A Warrior's Claiming (The Instinct Book 3) Read online

  A Warrior’s Claiming

  The Instinct

  Marie Harte

  A WARRIOR’S CLAIMING

  It’s time to claim her mates…

  Raia is on the hunt, and she never misses a target. No matter how big he–they–might be.

  Arghet doesn’t know what to make of the new addition to the clan. Skehl is huge, an indomitable warrior with a berserker’s power. Once part of a hated enemy clan, he’s watched carefully.

  Somehow Arghet finds himself having to look after the beast. Arghet’s a Vyctore warrior. He has more important things to do than care for a troubled male. He’s doing his best to track down the strange female who stole his kill not long ago. Oddly, she bears the same skin markings as Skehl, a dark tribal marker on her left cheek.

  But when he finally finds her, Arghet learns he’s no longer the hunter, but the hunted. And that Skehl is much more than the quiet, subdued warrior he once seemed…

  The Instinct

  A CIVILIZED MATING

  A BARBARIAN BONDING

  A WARRIOR’S CLAIMING

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and plot points stem from the writer’s imagination. They are fictitious and not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locations or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  A Warrior’s Claiming

  Copyright © June 2017

  No Box Books

  Cover by EDH Graphics

  All Rights Are Reserved. None of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for reviews or promotion.

  http://marieharte.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  About the Author

  Other Science Fiction & Fantasy Romance Releases

  A CIVILIZED MATING Excerpt

  A BARBARIAN BONDING Excerpt

  BEASTS OF BURDEN Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Planet Ussed, 4th Quadrant

  Universal Year 3655, Earth Year 2437

  ARGHET CROUCHED BY the crushed leaves of a small kelkel shrub and sniffed the bruised stem.

  Faint but there, the scent of his prey continued to tease, never settling in any one place. The female continued to evade him. She hadn’t yet encroached on clan territory, but she skirted near enough. Her scent had trailed from the offworlder resort, where he’d first encountered her, across the border into barbarian lands along Vyctore clan lines.

  In the weeks he’d spent tracking her, he’d get close, then her trail would disappear. Annoyed, Arghet rose to his full height and decided to return to the village. He had responsibilities, but even his alpha agreed the female owed Arghet recompense for stealing his kill. Such a thing wasn’t done with impunity, not in the East. They were not uncivilized offworlders to boldly take another’s conquest. Barbarians had respect for one another. And those who could not abide by tradition met punishment, even death.

  He smiled, recalling the grand battle that had wiped out their enemy not long ago. The Nasuhl, an honorless clan of warriors who thought nothing of raping and pillaging, had been disbanded. The Vyctore had delivered the remaining Nasuhl, mostly women and children, to the tribe, where the now clanless members had then been parceled out to any of the other hundred clans the Cloud Tribe ruled.

  Yet…

  Arghet’s smile left him. Though they’d killed nearly all the Nasuhl warriors, Skehl, that giant bastard, had somehow impressed their alpha, and now Skehl had become a part of the clan. Despite the others accepting Skehl’s presence, Arghet kept an eye on the hardened warrior.

  Something about the male bothered him. It wasn’t that Skehl stood as tall as their largest warrior—half a head bigger than Arghet. Or that the women seemed to love him because they thought him gentle—and how was being quiet the same as being kind? Or that the male had annihilated many of his old clan. Taken them apart with his bare hands. No, the quiet warrior seemed to be hiding something. Arghet could feel it.

  Though Skehl didn’t say much, he obeyed the alpha without question. But Arghet didn’t trust him. He wouldn’t make the same mistake many of the others had already begun to make, turning their back on a former enemy. With that in mind, he left his pursuit of the female behind and headed back home.

  A day later, he found the village bustling with activity. The Vyctore talked about nothing but the upcoming tribal competition, packing wares for trade and praising those selected to accompany their alpha to the Cloud Games, a festival of strength held every other year, where the Cloud Tribe’s warriors would compete for victory. Challenges of power, skill, and accuracy pitted clan against clan for a shot at prestige and glory.

  They’d emerged victorious at the last games, and Arghet was honored to be among those chosen to represent the Vyctore once more. He passed by many a warrior, all of them clad in the xechelln pelts which protected them from offworlder tech, the hide both soft yet durable and impervious to phasers. Like Arghet, the warriors were mostly dark-haired and tanned. The skin markers on their chest and arms flashed according to emotional response, like on the warriors grappling by the water barrels. And there, on the couple discreetly pairing in a thicket by the weapon hut. The female knelt between the warrior’s feet as she pleasured him, and Arghet grinned, seeing Vyctore life at its finest.

  In the center of the bustling village stood Talzec, his alpha, and the fiercest, largest warrior they had. A male filled with integrity, fairness, and a generosity of spirit who kept his clan healthy and lush with riches. Now mated to his beta, Xav, and a human female with battle power, the triad strengthened the Vyctore considerably.

  Talzec saw him and waved him over.

  After discussing the upcoming games, their security measures, and Arghet’s latest failure to find his prey, Talzec let slip a worrisome notion.

  Skehl would accompany them to the games.

  “Your warrior will compete in the strength test this year. Time I let someone else take my place,” Talzec said with a wry smile. “I’m sure I’ll be busy keeping my female out of trouble.”

  That had a ring of truth. Skye was the only female warrior in the Cloud Tribe that Arghet knew of. He still didn’t think her warring nature suited the clan, but he deferred to his alpha and beta. Both mates acknowledged Skye’s skills without question.

  Then what Talzec said penetrated.

  “Since when is Skehl my warrior?” Arghet asked.

  Talzec shrugged. “He seems most comfortable with you and Lore. But with Mandy breeding, Lore and Zehn will remain here, in the village.”

  Arghet swore. Lore and Zehn were two powerful warriors he’d liked to have taken to represent the clan. But Skehl… “What am I to do with him?” They both turned to see Skehl sitting on a stump by one of the females. He held a skein of maffet leaf wool while she manipulated it into some form of garment. “He does little unless asked. He barely speaks. And when he does, it’s usually in one word answers. The only thing he’s good for is training, and that’s only when he feels like it.” Or when Arghet tasked him to battle. Skehl had a tendency to ignore the other warriors, which didn’t put him in their good stead.

  Then there was the matter of the male’s facial marker, what Skye called a tattoo. It was much like the one sported by the female who’d stolen Arghet’
s kill.

  The treacherous female refused to leave his mind’s eye. Long black hair, purple eyes, and full lips complemented a face many would consider beautiful. Hell, he considered her striking. That she’d moved liked a warrior and wielded a blade had both captivated and angered him. She’d moved with grace and skill, then stolen his victory. Yet for all her barbarian airs, she hadn’t worn a loincloth or breast sash. She’d had on offworlder gear—black trousers and a black shirt and boots.

  The marker under her left eye had blazed red while she’d stared at him, the same way Skehl’s had a tendency to glow when the big bastard watched Arghet.

  It meant something. He knew it. But he was hesitant to mention it to Talzec, and he didn’t understand his reticence.

  “Help our new clanmate, Arghet. Skehl was raised as part of the Nasuhl clan, though he’s clearly not Nasuhl-born. His life cannot have been an easy one.” Talzec knew that of which he spoke. His first mate had been Nasuhl, an abused female who should have been treasured by her alpha—her own brother. Instead, he’d tried to mate with her, then killed her.

  Talzec had avenged her in a brutally efficient way, finally destroying the entire enemy clan.

  Arghet respected his alpha, comfortable to serve a leader with so much power. Phelthar—the energy that connected a warrior to the life all around him, to the planet itself, was strong in Talzec. There could be no mistaking the Maker’s pleasure with such a great leader.

  Because of this, Arghet would handle his misgivings about Skehl and the female. And he’d watch the giant closely.

  At that moment, Skehl shifted his attention to Arghet and simply stared.

  You do anything to harm my clan, and I’ll take your head from your neck, then carve you into pieces.

  The marker on Skehl’s face glowed red. He gave no sign of interest before looking back at the maffet wool in his hands.

  “Yes,” Talzec murmured, looking from Skehl to Arghet. “I think you’re exactly the warrior I need to keep our newest clanmate in line.”

  ***

  Skehl had spent the better part of his short, worthless life under the harsh regime of the Nasuhl. A barbarian of little worth, the only thing he’d had in his favor, so he’d been told time and time again, was his massive build and immense strength. That he chose to exercise temperance and adherence to a strange moral fiber absent in his clanmates made him the lowest of the low. His attitude also explained the many scars on his body, remnants of the discipline he’d been sorely needing. Beatings hardened a warrior. Fear taught respect, conditioned adherence to hierarchy. Obeisance.

  The Nasuhl believed in harsh discipline. Females were nothing more than whores or breeders to service the alpha and his interior guard before being passed along to the rest of the clan. Those not in the interior guard trained with diligence, so as not to be excised from the camp. The men raided and hunted. They did not farm, barter, or ask for anything. They took what they wanted. As they’d taken Skehl during his fifth year, adding to their numbers.

  He had vague memories of his first people, of trying to return to them. But there were harsh penalties for those who refused to assimilate. He wanted to think he’d tried to resist, but Skehl knew they hadn’t had to work very hard to break him down. Before long, he’d joined them in their raids. For even at a young age, Skehl had enjoyed fighting. He was weak in every area of his life but one—battle.

  Numb to most pleasures life had to afford, he only felt excitement during a fight, defeating an opponent. Causing pain. He’d never known softness in any form, at least, not with the Nasuhl. Since he hadn’t earned the right to procreate, he’d never been allowed near the females, who might have shown him another way. But he’d been confined to training and warring, with no room in his life for anything more.

  Those things made sense. All this…

  Five days after they’d set out for the Cloud Games, the jungle teemed with warriors from a hundred different clans among the tribe. Barbarians ruled the habitable regions of the planet, minus a small section in the west that the offworlders had claimed, a vacationing resort that had all manner of visiting alien lifeforms.

  Because of an old treaty, the East and West held to their sides of the border. The barbarians provided security and refused to harm the offworlders, and the offworlders left the rest of the planet alone.

  Many of the Vyctore clan had provided services to the offworlder resort. The Nasuhl had always refused, wanting nothing to do with foreigners, not when they had clans to conquer, women to rape, and enemy to kill—and they considered everyone not Nasuhl their enemy.

  Skehl had never liked the Nasuhl or felt a part of the clan. He’d rebelled in his quiet way by not doing anything he couldn’t stomach. He killed those he felt deserving of death, but never the innocent. Something the Nasuhl alpha had never understood.

  “By the Hells of Fyanthul, move your ass.” The familiar growl eased something inside him, because with it came a sense of security. “The tribal games are getting ready to start. I don’t want to miss the opening ceremony.” Around them, more Vyctore warriors gathered close, eager to watch and participate in the competition. “I said move.” A shove from behind had his feet heading in the direction he’d been told to go.

  Skehl walked slowly, testing, waiting. Yet no one speared him. No one took away his food or refused him water if he didn’t move fast enough. No one in his new, very strange clan mocked him, choked him, beat him, or forced him to live in the pit amidst the refuse.

  Arghet, a stern, able warrior many in the clan looked to for leadership, guided him toward the edge of the crowd, from where they could see their alpha. Talzec, a giant of a warrior, stood with his mate and many other alphas, yet he seemed to overshadow them all. Near them, on an upraised dais, the Cloud’s elders, three wise men who ruled the tribe, sat between two shaman, one representing each Father Sun.

  In the middle of the wild rainforest, a wide open field had been cleared to fit all those in attendance, yet the openness of it all made Skehl anxious. He’d lived most of his life in the underground caves with the Nasuhl. And with the Vyctore clan, he lived in a village bordered on one side by a lake and on the others by dense jungle. This open space made no sense from a strategic viewpoint.

  His head ached, and he longed for the quiet dark under a canopy of maffet trees, or even the hut he’d been given back in the village with its small, enclosed space.

  Then Arghet’s arm brushed his, and his tension dissolved. He took a subtle step closer to the warrior, heard him sigh, and pressed close anyway.

  Arghet didn’t shy from the contact, but he didn’t encourage it either. “See that? Our alpha is better than all of them.” Pride laced his words. “Even his mate is fierce. A worthy female, even if she is an offworlder.”

  Skehl didn’t know what to make of Skye of Earth, or rather, Skye of the Vyctore. She’d mated the alpha and beta, forming a powerful ruling triad. She had ties to the land and her mates, could move things with her mind, and felt like a true barbarian. She made her mates stronger, and her tie to the planet could be sensed by one and all.

  But still, a female warrior? He glanced at Arghet and saw the same confusion underlying his pride. Females should be treasured, for they alone had been chosen by the Maker to carry a barbarian’s young. A warrior protected his mate, provided for her, and sheltered her. And the female cared for him.

  Not that he’d seen any of that with the Nasuhl, but the Vyctore and most other Cloud clans believed in such.

  A few other female mates stood interspersed with their clans, while many barbarian maids had been provided for the men’s entertainment. Though Skehl didn’t care one way or the other about pleasures of the flesh, he knew his clanmates enjoyed sex. He wondered if Arghet did. Oddly, he’d never seen or heard the male engage with a female, and the men of the Vyctore were not shy about taking surcease when needed. In public or private didn’t matter when a warrior needed ease.

  “Yes, our alpha is the best,” Efhel,
another of the Vyctore, dragged Skehl’s attention back to Talzec.

  The others around them nodded as well. A dozen warriors in all, the Vyctore had sent their very best to showcase their skills.

  One shaman raised his hands, and the gathering grew quiet.

  Overhead, the binary suns shone brightly. A cool breeze whispered of sweet-sylk vines and honeyed red-stems. The lavender- and blue-layered sky, spotted with clouds, blanketed their tropical forest and gave home to the colorful ondi birds gliding on warm winds.

  Skehl felt himself relaxing despite being surrounded by so many enemy. No, not the enemy any longer. The Vyctore didn’t war with many outside the Nasuhl, and since that clan no longer existed, Skehl needed to learn to relax.

  “Brothers, sisters,” the shaman spoke, his voice deep, commanding. “Welcome to the Cloud Games. Father Sun Krahl welcomes you.”

  The crowd nodded their heads in respect.

  The other shaman raised his hands. “And Father Sun Zehyl welcomes you.”

  As one, the three rulers stood and clasped hands, and the tallest said, “Safety and peace to you all. At the Games, we allow no discord but for the competition. By the Maker, we shall feast and fight and enjoy the blessings of Ussed!”

  A rousing cheer went up, the cacophony of sound both disturbing and welcoming. The numbness keeping Skehl apart from his brethren retreated as phelthar wound through his flesh and bones, tying him to the planet, to his clan, and more closely, to Arghet brushed up against him.

  After a moment, the tide of belonging faded, and he sensed Arghet put a breath of space between them.

  Ignoring the strange sense of loss, Skehl glanced around, noting the similarities and differences between the many clans. Skehl had no problem seeing past the heads in front of him as he looked around at the barbarians standing with them in the open field. Though most wore the traditional loincloth and boots, the females garbed in thin shifts or a loincloth and breast sash, many clans wore dyes on their bodies and faces, feathers or animal hides of adornment, and in some cases, piercings and ornamental scarring.