Black Moon Draw (26 page)

This is how Elizabeth Bennett felt when she saw Pemberley.
I understand now the power of seeing Mr. Darcy’s estate. She was meant to be there and knew it the moment she set foot in the park. It takes me close to tears of frustration, because I’m starting to admit there’s a chance I really am destined to stay here.

Is that so bad? Do I want to, if it means I’ve got no chance with the man beside me?

“Why do you weep?” the Shadow Knight asks, glancing over his shoulder at me.

I’m trailing, grappling with emotions I can’t define and thoughts that leave me breathless one moment and devastated another.

He stops and waits for me to catch up.

“I’m not.” I wipe my cheeks angrily. I’m holding out for a relationship with a fictional character.

“I see the tears.”

“I’m not crying!” I snap at him.

He chuckles. “As you wish.”

I sigh. “That’s a quote from one of my favorite movies.”

“Madness.”

His name is Atreyu. It’s from
The Neverending Story,
one of my favorite movies, also about a reader who gets pulled into a book, where he meets Atreyu, the Hero. Atreyu is on a quest to find the source of evil in his kingdom, when he ran into the kid reading the book.

He also had a magic medallion, one that protected him.

I touch the Heart at my chest, astounded by the few similarities – and completely frustrated by the fact LF’s book contained so many pieces of other worlds, without following the script of any of them.

I sink into silence, pensive.

He’s not a bad companion, when we’re one on one, and my god – he’s an incredible kisser. With a body that makes my insides quake and a quiet confidence that melts me, he might be perfect, if not for his really bizarre sense of humor. Pushing me off a tower? Throwing me out of a tree?

It’s a good thing I can’t quite figure him out. If I did, I might be in too deep to walk away without a broken heart.

I’ve never been much of a risk taker, whereas there’s no challenge too crazy for him. He’s got the weight of a world on his shoulders and he’s not about to lose. I’m not like that though. There’s a reason I’m a librarian – because I prefer to read about adventures than have my own.

Unfortunately, I can’t help but admit that he’s as amazing as his kingdom. I’ve been struggling not to let myself feel anything for him: compassion, loyalty, admiration. Coupled with primal attraction, those emotions are creeping and burrowing in, demolishing my resistance to a man and world that shouldn’t exist.

Forcing my attention to my surroundings, I sigh. “I can’t get over how beautiful Black Moon Draw is.”

“I have heard without the fog, the hills are like gems that can be seen halfway across the Black Moon Sea,” he replies quietly.

“You must love your home so much. I can’t imagine being at war for how long? A year or two?”

“Twenty-five, since I picked up a sword when I was five.”

Seven years older than me.
I’ve always loved a slightly older man. Banishing the errant thought, I register the rest of what he’s said. “Twenty five years? And all this is waiting for you?” I wave an arm at the hills nearest me.

“The Shadow Knights have a greater cause than pleasure, however much we love our pleasure,” he replies.

“I didn’t see any of your motivation in . . .”
the first few chapters LF wrote.
God! How do I explain to him who he is?

The battle queen said both worlds were real, that if I believe Black Moon Draw to exist, it does. I’m not yet able to wrap my head around the idea. I’m not creative enough to imagine the beauty around me or create a man like the Shadow Knight.

“You speak a great deal of nonsense.”

His grave tone makes me laugh. “Yeah, probably. You think me mad.”

“I did at first but now . . .” He shakes his head. “I think you different only. Beautiful despite the uniqueness of who you are.”

“Whatever. You’re engaged to the most beautiful woman in any world ever to exist. I know you’re not serious.” Then why does a bubble of joy burst inside me at his words?

“You assume much about me you should not, witch. You did not understand the purpose of my war, and you fail to see how serious I am now.” He’s
offended.
I didn’t think it possible.

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re serious,” I reply, not wanting him too upset since I don’t have a clue where we’re going. “I was betrothed, and Jason had another woman in his life beside me. He eventually left me for her and told me it was my fault. I don’t . . . I
won’t
hurt another woman like that. No matter what I feel for you.”
Holy shit. Did I just say that?
“Not that I feel anything for you at all, but if I did, and if this was real and you –”

“I understand, witch.” He’s entertained, the skin around his eyes crinkling with warmth. “You have honor.”

“Yes,” I say, recovering from my latest slip up with him.

“You are also a coward.”

“I am not!” I retort. “Wait, are we talking about in battle? Because I will admit to having an aversion to being stabbed with a sword.”

“Not battle. In going after what you want.”

“Why? Because I don’t share your aggressive, obsessive, single-minded determination to take over the world?”

“You are fortunate, witch. If I had no betrothed, that determination would be channeled at you.”

Is he serious? He
likes
me? Like, really, truly is interested?

I stumble over my feet, stunned. He catches my arm to steady me and I’m silent.

There’s no comeback for that, no way to save face when it’s obvious he’s just rocked my world.

His hand slides down to take mine. Without looking at me, he squeezes.

I can’t think of anything to say and I like the feel of his large, warm, calloused hand too much to want to pull away like I probably should.

More than willing to do what I can to help him, it’s what follows the last battle that makes me far less comfortable. As long as we save the kingdoms, this place will exist, and he’ll live happily ever after with his perfect princess.

Like Jason.
What happens to me then? I get turned into a servant? I go home to live alone with the knowledge I met someone I really liked, who liked me, and it still didn’t work out? I get tossed into a new book?

It’s complicated enough to give me a headache.

Lost in thought, I walk hand in hand with him towards the edge of the foothills.

We walk for hours in the cool weather, and my eyes drift between the gorgeous scenery and the swirl of fog originating from the direction of his castle. It resembles the sky above Mordor in the Lord of the Rings movies: slow swirling clouds of darker gray than the fog block out the blue, the center of the curse and the eye of the fogs of Black Moon Draw the castle itself.

I’m afraid to know what’s there and certain I’m going to find out.

After several hours, I’m hungry, and we haven’t spoken at all since I tripped. It was morning when we started. Time is hard to tell when the skies are covered with gray all day, but I think it’s close to four or five o’clock.

The overbearing brute of a man who never leaves a soul standing on the battlefield has been quiet and calm the entire day, holding my hand and walking with me through the beautiful lands of his like we’re headed to the chapel and not to battle. I don’t get his calm, unless he’s happy to be home.

In contrast, my head is a mess, torn between wanting more from him and hating myself for even considering it. I’m too good to take advantage of the situation, though I suspect he won’t be the one to back out if I wanted more than hand holding. I can’t get the idea he thinks I’m a coward out of my head either. He’s held a mirror to me today and I’m embarrassed by what I see in my reflection: someone so afraid of failure and being judged, she never tried to follow any dream.

I’m changing that.
Little by little. For the first time in my life, I’m occasionally standing up for myself, even if it’s only with the Shadow Knight, and taking chances. I’ve been in mortal danger, went to battle, and rode a horse . . .

I’m doing it. I’m becoming someone even I can respect. The mushroom part of me panics every once in a while, wanting to disappear into the shadows and run away to my safe apartment. While I have a long way to go, I’m starting to think that the occasional adventure, preferably one that doesn’t involve war or a curse, might be good for me.

With a sidelong look at the Shadow Knight, I reluctantly acknowledge another nagging instinct, one that’s harder to accept. My experiences with him and this world have been rattling around my head all day. I’ve been mustering up the courage for an hour or so to utter words I never thought I’d say to the man beside me.

I’m about to burst from flip-flopping about saying anything, when I finally decide that the New-Improved-Naia needs to go for it. “Atreyu, I’m sorry.” I start. “I’ve been kind of a jerk since arriving. If I stopped to ask why you do what you do instead of judging you or if I hadn’t been so hell bent on going home . . .” I drift off and then shake my head. “I don’t know what I’m saying or thinking. I should know better because I
live
that every day. I’m sorry I judged you when I should’ve listened and given you a chance. I should’ve tried hard to use magic and help you.”

“You apologize too much,” he replies. “I have lived with this knowledge since I was a babe. My master-at-arms was the only one who knew the truth. I never intended to tell anyone before I met you.”

“Even your other battle-witches or betrothed?”

“No one.”

So I am special.
A shot of hopeful, ecstatic energy lifts some of my exhaustion.

“I am only grateful my man parts did not fall off when we kissed,” he adds.

“You had to go there!” I pull my hand free of his and cross my arms.

“’
Tis a relief for a man.”

My face feels hot. “I swear men everywhere are the same!”

He chuckles. “We will have time to discuss whether you become my queen or my mistress when the final battle is over.”

I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Like I’m not going home. Does he want me to stay? Do
I
want to stay?

Any confidence I had about being surer of myself fizzles. I’m feeling anxious again, a warm flutter of desire mixed with a whole lot of fear.

“You’ll be sending me home after this, right?” I ask.

The corner of his lips lifts. He doesn’t answer.

We don’t talk anymore, not for another couple of hours. I’m dragging soon enough, the result of not eating in who knows how long and recovering from death, I suppose. In truth, I’m kinda glad it’s quiet. He and his world are no longer fictional to me. They’ve become very real, and I’m not sure what to make of him calling me beautiful or the way my lower belly ignites into a furnace whenever he regards me a tad too long. Every time we talk, I’m a little more confused about what I want.

Night begins to creep across the land. We’re still a great distance from the hold. My well-fitted boots have rubbed blisters into my heels and the outside of one pinky toe. Darkness brings the cold ocean wind and I’m soon shaking and miserable.

“Okay,” I say finally, thoroughly exhausted. “I need a break.”

“We cannot stop all night,” he warns.

“I know. Just for a bit?”

The Shadow Knight relents, albeit unhappily. He leads us off the road.

When he’s not looking, I let myself limp. My god – I haven’t had blisters since I was a kid! I forgot how much they sting.

He chooses a spot at the base of a hill to offer some protection from the wind whipping by and sits down. I sit beside him and lean back against the sweet smelling grass, groaning.

“My warriors can march for two days without stopping to rest,” he says.

“I’m not a warrior,” I mutter under my breath. My teeth begin chattering soon after we stop.

“Never met a battle-witch who could not start a fire.”

“Are you trying to make me feel bad?” I snap.

“Anger keeps you warm.”

Rolling my eyes, I pull my knees in and hug them with my arms. “Maybe it was a bad idea to stop.” I’m too cold to take the nap my body needs.

“I imagine returning from the dead requires rest.” His shoulder brushes against mine as he shifts closer. A moment later, his arm circles my shoulders.

“Um, probably not a good idea,” I say, tugging away. My thoughts go to earlier, when he seemed amused by my rationale behind not wanting to hurt his fiancée’s feelings.

“I respect your honor and your cowardice. You need rest.”

After a brief hesitation, I let him pull me into his body.

Guiding us onto our sides, he wraps his other arm around me and tucks me against him. One of his legs drapes over my thighs, drawing our hips together. Folding my hands to my chest, I rest a cheek on his bicep and breathe in the scent of brownies and grass, unable to recall when I last experienced anything nearly as comfortable.