Vivian #3
“Why? The field won’t let in anything that wants to kill me,” I mumbled to myself as I followed him.
What would really be safer is if he took the crystal and left me behind, but Theo clearly didn’t think so.
This guy had a lot of “should”s floating around in that big head of his.
As if everything was so black and white—right and wrong.
I shouldn’t tell people about my demigoddess-ness.
I shouldn’t go to town. Or criticize myself.
Or be without my crystal. Did he hold himself to these same standards?
I watched the white scars marking his shoulders as he walked ahead of me.
Maybe the answer to his weird caution was there.
They branched out from the torn armholes of his shirt, the lines getting thicker and angrier as they disappeared under the fabric.
Look at what this planet had done to him, a male practically twice my size.
My mind wandered back to my dad. “You want to run away? You would trade your toys, bed, and playroom to be a street rat? The world would eat you alive, princess.” Little did he know what world I’d be up against.
I wasn’t helpless, though. I had managed to avoid trouble in the city by making good decisions—sticking to well-lit streets and populated areas.
I was confident in my street smarts, but this world was different. It was primal. Predatory. I was getting by here, but, the more injuries I discovered on the canvas of Theo’s body, the more I second-guessed my survival skills. What had done that to him?
Crack.
The first axe blow to a nearby tree sent wood splinters exploding outward in every direction.
I watched in fascination as Theo struck the notch he’d made with practiced accuracy repeatedly, bringing down one of the younger—more manageable—pines in only a few minutes of work. Sure, the tree wasn’t quite as massive as the others, but it was still as wide as my waist. I was impressed.
“Can I try?” I asked once the rustling of branches had ended with one loud thud onto the ground.
He looked over his shoulder. “Sure. Show me what you got.”
He held the dull end of the axe blade and passed me the handle. My torso fell forward at the unexpected weight of the tool. Were axes on Earth this heavy? I flexed my back and abs to correct my posture and held my head high.
It took me a moment to find a comparable pine—going with anything larger than what he’d just taken down would be stupid, and anything smaller made me feel weak. I could take down a damn tree. This was my house and I wanted to help build it!
I lugged the axe over my shoulder, taking in a deep breath and exhaling as I swung.
Thud. The blade barely sunk into the wood.
My shoulder stung as the momentum was absorbed into the joint, instead of the tree.
Frustrated, I yanked the tool free and tried again.
Nope. I didn’t need to be as strong as this five hundred pound four-armed block of man, but couldn’t I at least make a dent? !
“Try cutting at a downward angle,” Theo’s voice came from much closer behind me than I expected.
His hands swallowed mine whole, his palms rough. It felt like more than callouses; they were practically ribbed. Were those scars, too? The texture wasn’t quite scar-like. It was like fingerprints on steroids.
He directed my hold into a new position and guided the tool slowly down to the tree and back—showing me the path I should be swinging.
Honestly, it was kind of giving teenage boyfriend at a mini golf course. I fought a laugh as I realized this was the closest thing to a stereotypical date I’d ever had… in alien woods with the sounds of hungry phantom animals in the background. Eerie. Beautifully strange.
I guess I belonged here more than “Pirate Cove Golf and Arcade”. And if someone was going to wrap their arms around me and show me proper form, why not a man with four arms, horns, and countless scars decorating his tattooed skin?
Crack.
The axe split into the tree, ripping out a sizable wedge when I twisted it.
“We’ll make a forester out of you yet, darling,” Theo said, lips far too close to my ear. Something in my lower belly tightened.
“Here, you’re faster,” I said, holding the axe back out to him and trying to ignore the horny butterflies that flooded my stomach. Suddenly, I wasn’t so interested in mastering a new skill.
I leaned on the trunk to the left, watching his shoulder muscles bulge with every swing under the layer of softness that coated them. This wasn’t a man who went to the gym. This was functional strength and lots of calories combining to make a goddamn force of nature.
Where the fuck did this dude come from? And why was I suddenly considering if tattooed lumberjack was my type?
Sweet tattooed lumberjack. Who shared his dinner with my cat and offered to help me improve my life and the life of my friend.
A lumberjack who got up at the crack of dawn to chop me firewood.
I really needed to look away, because if I didn’t stop staring at him now, I never would.