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THE STOLEN WARRIOR
By Anastasia Rabiyah
Available at Sugar and Spice Press
http://www.sugarnspicepress.com/
Hessa feeds the men kept in her master’s holding cells—men meant for the fighting pits and destined to die there for the pleasure of Bisura’s crowds…unless they are kept for breeding. In the darkness she discovers a stolen warrior from the distant island of Chalois, a muscle bound giant of a man who draws her into a dangerous game of lust she doesn’t want to end. Servants of the Omi House are not allowed to decide their fate, but Hessa longs to be more than what she was born into, and if she can find a way out, she plans to bring her stolen warrior with her.
Excerpt for The Stolen Warrior
When she stopped at his cell, he faced her and stood. She stared, her head tilting back so she could hold his steely gaze while he approached the bars parting them. She reached into the bag and set her fingers around a piece of bread, a fiery heat spreading through her body and settling in her womb. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, impossibly large, impossibly wild looking, and hardly scarred from the pits at all. She held the bread out. His hand closed over hers and remained there, hot, commanding.
“What is your name?” he asked, his voice low and deep, his dark eyes holding her attention.
“Hessa.”
“And your surname?”
“Hesssa Omi.” It was the name all wards of the Omi House took. It meant they were guildless, clanless, without family.
He grunted, and she knew it had been him when she first entered that made that guttural sound of disapproval. His rough fingers traveled over her wrist, along her upper arm and settled around the middle to cradle her elbow. His thumb traced back and forth across the sensitive skin where her arm naturally bent. “Hessa. It’s a pretty name.” He smiled ever so slowly, but the expression soon vanished. His fingers traveled higher, past her sleeve and ran over her shoulder beneath the fabric of her dress. His was a gentle touch, but full of desire and lust all the same.
She breathed out a sigh. Her nipples hardened beneath her dress, longing for his fingers to reach for them. Hessa glanced at his broad chest, then her eyes searched lower, across his muscular abdomen and halted at the loincloth—which had tightened over the treasure hidden beneath.
“I’m Gunnar Cathwe from Chalois.” He leaned closer, his face a hair’s breadth from the bars, his brown eyes razing her. “Will you help me get home?”
The water bearer’s shoes clopped against the stairs. Hessa forced herself to look over her shoulder at her helper. It wasn’t easy to draw her attention from the man before her. She wanted him, wanted to be in that cell with him. It was no secret why he was in the lower reaches and what would soon be expected of him. She could only imagine what it would be like to have him tear away her clothes and force her down onto the pallet in his cell. If the rest of him is as big as his body…
He took the bread she offered.
Hessa returned her attention to Gunnar and held out the cheese.
He licked his full upper lip when he took the apportioned offering and backed away from her.
“Hessa,” he said softly, as if memorizing her name as his eyes inspected her shape.
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