Black Moon Draw(32)

“A thousand years is so long. How do you know a peace summit won’t work?”

“I have nine days to do what my predecessors did not. ‘Tis too late for peace.”

She rested her cheek on her knee, studying him. “What happens after they all submit? The curse breaks?”

“I go to the castle of my forefathers and confront the magic within.”

“Then it’s over?”

“Not quite. Three knights have gone before me into the castle and either gone mad from the curse or disappeared. I must fight one last battle for my kingdom. ‘Tis the greatest of all the battles.”

“It sounds so noble yet so . . .” she trailed off, clearly disturbed by all he told her.

“If you are not here to be a battle-witch, why are you here?” he asked with some agitation, at a loss as to how she was supposed to help him win a war.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I think I’m supposed to help someone do something important.”

“A Shadow Knight reclaim his kingdom and break the curse over him, mayhap?”

She lifted an eyebrow, her expression turning skeptical. “Reclaim your kingdom? Is that what you call slaughtering everyone in it?”

“Is there no war in your land?”

“Not really, no.”

“My world is naught but war.”

“I see that.”

“No, you do not.”

She frowned. “I spent the day at battle with you and helped you win. I think I get the point.”

“You fail to understand the purpose behind it.”

“I do understand!” The battle-witch stood and shook out her shoulders, antsy. “I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know why I’m supposed to help you or how this thing works sometimes and not others.” She patted the Heart around her neck.

He had never tried to share the news with his betrothed, who held no stake in whether his armies flourished or failed. If he tried, he knew she would listen and accept without question, the way every man in his army did his commands. The battle-witch wanted naught to do with him or his world and was fighting him every step of the way, even after he had told her one of his greatest secrets.

“This isn’t real anyway. In a few days, I’ll be home.”

“I have never heard aught so outlandish,” the Shadow Knight replied.

“Wait, what? What part did you hear me say out loud?”

“You speak nonsense at times, witch.” He shook his head gravely.

He had begun to think her mad and this seemed to prove it. He reined in his anger. By the look on her face, his eyes were changing to gray, the color of battle, lust, and anger. It acted as a warning to all who faced him. After a brief hesitation, she approached him.

Firelight brightened her features, which were becoming prettier every time he noticed them. With a mind always on his next battle, he rarely glanced twice at a woman’s face. Normally, he was interested in what was between her legs more than how she looked. A battle-witch could not be touched the way a normal woman could, hence his restraint around her. In spite of the knowledge that a witch’s kiss caused a man’s parts to fall off, he took a moment to genuinely observe her.

“I’m serious. What part did you hear me say?” she asked.

Oval face, feminine features, large eyes with thick eyelashes, and a slender neck. His battle-witch was far younger than any other witch ever to serve him, and beautiful in an earthy, natural way as opposed to his betrothed’s cool, chiseled beauty. She seemed too interested in his response to her mad question to heed the warning of his eyes turning colors.

His own men never grew this close to him for that reason.

“That you believe this not to be real,” he answered finally.

“But it’s not real! You’re not real. Those men who died today – they’re not real either!” There was a note of hysteria in her voice, one he recognized from earlier.

“What madness has claimed you?” he questioned. “Are you suffering from a curse?”

“No, of course not. This is all . . . fake.” She waved her hand towards the encampment. “This, too.” This time, she waved at the sky.

He snatched her arms, his restraint sizzling. “Enough.”

She jerked.

“Am I not real?” he demanded.

The witch tried to pull away, but he held her in place before him, moving closer to her appealing, feminine shape with its large breasts, tucked waist, and the rounded hips, while keeping her where she was.

“Are my hands not on you?” He certainly felt her skin, saw her chest rise and fall with each breath, watched the wisps of her hair bounce in the night breeze. He had never noticed this of his betrothed or the many women he took to his bed, never felt compelled to understand what any woman thought and why.

The Shadow Knight drew her against him. It was natural for his hips to press to hers, for him to gaze down into the eyes the colors of the shallow sea.

“Yes,” she said more quietly.

“Then how am I not real?”

“You’re just . . . not. You can’t be.”

“Maybe the world you came from is the one that is not real.”

She gasped. Alarm and fear spun through her eyes, her breathing erratic.

“You had not thought of that,” he assessed. He held her gaze and lifted one hand to touch her face. “You feel my hands on you. When I cut you, did you not feel pain and bleed?”