Black Moon Draw(21)

“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.