Armon Warren Novels & Stories

Like he was playing with a mouse he didn’t quite want to kill. “Hey, to each their own,” Warren said, waving a dismissive hand. “You’ve got your strengths. Charm, for example.” He paused, turning his gaze toward me. The glance was just long enough to make my skin prickle. “Women don’t fall for just anyone, do they?” My breath caught in my throat at the sharp edge under his smile. Before I could stop myself, my arm shot out and I smacked him squarely on the bicep. Not hard, but not gentle either.

He sounded like he was talking about something frightening. Everyone thought they had heard wrong. “Master Shoal, you…” Jordan wanted to curse out loud. “Shut up!” Waylon yelled at Jordan and turned back to look at Warren seriously. “Is there something formidable about him, Master Shoal?” He knew Warren very well. Nothing would make him back down. Waylon had never seen Warren acting so anxious before. “He’s not only formidable.” Warren smiled bitterly. His lips quivered as he continued, “He… He’s Master Collins from South River City…”

"Mr. Johnson, who's Mr. Rivera asking you to check on? Maybe I know them." "Oh, right. You're all from Walden College. It's a woman whose name is Rowena Colson." He even helpfully flipped the printed photo over for me to see. The young woman in the image wore a pale layer of powder, but a dark birthmark clung to her skin like a monstrous claw, impossible to ignore. Ewan was looking for me! The thought lodged in my chest like a thorn, making me increasingly uneasy. So, when I was called into Ewan's office the following noon, I was still a little out of it. While I made his coffee, I could feel the chill in his gaze, threaded with heavy scrutiny.

Then, he stormed out of the office. Warren turned to Arden. “What the hell was that?” The smell of bourbon always brought him back to that day. Arden hated it. One whiff and his body betrayed him. His lungs tightened, palms became clammy and his chest caved in as if invisible hands had wrapped around his throat. “Arden!” Warren’s voice sliced through his thoughts, bringing him back. “Hey. Look at me. Breathe. In. Out. You’re not there. You’re not with him. You’re here. With me!”

I try to joke, but it doesn't sound funny. “You might want to make an exception for this one.” He stands, tension rolling off him. “Warren's not like Zane. He doesn't play by the rules.” Before I can respond, Warren appears at the end of our row. Up close, he's even more imposing than he looked on the ice. Same height as Zane, same athletic build, but where Zane's presence feels controlled and calculated, Warren's feels wild, dangerous, and unpredictable. “Marcus.” Warren's voice is smooth, almost friendly. “Mind giving us a minute?”

Whether this was a lie or not, it didn't actually matter too much to Warren. Warren reached out a hand and broke Harold's arm. He would have done much more damage to him if Harold followed through on his attempt to kill either Nathalie or the other waitress. "Be sure to wait for me and not go anywhere," Warren warned Harold. Since he was in such an immense amount of pain, he couldn't even defy Warren. He could only grit his teeth in anger and remorse. What came over him to offend someone like Warren. To make matters worse, it didn't seem like his men would wake up any time soon.

As long as he sat by my side. I shook away those thoughts, finally zoning in on him. Gunnar wore the complete opposite to Ace. Whereas Ace was dressed in casual white jeans and a black tee, Gunnar wore his black Armani suit, tailored to his build, and a black button-down — no tie, top buttons open. "What's going on here?" Gunnar's voice was soft but the tone made it difficult not to pay attention to him. "Wouldn't you like to know, brother..." Ace drawled.

There’s a tense moment of silence as Warren continues to stare my uncle down in some sort of Alpha display of aggression. “Alpha Warren, I am Alpha Arman, Alpha Cyra’s cousin. As we mentioned to Alpha Cyra, my father and I are here to make amends and to speak to Alpha Cyra.” “Apparently one of you has some good sense, then,” Warren says. It’s an obvious insult to Alpha Ramin and a threat. He won’t tolerate him hurting me again. My uncle growls at the threat, but Warren just continues to stare him down. Arman, however, gives his father a warning growl of his own, quieting my uncle.

"I am the God of Music, not just the Sun-and many other things." "Show off." Yet another voice joins the conversation, and I turn to see a girl standing with her arms crossed, an halfway amused smirk on her face. Her hair is dark, skillfully pulled into two tight French braids, and her eyes are a silvery-green color I've never seen before, hauntingly beautiful. Her skin is deeply tanned, like she spends a good amount of time in the sun, and she's short, only about 4'11, although she still looks like a fierce warrior. I can tell she has seen horrific things from the hardness in her expression, even when she doesn't look angry. "I am Artemis." She adds after a moment of silent observing. "Godd

“They have sent so many demands ahead of us that I fear the accords will be over before we arrive.” Warren smiled faintly. “Then we will make them wait.” Grayson looked at him, then at me, and for a moment I thought he might say something more. But he only shook his head, muttered something about politics, and went to check the packs. When he was gone, Warren crouched by the stream, letting the water run through his fingers. “It feels wrong,” he said quietly. “What does?” “To ride in peace. To see life return so easily.”