Black Moon Draw(45)

Swallowing hard, I say nothing, trying hard to process everything. My heart feels like it’s flying, and my muscles are warmed by the alcohol but aching more with my sudden tension.

“Unhand my lady!” The squire’s cry comes seconds before he stumbles from the pathway into the area around the pond. He’s off balance worse than me, probably because he’s carrying a sword almost his size.

“Calm yourself, squire,” the Red Knight responds, amused. “I have done no harm to your mistress. Take her back to her chamber, if it pleases you.”

The squire stares, slightly bewildered, and then gives a firm nod and lowers the weapon. “I will. Come, witch.”

“Oh, don’t you start!” I snap, facing him. I spin too far and end up facing a very large hedge. It’s moving, or appears to be in my drunken stupor. “You’re too young to . . . why is this bush moving?” I poke the blob.

It’s solid, warm. I blink rapidly to focus and then close my eyes, hoping that helps clear my confusion.

“Naught but herbs to help calm her,” the Red Knight says.

My god I’m so tired. Someone else responds, and I start to feel the sensation of floating. Tomorrow morning is gonna be rough.





Chapter Twelve





The Shadow Knight quelled every instinct of his body that wanted to behead the Red Knight where he stood. Carrying the unconscious battle-witch back to his chamber, he mentally tore the Red Knight to shreds. He began to realize his battle-witch could not be left alone. Ever. She did not know the danger that lurked in the hold and elsewhere in this world. It was pure chance that she was alive. The Red Knight, as lethal as he was gentlemanly, never hesitated to carry out a task for which he was hired.

It meant the Red Knight had an interest in the battle-witch, one the Shadow Knight knew nothing about, one he was unable to imagine. What was more important to his enemies than disabling his battle-witch?

Reaching the chamber, he nudged the door open with his hip and crossed to the bed. She was lucky she was not awake, or she’d receive a severe lecture about how foolish she was. How did she not know better? He was not in the habit of hauling vulnerable witches or warriors around, and he did not care for the way it slowed him down.

“Sire.”

“Out!”

The squire scrambled out of the chamber, closing the door before the Shadow Knight’s temper fell to him. The boy deserved a beating for leaving the battle-witch alone, even to fetch her food.

Setting her down, the Shadow Knight forced himself away. He had half a mind to shake her awake to tell her how foolish she was. Instead, he shook out his shoulders and removed the boar’s head, cloak, and weapons. Barring the door, he tugged off his boots then stood before the hearth, staring into it without seeing the dancing flames.

He knew why he was invited to this place. It was not for a meeting, another failed attempt to convince him to cease declaring war on the world, but to corner and disable his strongest weapon: the battle-witch.

They might be doing me a favor. Darkly, he dwelled on how much trouble she was, how much her perfect body distracted him, and, worst of all, how inconsistently she performed in battle. If anyone was to dispatch her, it was going to be him.

He glanced towards the bed and his gaze lingered. The strange instinct was back, the sense that there was more to her. Aught he was missing. An unsettled turn of his stomach and the quickening of his heart.

He strode towards the bed, not liking any of the sensations going through him. In battle, he was accustomed to trusting his instincts. They kept him alive and several steps ahead of his enemies.

But the intuition that did him so well in battle was . . . addled. Unclear. Hesitant to judge the woman who was supposed to be something she was not. He had to protect her despite her foolishness. The possessive, protective instinct was new, one he never experienced towards a woman.

Turning away, he planted his hands on his hips and stared at the fire. By all rights, he should leave the hold.

He heard her stir and prepared to give her a tongue-lashing she would never forget.

“You die in the battle with Brown Sun Lake.”

His words stuck in his throat. The Shadow Knight faced her.

The battle-witch was sitting up, seated with her legs crossed beneath her. Her drunken gaze was on him, or rather, in his direction. She didn’t seem able to focus clearly and was rocking.

“What say you?” he demanded.

Her brow furrowed. “N. . . nothing.” The answer was slurred, unlike her previous words. “You can read my . . . mind.”

“Nonsense.”

“What did you think I was . . . said?” she asked.

“You said I died in the battle with Brown Sun Lake.”

“Exactly!” Excited, the battle-witch climbed off the bed. She took two steps then tripped and landed on her knees.

He watched her suspiciously.

Climbing to her feet, she took a deep breath and focused on his chin. Or maybe his neck. She was weaving. He doubted she knew where she looked. She clearly was not sure on her feet.

“Battle of Brown Sun Lake.” She pronounced the words carefully. “You die.”

“Your mind is not right.”

“Righter than yours!” she retorted. “You know what else? The Red Knight threatened to kill me, and if he decides not to, it’s because he wants me to take him back to my home world so he can find the person who sent me here. Like that’s even possible. He’s not real!”