by Lizzy Ford
Whipping out a dagger, he closed the distance between them. “Witch, be still!” he ordered.
She was mumbling something, tears on her face and eyes crazed.
“Witch!” he bellowed.
She froze and looked up for a split second, long enough for him to grab her attention.
“The more you fight them, the worse they bite,” he told her. “Be still.”
“That’s absurd! These can’t . . . be real!” She wailed and began whacking at the bugs again. “Ow! They’re biting me!”
“Be still,” he said more quietly. “Remember the third law?”
Flinching, her struggles slowed.
“I will not let you die. You will have to trust me.”
She met his gaze, wincing as more bugs bit her.
Without looking away, he motioned the squire over and pointed back towards camp. “Bring her clothes.”
The boy went.
The Shadow Knight grew nearer, stopping arm’s length from her. “Any doubt in your mind that those bugs will eat through your skin to the bone?”
She swallowed hard and shook her head.
“Any doubt in your mind that I can stop them?”
Her response was a little less certain.
“Obedience is born of trust. Do as I say, the way I say it, and you will not be eaten alive tonight. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Very, very slowly, bend down and dig out one of your feet.”
She started and then stopped, cursing.
“Slowly,” he repeated, amused. He squatted with her, watching.
The battle-witch obeyed and began pushing bugs around to get to her feet. “Oh, god. This is . . . I feel like I’m going to pass out. I hate . . .” She wobbled.
“You do and they eat you,” he warned. “Do as I say, Naia. Be calm.”
She glanced up when he said her name.
“They are restricted to an area around you. Once you step out of it, I can take care of them,” he told her. “Now, dig out your foot.”
The battle-witch did so slowly, wincing with each bite. Half her skirts were gone, along with the bodice of her dress.
He watched, leery of any sign the bugs had managed to crawl inside her. Men did not normally die of being eaten to death. The bugs usually clogged their lungs or jammed their hearts long before then. Telling her the truth was unwise, and he kept his tone soft and calm, never revealing his own concern for the popular traps set by Brown Sun Lake.
“It’s free,” she said, her voice sounding fainter, a sign she was either ready to retch or panic.
The Shadow Knight rose and circled her, expertly judging where the trap ended. Picking the spot closest to her, he held out a hand and prepared the dagger in his other. “Here.”
She was nearly covered in the bugs. They crawled up her hair and neck. Her gaze was glossing over in a sign he was close to losing her.
“Now,” he barked in his command tone.
Jarred, she reached out to him and stepped at the same time.
The Shadow Knight snatched her and whirled, flinging some critters off, and then deftly cut free the remains of her clothes to free her from the majority of them.
She was trying to fling off the rest, panicking and dancing like a madwoman.
“Stop!” he snapped and replaced the knife. He snatched her by the back of her neck and lifted until she was on her tiptoes, her focus shifted from bugs to breathing. She went rigid, gasping for air, while he swept a large hand down her curves to pick, flick and swipe bugs away. She wore clothing beneath the dress he did not recognize and which left most of her exposed. One garment appeared to be to support her breasts while the other was around her hips and feminine parts. “Be still. Understood?”
“Yes.”
Releasing her neck, he lifted her arms by the wrist and started at her hands, running his palms firmly down her smooth skin, ensuring he missed no part of her body. When he was finished, he twirled her and did it again.
Her eyes were squeezed closed. He slowed his movements, enjoying the sensation of her too-soft skin. She was neither too small nor too plump, her body the perfect combination of curves and plushness. From the large breasts to the flair of her hips, she was the kind of woman whose body he would worship in bed until she was too exhausted to move.
His hands reached her stomach and the sensitive skin there quivered. She pushed at him.
“Stop,” he growled. “Obedience, witch.” Lifting her arms back into the sky, he touched her stomach and hips again.
She flinched and licked her lips, a faint flush on her cheeks. She shook from the cold, fear, and his touch, and he kept his hands on her hips a moment longer than necessary.
Kneeling in front of her, he traced his palms over one smooth leg, from hip to toes, and then the other. She had the softest, smoothest skin he had ever experienced, with no birthmarks or scars marring her. He had never touched any witch this way, but there was aught about her that snagged his senses and compelled his attention towards her.
The Shadow Knight stood and moved behind her. He took her wrists and placed her arms at her side before stepping into her body. With her plump ass at his groin, he had a hard time concentrating on working the bugs free of her hair, his other hand on her lower belly to keep her against him, in case she followed through with her promise to pass out.
“’Tis a shame you are destined to be a witch,” he said. “A man would take great pleasure out of your body.”
She said nothing. She was tense.
“Trust, lady.” He softened his voice, not quite understanding her fear. He only killed those he needed to and never bedded a woman who was not willing. She was like one of the foals, new to the world, fearing the touch of the man that cared for her. What worked best with young animals was calmness and warmth.
His duty was to protect his armies and wards, not coddle them. Had she been any other battle-witch or warrior, he would have rescued her then left her to deal with the bugs.
With her, it was not simple duty. It was overwhelming desire as well.
Her supple skin was a reminder he had not bedded a woman in over two fortnights, her silky curls another indication she was from a world where she was pampered and not forced to work the land or with her hands at all. She had time to care for her skin and body, and it showed. He marveled at the subtle differences, fascinated by her body.
She was forbidden. The thought had the opposite effect it should; fire lit in his blood and he breathed in her fresh, womanly musk.
He plucked bugs free from her hair and dropped them at his feet, crushing them. Running his hands through her hair and then neck, he leaned back to ensure none of the bugs had returned to their battle-witch feast.
The Shadow Knight turned her to face him, keeping her body against his. She was upset but quiet, her arms clutched to her chest as if she tried to hide her breasts. She was also much more expressive than he was accustomed to, making no attempt to conceal the emotions flying through her gaze.
He absently wiped tears from her cheeks but managed to subdue the primal need to wrap both arms around her and kiss her, until her fear was gone and she begged him to touch her again.
“I don’t like it here,” she whispered, gazing up at him in distress. Her warm frame trembled.
“’Tis your home.” The words were firmer this time, and he felt the shift inside him, the acknowledgement he had no intention of returning her to her world. What belonged to him was his forever, even if he was never able to touch the sacred skin of a battle-witch in the way of a lover.
They gazed at each other, the quiet night and moonlight providing a backdrop that reminded him too much of peace, a word he banished in Black Moon Draw, a word too dangerous to utter when his life and the lives of everyone in his realm depended on him waging war. He had always despised quiet moments like this, for a peaceful period meant he was not fighting or moving his armies into position.
For the first time since he was able to rememb
er, he found himself enjoying the heat of her body, the opportunity to study her pale features and gaze into eyes the color of sea-shallows.
“M’lord!” The squire’s cry broke the spell.
The Shadow Knight released his battle prize with some reluctance and stepped away, facing the approaching boy.
“Does she live?” the squire asked anxiously.
“Aye, she does. Turn your head away, boy.”
The squire’s eyes fell to her then away just as quickly. He held out the clothing he had brought.
“Kill the rest of the critters in the trap.”
Without hesitation, the boy drew a dagger and began hunting down the bugs.
The Shadow Knight faced his beautiful battle-witch with her wide eyes and near-naked form. His eyes swept over her while he held out the clothing.
‘Tis a shame battle-witches are pure. Or maybe, it was good, for she was already distracting him from planning his next battle.
“Bring her back when you are done,” he ordered her squire. Silently acknowledging the wisdom of putting distance between him and the most fetching woman he had ever met, he whirled and strode back to camp.
Chapter Eleven
Like I could sleep after last night. I still feel the sensation of his hands exploring my body. Not even the fact that I hate camping – the cold mornings, grass up my nostril, my stiff back – can distract my mind long from what happened.
Well, except for recalling those disgusting bugs. My bites healed quickly – the benefit of being a witch around here – but I jump every time anything touches me. I could really use a huge breakfast, some ibuprofen, and a one-way ticket out of this horrible place.
Who sets man-eating bug traps? What other horrific surprises are waiting for me?
“Witch.”
My whole body wakes up at the low, inhuman growl of the Shadow Knight. For a moment last night, I thought he was going to kiss me, and he all but threatened to drag me to his bed, if I hadn’t been a witch. I can’t get over how his palms branded my body. I never noticed that with Jason, never found it interesting what his hands were like at all.
Sex with the Shadow Knight and all his intensity and command would be incredible.
But unrealistic. I can’t sleep with a man who doesn’t exist, especially one who thinks I need to be pure to use my magic. I also wouldn’t dare do to his fiancée what Jason and his woman did to me.
He sure felt like he existed last night. Caught in the memory of his thick body, fierce expression and brownies, I forget my grumbling muscles and empty stomach long enough to start to smile wistfully. I spent the whole night imagining erotic fantasies, envisioning his naked body in every position, every –
“Witch!” he says impatiently.
Then there’s this attitude of his. He’s kind of a dick. At least, that’s what I want to believe, because otherwise, I can’t think straight. My thoughts stray to how gently he touched the skin of my inner thighs, my hips, my ass . . .
I twist to glare up at him. It’s daylight – and foggy. Last night was so nice and clear and we’re back to the fog that follows the Shadow Knight around, a sign of his curse.
“Come.” He’s wearing a kilt and chaps with no tunic, the sight of his muscular chest and arms filling my belly with butterflies.
Rolling my eyes, I push myself to a sit and take the canteen thing my squire holds out to me. Its contents taste like mint green tea, not water, and I drink a lot of it before handing it back and climbing to my feet.
“Today we go to the deserts of Brown Sun Lake,” the squire tells me. “Have you been there?”
“No.”
“We will take a route . . .” The boy continues to explain the route and expand on his earlier list of atrocities the Desert Knights have committed over the past thousand years. I listen curiously, amused by his animated features. “. . . and slay him.” He finishes and I shift with a grimace.
There’s no way I can ride a horse today. Uncomfortable already, I refocus on the boy. “How do you know all this history?” I ask. “It doesn’t seem like you have time for school if you’re riding to battle all the time.”
“I am a scribe,” he says proudly. “’Tis my duty to know history, letters, and writing.”
It’s an odd combination. They value history, even if no one wants to talk about the past. “Not many people do that here?”
“Nay. There are but three in our armies, and that is threefold what other armies contain!” he says in excitement. “I am with you to record your great deeds and help guide you in our ways.”
“And protect me.”
“Yes.” He blushes, as if he’d forgotten the most important duty.
That explains a few things. Like how he can hardly lift a sword and would probably climb a tree with me if we were confronted by anyone.
Bathroom. I look around, once more surprised when an outhouse magically appears. I don’t question it this time, simply happy to have one around. When I emerge, the squire stands.
“We must go,” he says, indicating the mounted lord and master of the universe.
I meet the gaze of the Shadow Knight who handled me with a combination of gentleness and command last night. I’ve never thought myself submissive in bed, but I’m entertaining the thought now. My cheeks grow hot as we look at one another a little too long.
“Are we off to slaughter a bunch of –” I start.
With his usual charm, the Shadow Knight reaches down to grab me and hauls me unceremoniously onto the horse in front of him. I admire his strength but the manhandling? Every once in a while I start to think I’m doing the feminists of my world wrong by wanting to surrender each time he touches me.
“I can ride on my own!” I say, at once flustered by his scent and nearness.
“Were I to trust a tree-witch.” He wraps both arms around me in a silent refusal to let me go. “You did not protest last night when my hands were on your body.”
Those thick arms and the warm skin of his chest are better than a shot of espresso. I’m wide-awake, wet somewhere I don’t want to be, and blood buzzing. I love being in his strong arms.
“I feared for my life,” I muttered.
“Obedience, witch. You should fear me as well.”
Oh god, take me now. Totally not the right answer for this situation. “Okay. I’m being good.”
He releases me.
I swing my leg over the withers and make an attempt to get comfortable. He loops an arm around me securely then takes the reins with his other hand. My ass is pressed to his crotch in a way that sends a flurry of fiery butterflies through my system.
“Too tight,” I complain, wriggling. It’s chilly and misty, and I’m burning up.
He says nothing and nudges the horse forward without loosening his grip.
“You ride with the Shadow Knight.” The woman’s voice is suspicious, displeased. Ugly Duckling, the sister of Disney Princess, pulls up alongside us, her critical gaze on me. “Can you help us, witch?”
“She will perform her duty as required, as will we all,” the Shadow Knight replied brusquely.
“My brother will not be pleased if you continue to push off the bonding to my sister.”
“’Tis between her and me and not your place to ask.”
The woman’s face flames red. She ducks her head in a quick, embarrassed bow and then rides away quickly.
I’m not sure what’s going on between the Shadow Knight and his betrothed, but I envy anyone who has a protective sibling. I’m an only child, one who grew up uncertain how to handle other people. I was always jealous of other kids who had huge families with tons of brothers and sisters. Plagued by awkwardness and insecurity, I’d give anything to have a sibling to help me through the worst parts of growing up. Ugly Duckling is concerned about Disney Princess, even though I don’t think a woman that intelligent, sweet, and beautiful has any problems with the world.
The Shadow Knight begins talking to a man with a possum head far too small for
his human body, and I don’t let myself giggle the way I want to. I’m stuck in this place between laughing and running when it comes to most of this world.
The army is mostly ready. We pass the defeated warriors of Green Dawn Cave, chained together in lines that wrap around the camp. I hate seeing them like this and cling to the hope that the Shadow Knight wasn’t lying about sparing their lives.
I hope they aren’t sent to the edge of the world. Slavery seems like a fate worse than death. The men appear miserable already. The Disney Princess is riding among them, pausing occasionally to address either the defeated or the victors. I’m expecting her to hand out water bottles or something in the role as the perfect princess.
As if spotting her, the Shadow Knight steers the horse away, putting her behind us. Something really weird is going on, but I’m not about to delve into it. I can’t get the picture of people dying, or the defeated men, out of my head.
What makes everything so much harder to bear: the Shadow Knight is doing what’s right in his own barbaric way. It’s eye-opening, soul shattering, and absolutely necessary.
If I believe this place is real, I’ll never stop crying. No matter how it feels or smells, or how real last night was with the Shadow Knight, I can’t accept a reality so different from my own. It’s so cruel.
“What say you, witch?”
“How can you hear me?” I mutter. It’s sporadic, and judging by his expression last night, he’s not even aware that he’s occasionally overhearing one of my thoughts.
“Madwoman.”
“I am not a madwoman.”
Silence, followed by a terse, “You should not have heard that.”
“Finally! So did I read that thought out of your mind the way you’ve been doing to me?”
“I possess no such power.”