
But right now, she didn’t want that side. She wanted to come.
So, she gave him what he wanted. She submitted.
“I love you,” she groaned, the need unbearable now. “I belong to you.”
“Good girl.” Then his mouth lowered completely on her, and she was lost.
“How did everything go?” Leawyn asked, turning to find Xavier still gloriously naked. Shamelessly, she ogled her husband. After Xavier had let her come from his mouth, he wasted no time in crawling over her body and taking her.
Their lovemaking was passionate, and hot, but it lacked the roughness she desired and what he usually provided in their joining.
Any gentleness Xavier was able to possess, she had taught him. Her husband was fierce and brutal, being the most feared man of all the tribes. He was a natural born killer, a strict leader, and a formidable opponent. When Leawyn was told that she was to marry him at just eighteen years old, she thought her life was over.
To say their marriage was tremulous in the beginning, would have been a vast understatement.
It was filled with hate, jealousy, resentment, fear and—eventually—love.
However, unconventional it may have been.
Xavier stopped, and she caught the stiffness of his shoulders before he relaxed. His expression was impassive when he turned to regard her. Her eyes dropped down—she couldn’t help it! —then flashed back to his face, which smirked at her.
“See something you like?”
“Perhaps,” she replied coyly. She watched his nostrils flare, the familiar glint entering his eyes whenever she challenged him. Xavier’s favorite thing to do was remind her who exactly she belonged to. She’s not ashamed to admit that sometimes she provoked him purposely, wanting his dominance.
And the orgasms that usually followed.
He stepped toward her and her pulse spiked, body tensing in anticipation. His gaze landed on her stomach and the bulge she’ll soon no longer be able to cover with strategically picked dresses.
Her shoulders sagged in disappointment when his demeanor changed, and instead of throwing her back on the bed and ravishing her like she wanted him to, he opted to turn around and finish getting dressed.
She watched him come over to her once he finished, tilting her chin with his thumb before pressing his lips to hers.
“It went well,” he answered her original question. “You taste good,” he murmured against her lips, giving her another kiss.
“I taste like you.”
He hummed before stealing three more kisses. “Take it easy today,” he ordered, pulling away. “I better see you napping come mid-day.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll come collect you myself and—”
“Spank me?” she supplied hopefully. Xavier chuckled.
“Just behave, wife,” he growled playfully. He gave her one last quick peck then walked out the door.
She sighed, feeling dejected. She shouldn’t feel the way she did. After all, they had made love just earlier, but ever since she had started to show in her pregnancy, something within Xavier changed.
There was a time when she had wished for Xavier to be gentle with her…it seemed the fates finally decided to grant her wish.
So why did that bother her so much?
Xavier didn’t spank her when he caught her not-napping during the mid-day. He did, however, throw her over his shoulder and march her back into their home and proceeded to undress her, make love to her, then take a nap with her. It was a happy surprise. They didn’t get to spend their days together too often, so when they did, she treasured those precious moments.
Even if it was while sleeping in her husband’s arms.
When she woke, Xavier was gone and, in his place, Namoriee was lounging around her hut quietly cleaning.
“How late is it?” Leawyn asked mid-yawn. Namoriee startled and dropped whatever was in her hand. The contents shattered; Namoriee cursed.
“Sorry,” she winced.
“It’s a-alright, milady,” Namoriee said, crouching down to the mess. While Namoriee cleaned, Leawyn used that time to pull on the robe that was waiting for her at the end of the bed.
Namoriee stood and barely managed to stop herself from colliding into Leawyn, who had come to help her. Leawyn couldn’t help but giggle at the exasperated look that Namoriee shot her.
Namoriee had this uncanny skill of portraying everything that she was feeling with just one look. Sixteen, extremely shy, and with a stutter, she had hardly spoke when she first became her handmaiden. Nowadays, she was speaking more despite her disability, and Leawyn couldn’t have been prouder.
The tribe deserved to know how sweet and witty her friend was.
“Hope this isn’t t-t-too important?” Namoriee asked, motioning to the pieces she held in her hand.
“A bowl?” Leawyn’s brow arched. “I think we’ll live,” she finished dryly.
They hung out in her hut for a while before they decided to go out and walk around the village to see where Leawyn was needed. Being the lady chief of the tribe, she made it a point to be more active in the day to day activities of her people. She often played mediator for disputes between the tribes’ members and helped clean up the village and restore it to its once former glory.
“I think this place is ready to go!” Leawyn beamed, looking around at the giant structure she was in that would serve as the Izayges dining hall. Castic, who had just come from his training to help, looked over at Leawyn.
“This was a grand idea, Lady Chief. I’m glad this was built.” He smiled, and Leawyn was momentarily blinded at how much more handsome it made him look. Everyday, he started to look older to her. More grown up. It made her both proud, and sad. Though Castic was not her son, she’s always had a soft spot for the boy. Overcome with emotion, she hugged him.
“Oh Castic, you’re becoming so handsome!”
“Ugh, Lady Chief—you’re embarrassing me!” Castic complained, trying to dodge the kisses she was now smothering his cheek with.
With a wide grin, Leawyn stopped her torture and watched in amusement when he instantly swiped at his cheek. His face still flushed, he superstitiously looked around to make sure none of his friends saw.
“Shall we announce a feast tonight?” Namoriee asked, smiling.
Leawyn looked everything over with a clinical eye, making sure that they were, in fact, ready. Finding that only minor touches were needed, she turned to Namoriee.
“If our hunters can hunt more meat, I don’t see why not!”
The people around her cheered, and she couldn’t help but laugh at their excitement.
“I’ll go tell Xavier,” she said, turning to do just that when a gentle hand stopped her.
“Why don’t I t-t-tell him?”
“Are you feeling well?’ she asked, surprised at Namoriee’s offer. Namoriee was terrified of her husband.
“Y-yes. I just think you would be more useful h-here. Y’know, p-p-planning.”
Leawyn wasn’t convinced. She studied Namoriee, trying to read her secrets on her face but Namoriee kept her look innocent enough to ensure Leawyn that she wasn’t innocent at all. She was still suspicious, but she shrugged.
“Go ahead.”
With a quick thanks and timid smile, Leawyn watched her go.
“The chiefs of the other tribes can finally confirm their losses,” Tyronian said, coming to stand in front of the table. “Four hundred dead. Hundred from the Siraces, two-hundred from the Asori, and a hundred of our own men,” Tyronian reported solemnly.
Xavier rubbed his temples, trying to stop the headache from forming. His shoulders were heavy, weighted with the knowledge of the deaths of good warriors. It’s been close to five months since the war of the tribes, and they were still feeling the aftereffects. When Xavier and the Izayges warriors came home from the battlefield, it was to find that the Izayges village had been attacked. While the damage wasn’t annihilation, it was extensive. Huts had to be rebuilt, and non-warrior members lives had been lost.
“What else?”
“Restructure of the village is almost complete. Most of the huts lost have been restored, our hunters have gathered more of the animals we’d lost, and the dinning hut you requested is half-way done.”
“Good,” Xavier paused. “And the survivors?”
Tyronian’s expression leveled. “They’re prisoners now.”
“Make sure they stay alive, but not live comfortably. Divide them and transport them to the Siraces and Asori to do what they will. We’ll use them for Prova Sinavi.”
“As you command,” Tyronian nodded, pivoting to do what he asked. He hesitated then turned back to him. “How’s Leawyn?”
Xavier’s expression darkened, a frown forming. It was obvious that he was troubled.
“She continues to have nightmares, but she either has no memory of them, or chooses to pretend she doesn’t scream every night.”
Like a coward, he avoided looking at Tyronian, unwilling to see his sympathy. It was hard enough for Xavier to admit that he felt helpless—something he did not allow himself to feel.
But he did feel helpless, because his wife was hurting and there was nothing he could do.
And he hated it.
“Have you tried…talking to her?”
At his flat look, Tyronian chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Of course, how silly of me. You’re Xavier—big and mean and by no means a communicator.”
Xavier prided himself for not rolling his eyes. Even if Tyronian had a point.
“Are you done?” Xavier grumped.
“Never.”
Tyronian only grinned at his growl of annoyance, but then became serious.
“Don’t wait too long. You’re not the only one who’s seen through her facade. She’s lost weight, something she can’t afford to lose right now. If not for her, then think about your child.”
Tyronian and Namoriee were the only ones who knew about her pregnancy. Since his younger brother Tristan took off, he hasn’t been able to tell him that he would be an uncle. Thinking about Tristan still caused a pain in his chest. Things had changed between them after he got married, a rift that just seemed to grow with each passing day.
He couldn’t help but feel guilty that perhaps he was the reason Tristan ran away on his quest of “self-discovery” as Leawyn put it. Whatever that meant.
He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he missed his brother. He wanted him to come home where he belonged.
“I’ll handle my wife how I see fit,” Xavier said finally.
“I have no doubt about that,” Tyronian grinned. He didn’t say anything further, and Xavier watched him walk out the door. He didn’t know how long he sat there staring at the wall, his thoughts consumed with his wife and brother when the door opened, and in walked the last person he expected.
“Namoriee,” he greeted, his tone belied his surprise.
He watched her shut the door, and shuffled closer to him, her expression displaying her nerves clearly. His glance down at her hands—that were fiddling, and anxious—was indiscernible, and by the time she was upon him, he gathered everything he needed to know, just from her body language.
She was here with a purpose, one that she believed in enough to face him—because he knew that she was terrified of him, something he was content to not rectify—but she was nervous. Afraid.
He watched her as she seemed to battle with herself, before she pushed her shoulders back and stood straighter.
“The d-dining h-h-h-hut is complete,” she told him. “Leawyn w-w-wishes to have a f-feast tonight.”
“Okay.” He eyed her, noting that her gaze was no longer alternating between his eyes and her feet.
She didn’t elaborate, nor did she continue to carry conversation. If she had come all this way to only tell him about the feast, you’d think she would leave after delivering the message. But she didn’t. Instead, he was left staring at a girl who annoyed him on most days, but tolerated on others because she was his wife’s best friend. But he wasn’t a patient man, and he didn’t like useless silences.
His temper was notorious, and quick—something Namoriee was about to experience until she spoke.
“I’m worried about Leawyn.”
“Why?
She looked up at him then, and something shifted inside his chest at the emotion on her face. “She smiles, and laughs, but it’s fake, or…not full.” She made a frustrated sound, as if annoyed with herself. But what he found interesting was that her speech didn’t halt like it usually did. He wondered if she even realized that it always seemed to disappear when she was passionate about something.
“She’s different. She’s been different ever since…” she stopped, her face paling in fear. But she didn’t have to finish because he knew what she was going to say. He felt the familiar fury fill him when he thought of before. Of the night that Leawyn saved his life.
The monster inside of him relished in Namoriee’s fear, which he could plainly see when he took a threatening step toward her. He had never understood his wife’s friendship with this girl; Leawyn was so much stronger than her. Namoriee was weak, and easily scared. She kept her head down, content to float through life as invisible as possible. But then he started to understand why Leawyn kept her in her company throughout their marriage.
Namoriee was loyal, and showed silent strength that differed from Leawyn’s. Namoriee was a dog in a den of wolves. She showed teeth and could bite just as hard when put into a corner.
Her swallow was audible, and though she trembled ever so slightly, her wide-eyed gaze didn’t shy from his, nor did she step back even when he crowded into her space.
He had to respect that.
“You were going to say his name, weren’t you?”
Mutely, she nodded.
“You are aware that I forbade his name to ever be spoken, are you not?” He snarled.
“Then I s-s-suppose that it is a g-g-good thing I didn’t say it a-aloud, then.”
He covered his shock at her cheek by keeping his glare steady. Her eyes widened as if she herself couldn’t believe she snarked him. He stared her down a moment longer, then showed her his back when he turned away, effectively dismissing her.
“You may leave now.”
She hesitated, then “What about Leawyn?”
He glanced over at her. “I will handle my wife.” It was an ominous promise, and she knew it.
Her expression shuttered, and she didn’t argue, because she knew she couldn’t. Instead, she gave him a respectful nod and hurried out of his sight.
He plopped back down on his chair, running a hand through his hair in his frustration. A part of him had held hope that he was simply overeating, that his guilt had somehow made him see Leawyn differently. But Namoriee coming to him just confirmed that he wasn’t wrong.
She changed.
Her light was dimming. Like a flicker of a candle struggling to withstand the wind.
He was losing her.
He swore to fight for her.
But…how could he fight a ghost?