Black Moon Draw

by Lizzy Ford

  Black Moon Draw

  By Lizzy Ford

  http://www.LizzyFord.com/

  Cover design by Eden Crane Design

  http://www.EdenCraneDesign.com/

  Smashwords EDITION

  Black Moon Draw copyright ©2014 by Lizzy Ford

  http://www.LizzyFord.com/

  Cover design copyright © 2014 by Eden Crane Design

  http://www.EdenCraneDesign.com/

  Fleuron © spline_x - Fotolia.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  The Shadow Knight of Black Moon Draw lifted his boar’s head to the sky, worn yet energized by the day at battle. As the battle-witch had promised, he had won shortly after sunset and stood, triumphant, over the body of his slain enemy. The battlefields were littered with the dead and dying, enemies slaughtered by his bloodlust and brute strength, and the bodies of men who served him. He counted the dead then nodded in satisfaction.

  It was a good day. Except he needed a new witch. His lay among the corpses, her purple robes fluttering in the late summer breeze.

  With seven kingdoms conquered and three remaining to oppose him, he did not have time to celebrate his victory with a feast. The end of the era was coming, and with it, the fulfillment of a thousand-year curse that gave him little time to find the last great battle-witch he had sought for ages. The Heart of Black Moon Draw was depending on him. There was no way he was going to fail.

  My phone rings, jarring me out of the reading zone where I’ve been hiding from reality all day. I blink at the words on the screen of my laptop to help me return from the world of Black Moon Draw and then snatch the cell phone on the desk beside my mouse.

  “Hello,” I answer groggily. Sitting back, I wipe my nose with my palm. The tears stopped a while ago. My nose is still running.

  “Hey, baby. Saw your Facebook post,” my mother says. “Sorry to hear about Jason.”

  “Shit happens, Mom,” I mumble. “Real life’s so much stranger than fiction.”

  “Is the wedding really off or is this something you’re both working through?”

  I flinch, lost for a moment. I’ve spent the past year preparing to dedicate my life to the man I thought was my true love, only for him to tell me he’s found someone else, a week before the wedding.

  Someone more grounded, he claims.

  I hope she’s ugly. It’s a terrible thought, but I can’t help it.

  “It’s off, Mom,” I answer. “He says I spend too much time with fictional people when I should be in the real world with real people.”

  My mother is silent.

  I know she’s working hard not to utter an I-told-you-so. Jason isn’t the first person to try to pry me out of the land of the nonexistent and he isn’t the first to leave my life over it.

  Probably not the last. I’d like to think I have to lose myself in books. I’ve been a librarian for a year now and one of my tasks is to help identify great books to feature at the library. It’s a perfect job. All I do when not behind the desk at work is read. If I don’t keep reading, how will I know if I’ve found the next great thing? There’s some vindication for a bookworm who reads an awesome book before it’s mainstream.

  “He was good for you,” my mother says. “But what’s important is your happiness. Maybe this will encourage you to try to get out more?”

  “I don’t want to get out more. I’m happy being an introverted hermit. I don’t care how poor or anti-social I am! If that’s not good enough for him . . .” I fight back tears.

  “Okay, baby.” My mother clears her throat. “Anything I can do for you?”

  “No. Thanks, Mom.”

  “Let me know if you want to go out for a cinnamon roll or something.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hang up, tired of being upset. My eyes blur as I stare at the screen of my laptop.

  Black Moon Draw is the name of the story that’s waiting for me, an unfinished fantasy novel I found on Wattpad, a site where authors write books in real time by uploading a new chapter every so often.

  I discovered it this morning, after finishing everything in my Kindle on my to-be-read list and then surfing the net for more books by my favorite author, a mysterious figure who goes by the initials LF. There’s no website or bio anywhere for this author and I was thrilled to discover this partially finished story after rolling through her catalog over a period of three days. I assume LF is a woman – most romance writers are.

  This book was written for my shitty week.

  It features the ultimate, non-redeemable character, the Shadow Knight of Black Moon Draw, whose soul is so black, the sun can’t warm its depths. The violent, half-man, half-beast knight rules a kingdom where there is no daylight, only the perpetual fog and grayness of twilight. He spends his lifetime in battles and steamrolls over everyone in his path.

  There’s no peace, no love, no hope in Black Moon Draw. Only death and destruction and a knight who doesn’t know mercy or forgiveness.

  “I love this. I wish I could chop off people’s heads with one strike,” I murmur, rereading the last little bit before the chapter ends. “Freaky but cool.”

  The book speaks to me, which is why I keep hitting refresh on my browser in the hopes that the author has updated in the time it took me to read. Thinking about the knight makes me shiver. He’s sexy in a very caveman way. Definitely not civilized, which fits my brittle mood today.

  I glance at the television and sit up straight, exhausted after spending the day alternately crying and reading. I’ve had my four all-time favorite movies – Labyrinth, The Princess Bride, The Neverending Story, and Pride and Prejudice – playing on a loop all day. I’m on vacation this week and supposed to be in the final stages of planning a wedding, not stuck in my house.

  Now I’m just gonna spend what’s left from the wedding fund on books to help me escape my miserable life.

  Pushing away from the desk, I go to the bathroom and stare at my bleary appearance. My hair is in a lumpy ponytail, my eyes rimmed with red, and nose red as well. I’ve spent the day eating ice cream and am almost surprised it doesn’t already show on my otherwise trim body. A true bookworm introvert who hates to leave the house, I’ve done a thirty-minute yoga video religiously every day in my living room for the past three years since leaving my mom’s house. With striking blue-gray eyes and dark hair, I’m pretty but also plain.

  According to Jason. What a bastard. I can count the number of compliments he’s given me since we met on one hand. Our relationship is always like a rollercoaster: brief periods of euphoria followed by months of despair.

  I wash my face before returning to my desk.

  “Take me away, mysterious LF,” I tell the laptop.

  I go down the checklist I made of essential characters that appear in every one of LF’s books. Part of the fun is figuring out who is whom before the author reveals it.

  “I’ve got the Fool, the Betrayer, the Devoted-but-Doomed guy, the Red Herring, the Loyal Second-in-Command, Beautiful Maiden, Love Interest, Villain, a bunch of minions . . .” I pause. My thoughts go to the Shadow Knight. “The Hero. Hmm. Can
the biggest, most violent, mysterious, and relentless badass - with no possibility of redemption - be a hero?”

  I lean back and sigh.

  “No, he can’t,” I answer my own question. “And a . . . creature like him can never have a love interest. No one in their right mind would want to be with him.” Normally I’m able to spot the end game of a novel a couple of chapters in, but this is something different entirely. “How can a book have no hero or love story? What the hell is LF doing?”

  The Shadow Knight is unlike any of the characters LF has ever written about. He doesn’t fit any of the profiles of the essential characters LF includes in her books and thinking about him makes me feel . . . edgy. Scared or uneasy because he seems so real. When I read his passages, I can almost hear his deep, gravelly voice and smell the scent of horse leathers.

  Which is silly. It’s the sign of a great author, not me going crazy. Besides, what reader fears fictional characters?

  “So we have a romance with no hero and no love story.” I rest my head on my desk, exhausted. “I didn’t think that was possible. At least he’s sexy.”

  Unable to see how his mind works like I can the other characters, I’ve been locked in a silent battle with him since starting the first chapter. I want to hate him for being what he is, but find myself compelled to reread every one of his passages instead.

  Fed up, I close the laptop. The last thing I want today is a story I have to dissect. I need a distraction, not another stupid man intent on infuriating me.

  “You’re giving me a headache. You and every other man on this planet,” I mutter to the imaginary knight. “What the hell are you waiting for? Why don’t you just tell me your story the way every other character does? And why is it taking LF so long to upload a new chapter?”

  A fictional man, of course, can’t answer.

  “At least you’re mortally wounded at the battle of Brown Sun Lake, you bastard. I’m hoping she leaves you that way. I can’t believe she misspelled coincidence twice in the first two chapters, either. Ever heard of spell-check, LF?” I ask no one in particular. “You’re stressing me out! You know what will make this easier? Wine.”

  I’ve got a couple of nice bottles I had been saving for the wedding rehearsal. I’m halfway to the kitchen when I realize there’s something else I’ve been saving for that occasion.

  The gorgeous, purple dress my mother bought me.

  Halting, I debate whether or not drinking wine in a fancy dress at home makes me desperate or is a reasonable way to cope.

  One of my three cats meows from his spot on the kitty jungle gym in one corner. My shoulders slump.

  “You’re right. I really am gonna end up a crazy, single, cat lady,” I whisper, new tears forming. “Why can’t the heroes in books be real?”

  My cat blinks at me, but doesn’t answer.

  “I hate my life. There’s no happily-ever-after in the real world.” I’d give anything for a do-over, another chance to be someone worthy of a fictional Hero instead of a wallflower with insecurity issues.

  Pretty certain I’ll die a crazy old maid, I decide to wear my prettiest dress, break out the wine and chocolate and watch Pride and Prejudice. Maybe when I wake up in the morning, there will be a new chapter waiting for me.

  Chapter Two

  The Shadow Knight paced across Blue Star Bridge, the wooden and stone walkway that arched across the river dividing his kingdom, Black Moon Draw, from his eastern neighbors of White Tree Sound.

  He stopped in the middle, listening to the sounds of night. Somewhere, an animal splashed into the shallow waters, probably chasing its dinner, while the calls of owls and other night birds rose from the forest at his back. He didn’t register the night chill that skated across his muscular form. Built with the power of a bear and the agility of a panther, he was poised and ready to fight. The sword at his back was taller than a full-grown woman and the axe, daggers, whip, and other weapons at his belt were polished and waiting for their next kill.

  Ignoring the nervous band of White Tree Sound sentries that stood on one end of the bridge, he swung his massive boar’s head around to look at his surroundings. Moonlight trickled through the fog shrouding Black Moon Draw and reflected off the slow moving river below.

  “M’lord,” a quiet voice said from behind him. “You will cross Blue Star Bridge this night?”

  The bridge was the established border of his lands. He had paid little heed to the kingdom on the other side, with whom he had a truce born out of necessity rather than desire. He had too many other battles to fight to worry about this peace-devoted enemy. He alone could take the forty sentries bunched around the end of the bridge, but the army beyond the forests would require some planning and more men than he had to spare in order to defeat them.

  “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.

  Chapter Three

  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 s
lap 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.