Black Moon Draw (18 page)

It’s solid, warm. I blink rapidly to focus and then close my eyes, hoping that helps clear my confusion.

“Naught but herbs to help calm her,” the Red Knight says.

My god I’m so tired.
Someone else responds, and I start to feel the sensation of floating.
Tomorrow morning is gonna be rough.

The Shadow Knight quelled every instinct of his body that wanted to behead the Red Knight where he stood. Carrying the unconscious battle-witch back to his chamber, he mentally tore the Red Knight to shreds. He began to realize his battle-witch could not be left alone. Ever. She did not know the danger that lurked in the hold and elsewhere in this world. It was pure chance that she was alive. The Red Knight, as lethal as he was gentlemanly, never hesitated to carry out a task for which he was hired.

It meant the Red Knight had an interest in the battle-witch, one the Shadow Knight knew nothing about, one he was unable to imagine. What was more important to his enemies than disabling his battle-witch?

Reaching the chamber, he nudged the door open with his hip and crossed to the bed. She was lucky she was not awake, or she’d receive a severe lecture about how foolish she was. How did she not know better? He was not in the habit of hauling vulnerable witches or warriors around, and he did not care for the way it slowed him down.

“Sire.”

“Out!”

The squire scrambled out of the chamber, closing the door before the Shadow Knight’s temper fell to him. The boy deserved a beating for leaving the battle-witch alone, even to fetch her food.

Setting her down, the Shadow Knight forced himself away. He had half a mind to shake her awake to tell her how foolish she was. Instead, he shook out his shoulders and removed the boar’s head, cloak, and weapons. Barring the door, he tugged off his boots then stood before the hearth, staring into it without seeing the dancing flames.

He knew why he was invited to this place. It was not for a meeting, another failed attempt to convince him to cease declaring war on the world, but to corner and disable his strongest weapon: the battle-witch.

They might be doing me a favor.
Darkly, he dwelled on how much trouble she was, how much her perfect body distracted him, and, worst of all, how inconsistently she performed in battle. If anyone was to dispatch her, it was going to be him.

He glanced towards the bed and his gaze lingered. The strange instinct was back, the sense that there was more to her. Aught he was missing. An unsettled turn of his stomach and the quickening of his heart.

He strode towards the bed, not liking any of the sensations going through him. In battle, he was accustomed to trusting his instincts. They kept him alive and several steps ahead of his enemies.

But the intuition that did him so well in battle was . . . addled. Unclear. Hesitant to judge the woman who was supposed to be something she was not. He had to protect her despite her foolishness. The possessive, protective instinct was new, one he never experienced towards a woman.

Turning away, he planted his hands on his hips and stared at the fire. By all rights, he should leave the hold.

He heard her stir and prepared to give her a tongue-lashing she would never forget.

“You die in the battle with Brown Sun Lake.”

His words stuck in his throat. The Shadow Knight faced her.

The battle-witch was sitting up, seated with her legs crossed beneath her. Her drunken gaze was on him, or rather, in his direction. She didn’t seem able to focus clearly and was rocking.

“What say you?” he demanded.

Her brow furrowed. “N. . . nothing.” The answer was slurred, unlike her previous words. “You can read my . . . mind.”

“Nonsense.”

“What did you think I was . . . said?” she asked.

“You said I died in the battle with Brown Sun Lake.”

“Exactly!” Excited, the battle-witch climbed off the bed. She took two steps then tripped and landed on her knees.

He watched her suspiciously.

Climbing to her feet, she took a deep breath and focused on his chin. Or maybe his neck. She was weaving. He doubted she knew where she looked. She clearly was not sure on her feet.

“Battle of Brown Sun Lake.” She pronounced the words carefully. “You die.”

“Your mind is not right.”

“Righter than yours!” she retorted. “You know what else? The Red Knight threatened to kill me, and if he decides not to, it’s because he wants me to take him back to my home world so he can find the person who sent me here. Like that’s even
possible.
He’s not real!”

“Not this again. Woman, if you-”

“No!
You
listen! I am so sick of being ignored or put down when I know I’m right! I am from a different world and in that world, you aren’t real and you die in battle!” She started forward and tripped.

The Shadow Knight caught her this time, and she leaned into him, her soft body melting against his despite her anger. He wrapped both arms around her, plagued by the compulsion to do more than hold her steady. It took great will to keep his hands from roaming her body. “You make no sense,” he snapped.

“I make
perfect
sense.” She tossed her head back to glare at him. “
You
wear a boar head and refuse to marry your betrothed!”

Failing to see how that was an insult or sign of his nonsense, the Shadow Knight pulled the necklace from her bodice with his other hand.

“You are drunk, but you are not blind,” he growled. “You see this?”

She grabbed at the medallion, missed then tried again. “Yes.”

“It means you are mine.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head solemnly. “The Red Knight said . . . you don’t want me. Or you’d have ritual.
Done
the ritual. And you have a princess.”

The Shadow Knight almost released her. She wasn’t steady enough on her feet. He was so, so tempted to let her take her chances. That the Red Knight put this foolishness into her head was not helping.

“What ritual?” she asked, puzzled gaze going from the medallion to his face again.

The Shadow Knight relaxed. There was no ritual between a knight and his witch. It had been a ploy by the Red Knight, one she fell for. “He may be right. I may not keep you.”

“You can’t sell me.” Her tone took on a plaintive note, her features falling into sorrow.

“You are a terrible battle-witch,” he replied.

“I’m not a virgin either.”

He froze. “What?” His body responded in a way he couldn’t control. Heat unfurled in his lower belly and spread outward quickly. He’d purposely tried not to notice the flush of her cheeks that made her eyes sparkle, or the way her shapely body molded against his. Unaccustomed to restraint, he’d been moderately proud of himself for not acting on how enchanting his witch was.

“Not for three years. Maybe that’s why.” Sagging against him, the battle-witch planted her forehead in his shoulder. “I need brownies.”

Her nonsense was straining his patience. “I have seen you use your magic.”

“Maybe all those witches lied to you.”

The Shadow Knight took her shoulders and pushed her away from him, seeking her eyes. She gazed up at him, a combination of lost and confused.

But she was not lying. The soft skin, perfect curves, and spirited woman before him retained her magic despite not being pure.

“You jest,” he said, thoughts flying to a little known line in the legends about his family, a mad, prophetic mumbling that made no sense until now. Only one other battle-witch was rumored to have maintained her magic after losing her purity.

It is not possible.
He had fancifully entertained the idea the woman who bore the name from legend was destined for a similar fate: to become a warrior queen.

But he had not considered it truly possible. The day his war was over, he retired the battle-witch or the gods returned her to her home. The idea his hands didn’t have to stop the next time they met her bare skin . . .

“It
is
possible.” She rolled her eyes at him with a noisy sigh. “I’ll show you.” The battle-witch took his cheeks in her hand and pulled his face to hers, kissing him.

Rarely did anyone catch the Shadow Knight by surprise, but his witch had a way about her that left him . . . leery. His guard was down with the drunken wreck of a woman in his arms, and the kiss was the last act he expected of the woman that was either frightened of him or angry.

As with any woman, he instinctively responded. She was drunk, but her kiss was deep, firm.

Hungry.

She tasted of wine and what herbs the Red Knight used on her, her velvety tongue and the warm, moist depths of her mouth inciting his imagination to consider how the depths between her legs would feel. Desire flared to life within him, fire making him more sensitive to her womanly musk and the petal softness of her skin.

Suddenly, she sagged in his arms, unconscious.

He lifted his head, not expecting his body to respond to her the way it did. His thoughts were spinning, his body fevered. Was this part of her magic? To seduce a man? For he had not felt this besotted from one kiss ever.

One of his hands went to his loins, where his arousal strained against his breeches. Thus far, his man parts had not fallen off.

Maybe all those witches lied to you.
He had never directly asked a witch if she were pure; it was a fact for every witch but the great warrior queen of Black Moon Draw. This witch claimed not to be and even more vexing, had kissed him expertly and left his manhood intact.

Bewildered by what passed, the Shadow Knight stooped to pick her up. She was unconscious, breathing deeply, her lips reddened from the kiss.

She did not kiss like a woman who had never been touched.

He set her down on the bed and straightened, gaze lingering on the rise and fall of her chest and her perfect, large breasts.

Taking a step back, the Shadow Knight battled internally for a long moment, torn between the desire in his body and the reeling of his mind. If what she said was true, that she retained her magic despite not being pure, she was not the kind of witch he was accustomed to. She was different, like the warrior queen from long ago, destined for a fate he had not considered.

She belonged to him and his kingdom, to rule at the side of her knight, the way the great warrior queen who died a thousand years had.

Yet he was in no position to claim her outright, not with his betrothed ensuring the cooperation of the Red Knight, ruler of one of the two remaining kingdoms he needed to subdue.

Her claim about his death at Brown Sun Lake rang clear in his mind.

Nowhere in the legend did it say he died before the end of the era.

Nowhere in the legend was there a battle-witch that did not go to battle, either.

The last of his line, he had no one to ask about these terribly timed mysteries and no ally whose word he would trust. He had relied on his battle-witches, master-at-arms, and instincts since beginning his journey to reclaim what was rightly his.

With his thoughts in rare turmoil and his battle-witch most helpful when passed out, he had only one place to turn: to the man who helped raised him and served loyally at his side.

The Shadow Knight dressed in jerky movements, replaced his weapons and boar’s head, and sought out his master-at-arms for an overdue discussion about the battle-witch he had found.

The battle-witch was running hard through the forest towards the clearing she glimpsed ahead. Branches snagged at her purple dress and whipped her exposed skin, leaving angry red lines across her cheeks and forearms. Her lungs burned and her legs were heavy, but she continued to fly at the quick pace, the warning scrolling across her hand driving her to hasten her step even more.

The medallion beating against her chest with each step was made as a sign of the love and trust of the Shadow Knight, embedding the magic of Black Moon Draw into it and entrusting her with the protection of his kingdom. She grasped it with one hand and felt her power swell.

She broke out of the dense forest and stopped to suck in a deep breath, eyes taking in the battlefield before her. The Shadow Knight’s armies were defeated, nearly everyone dead, while the Desert Knight of Brown Sun Lake stood at the center of the last battle.

The Shadow Knight knelt before him in defeat, his warrior’s body shaking from blood loss and his proud boar’s head bent in sorrow.

Her heart broke for him and guilt tore through her. It was, after all, her fault the battle had been lost. She’d tempted him in a way no other battle-witch ever had. On the night before certain triumph, they both surrendered to their desires for one another instead of making preparations the way they normally did. They whispered the vow of eternal bonding as they made love and exchanged names, the most sacred act between a man and woman in a world where a name gave someone else great power.

At dawn, he was gone, and the message of his death began scrolling across her palm. She initially did not understand how it was possible, since she had gifted him her purity. But soon, it became unimportant why her gift worked when it should not. What mattered: saving the man she loved from certain death.

As she watched, the Desert Knight raised his massive sword.

She ran, a scream tearing free from her throat.

The sword dropped, and with it, the head of the Shadow Knight.

The battle-witch didn’t stop running, even when the warriors of Brown Sun Lake rushed to intercept her, not when they fell beneath her power and lay writhing in agony from her magic.

She stopped over the body of her dead lover and husband, tears burning down her cheeks. The battle-witch whipped off the magic medallion and held it up for everyone to see. Summoning her magic for one last spell, she turned her gaze to the Desert Knight, who stood ready to take her head next.