Black Moon Draw(61)

“You’ve done it more than once!”

“’Tis a good sign.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Since you are my battle-witch, then ‘tis a fair sign indeed. You may have some use yet.”

In bed, god willing. I hope he doesn’t hear what I think about his body.

“I do,” he responds.

Oh, god.

I struggle to twist enough to see his face but can’t. I’m swinging in rhythm with the tower. Dread settles into my stomach for a reason other than the fact I’m dangling several hundred feet above the ocean.

If I live through this tower incident, I’m renewing my determination to do no more than save his world and go home. I’m not falling for him more than I have, not about to risk any chance at happiness by diving down that rabbit hole.

I swing like a rag doll. The tower is moving. I’m not sure how much effort it’ll take to reach the next one but am hopeful. I’m proud and starting to think that I’m getting better at this life thing. Not even Jason could find fault with my plan.





Chapter Fifteen





This is a bad plan. The Shadow Knight shifted his weight and observed as the battle-witch swung farther this time than last. He eyeballed the distance between them and the next tower, wanting his calculations to be incorrect.

If they were able to generate the momentum needed, which he highly doubted, they’d smash into the next tower. He had no way of judging how much damage that would cause or if they would survive. Adding to his concern was the groan of a link above, one that had begun to pull apart with the strain of the swinging weight of the homemade pendulum.

The tower dropped a foot, a sign the chain was starting to give. He shifted to his knees and began hauling up the witch.

His plan, aside from climbing into the gray mists, was to push his witch until she snapped, and the magic emerged. He’d felt it when she fell off the fortress of the Red Knight. She had used it against him in an attempt to save his life, which was an improvement over the trap where she had not channeled it any direction at all and her bizarre use of power against Green Dawn Cave.

There was a theme to when she used her magic: when either she or he was in danger. He was relying on provoking that instinct to get them out of this mess once more. All he had to do was put them both in mortal danger, and they would be back on land.

As he steadily drew her up, hand over hand, his mind went once more to the sight of her dying at the Red Knight’s hold. He had witnessed many men – and quite a few battle-witches – die in battle. None of those deaths hit him the way hers did. Beautiful, witty yet an absolute coward in battle, she was not the kind of woman he ever would have considered for his army, had they not been thrust together.

Her act of self-sacrifice meant more to him than it should, along with the spike of fear that pierced him watching her plummet to her death. What struck him more strongly: her death had the same impact on him as that of the loyal master-at-arms who had died in his arms, slain by the troll. How did the death of a lifelong friend compete with one of a battle-witch he had only just met?

The urge to protect her – nay, to possess every inch of her – returned, more powerful than before. The woman foretold to end the curse, who bore the name of the greatest queen of Black Moon Draw, whose touch stopped his racing thoughts and whose body tempted him to stop marching to battle so he could spend time running his hands, tongue, lips over every inch . . .

“What’re you doing?” she called, interrupting the image he had stored of her body in the moonlight.

“Go inside,” he directed her.

“But, why? We were doing so good!”

There were times when he found her innocence and ignorance of his world fetching, a reminder of why he was slaughtering men left and right to save those who deserved it.

This, however, was not one of those times. “Keep quiet and obey me, witch!” he returned.

With a look at the link yawning open three dozen feet above his head, he suspected they were about to embark on a very uncomfortable journey into the bay.

The sheet went lax, and he risked a look over the edge of the roof to ensure she was inside before releasing it.

The Shadow Knight balanced himself, allowing his body to sway with the movement of the tower, and gripped the beam under the roof with his wide hands. He did a slow-motion somersault over the edge, instincts and awareness on high alert to ensure he not only maintained his balance but didn’t miss the window below him.

A moment later, he dropped into the tower and steadied himself against the wall. Trunks and loose items pitched back and forth with the tower’s movement. The battle-witch was sitting on the bed, the sole piece of furniture heavy enough not to be flung across the tower.

He waited for a pitcher of water and several other loose items to rattle by him before leaping atop a trunk and onto the bed.

“Why did we stop?” she asked, gazing at him with eyes the color of the sea’s shallows.

“’Twould not have worked.”

Her frown was sad. “I guess I’m not surprised.”

“My plan will kill us.” He waited for the words to sink in. Too shocked to speak, she was staring at him. “The chain is about to snap and send us into the bay. Unless you can save us.”

“But . . . I . . . how?”