The Warlord’s Chosen (Far From Home #1)

"Some men are born warriors. Some are born with other destinies," I whispered in answer.

"Like to warm the warriors' beds?"

When the translator repeated the words the warlord leered down at me, I couldn't help the blush I knew rose to my cheeks.

"If all you know is sex and battle, what a poor life you have lived," I hissed. I immediately cursed my fool tongue.

I could tell the translator didn't want to repeat my rebellious words, but with a flick of the warlord's fingers to urge him on, he had no choice.

The warlord's bellowing laugh and taunting reply echoed around the throne room, although the translator couldn't even repeat them before the warlord began again, this time in broken El'kahrian- my own language.

"I choose Amer Groban, son of Jon Groban the third, as my War Prize," the warlord growled out loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear.

He met my eyes, his own shining with laughter. His whispered words, meant only for me, were translated by a near-silent, confused translator. "You are no coward, little mate. Your fire is as deep as your heart. I will enjoy making that fire mine."
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