Warrior Academy Book Two
Her grandfather kidnapped.
An ancient instrument of death in her hands.
A warrior from the past determined to stop her.
When sixteen-year-old Aria York loses her parents, she thinks nothing worse can happen. Then her grandfather is kidnapped by a mysterious cult and she is hunted by those willing to kill to get the infamous trumpet of war in her possession.
When Aria plays the magical instrument, she forgets her grief as triumph, greed and anger flow through her veins. When her actions cause chaos to erupt in San Francisco, she must join forces with a tortured warrior who comes from the past.
Warrior Falcon knows the legendary trumpet could engulf the world in war. His orders are to retrieve it at any cost. But the deal he makes with Aria to help rescue her grandfather endangers his quest to save the future and jeopardizes his heart.
Aria wants to trust Falcon but knows something even bigger is at stake: A secret so powerful it could destroy everything. As each precious hour passes, she’s forced to ask: Is she playing the trumpet or is the trumpet playing her?
“Warrior’s Chaos is spellbinding, dark and furious as the chaos is unleashed and felt throughout. Fascinating reading with touches of myth, history, legends and more. Did I mention the magic of romance?”—Dii, Top 500 reviewer (Originally published as Tut’s Trumpet)
Other books in the series: Warrior’s Destiny, Warrior’s Prophecy, Warrior’s Curse
Agony rocketed through Falcon’s head.The girl had smashed a guitar into his skull. The guitar had smashed into pieces. The strings plunking. The sound cringeworthy.
The smarting sting wasn’t as bad as the agonizing pain she’d caused him earlier, pain lasting for hours while she’d played Tut’s trumpet of war. Falcon should’ve crept into the house then, ripped the trumpet out of her mouth, and broken the bronze instrument over his knees. That wouldn’t solve his problem though. A problem she’d now inherit.
The cursed girl pushed against his chest. Her touch caused a raw intensity to rip through him, burning his skin and paralyzing his body for a second. He gasped. The unexpectedness of the torture reminded him of his past life.
She paused and glanced at her hands with wide, scared eyes. Then, stared at him. She’d felt the power and the punishment, too.
The punishment for playing the instrument of a god and a king.
Their gazes connected and he forgot his past of mayhem and murder. He forgot his future and his goal. All his thoughts centered on this present, this moment in time, this shared look. His soul locked onto hers. His heart beat in simpatico. His mind whirred with what ifs.
Her short, blonde hair flipped to one side, almost appearing boyish. Her heart shaped face featured classically full lips, a straight nose, and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Blue like the Nile River he remembered from home.
She looked away, breaking the trance, glanced past his shoulder, toward the door. Dodging around him, she ran.
He leapt, wrapping a hand around her skinny leg and yanking her down. The pain crashed into him again. He refused to let go. He couldn’t let her touch the trumpet again. Her body slammed into the floor and he winced, not wanting to hurt her. He didn’t blame her for torturing him just by contact. She didn’t realize the elements of the trumpet’s power.
Her fingers dug into the carpet and she tried to claw her way out of the room.
Rotating her body to face up, he pulled on her leg, and her body slid across the floor toward him as if she wore silk instead of jeans and a sweater. Some of Tut’s magical powers might reside inside, but she wasn’t as strong as him and his combined strength.
She kicked, trying to get her leg free, and her foot connected with his cheek. An ache shot through his jaw.
“Ugh.” Frustration pulled taut and knotted inside him. “Aria, stop. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her kicking stopped, for a second, and then she kicked with more strength, probably angry he knew her name. In ancient Egypt, knowing a person’s true name was akin to having power over them. He wished it were so in the modern era.
He grabbed the ankle of her kicking leg, bracing himself for more discomfort. Using her legs similar to a rope, he put one hand on top of the other, pulling her underneath him and pinning her down with his body. The pain should’ve been worse. Instead, electricity shocked him, and hot tingles spread across his skin.
She continued to jerk both legs and twist her body beneath his, trying to fight him off. “Ahh!”
Her scream pierced his eardrums and he cringed, lying on top of her wriggling form. His legs covered her legs and he held her two wrists together with a fist. She wiggled and squirmed beneath him. Her rosewater scent infiltrated his senses. Not an attack, but a way to damage his defenses.
Her motions increased the torturous pain and made him uncomfortable in a purely male way. After a thousand years of being a stone statue, these new sensations awakened him from a self-imposed sensual prison. A prison he wasn’t ready to be released from. “Aria, listen to me.”
Her movements froze. “How do you know my name?”
“Really? That’s your most important question?” He teased, trying to woo her into submission.
She bucked like a bronco once. Twice. “What do you want?” She spoke through gritted teeth.
He held her arms above her head and stared at her pouting lips. Stared at her smooth skin, and the long line of her naked neck. Frustration connected with desire, battling for dominance. “Tut’s trumpet.”
“Join the chorus.”
“It’s a musical twist to the expression join the club, meaning everyone wants the trumpet.” Her eyes narrowed, and she studied him. “Did you kidnap my grandfather?”
“No.” He tightened his jaw knowing she wouldn’t believe him. She had no reason to. “The Society of Aten kidnapped Professor York. They contacted you, right?”
“Someone called and said they had Grandfather and they wanted the trumpet. Who is this society?”
“For now, they want the trumpet. They haven’t realized you played Tut’s bronze trumpet.”
Her jaw dropped open, making her mouth more tempting. “How do you know?”
“If I get off of you, will you promise not to run?” His body twitched, fighting off the aching misery. And other things. He really didn’t want to stay in this position for several reasons. “I’ll explain everything.”
She jerked her head down in a slow nod, thinking before agreeing.
He didn’t trust the nod or her sudden blank expression, but he’d made a deal. He scooted off her and got to his knees. Standing, he held his hand out, even though the continued touch would hurt.
She rolled away, closer to the bed. Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed the light off the nightstand and yanked the cord out of the socket. She swung the lamp toward him.
Shaking his head, he didn’t panic or duck. He should’ve guessed she would lie. People in the modern era lied a lot, except for his band of Warriors. Casually, he put his hand out, blocking the lamp’s momentum. The lamp stopped in his palm. “You promised.”
Her eyes went wide. She let go of the lamp and veered toward the door. Another move that would get her nowhere and only increased the speed of the blood pumping through his bloodstream. He was done being nice.
Without letting go of the lamp, he grabbed her upper arm with one hand and yanked her back. Using his super strength, he guided her toward the fourposter bed and forced her to sit. He reined in his temper. “I only want to talk.”
“Why would I trust you?” Her face scrunched in a nasty expression. Fear throbbed off her skin in a wave of warmth, heating him even more.
Fighting against her weak struggles, he tied her hands to the post with the lamp’s cord. “Sorry. Now maybe you’ll listen.”
He wasn’t feeling very polite, but he thought being nice might make her listen.
“You break into the house, accost me—”
“You attacked me with a guitar.” So much for her listening.
“Tie me up and probably kidnapped my grandfather.” She jerked on the cord.
“I don’t have your grandfather.” He hadn’t made the best knot so he hoped they could get this discussion over quickly and he could get away from her exasperating and tempting company. “The Society of Aten has your grandfather. I recognized them in the black car.”
Her eyebrows arched so high he thought they’d top the Golden Gate Bridge. “You’re claiming you’re the good guy, yet you didn’t stop an old man from being kidnapped.”
“Not my assignment.” He crossed his arms against his chest.
“What was your assignment? Kidnapping me?” She kept shifting, accusing and verbally insulting.
Using his past memories to shore up his physical defenses, everything inside him hardened. He had a job to do. He couldn’t worry about her feelings or her future. He needed to get ahold of the instrument.
“Retrieval of the bronze trumpet is my assignment.” He used a terse tone to spell out exactly why he was there. It was simple. “And if you’ll tell me where the bronze trumpet is, I’ll be on my way.”