Black Moon Draw

by Lizzy Ford

  I don’t ask why there’s a flicker of sadness in his pretty eyes, but it takes effort. Diving off a cliff for a man you barely know seems easier than talking to him when he’s looking directly at you like this.

  I take a drink of the tea instead, not liking the idea he allowed himself to be taken prisoner instead of . . . I don’t know. Leaving me. Beheading everyone.

  “Are all women of your world hairless from the waist down?”

  I choke and spew tea everywhere, my face hot. Coughing hard, my eyes water. It takes me a moment to quell the fit, but there’s nothing that will take the heat from my cheeks.

  “How do you know that?” I demand, humiliated. “Were you . . . doing things to me when I slept?”

  “Aye. Cleaned up the blood. Stitched pieces of you back together. Dressed you.” He’s calm and factual.

  I’m speechless.

  He points to the corner nearest the bed.

  I look, if only because I want to hide my red face. “Oh, god.”

  Rags soaked with rusty blood are piled in the corner, knee high and a good two to three feet wide.

  That’s my blood. I can assume when I hit the ground that I probably exploded or something but to see evidence of it . . . “How am I alive?”

  “You are indestructible.” He stretches forward to grab the mug tilting dangerously from my hands and sets it on a trunk beside the bed. “You should be grateful I cared for your womanly blossoms and not the squire. His hands are not steady enough.”

  Could this get any worse? I cover my face. I’ve been naked with men before, of course, but this is him. The man with the sexiest body on the planet, who’s also engaged to someone else, whose hands I’ve already experienced over every inch of my body – and loved it.

  If only I weren’t unconscious when he touched me this time. If that’s not the most embarrassing experience ever, then I don’t know what is. Did he notice the dimples in my ass in the full light of the room?

  “Let me guess. You prefer hairy women,” I mumble. I throw off the blankets and walk away to a window that’s shuttered. It’s locked from the inside, and I fumble with the mechanism to open it, needing air.

  “I had not thought of it, so long as a woman is a woman,” he says. “The smoothness is pleasant. How came you to have no hair?”

  A glance at him is enough to show me he’s amused and regarding me with intense interest I find even more disconcerting. I’ve had the sense more than once since meeting him that he’s teasing me.

  Seeing the glint in his gaze, I start to suspect I was right. He’s been screwing with me subtly. I’m not used to being teased and don’t expect someone like him to have a sense of humor at all. I wish he hadn’t chosen something so . . . personal.

  “It’s . . . ah . . . Jesus why won’t this open?” I yank at the shutters. I’m fevered and embarrassed, about to cry, because I’m waiting for him to make some horrible joke about the birthmark on my hip or the fact my chubby thighs touch.

  I hear him approach but am more concerned about the window. If I can open it, I can breathe, escape, or jump to my death before he says something to hurt my feelings.

  “Because you are not calm enough to open them.” He rests a large, warm, calloused hand over mine and I freeze.

  The Shadow Knight sweeps my hands down and unlatches the shutters with his other hand. His heat and strength are at my back, close enough for me to feel his muscular presence, his scent winding through my senses. Brownies have been a source of happiness since I was old enough to eat them and his smell calms me.

  He pushes open one shutter, his hand remaining over mine on the sill. His left hand goes to my hip and he moves close enough for his hips to rest against my backside.

  Do I move or stay? I’m so embarrassed, I don’t want him to see my face, but standing so close does things to my insides that make me feel like I’m crushing on my first love in high school.

  I can’t feel this way. I know he’s taken; it’s pure physical attraction. Nothing else. It’ll fade when I see him with Disney Princess.

  A cool breeze sweeps by me, distracting me. It’s a foggy midafternoon, judging by the muted glow of the sun ball overhead. The sexual tension between us is too heavy, makes me nervous.

  “I was supposed to get married in three days, so I had a . . .” Brazilian. He’s not going to understand that and my face gets hotter. “. . . had all my hair taken off because I’d never done it and thought it seemed like a neat thing to try, since you’re only supposed to get married once.”

  “Married. Bonding between man and woman?”

  I nod.

  “But you did not.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you want to know?” I say in irritation.

  “You are my battle-witch. I should know.”

  “Fine. I disappointed him.”

  “Ah. He wanted a capable battle-witch.”

  Anger floods me at the implication I’m not good enough for Jason. “We don’t have battle-witches!” I almost shout. Turning to face him, I lean back against the wall and glare up at him. “There’s no war or magic or anything in my world! Can you get that through your head?”

  He’s too close. Feeling it is one thing. Seeing the width and thickness of his impressive body is another. He appears unaware that he stands in my personal space or maybe he doesn’t care. He rests his hips against mine once more, one hand on my hip, the other going to my collar. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was considering doing something stupid like kiss me.

  It doesn’t seem likely, given what he thinks about a battle-witch being pure. I can’t stand it, though, being so close but not close enough, knowing there’s an invisible woman and war between us even when our bodies touch.

  “He just didn’t like me. You think I’m a terrible battle-witch and everyone where I’m from thinks I’m an equally lacking person in pretty much every way,” I hear myself say. “Now. You got something smart to say to that?”

  I’ve never in my life spoken to anyone the way I do this man. My own words shock me because of everyone I’ve ever known, I should want to stay on the good side of the Shadow Knight. He’s strong and powerful, the ruler of a world.

  Tilting his head, he seems to get my meaning, because he’s silent.

  The tension between us is too much for me.

  “He rejected me. So I drank too much wine one night and woke up here and have been failing at being what you want me to be since then. But I’m done with that and you and him. Think I’m a shitty battle-witch? Go find another one!” Upset and babbling, I slide out from between him and the wall and march across the room.

  My whole body is wired, edgy. My hands tremble and my insides are shaking. None of this should be upsetting me this much, and I struggle to rein in my emotions and figure out why it does.

  Jason. It has to be that issue along with being sick of people for judging me and not accepting me for who I am, even if I suck at almost everything I do. There are days I don’t know who I am, either.

  I don’t want him to think of me the way everyone else does. The fleeting thought resounds deeply inside me, surprising me by its force. Why should I care what the Shadow Knight thinks?

  Because I like him a little bit more than I want to consider.

  “If you want hair on your blossoms, so be it. If you do not, so be it. A battle-witch answers to no one.” His response is soft, still amused, his tone warmer than I’m used to hearing from him.

  “Thank you,” I say with some vindication. Now stop talking about my body. I stretch my neck back and work on calming down.

  “Though a man likes not to be choked by hair when he pleasures a woman with his mouth.”

  The image of his glorious body naked between my legs, gazing at me with the intensity he often displays in battle, preparing to unleash his tongue on the most sensitive part of my body . . . it stirs a primal part of me, one much stronger and instinctive than a high school crush.


  Fanning myself, I start to think I’ll never be able to calm down.

  “This Jason . . . you care for him?” he asks casually.

  “I did. Why?”

  “You think of him often,” he replies. “Besides, I have spoken to no one in four days. This place is driving me mad.”

  “So you’re in my business because you’re bored. That’s fantastic,” I say sarcastically and rest a hand on my hip, unimpressed with his explanation. “One day, someone will genuinely give a shit.”

  “I cared for you for four days, did I not?”

  And saw me completely naked. “That’s different. You want something from me, but you don’t really care what I think or feel or . . .” Embarrassed by the words and aware I’m inviting criticism I can’t handle today, I shut up.

  The jackass who murders whole armies is listening intently. “Jason was not good to you,” he observes.

  This room is way too small for the two of us. “I didn’t enter another world to talk about my horrible luck with men!”

  “Mayhap if you appreciated your unique gifts rather than pitied yourself, you would not have settled for a man who sees you as disappointing.” His gaze is traveling down my body as he speaks, which makes me think he’s talking about physical gifts.

  I can’t summon a response. Is he really giving me relationship advice by telling me to stop wallowing in my misery?

  He’s not the first person to tell me this. My mother did, too. The only person who always found me beautiful, no matter what, she used to tell me I had to stop settling for men who didn’t think of me in the same way. She liked Jason but still told me to find someone who didn’t make me cry once a week.

  If I don’t put some space between us, I’m going to throw myself out the tower window. “How do we get out of here?”

  “Can you fly?”

  “No.”

  He’s opening the windows. “Can you swim better than you ride a horse?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  Perplexed by his questions, I return to the other side of the prison and peer out of a window. I noticed the sky before; this time, I look down.

  “Holy shit. How is this possible?” We’re in a floating tower over a bay deep enough that its waters are almost black, the nearest beaches a hefty mile swim. There are five more towers evenly spaced and suspended between the beach and us.

  “Magic put us here. It must free us,” he answers.

  “But we don’t . . .”

  He gives me a knowing look and crosses his arms, exposing the roped lengths of his forearms and the strain of his biceps inside the sleeves of his tunic.

  There’s no door at all to the room, a ceiling supported by wooden beams and a floor of massive blocks covered by rugs. I don’t think we’ll survive if we jump to the sea below. It’s too far.

  “Maybe there’s some entrance in the floor. A trap door leading to some elevator or something we can’t see.” I drop to my knees and pull up one rug. I’m starting to feel a familiar sense of panic build and dig my fingers into the space between two stones to see if anything moves. No matter how hard I try, I’m doomed to fail him.

  The thought pierces me to the core and I sit back.

  “’Tis the same for me every day.”

  Not expecting such a human emotion from him, I sit back and face the Shadow Knight. He doesn’t look anywhere as upset as I am about it. More . . . contemplative.

  The instinct warning me about getting too involved is screaming again.

  This time, I ignore it. “How can you say that?” I ask with some frustration. “You have so much power and strength. No one can stop you. You fail at nothing and win every battle.”

  “In three days, my realm vanishes.” There’s a mocking note in his voice, along with bitterness. “And you have no power.”

  “But that’s not our faults,” I protest.

  The Shadow Knight draws closer, seating himself on a stool near me. I automatically suck in a breath of his dark, heady scent and wait with some reticence for whatever otherworldly explanation he’ll offer up. There’s no part of him capable of failing. I’m almost angry at him for claiming to know what it feels like to have the world reject him at every turn.

  He pulls a second stool before him and pats it.

  I sit on it obediently. We’re close enough that my knees are between his, our eyes on the same level his elbows on his thighs.

  “My predecessors fought for a thousand years to unite the kingdoms, each aided by a powerful battle-witch.”

  “You said three succeeded,” I point out, dread in my stomach. “They didn’t have me either.”

  “Which is why they ultimately failed when they returned to the seat of the kingdom to face the curse alone. My idea is that ‘tis not the knight who need face the curse, but his battle-witch, armed with the Heart of Black Moon Draw and her magic.”

  If so, we’re all doomed. “There has to be a better way. You’re taking too many lives and I can’t believe destroying half the kingdoms to save the other half is really the right way to do this! Not only that, but you’re relying on me, and I think we both know that’s the worst possible choice you have!” Swallowing hard, I stop to rein in what emotion I can. “Can you even take over two more kingdoms before your time is up? And what happens if I suddenly disappear back to my world?”

  What happens if I don’t help, and he fails? The idea I might be useless and trapped here, that my fate is tied to that of the Shadow Knight and his world, hits me harder than falling a hundred feet off a castle.

  What if I never leave?

  What if I do and abandon him and his world to die?

  Understanding his motivation, I have to think he can’t seriously be comfortable placing the fate of his kingdom on my shoulders after my performance in battle, and that there’s got to be a better way that doesn’t involve the deaths of so many.

  The Shadow Knight is quiet. I’m afraid to know what he’s thinking. He’s watching me intently, maybe even waiting for me to magically morph into a battle-witch now that I know how important I am in the end game.

  “Your army subdues the realm and I face the curse,” I say aloud.

  “Aye, since your battle magic leaves much to be desired. ‘Tis the only explanation.”

  “I’m going to kill you all, aren’t I?” I whisper. “Because I’m a terrible battle-witch?”

  “Mayhap.” The corner of his mouth is pulled up in a faint smile.

  “I don’t find this funny!”

  “But you finally understand why you must fight as I do.” He holds my gaze, green, blue, and purple sparkling deep within the dark depths. The strange sparkles are entrancing and I find myself staring too long.

  With a shake of my head, I lean back against the stone wall behind me. “So even if I don’t help you on the battlefield, I have to use magic to stop the curse as the final part of the legend.”

  “Aye.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible. Even if it is, I don’t know how. I know this has a bunch of magic in it” – I lift the medallion and drop it – “but I don’t know how to access it. Did any of the other battle-witches tell you how to use it?”

  “My army is at battle now with Brown Sun Lake. ‘Tis upon us only to break the curse.” He shakes his head.

  A trickle of relief hits me. If he’s here, he can’t be mortally wounded in the battle, as he was in the initial draft by LF.

  “I have faith in my battle-witch,” he adds.

  “But you shouldn’t!” I cry desperately. “You should be looking for another way. No one has ever believed in me, because I’m not worth believing in!” Upset at admitting the truth to the one man I’d really like not to think I’m worthless, I stand and start away.

  God this place is so small! There’s nowhere to hide and cry! Since arriving to Black Moon Draw, I’ve been off-balance, afraid to learn too much for fear of caring and winding up hurt, of throwing myself into this adventure fully. Afraid I do go home, and miserable l
ife would be the same.

  The Shadow Knight catches me around the waist, halting me in place. His grip tightens, until his chest is against my back. I’m struggling not to cry, my breathing shallow and quick, my eyes burning. He holds me quietly, his second hand resting at the base of my neck in a movement both possessive and reassuring. I strain against him for a moment, needing space rather than touch yet too turned on by his body to want to leave it completely.

  “Calm, witch,” he says softly.

  I need a hug, and I don’t care if it’s from him. Twisting in his grip, I slide my arms around him and take a deep breath of brownies and clover. His scent has a way of melting me from the inside out. Any part of me that’s not rendered spineless by it folds to the thick arms and wide chest I’m soon pressed against. My body molds against his perfectly. There’s no discomfort the way I felt with Jason, who was taller than me but not quite tall enough for me to fit against him like this.

  Like we were made for each other.

  The Shadow Knight is quiet. He rests his chin against my head and I listen to his heartbeat.

  “I believe in you, witch. You should, too,” he says firmly. “I can cut off another hand, if it convinces you.”

  “No,” I mumble against his chest. God, I just want to strip his clothes off and smell his skin directly! My lower belly is in flames, the hollow between my legs soaked. I can’t remember ever being so aroused.

  Or so determined not to fold to my physical need because of the issues remaining between us.

  He lifts my chin, and I gaze up at him, heart pounding in my chest. “Had we more time . . .” he drifts off, eyes going to my lips. He’s getting hard, his long, thick arousal pressed to my belly. I want so badly for the hand at the small of my back to drift a little farther south, for those sculpted lips to touch mine, for him to command me in bed the way he does outside. There’s fire in his eyes and it awes me. That he’s attracted to someone like me is nothing short of amazing.

  Engaged. I repeat the word over and over. I can never do to another woman what Jason did to me.

  “We need to leave,” he says with reluctance. His thumb runs across my lips.

  I almost sigh in relief. I’m not gonna be the one to walk away, if he kisses me. “I’m not Rapunzel. I can’t get us out of the tower.”