Black Moon Draw (8 page)

“This is your home now.” He draws his head abreast of mine and pauses. “I do not know what they tell you when you leave the edge of the world, but you will stay with me in Black Moon Draw.”

The tree creaks in warning, but his eyes have me riveted in place.

Wow.

Large and deep set, they’re flickering between foggy gray and the entrancing color of the depths of the ocean, a mix of blue, with splashes of green and purple, depending on how the light hits them. His jaw is heavy and forehead broad, his dark hair mussed from the animal-head, flat cheeks and gold-bronze skin.

His features are as chiseled as the abs brushing my knee, heavy and masculine, every part of him hard and planed. He was created to be the ultimate warrior from the intelligent gleam in his multi-hued eyes to the way he manages to balance himself on the balls of his feet, ten yards off the ground. Not handsome in the Calvin Klein sense, he’s striking, powerful, commanding, and capable of arresting people with a single look.

I really wish I didn’t know Disney Princess existed.

I like my space and he’s all up in it, but something about him makes me not mind. Maybe it’s the brownies or the fact I’ve never seen a man this good looking and sexy – and probably never will again. Awkward around men, I can’t help wanting to be different this time around. What do I have to lose?

The silence between us kills me. It’s tense enough that my face grows hot. His direct, commanding gaze makes me claustrophobic again. If I don’t break the silence, I’m going to start babbling nervously.

“I like your head,” I say, and then kick myself mentally. “I mean, you have a real head.”

His eyes narrow, as if he thinks I’m messing with him. “They enhance our senses in battle.”

“Oh.” I clear my throat, my face so hot, it feels like it’s going to explode. I want to fidget.

And then I recall something that manages to crush most of my embarrassment and the attraction that’s making me want to slip him my phone number. “
You
chopped off my hand! What were you thinking?”

“You are a battle-witch.” He says it slowly, clearly. “You belong to me.”

The ferocity of those four words makes my insides light on fire. Who doesn’t want to be owned by a man like this?

You can have me.
Shaking my head, I regain control of myself. “You can’t go around chopping off people’s hands. Where I come from, it’s not tolerated.”

“It grew back.”

“I don’t care! It’s a horrible thing to do!”

His eyes flash gray. I have a feeling he’s not used to people telling him what to do. I can’t have him chopping off body parts at random to prove points, though.

“Very well. I’ll spare you further dismemberment,” he says finally with some reluctance.

“Thank you.” My heart is hopping around in my chest. I can hardly move without touching him. I’m not sure if I want to or if I should push him out of the tree.

“You’ve never been to battle,” he observes.

“Of course not.”

“You’ve never seen men die.”

I say nothing, averting my gaze. I’ve been purposely not thinking about what I saw in the field. I can’t process being in a different world – and people dying. I don’t think he’ll respect someone who views battle the way I do, as something truly terrible. I can’t witness people losing arms, legs, and heads. I’ve got a squishy heart. I fall in love too fast and never recover when it’s over.

“No, I haven’t,” I reply quietly.

“Know this, witch. I protect all that is mine with my life. In return, I require only three things from you: the truth, your loyalty, and absolute obedience. You need not fear death so long as you accept these three laws.”

His conviction makes me want to agree to anything he says. I’ve never been that resolute about anything in my life.

It also scares me.
Absolute obedience.
I’m afraid to know what all that entails. I’ve never trusted anyone with all of me – especially not my mind. Not even Jason.

“Do you understand?” he prods. “Do not think to wile me with your beauty, witch. The laws of Black Moon Draw apply to you as well.”

Beauty. I’ve never heard that one before. Blushing, I manage a nod.

“Good. We will discuss it further.” Without warning, he wraps one arm around me and pries me away from the trunk. “You must learn quickly how to be a battle-witch.”

“Stop!” I shout, flailing. Panic flares back to life as he holds me against his body in mid-air. “You’re going to drop me!”

“Be still, witch, or I will.” The sharp words terrify me.

I close my eyes and clutch his arm, but stop moving.

“Good. Every man in my armies trusts me to protect them. ‘Tis why they obey blindly, without thought, question, or doubt. Their lives are mine.
Your
life is mine. Do you understand?”

“Y . . . yes.”

“You will do the same. Besides, you are a battle-witch. If I drop you, you will heal.” This time, there’s amusement in his tone. Do they throw women out of trees for fun here? Because I’m not understanding why this is funny.

He flings me away from him.

“No, no –” My chant ends in a scream.

I’m falling, praying, crying . . . plunging to my death or to an even worse fate – having every bone in my body broken when I hit the ground.

I land on something much softer than the earth.

The men of Black Moon Draw are laughing. They’ve caught me in a blanket held among them and lower it to the ground. I close my eyes, resting my head back. I swear I almost had a heart attack.

“Tree-witch!” one says and then laughs. “Were there such a thing!”

Maybe if I just lie here, they’ll think I’m dead and leave me.

“Come, battle-witch!” This is from the lord and master, the Shadow Knight, who doesn’t bother climbing down but leaps off the tree. He lands near me, shaking the ground.

Overbearing, determined, sexy . . .
He’s impossible to reason with. There’s no way for me to follow these kinds of rules. I may not have much of a backbone; compared to blind obedience, I’m an absolute rebel. I have a feeling convincing him of anything will be like smacking a tree with a Nerf bat. I’m not going to win.

The idea I need to somehow help the Hero complete his journey returns. I’m no closer to identifying who that Hero is. If I lie here, I’ll never figure it out.

Reluctantly, I stand up.

The Shadow Knight has replaced his boar head, for which I’m unusually grateful. His body is enough of a distraction. His piercing eyes are a whole new level of intensity I’m not used to.

The boar’s mouth opens, and I’m pretty sure I know what he’s going to say.

“I know.” I glare at him. “I heard you the first four hundred times. I’m coming.” Maybe I should care what he thinks, but I don’t, not after he threw me out of a tree.

He snaps his snout closed with a growl and turns away, his powerful body striding back towards the camp in the forest.

He’s wearing chaps again.
I sigh. I want to go home.

I’m hungry, confused, and worried by the time I follow him through the throngs of milling, sweaty, smelly men of his kingdom into the trunk of an ancient tree. Once again I marvel at the idea that the trees voluntarily give them shelter. The interior of this one reflects the Shadow Knight’s status as a leader. It’s the size of my living room at least with half a dozen lanterns seated on boxes, a bed that almost looks comfortable covered with furs, and an area used for planning with him and his generals. Or whatever he calls them.

I enter and go to the sitting area, watching him nervously. Thank god his attention is elsewhere. There’s a basin of water on a tree stump and he heads there. His head comes off, followed by his weapons. I watch him strip off weapons, astonished by the size of the equipment and how authentic the different pieces are. There’s blood on the blade of his sword and I move away, squeamish.

He strips off his kilt. I freeze, staring at the backside of his naked body.

His round ass, bulging thighs, the thick muscles of his back and shoulders . . . holy shit is he hot. Unnaturally so.

Glancing over his shoulder at me, he raises an eyebrow over one of those enigmatic eyes. They’re dark blue again.

I quickly turn my back to him.

“You have never seen an unclothed man?” He’s amused.

My mind is too occupied with the image of him naked for me to come up with a smart answer. I fan myself.

“You have naught to fear from me, lady, so long as you follow my rules. A battle-witch is only good to me if she is pure.”

He has no idea how far from the truth that is. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism started by these battle-witches to keep the barbarians from hurting them. If so, it’s smart, and I’m not about to ruin it for any fellow witches. This man crushes armies and slaughters thousands to win wars. He isn’t the kind who likes to be denied something he wants.

“Thank god you’re betrothed.” I flush at the disappointment in my voice – and the fact I said it out loud at all.

“Aye, there’s that,” he says shortly. He throws a wet rag across the space hard enough that it splats against the tree trunk wall.

“My god, she’s perfect. How can you sound so . . . meh?” I ask.

“Not your concern,” he grumbles. “I have never had a new battle-witch.”

You can have me any way you want, honey.
I banish the words, knowing they’re not the right ones for this situation, even if I am sitting so close to a man that looks like that.

“I’m not here for the long term,” I manage. “I’m going home.”

“No one who leaves the edge of the world ever returns.”

“I’m sure someone goes back.” It’s not clear if we’re talking about the same place – the real world, where I came from – or this ambiguous place I can’t quite figure out.

“Never.”

“But if people come from there, then there has to be a way back.”

“There is.”

“You know it?” I ask. “You know how to get me home?”

“I do. But
why
would you want to go now that you are free?”

Free?
“Are we talking about the same thing?”

“The edge of the world from whence you escaped the slave lords that rule the seas.”

At this, I turn and face him, too surprised to be self-conscious. Thank god he’s got the kilt back on and is finishing up sponging down his shapely arms with a wet rag. He’s studying me with eyes that glimmer purple and green in the lantern light.

“You did not come from the edge of the world,” he assesses.

The Red Knight’s warning returns. I’m not supposed to reveal where I’m really from. The way he said it makes me think battle-witches as a whole come from somewhere other than the edge of the world, that it’s some kind of conspiracy. If the edge of the world is filled with slave traders, then I definitely don’t want to return there.

“Where did you come from?” he asks in a low, careful tone, one I instinctively know to be afraid of.

“I have to go home,” I say, distraught.

“You
are
home.” His tone is firm enough that I look up. “That medallion marks you as mine and belonging to my kingdom.”

A thrilled flutter goes through me, until I recall he’s got a woman a million times more beautiful than me. He’s claiming me like he might a horse and nothing else. Touching the medallion, I start to pull it off. “If I give it back, can I leave?”

“If you take it off, I’ll do more than take off your hand.” He’s gone tense, his piercing eyes gray with emotion and perfect body ready to snap me in half. I’m not sure how I can be turned on when I know what he is.

I drop the medallion and lift my hands. “Okay. I’m leaving it on.”

“I do not believe you understand your situation. What is mine remains mine unless I choose to give it up.” He starts towards me, the effortless way he moves and commands the room around him rendering me temporarily frozen. I should back away or run or something, but it’s so hard with someone who embodies the most beautiful, most terrifying animal magnetism I’ve ever known.

“Oh, I do,” I whisper, lifting my gaze to his as he stops close enough for our toes to touch. I feel a little lost looking up at him, overwhelmed as much by his size as I am my circumstances – and oh-so-aware of that fantastically amazing body.

“Where are you from?”

I swallow hard.

He steps into me and I back away until I bump into the wall of the tree. He doesn’t stop at the edge of my comfort zone, but closes the distance between us until our bodies touch.

I have no idea what this man is capable of. From the first few chapters I read on Wattpad, he slaughtered the armies of seven kingdoms in his quest for victory over the realm. He rarely takes prisoners, never stops for more than one night in the same spot, and is driven by near-madness to fight the next battle. There were no details about his dealings with women, friends, or family.

His eyes are gray once more, the color they were earlier after his battle.

Bad sign.

“You are on very dangerous territory right now, witch.” The warning pierces the buffer between this imaginary world and me. I am almost able to write off the deaths I saw today because the characters aren’t real. One of his hands rests on my collar, its size enough to remind me of his strength, if he chooses to act. I’ve never been small, delicate, or ultra-feminine, but I feel that way now, like I’d shatter faster than a plate hitting the floor.

“Another world,” I whisper. “I’m from another world.”

His eyes narrow.

“I don’t know how I got here or why.”

“’
Tis simple. I prayed to the gods for you to come and they sent you to lift the curse,” he says, glaring down at me.

“What curse?”

“The one that ends in nine days.”

Nine days.
I want to look at my hand to check the countdown, but can’t move until he does.

His eyes travel down my face, lingering on my lips. Without releasing me, he shifts away to continue his visual examination.