Black Moon Draw(63)

“I will protect you,” he reminded her.

She pressed her soft, smooth cheek to his roughened one, and he dipped his face into the nape of her neck to smell her sweet scent. The pulse in her neck was racing, her breathing shallow.

“Did your man parts fall off?” she whispered.

“Nay,” he replied, briefly amused by the question at such a time. “Are you thinking of sweet cakes?”

“Not this time. I’ thinking . . . I can’t imagine a better way to go than in your arms,” she breathed.

The words thawed a piece of him he was not prepared to acknowledge. “You will not die, Naia. But I will.”

The arms around his body tightened in response. “Would you tell me your name then?”

His breath caught. His name? She dared ask such a sacred question at a time like this? Even his betrothed did not know his name. The odd stirring was back, the instinct that prevented him from being affronted by the request and instead, seemed to confirm an idea he had barely formed.

His battle-witch could become like the great battle-witch whose name she bore: a warrior queen meant to be at the side of the warrior Knight that united the kingdoms under one rule.

Rarely did he allow himself to consider what came after he conquered the remaining two kingdoms, especially not when he had a queen in waiting. War and battle required all his concentration, and with time running out, he dared not spare his focus for such fanciful thoughts.

With her perfect body beneath him and her warm breath in his ear, he began to regard what happened after the fighting ceased as possible, that they defeated the curse and entered into a time of peace. There was no use for a battle-witch once war stopped – and the idea of bonding her off to another man to ensure an alliance sent a streak of anger through him. He experienced no possessiveness at all for the woman promised him and forbidden need for the one loaned to him by another world.

“If your magic manifests, and we do not die, I will tell you,” he whispered. He kissed her neck lightly and then buried his face in her hair and waited.

“Prepare to be disappointed like everyone else in my life,” she replied.

The chain groaned loudly – then snapped. For a horrifying moment, they were suspended in midair, at the height of the pendulum’s swing.

The Shadow Knight closed his eyes, not yet ready to lose faith in the woman beneath him. He had come too far, risked too much, lost too many, for this to be his end. He was destined to conquer the realm and defeat the curse.

“I am Atreyu Casamir, the last Shadow Knight of Black Moon Draw,” he said softly.

They began to fall.

He held his breath and willed her to use the magic in the medallion trapped between their bodies.

A flare of heat ignited at his core and flashed through him. It was followed by the sensation of the tide nipping at his boots. Sand squeezed between the fingers of the hand clasping the back of her head while a flavorful ocean breeze ruffled his hair.

The Shadow Knight opened his eyes and lifted his head, taking in the dried barnacles and seaweed scattered across the sands of a beach lining the bay. Water seeped into his boots and wet his toes.

The heat inside him subsided, and he rolled onto his side, eyes roving down the battle-witch’s body to ensure she was unhurt. The pulsing purple light around the Heart nestled between her breasts faded as he watched, a sign he had indeed been right about triggering the magic.

He had gambled – and won. The instincts of a battle-witch were buried beneath her surface; it was her fear standing in her way from accessing it, her belief she had no power over her magic at all. Without it, when she had no time to doubt herself, the magic obeyed.

She rolled onto her stomach, coughing.

The breeches hugged her rounded hips and ass snugly, the outline of her thighs and calves hinting at their shapeliness. He had explored every inch of her body while she slept, first to help put her back together and then to ensure she suffered no infection that might prevent her waking as soon as possible. Seeing the taut outline of her backside and thighs stirred the intense desire sparked by the kiss. If he had no war to fight, he would make love to her here.

“How did I . . . get sand in my mouth?” she gasped. She pulled her knees under her, ass in the air, and sat back on her heels.

His gaze went from her body to her face. She was pale where she had had a healthy radiance before. The magic took a toll on battle-witches; this much he knew.

The Shadow Knight pulled his gaze from her face reluctantly, aware he had a world to save before he dared take a moment to indulge his own urges.

“Your name is Atreyu?” She was staring at him.

“Aye.” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you react this way?”

“You don’t have a magic flying Luck Dragon do you?”

More of her nonsense. “Come, witch,” he said and rose, holding out his hand.

She shook her head at him and ignored his outstretched arm, climbing to her feet.

“My plan was sound,” he added.

“Your plan,” she echoed, hands on hips. She glared up at him. “The one involving letting us both die in the slim hope my magic worked?”

“Aye.” He gazed down at her, their bodies separated by a foot that was strangely too far. Recalling how she had felt beneath him, and how he could never let them go farther, he clenched his fists to keep from reaching out to her. His man parts had not fallen off after that encounter, either.