Black Moon Draw

by Lizzy Ford

  “I got her!” The shout is accompanied by someone smashing into my side and driving me to the ground.

  The air is knocked out of me and I lay, mouth gaping open, struggling to breathe. The man with a green circle has his hands raised in triumph and he’s signaling to someone else.

  As much as I despise him, his blow knocked me out of panic mode and I roll onto my stomach and start to cough as air reaches my lungs. My ribs ache from his tackle and I focus on the strand of vibrant grass before my eyes. I pluck it up, mesmerized by the moist, ribbony texture.

  It’s real, and so is everything around me. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m going to end up in a box before I can make it home.

  “I survived being bullied in high school and college, before I dropped out. I can survive this.” With a deep breath, I push away from the earth and climb to my feet.

  The man who tagged me stands nearby. The moment I stand, he whips out a club big enough to smash my skull in, and raises it to slam into me.

  I stumble away and drop to my knees, praying my Ninja Turtle shield won’t crack. Heat flares at my core, beneath the medallion touching my chest.

  His blow lands, but I barely feel it. I’m more surprised by the arc of purple sparks that fly off the shield at impact and light up a small dome around me. His club glances off, and the pale purple-pink shield around me fizzles and disappears.

  I may be new here, but I’m no fool. I’m not about to wait for him to find a spot not protected by the magic shield. I dart off at a sprint, this time aware of where I’m headed.

  Puffing hard, I’m breathless before I reach the tree line, my thighs burning like crazy. I weave through the fighting warriors to the first tree I spot with branches low enough for me to reach.

  Just like when I ran from the bullies in school. I was that nerdy kid who had glasses when she was six, braces all through high school, and sat in front of the class because I actually enjoyed school. My world revolved around my books and I made up excuses to skip gym class because I have no athletic bone in my body. Being humiliated as the person no one wanted on their team left a mark, one that got worse when my parents divorced.

  I felt like everyone hated me, even my dad when he left.

  To escape my life, I used to climb the tree in my front yard and sit with a book until it was too dark to read. I could pretend my world was better, different, happier, when I was in my tree.

  I really need that safe, secure escape from reality now.

  I throw myself into the task of climbing the tree with relish, anxious to get away from my pursuer and the gruesome battlefield.

  He snags one leg. I smash my other heel into his face and he lets go. Maybe I should feel bad, but I’m envisioning him being Tracey Smith, the leader of the girls who used to torment me until I graduated high school.

  Or maybe, I’m envisioning Jason, who I wanted so badly to punch, except he broke up with me over the phone, so I couldn’t.

  I really hate my life. Not only did I get stuck in a book, I didn’t even get to change who I am. My hips aren’t thinner and my bad luck is fully intact.

  I blink back the angry, hurt tears blurring my vision and focus on climbing and reaching the safety of my tree.

  I climb until the trunk starts to slim down too much to support me, a sign I’m as far up as I can go.

  Hugging the tree, I find a somewhat comfortable perch to hold me and rest my forehead against the bark.

  “Please let me go home, LF. This isn’t cool.”

  Nothing happens.

  “If this is because I made fun of your typos, I’m sorry.”

  I steady my breathing and wipe my face. A glance at the battle below is enough to tell me it’s almost over. A ring of Black Moon Draw men five deep are around the tree, looking up in what I’m guessing is confusion. I huddle next to the trunk, not caring that the ants living in the bark are crawling all over my arms.

  I’m emotionally exhausted. After meeting Disney Princess, I feel a little rawer, reminded once again why I never stacked up to what Jason thought I should be. She is perfect in every way. Me?

  Not so much. Even in fiction, I can’t get a reprieve. If I were average in real life, I’m below average here.

  While I’m safe up here, I’m also reminded of all the other times I climbed a tree to escape my feelings and hurt. It’s so fitting that I’m in a tree after Jason dumped me and I was dropped into a magical world. It’s also so telling, I’m embarrassed.

  My life really hasn’t changed much. I hid as a kid. I hide as an adult, afraid of rejection and putting myself out there for fear of being hurt.

  Maybe that’s what being an adult is: quiet misery. Maybe I should stay in my tree forever, or at least until LF lets me return to my disappointing life.

  “Witch!” The Shadow Knight bellows from the base of the tree. “Come down!”

  “No!” I shout back. “I’m staying here!”

  “You are a battle-witch, not a tree-witch!”

  Does he really think I know what a tree-witch is, let alone think I am one? “I’m not a witch at all!”

  “You did not learn your lesson.” He sounds disgruntled.

  “The one where you cut off my hand? Who does that?” I look at my newly grown hand, a little weirded out by it.

  “You need another lesson.”

  “I don’t – what’re you doing?”

  He pushes the trunk of the tree, testing it, and then strips off his weapons, depositing them into a heap beside him. His massive boar’s head looks up at me for a split second before he does something I don’t expect.

  He takes the animal head off to reveal a normal human head.

  I stare, stunned. Never did it cross my mind that they wore the heads of animals like most men wear hats. Here I thought they were half-man, half-beast creatures.

  “Nice, LF. I did not see that coming,” I murmur. I raise my voice to address the destroyer of kingdoms. “Leave me alone!”

  He ignores me and begins climbing the tree with inhuman ability. Any idea I have of him being normal is dispelled by the way he moves, with agility that shouldn’t be possible for a man his size, and strength that far exceeds any human I’ve seen in superhero movies with all the special effects.

  I watch him in alarmed fascination, my gaze falling again to the exposed, muscular upper body. I’ve forgotten the most intriguing part of him until he’s almost close enough to touch me.

  God, I love brownies. I breathe in his scent, momentarily transfixed by the scent of sweet, dark chocolate.

  “Come down, witch,” he orders me. His pace slows and he grows more cautious as the thinner trunk of the treetop starts to bend beneath our combined weight.

  “Leave me alone and find a new witch,” I say firmly. “I’m going home.” I scoot over to keep from touching his body, his scent and strength something I’m not prepared to handle, even on our second meeting.

  “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 s
pace 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.

  Chapter Eight

  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.