Black Moon Draw (2 page)

“Not tonight,” he said in his low, deep growl. “I need a new battle-witch.”

“And you think to find one here?” His most trusted advisor, the man who trained his armies, drew abreast of him. He wore the head of a wolf, the silver eyes and sharp fangs gleaming in the night.

“In my dreams, this is where she appears.” There were no sounds other than those he expected to hear, no unusual scents picked up by his sensitive boar’s nose.

“Perhaps the Red Knight of White Tree Sound has her.” His master-at-arms eyed the restless men belonging to the neighboring kingdom.

“No. She has not come yet.”

“From where do you expect this battle-witch to come?”

“From the edge of the world.” The Shadow Knight flipped a dagger in his hand, caught it, and sheathed it once more. “Come. She is not here.”

“Did these dreams say when she would come?”

“Dreams are like shadows. Even I cannot capture them fully,” the Shadow Knight replied. He pulled himself effortlessly onto his massive steed with one arm.

“Except the one about your battle-witch.” His second mounted his horse as well.

“’
Tis how I know it’s different. She will be here.” His gaze lingered on the bridge. “’Tis my destiny to reclaim the lands lost by my bloodline before this era ends.”

“We have less than a fortnight.”

“She will come,” he said, resolute.

“I know the value of a good battle-witch. We can post a sentry, if it pleases you.”

“Aye. A dead battle-witch does me no good.” The Shadow Knight pulled off the Heart of Black Moon Draw – a medallion carved from a rare, black gem and containing the magic of the kingdom – from around his head and tossed it to his master-at-arms. “Instruct our scout to claim her on my behalf.”

“Aye, sire.”

The Shadow Knight wheeled his horse to face the forest. Squeezing his calves against its belly, he raced into the trees, towards the army preparing for tomorrow’s battle.

Oh, god. My head!

I’m afraid to move, knowing once I do, the world’s worst hangover will kick my ass. The dull, brain deep throb is already there, waiting to explode when I try to stand. Instead, I listen for the familiar sounds of my apartment in the morning: the neighbor’s annoying alarm, the honking of traffic, shuffling of people down the hallway as they leave for work . . .

. . . the gurgle of a stream?

I smell flowers that aren’t anything like the vanilla plugins in my bedroom, and something is tickling the sensitive inside of my forearm.

Spiders!

Only such an irrational fear could make me snap up into a sitting position without considering my head.

I groan, gripping it.

I blink, trying to focus, to see my bedroom wall instead of the dead forest where the wall should be. Squeezing my eyes closed, I open them again. My hands drop to my sides and I stare.

The trees are still present, their bare, sagging branches rattling in a cool morning breeze that makes me shiver. Wildflowers litter the grassy area around me, dancing in the wind. Fog clings to the branches of trees and covers the sky.

I slap my cheek lightly to make sure I’m not stuck in a dream. This . . . place certainly seems real. The source of the gurgling is a wide stream whose banks are connected by a graceful, arching stone and wooden bridge. It feels like morning, but is gray out, like the period of graininess between sunset and night.

Where the hell am I?
I could have drunk myself to death and maybe the bridge leads to heaven.

Do people in heaven get hangovers?

My head hurts too badly for me to freak out. It’s definitely a fitting ending to my week. I’m wearing my pretty purple dress, my feet bare, and dark hair hanging around my shoulders. At least I left the earth dressed decently.

“Oh, my poor mom!” Deep sorrow is building within me at the thought of not saying farewell to my mother and I shift onto my knees. Branches snap from somewhere across the bridge. I concentrate on controlling the headache. My stomach hurts and body aches, like I spent the night in some awkward position sprawled across the couch watching my favorite movies.

“Are you the witch?” The male voice makes me jerk.

I face him – and scream. Crouched ten feet from me is a creature with a man’s body and a panther’s head whose golden eyes are watching me like he’s hungry. The unholy combination of man and beast is terrifying.

“Stay away from me!” I shout.

Maybe this isn’t heaven.
I stagger to my feet, smash to my knees, and then stumble up again.

I fling my arms out to either side to help me balance. The ground isn’t moving, but it feels like it is. When my head stops spinning, and I’m fairly confident I won’t fall, I look again at the half-man . . . thing. He’s dressed in brown leather leggings and a long shirt cinched at his waist by a thick belt. A sword dangles from the belt.

From the neck down, he’s a man in every way I can see, from his very human hands and fingers to normal shaped feet in boots.

But his head . . .

“What
are
you?” I ask.

He’s watching me closely with his round panther eyes, his jaw open in a noiseless pant. He hasn’t moved out of his crouch, as if he’s trying to figure me out the way I am him. “You are from the edge of the world?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not from here.” I gaze around in confusion. “This isn’t heaven, is it?”

He laughs, a strange, half-growl, half-guffaw.

I take a step back.

“Black Moon Draw has never been mistaken for heaven,” he replies.

Black Moon Draw?

“Oy!” someone shouts from the bridge.

I turn, gripping my head again at the sudden movement. A man – a
normal
man – is standing in similar clothing in the middle of the bridge. His tunic is white and bears the symbol of a tree on it.

“Will you be claiming that witch?” he calls to the man with the panther head. He has a Cockney accent I have trouble understanding.

“She’s on our land!” The panther-man snarls, standing. “You would be wise to heed my warning. If you cross that bridge, none of the gods will stand between you and my master!”

The other guy is hanging out in the middle of the bridge. It’s clear he’s not going to cross it and I don’t blame him one bit.

“Did you say Black Moon Draw?” I ask the panther-man.

“Aye.” He glances at me then returns his golden glare to the man with the tree on his shirt.

“No, really. Black Moon Draw?”

“Aye.”

“Terrifying, isn’t it?” the man on the bridge calls. “White Tree Sound is at peace and ruled by a man nothing like the beast of Black Moon Draw.”

“My master is not a beast!” Panther-man retorts.

My ears are buzzing and I’m starting to think I either didn’t wake up or I woke up in hell.

“Is your master the Shadow Knight?” I ask. “The one with a boar’s head who knows no mercy and chops off the heads of pretty much everyone he meets?”

“Aye.” Panther-man says with a hint of pride.

“He’ll deflower and kill you. Come to us and we will treat you well. Our last battle-witch was made a lady and died of old age,” the man on the bridge yells.

At least, I think that’s what he says. His accent is heavy enough I’m filling in some of the words.

Black Moon Draw. Shadow Knight. Battle-witch.

I rack my brain. There must be a reasonable explanation for what’s going on. Perhaps I didn’t wake up from a weird dream? Or did my misery turn into an all-out break with reality?

It’s all I can think of. I can’t remember most of last night after cracking open a second bottle of wine. This place certainly seems real, from the cool mist settling into the trees to the freak show beside me.

But it
can’t
be real. If I were going to be dropped into a book, it’d be
Pride and Prejudice
or, better yet,
Fifty Shades of Grey
, both of which contain civilized worlds with Heroes who only need their Heroines to make their lives complete. From what I read, this nightmarish world is plagued by death and war. Why would I be here of all places?

The two are arguing. I’m having difficulty making out their words and more trouble standing. I sink onto the ground and stare, dazed, confused, horrified. There’s a tiny voice in my head telling me that if I thought my life was bad before, it just got a helluva lot worse.

Panther-man clasps my shoulder and kneels before me.

I blink his animal face into focus and recoil.

“I claim you in the name of the Shadow Knight of Black Moon Draw. Do not cross Blue Star Bridge. They will deflower and kill you.” He places something heavy and cold in my hand. “This will grant you safe passage through our kingdom, should you need it. I will not be gone long.” He stands and leaves.

It takes me a minute before the sensation of wanting to faint passes. I’m clutching a black jade or obsidian medallion with strange carvings strung on a thick, worn piece of leather. Studying it, I’m trying not to be weirded out by how heavy and real it feels, as if this whole place isn’t a flimsy dream that’ll dissipate soon.

How
can this be real? I’m perfectly sane, or thought I was. Psychosis brought on by mental trauma sounds more likely than I’m stuck in a
book.

“M’lady.” Another voice calls from the bridge.

Looking up, my gaze lingers.

Wow.
Dressed in a rich red cloak lined with fur, the brunet man on the bridge has the chiseled features of a model. He’s smiling, a perfect, white, even grin, that renders him boyish, charming.

“I’m the Red Knight of White Tree Sound. I rule all of this.” He motions to the forest beyond the bridge. “I would like to invite you into my lands and home.”

I really hope Prince Charming has a castle.
It figures I have to go to a fictional world to find the perfect man.

“I think I’ll stay here,” I reply. “In case I can go home.”

His eyebrows lift. “Home is Black Moon Draw?”

“Oh, god, no. Never. From what I know of that place, it’s hell.”

His brow is furrowed.

I swallow hard. I’m not going to cry, at least, not until I’m fully convinced this isn’t a dream or psychotic break.

“I would encourage you to cross the bridge,” he says. “Before the Shadow Knight comes to claim you. We are in need of a battle-witch. You will be safe and protected.”

“Battle-witch?” I’m thinking hard through my headache to recall what LF wrote about the mysterious women that the warriors of this world believed could predict and influence the outcome of battles.

“Every knight-ruler in the realm has heard of your coming. The last great battle-witch,” he replies. “Come. We have food and clothing to warm you.”

It’s kind of hard to say no. Jason definitely wasn’t a looker and I’ve never had a man this handsome give me the time of day. While I know nothing of his little kingdom, I do know that I don’t want to be here when the violent Shadow Knight shows up.

Getting to my feet, I make my way through the grasses to the stone path leading across the bridge. I pull on the medallion Panther-man gave me, just in case.

Just in case WHAT?
I wake up in a different book? Get lost in the forest?

Nothing is making sense right now, except that I’m definitely hungry and could use a blanket or warmer clothing.

“No tricks? I’ll be safe?” I ask, pausing at the foot of the bridge.

“You have my word,” the Red Knight responds quickly.

Why not?
Maybe this man is the elusive Hero I hadn’t yet discovered in LF’s book. Or maybe he’s the Red Herring meant to lead me astray or the Betrayer . . . How the hell do I figure it out?

The panic bubbling within me makes my head pound worse. Whatever I think of the Red Knight, I at least know the Shadow Knight will probably behead me if he finds me.

I walk and join the Red Knight in the middle of the bridge, pausing to gaze up at him. My gods – he’s utterly beautiful.

“You will need new robes,” he observes, gaze lingering on my breasts. “You are in the correct color, but not the correct cloth.”

Purple. I’m remembering more details now. The battle-witches of this world wear purple. The color is rare and only the elite seers wear it.

What happens when they realize I’m not a battle-witch?

The thought makes my head ache. I touch it gingerly.

“You are unwell?” the Red Knight asks.

“Drank too much wine last night.”

“Ah. A common ailment.” He waves over one of the three men waiting in the area between the bridge and forest. “Come.” He starts down his side of the bridge.

I glance over my shoulder, noticing for the first time how the mists hanging in the branches of trees on the Black Moon Draw side of the bridge are absent in White Tree Sound. There are birds on this side of the forest, and it smells of pine. The forests are different – one alive and one dead – yet divided only by a stream. It’s sunny on this side of the stream, too.

This is too weird.
I need time to think or maybe to get rid of my headache first because thinking is too difficult right now.

Trailing the Red Knight off the bridge, I pass the three guards waiting for him and follow him onto a deer trail. We don’t walk far and stop on a rustic road hedged by trees. There’s a shoebox looking, wooden wagon with four horses out front and a driver in the middle of the road.

Another guy in white opens the door for the Red Knight, who sweeps off his cape before climbing in. I get in as well and sit opposite him. There’s a trunk between the two benches and a lantern hanging from the low ceiling in the center whose light doesn’t reach the corners of the wagon.

The wooden benches are covered by pillows. It’s warmer in here and I rub my upper arms to help warm me.

“’
Tis a half day ride to my hold,” he tells me. “You are hungry?”