The Darkest Touch

“Smart. You’ll stay warm during the next snowfall.”

She stomped her foot. “My inability to rile you is maddening.”

“I’ll yell at you if it’ll make you feel better.” Hell, it might make him feel better, too.

She perked up, saying, “That would be extremely helpful, thank you.”

He thought for a moment, shouted, “How dare you bare your arms in public! You’re damn right it makes you a tease. It gives a man ideas. Makes him think you’re good at carrying heavy boxes—which just happens to be his job! It’s humiliating is what it is.”

She laughed, and her breasts jiggled. Breasts he’d held in his hands. Her nipples were hard, probably aching, needing to be pinched and sucked.

Turn away! Now!

He didn’t. Couldn’t.

Keeley’s laughter died, and quiet settled over them.

“Torin,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, and when she licked her lips, he forced himself to say it again. “No.”

A twig snapped, signaling an end to their solitude.

Thank God. Torin palmed one of the blades he’d managed to dig from the cabin’s rubble.

“Hide behind that rock.” He scanned the forest, trying to ferret out any clue about their unwelcome guest. Or guests. Human, animal, or giant? Or a combination of all three?

Keeley glanced at the rock in question and scowled. “The Red Queen does not hide.”

“She does when she’s not wearing gloves. Don’t forget, you’re a carrier. Besides, you’ve been ill. You need to conserve your energy. And what if your emotions get the better of you? It’ll probably be best if we don’t destroy the entire realm while we’re still in it.”

Her scowl darkened.

Since the ground wasn’t vibrating in time with the incoming footsteps, he doubted the visitor was a giant. As long as the creature meant Keeley no harm, it would walk away. One wrong move, in word or deed, however, and that would change.

Keeley sighed and trudged toward the safety zone. “Fine. Whatever. I’m in too good a mood to argue.”

Really? “This is a good mood?” The sun wasn’t exactly shining brightly.

She tripped over a vine—no, not a vine. A booby trap. Very much like the one Torin had rigged in the other realm. The ensuing click and whoosh gave it away. As she landed on her knees, a spear shot from a hole in a tree. Destination: her heart.

“No!” Torin dove in her direction.

She caught the weapon by the hilt before it could sink inside her chest—or his.

He rolled at impact and popped to his feet, his relief short-lived. Two humans burst from the foliage. His mind shot out facts like bullets. Males. Primitive. Each wore a loincloth and held one of those man-made spears. Probably the humans the giants like to hunt.

The one on the right spotted Keeley and lifted his spear, preparing to throw it.

Enemy.

Once again, Torin didn’t waste time with negotiations. He simply tossed his blade; it sliced through the male’s throat, blood spurting out as he tumbled to his knees, then to his face, his weapon useless.

The other man—let’s call him Tarzan—scowled and lifted his own spear.

Torin palmed another blade. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“Oh, goody.” Keeley jumped up and clapped, a ray of sunshine suddenly spotlighting her. “Two sexy warriors battling to the death. This is so much better than the spider fight. You’ve got my stamp of approval, Torin. Carry on.”

Tarzan’s dark eyes widened with a little shock and a lot of hatred. “You,” he gasped out. “We’d heard you were back, but I thought the rumors were unfounded, that you would never dare return.”

“Me?” She looked behind her before tapping her chest. “I think you have the wrong girl.”

“As if you could be forgotten. You nearly destroyed my entire village, ripping out all of our sacred trees by the root—in a single blink—and pummeling the entire clan with them.”

“Did I? Well, I’m sure I had good reason.” She tapped her chin, thoughtful. “But I’m having trouble locating the memory. Perhaps this is another casualty of the Time Out box.”

Torin kept his attention on Tarzan and his blade at the ready.

“Oh, I know!” Keeley said. “Your people habitually throw children into pits of fire as a sacrifice to your gods.” Her eyes narrowed as the tree beside her shot out of the ground and hovered in the air. “I have a big problem with that.”

“And I have a problem with you.” Tarzan raced toward her, a lethal missile. Midway, she batted the tree at him. He was ready for the attack and ducked, going under the trunk—and then he just kept coming.

Torin tossed the knife, nailing the guy in the chest—no, the back. The warrior moved faster than expected...and slammed into Keeley, knocking her down, pinning her to the ground and wrapping his hands around her neck, skin-to-skin.

A dark haze fell over Torin, a savage roar bursting from deep in his throat. He threw himself at the guy, ripping him away from Keeley. They hit the ground and rolled, Tarzan taking the brunt of impact. The moment they stopped moving, Torin sat up and whaled. The guy’s nose broke. His lip shredded, and his teeth popped out. His jaw snapped out of place.

“You don’t touch the queen ever.”

Tarzan’s eyes closed, the rest of him going lax. His head lolled to the side.

Torin did not let up. The Red Queen was his. His alone. No one else’s hands would ever make contact with her. He would die first.