Black Moon Draw(3)

Ignoring the nervous band of White Tree Sound sentries that stood on one end of the bridge, he swung his massive boar’s head around to look at his surroundings. Moonlight trickled through the fog shrouding Black Moon Draw and reflected off the slow moving river below.

“M’lord,” a quiet voice said from behind him. “You will cross Blue Star Bridge this night?”

The bridge was the established border of his lands. He had paid little heed to the kingdom on the other side, with whom he had a truce born out of necessity rather than desire. He had too many other battles to fight to worry about this peace-devoted enemy. He alone could take the forty sentries bunched around the end of the bridge, but the army beyond the forests would require some planning and more men than he had to spare in order to defeat them.

“Not tonight,” he said in his low, deep growl. “I need a new battle-witch.”

“And you think to find one here?” His most trusted advisor, the man who trained his armies, drew abreast of him. He wore the head of a wolf, the silver eyes and sharp fangs gleaming in the night.

“In my dreams, this is where she appears.” There were no sounds other than those he expected to hear, no unusual scents picked up by his sensitive boar’s nose.

“Perhaps the Red Knight of White Tree Sound has her.” His master-at-arms eyed the restless men belonging to the neighboring kingdom.

“No. She has not come yet.”

“From where do you expect this battle-witch to come?”

“From the edge of the world.” The Shadow Knight flipped a dagger in his hand, caught it, and sheathed it once more. “Come. She is not here.”

“Did these dreams say when she would come?”

“Dreams are like shadows. Even I cannot capture them fully,” the Shadow Knight replied. He pulled himself effortlessly onto his massive steed with one arm.

“Except the one about your battle-witch.” His second mounted his horse as well.

“’Tis how I know it’s different. She will be here.” His gaze lingered on the bridge. “’Tis my destiny to reclaim the lands lost by my bloodline before this era ends.”

“We have less than a fortnight.”

“She will come,” he said, resolute.

“I know the value of a good battle-witch. We can post a sentry, if it pleases you.”

“Aye. A dead battle-witch does me no good.” The Shadow Knight pulled off the Heart of Black Moon Draw – a medallion carved from a rare, black gem and containing the magic of the kingdom – from around his head and tossed it to his master-at-arms. “Instruct our scout to claim her on my behalf.”

“Aye, sire.”

The Shadow Knight wheeled his horse to face the forest. Squeezing his calves against its belly, he raced into the trees, towards the army preparing for tomorrow’s battle.





Chapter Three





Oh, god. My head!

I’m afraid to move, knowing once I do, the world’s worst hangover will kick my ass. The dull, brain deep throb is already there, waiting to explode when I try to stand. Instead, I listen for the familiar sounds of my apartment in the morning: the neighbor’s annoying alarm, the honking of traffic, shuffling of people down the hallway as they leave for work . . .

. . . the gurgle of a stream?

I smell flowers that aren’t anything like the vanilla plugins in my bedroom, and something is tickling the sensitive inside of my forearm.

Spiders!

Only such an irrational fear could make me snap up into a sitting position without considering my head.

I groan, gripping it.

I blink, trying to focus, to see my bedroom wall instead of the dead forest where the wall should be. Squeezing my eyes closed, I open them again. My hands drop to my sides and I stare.

The trees are still present, their bare, sagging branches rattling in a cool morning breeze that makes me shiver. Wildflowers litter the grassy area around me, dancing in the wind. Fog clings to the branches of trees and covers the sky.

I slap my cheek lightly to make sure I’m not stuck in a dream. This . . . place certainly seems real. The source of the gurgling is a wide stream whose banks are connected by a graceful, arching stone and wooden bridge. It feels like morning, but is gray out, like the period of graininess between sunset and night.

Where the hell am I? I could have drunk myself to death and maybe the bridge leads to heaven.

Do people in heaven get hangovers?

My head hurts too badly for me to freak out. It’s definitely a fitting ending to my week. I’m wearing my pretty purple dress, my feet bare, and dark hair hanging around my shoulders. At least I left the earth dressed decently.

“Oh, my poor mom!” Deep sorrow is building within me at the thought of not saying farewell to my mother and I shift onto my knees. Branches snap from somewhere across the bridge. I concentrate on controlling the headache. My stomach hurts and body aches, like I spent the night in some awkward position sprawled across the couch watching my favorite movies.

“Are you the witch?” The male voice makes me jerk.

I face him – and scream. Crouched ten feet from me is a creature with a man’s body and a panther’s head whose golden eyes are watching me like he’s hungry. The unholy combination of man and beast is terrifying.

“Stay away from me!” I shout.