by Lizzy Ford
“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.
I resist the urge to wrap the cloak around me more, so he doesn’t notice my chubby thighs and wide hips. When he’s finished his perusal, his attention returns to the crisscrossing straps on my torso. He lifts one of my hands, rubbing his thumb across my palm before he studies my fingernails.
“You have the hands of a queen,” he says.
It doesn’t sound like a compliment.
“You have never known true work. You do not bear the mark of slave traders or the brand of any other kingdom.”
“Brand?” I echo.
He shows me the flat of his hand. On the meat of his palm is a rugged tattoo of a boar’s head.
“I’m not lying,” I reply. “I am from another world.”
He’s emotionless, neither believing nor disbelieving. “In your world, do they wear such pieces as shields?”
I shake my head. My heart races. I can’t stop staring at the rounded, muscles of his chest. There’s an innate, uncontrollable, deep urge to touch him, to flatten my palms on his expansive torso and run my hands over his body.
“Where is your squire?” he asks and reaches for one of the straps. His fingers brush my breast as he pushes a thumb beneath the strap.
I jerk, my breath catching in my throat, not expecting the sudden touch or the spiral of electricity that runs through me. My body goes rigid, and I wait half in anticipation, half in fear for him to touch the sensitive spot again.
Realizing he asked a question, I reply, not really certain what else he could be talking about if not my turtle shell. “On my back.”
By his look, I’ve answered wrong.
He releases the strap and spins me, gripping the shield and tugging it back and forth. I careen from side to side before catching my balance against the wall.
“Your shield is on wrong. Damn squire.” Reaching around me, he works the button securing the shield beneath my breasts.
I suck in a breath, distracted by the movement of his fingers and a little too aware of the body at my back. I can feel his heat and strength, inches from me, and remind myself of how much I don’t need an arrogant jerk in my life.
He stops jostling me for a moment, his hand settling at the base of my neck. “What are the three laws of Black Moon Draw?” he asks.
“Truth, loyalty, obedience,” I repeat breathlessly. I can’t help imagining what those large hands would feel like on other parts of my body. He’s so strong, so confident. The feminine side of me loves the idea of melting into him, of letting him control the movement of my body and exploring every inch of me.
He succeeds in unbuttoning the shield and pulls it off me then whirls me around once more. I want to tell him to stop manhandling me, but nothing comes out. The man is huge and it’s hard to think straight with his brownies scent scattering my thoughts. Instead, I stare at his muscular chest as he untangles the straps and flips the shield around.
I lift my arms before he can belt another of his commands and he slides the shield back into place, fastening it beneath my breasts.
The simple process is exhilarating, better than sex with Jason, which really isn’t saying much. It leaves me rattled, breathless, achy, and warm from the inside out. The knight appears as though he’s done something as routine as saddling his horse.
He’s betrothed, I warn myself. Not to mention he’s kind of a control-freak-jackass.
Like Christian Grey?
Oh, god. That overrides any fear - I so want him right now. Furious with myself, I focus on my chant. This isn’t real. I can’t lust after an imaginary man.
“Now. What are these?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the coins with the intricate carvings.
The harmless tokens are easier to explain than say, my feelings right now. It takes effort to refocus from the images of his naked body to the coins. “They’re my treasures,” I say and take them from him. I drop the coins in one hand and trace my fingertips over the carved face of one. I’m kind of grateful for the distraction. He’s standing too close to me. I’m horny as hell. The timing of my hormones couldn’t be worse.
“You claim them readily?” he asks.
“Yes. They’re mine.”
He’s gone hard once more, unreadable, and there’s a dangerous light in his gaze that makes the fear return.
“I’m not . . . attached to them, if you want them,” I add uneasily, not understanding the issue.
“From whence did you obtain these treasures?” His voice is low, dark.
“I found them,” I reply, frowning.
Too late, I hear the words I used earlier when lying about the medallion. He snatches my arm and hauls me into his hard body, reaching back for the axe with his other arm.
“No, really! I mean it this time – I really did find them!” I exclaim quickly. “The Red Knight left me alone in h
is wagon and I went through his satchels. I took these and a really fat bird he had stuffed in a bag!” I wait, heart flying and panic stirring. The coins are clenched in one fist while I brace myself against the warm skin of his chest with my other hand.
Pressed to his body, I can feel how strong he is, silk-coated steel, and it’s scary. It would take so little effort for him to crush me the way he does his enemies. Fear devolves into something more vexing. My mind is racing with a scene from Fifty Shades, where I’m bent over and he’s spanking me good and hard before he completely rocks my world.
Stop it, Naia!
“I swear. I’m not breaking your rules,” I add, unable to read his expression. “I took them because I thought they were pretty.”
“Pretty,” he repeats.
“Yes. I’ve never seen carvings this small. So no more chopping off hands, okay?”
“How do you know nothing of this world?” he demands, shaking me lightly.
“Because it’s not mine.” I open my hand and offer the offensive wood chips to him, not getting their importance or why he’s so upset about them. “I’m sorry.”
He drops the axe and snatches them. “This is the coin of Brown Sun Lake,” he tells me grimly. “You say you found them with the Red Knight. Did he have many of these?”
I nod. “A couple bags full.”
The Shadow Knight whirls away and strides to his weapons.
I release my breath and lean against the wall, my legs trembling from the intense interaction.
“He wishes to betray me.” He begins replacing them around his body. I watch, intrigued by the way his muscles move beneath his skin – and grateful his penetrating attention is elsewhere.
“So . . . what’s going on exactly?” I ask, not following his sudden mood swing.
“Brown Sun Lake has made an ally of the Red Knight. He guards my flank, or did.” Hands on hips, the Shadow Knight’s calculating gaze is on something outside the entrance of the tree trunk. “The coin was paid either to betray me or to obtain you before I did.”
“Where have I heard of Brown Sun Lake?” I murmur, mind going to the first few chapters I read before being dropped into this world. The name rings a bell. I briefly go over the essential list of characters in every LF book. The Red Knight could be the Betrayer. But that would make the Shadow Knight the Hero, and I’m not buying that yet. Maybe meeting the leader of Brown Sun Lake would explain a few things. It’s definitely much harder to know who is whom when inside a book. “You’re betrothed to the Red Knight’s sister. He’s not going to betray you with her here. I’m sure there’s some explanation.”
“None I care to humor.”
Movement draws my attention and I see words scrolling across my hand. “Oh, hey, I’ve got a text. I mean, message. Whatever you call it here.”
“I had begun to think you were no battle-witch, as you claim,” the Shadow Knight says.
“What if I really weren’t one?” I ask. “What would you do then?”
His gaze sweeps down my body deliberately enough that I blush. He appears to be considering his answer. “Sell you to the slave traders.”
“You would sell me?” I echo. “Not . . . instead of . . .” I drift off, embarrassed that my thoughts are going in a different direction under his sizzling gaze. I’m not sure what I expected. He’s got a fiancée and is more concerned with chopping off heads than anything else.
“You have large breasts and ass. You would fetch more than the horses.”
“Large ass?” My mouth drops open and a pang strikes my heart. Jason used to say the same. This guy’s a total asshole, no doubt comparing me to Disney Princess. Finally, I manage some sort of comeback. “Awesome. Glad to hear I’m worth more than a stupid horse.”
“The horses of Black Moon Draw are the best in the realm. Merchants pay gold for them. ‘Tis not an insult to be compared to one.”
“Where I’m from, it is,” I say, dismayed. Does this dress make my ass look bigger? I never thought to check, maybe because I had hoped to have a new start here in this world. Anger builds inside me, along with hurt and embarrassment, both of which are scars from three years with Jason. “We also don’t sell people or chop off hands to prove a point.”
The Shadow Knight is wearing a trace of a smile and considers me as if he’s trying to figure me out. I start to think he’s teasing me, but it doesn’t make much sense that a man this intense has a sense of humor.
So much for a romantic interest. I can’t even get a man in fiction. I really do hate my life sometimes.
“Anyway.” I read my hand with a sigh. “I guess Green Dawn Cave is going to launch an attack from the east in . . . what is a candlemark?” I look up at him. “Is that time or distance?”
“East?”
I nod.
He ducks his head out of the entrance. “Horses!” he belts to the nearest soldier. Retreating to the depths of the tree, he opens a trunk and snatches a small sword before turning to me. He holds it out.
“You don’t want me in battle,” I tell him, refusing the weapon. “I’m uh . . .”
He’s glaring at me, eyes turning gray.
“. . . not really sure how to use that thing.”
“You will learn.”
“No, no I won’t,” I reply. “I would rather not kill people and just go home.”
“You will not leave this kingdom and you will learn.” There’s an edge to his voice that scares me.
I’m afraid to move when he approaches, the tension of his body warning me of how serious he is about battle and me never going home. It makes me want to run or cry or eat two pans of brownies to get him out of my system.
He stops too close to me and I stare at his chest once again. Without any sort of ceremony, the Shadow Knight reaches around me to wrap a belt around my hips and attaches the sword to me.
I can’t even fathom the idea of hurting someone.
The sense I had in the field when staring at the blade of grass – that this is more real than anything I’ve experienced in my life – is back. Standing in the presence of the most powerful man in this world, breathing in his clover-brownies scent, and realizing how determined he is to prevent me from returning home . . .
I have to get out of here.
Back pedaling, I put space between us then step towards the entrance.
“Where do you go, witch?” He plants his large hands on my shoulders, their weight enough to keep me from getting far.
I hunch and wriggle, but he’s not letting go. “To climb a tree.”
“What is this obsession with trees?” he asks, genuinely puzzled.
“It’s where I go when I’m upset.”
He releases me with one hand and pulls me back into the middle of the trunk with the other before releasing me. “We have no time for trees,” he says, all business. “Green Dawn Cave comes for our heads. We go to battle.”
“I don’t . . .” My frustrated refusal fades under his glare.
“You don’t what?” he asks dangerously.
“I don’t know how to fight. I just want to go sit in a tree until it’s over!” I’m almost at a wail.
He says nothing and I peek over my shoulder to see what he’s doing. He’s got some sort of leather belt, about five feet long, with loops at either end. He’s strapping one loop around his belt. As I watch, he straps the other around mine.
Shit.
“So you do not run off to a tree,” he says, meeting my gaze briefly. “Because you are not of this world, you receive a reprieve instead of punishment for not following my laws. Can you ride a horse?’
I shrug. “Can’t be that hard.” I can also get away faster if I’m on a horse.
“Good.” He dips down to grab the boar head.
The countdown draws my attention. “Can I ask you something?”
“A battle-witch is the only person in my armies who may speak openly to me.”
“That’s good, I think. What happens in nine days?”
He goes still, the boar mask halfway to his head, and then lowers it.
“I know it’s the end of the era. I thought . . .” The last thing I want is his full attention on me again so soon. “You know, never mind.”
“You thought what?” He’s not resuming his movement, his eyes pinned to mine. “What does your magic tell you?”
I hold up my hand to show him before realizing he can’t see what I do. “It marks the time before the end of the era. In my experience, a countdown is never good news. I’d like to know what’s coming. Maybe.”
His gaze lingers then drops to the medallion. “There are no secrets between a knight and his battle-witch. Not the world she came from, not the curse he carries. Not even her name is kept from him. Do you understand, witch? When I ask you a question, you will answer with the truth. Always.”
Eh . . . It’s not the answer he wants, so I nod.
“A thousand-year curse was placed upon all the kingdoms of the realm. ‘Tis my duty to break it by the end of this era.”
There’s some bad juju here. I can feel it. “Or . . .”
“Or the fogs of Black Moon Draw swallow all. This realm, and all within it, ceases to exist.”
I might as well have been hit by a bag of doorknobs. “No. That can’t be.”
“’Tis so. To break the curse, I must finish what my ancestors did not: reclaim the lands that belong to my family.”
“So you prayed for a battle-witch to help you.” I don’t like this sinking feeling inside me, the one that says I need to help an unlikely hero save his world. I don’t want anything to do with this place and definitely don’t want to be responsible for not having bizarre magic powers.
“Aye.” He lifts the boar’s head once more.
I watch in reluctant fascination as he puts the monstrosity on. The inanimate head comes to life the moment it’s on securely, the eyes flaring gray and snout wrinkling as it breathed in and out.
It’s just so creepy . . .
He starts towards the entrance.
The leather strap snaps me forward, and I’m soon trotting to keep up with his long, quick stride. Embarrassed, I purposely don’t look at the people we’re passing because I’m afraid of what they’re thinking. After my exchange with the Shadow Knight, it’s harder for me to pretend this is fiction.