Legendary Warrior (Warrior 1)

She closed her eyes for a moment and could almost hear the painful screams, the pleas of mercy and the smell of blood and burning flesh.

How could a man inflict such pain on another?

Magnus shoved the torch in the wall sconce and walked up behind her. “Survival has its horrors.”

“Nay,” Reena said, a tear in her eye. “There is no excuse for man’s inhumanity to man.”

“Life needs defending at times.”

“Defending, aye.” She pointed to the various torture devices. “But this is not defending, this is pure horror to humanity. And I will record every speck of it.”

She set to work drawing and examining the room in detail so that her recording of this horror prison would be exact. When an hour had passed, Magnus said, “Enough.”

“I am almost done.” Her hand had not stopped sketching and did not slow down.

“You are done.” He stilled her hand with his. “No more, Reena.”

She glared at him. “I will finish here, and then I will sketch something of beauty to rid me of this horror.”

“Will you be able to recognize beauty after viewing horror?”

Her answer came easily. “Aye, I see beauty every day when I look upon your face.”

Magnus stepped closer to her, his hands going to her waist. “You find beauty in the Legend? Some would think you insane.”

Her hand dropped to the side, holding on to her piece of charcoal and drawing paper. “They do not know the Legend as I do.”

He moved closer. “You know not the Legend, nor do you want to.”

She looked in his dark eyes and how they glistened with light from the flaming torches. Light and darkness. Two men in one. “I know he is a fair man.”

His laugh was haunting. “Fair? I have seen men tortured—” His silence was sudden, as if he thought better of his words.

She wanted to know more, though her legs trembled. He wore no iron helmet now, but it was the Legend who stood in front of her and who rested his strong hands on her hips.

She found the courage to ask. “Was it difficult to watch?”

His answer sent a cold shiver down her spine. “I was the one who ordered the torture.”

This was the Legend, the fearless man who instilled fear in his foe and friend alike. And this was the man she worried that she might be falling in love with? Perhaps she was insane.

His hands tightened at her waist. “You know me not, Reena.”

“I would like to know you and understand you, and I will begin by drawing you.”

“You still see beauty in me?” He seemed surprised.

She touched his cheek. He had inflicted suffering, but had suffering been inflicted on him? “I see beauty and much more.” She traced a finger over his cheekbone. “Pride is obvious.”

His fine lips quivered in laughter, though it turned to a smile.

She squeezed his chin. “Stubbornness.”

“Strength,” he argued on a laugh.

She corrected him with a gentle brush of her finger across his forehead. “Strength.” She moved to the corners of his eyes. “Insight.” Her finger trailed down to his mouth and slowly traced his lips. “Humor, honesty, gentleness and . . .”

Actions, she decided, would say more than words. She stood on her toes and slowly brushed her lips across his. She traced his lips with her wet tongue and kissed him again. She nipped at his lower lips and kissed him again.

In an instant he pulled her to him, her paper and charcoal falling out of her hand and her arms rushing around his neck. They locked in a fiery kiss, their surroundings ignored, their need a force of raging desire that made them prisoners of passion.

His mouth moved down to claim her neck, and she turned her head, giving him free rein. She gave him mere seconds to enjoy, then returned to claim more kisses from him, hungry for the taste of him.

He stopped her, cupping her face in his hands. “This is not the place for this. I want to kiss you in the sunlight, where I can see the beauty of your face, not in the dark recesses of a room that knew only suffering.”

He retrieved her drawings from the ground, handed them to her, and lifted the torch from the sconce. “Let us find a place of light—my solar.”

Magnus followed Reena from the room, her lips alive with the taste of him and aching to taste more. It seemed the more she kissed him, the more she wanted to kiss him. And she did not even attempt to dissuade or reason with herself.

Was this nonsensical feeling love?

Or was it foolishness?

Either way she was in trouble, for at the moment she did not care—another effect of love, or foolishness?

And what of the consequences when they entered his solar?

What did he expect from her? What did she expect from herself? Was she ready to face the consequences of her actions? Did she not remember her own intentions? She wished to love and be loved when she chose to share intimacy with a man. No mention of love had passed between them. It was pure passion, nothing more. Is this what she wished for?