Warren Peace Novels & Stories

POV Warren The camera flashes fired like artillery rounds, but for the first time in months, I would rather not take cover. I bathed in them. Every shutter click composed a note in the symphony of my triumph—evidence that the Warren West the world saw humiliated at the altar by Amy Romano was dead. In his place stood a man reborn, clad in an impeccably tailored suit and accompanied by a bride who, though merely a consolation prize to fools, served as my Trojan Horse into the empire that was mine by right.

Then, Quinn’s voice rang through the hall. “It should be someone who has already proven that peace is possible. Someone who has fought, not to destroy, but to rebuild.” And then, all eyes turned to me. I blinked. “What?” Wesley smirked. “Alli, come on. You’re the one who put an end to the war two years ago. You’re the one who proposed that Outworlders should finally unite.” River’s voice was casual, yet firm. “No one embodies peace better than you. You use your power not for destruction, but to stop it.”

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?”