Black Moon Draw(11)

“Witch! You must run!”

“Shit!” I whirl and see three men with white trees on their breasts where there was no one before.

“The Shadow Knight comes,” the first said grimly, reaching me. “Flee and we will hold him off.”

My chest grows tight. “Where do I go?”

“North by northwest.”

I look up at the sky. I can’t see much beyond the trees. “Which way is that?”

“North then northwest,” he repeats with some impatience. “They are on our heels. You must go now.”

I don’t see anyone following them but start down the path, not about to stick around to meet the man-beast I once admired because he chops off everyone’s heads.

“North first!” the White Tree Sound soldier bellows. “Then northwest.”

“Can you just point the way I need to go?”

He does and then whips out his sword and prepares to face an enemy I can’t see.

North is through the forest. Hiking up my cloak, I trip twice over the oversized shoes before finding my footing. This route is horrible – filled with dips I can barely see in the grainy dusk, brush scratching my legs, and thick tree branches that keep getting in the way. There’s no way I can head in one direction long, not with the detours I have to take.

Cursing the knight for pointing me in such a laborious direction, I stop to suck in a deep breath and glance back. I can’t see them anymore. There’s half a forest between us. The clash of swords tells me which direction the White Tree people are in. They aren’t following.

Focused on working my cloak free from bramble, I hear it behind me: the sound of something very large crashing through the forest towards me.

“This just keeps getting worse!” I yank my cloak free and bunch it up around my waist, sick of wrestling with it in the underbrush.

And then I run. Or try to. When I’m not tripping over the oversized boots, I’m smacking my shins on low branches I can’t see in the darkening forest or almost face-planting when the uneven ground throws a dip or hill in my path.

Needless to say, I’m not getting far. At all.

“Dammit!” Frustrated, I stop and look around. Surely there’s a better, smarter way of dealing with things. “I swear, LF, if I get eaten by some kind of forest monster . . .” I wrestle with brambles.

Whatever is tearing through the forest after me is almost on my heels. I duck behind the thick trunk of a tree, willing LF to pull me out of this nightmare one more time.

Silence falls around me. It scares me more than hearing my pursuer. I hold my breath and wait, listening for any sound at all.

The forest is utterly quiet, like all the fat birds are watching me, waiting for me to get eaten by a monster more hideous than anything I’ve ever imagined.

A loud snort over my shoulder makes me jump. The long tusks and snout of a boar scrape the bark off the tree trunk, floating like some sort of disembodied beast a foot above my head.

Its eyes glow an unearthly shade of gray.

Holy hell. My wits at their end, I run.

Branches snap as the thing behind me runs as well. A scrape of something against a tree and a shadow falls over me, one that makes me stop in place.

The boar-headed man uses tree trunks like steps to propel himself upwards, soaring five feet over my head. He’s wearing a kilt and, aside from the thickest, most muscular thighs I’ve ever seen, I catch a glimpse of his round ass as he does a perfect somersault in midair and twists, landing ten feet ahead of me, his unusual fog-colored eyes glaring at me.

I’ve seen large men on television - wrestlers, The Rock, Jason Momoa - but this man embodies the word huge in a way I didn’t think possible. I always found those kind of men sexy. But in person wearing a massive boar head with tusks as dangerous as the small arsenal of weapons he’s carrying?

Terrifying. The Shadow Knight of Black Moon Draw is strong enough to snap me in two with a couple of fingers, not to mention the weapons strapped to his back that are bigger than I am.

Why is he in chaps? Seconds before, he wore a kilt. Now, he’s wearing a kilt and motorcycle-style chaps. He didn’t have time to change while flying through the air over my head – I’d have seen it.

Not only that, but he has a shadow, because it’s noon now instead of almost dark. I don’t think it’s the kingdom; I think LF didn’t bother rereading this scene for consistency. If I wasn’t scared, I’d be annoyed.

“You forgot to edit this scene,” I whisper to LF, my eyes bugging at the size of the man’s chest and biceps. Leather straps crisscross an otherwise bare, broad, muscular chest, and weapons are strapped to his back, his thighs, and a wound whip at his hip. His biceps are bulging, befitting a man with thighs like tree trunks who also stands a head and a half taller than me and twice as wide.

I can’t get over the boar’s head. Do they grow pigs that big? Because this doesn’t seem possible.

Thank god this is a book. Once again, I experience a sense of bravery I’ve never known in real life. Instead of cowering, I decide to see how this plays out.

“Witch,” the half-man growls in an inhuman voice.

I swallow hard and remind myself again that just because this seems real, it’s not. It can’t be.

“N. . . no. You have the wrong person,” I reply. “I was just walking in the forest when you people attacked me.” I inch away, not wanting to take the chance he doesn’t buy my excuse.