Black Moon Draw(71)

“I imagine Brown Sun Lake warriors. The Desert Knight is a wily enemy.”

“Do you have a plan?” I ask.

“Do not leave my side. I fear he speaks the truth about the armies of Brown Sun Lake being at the other end of the pass.”

He has no weapons, yet I feel safer in his arms than I ever have in my cave at home. “That’s why you’re making me ride with you.”

“You are mine. You would ride with me either way.”

I roll my eyes. I kinda like the possessiveness of the alpha knight. It sends a thrill through me to be wanted. A glance at my hand reveals another note from LF.

Post-Fire Swamp scene.

I dwell on the reference, recalling one of my favorite movies of all time, The Princess Bride.

“They’re after me,” I murmur. “And you’re in great danger.”

“I imagine they will try to kill me.”

“Yes.” I twist to glance up at him. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“I said try.” He meets my gaze, the flecks of color barely visible in the moonlight. His strong features are like stone, unreadable and shadowed. He cups my cheek in one hand briefly in a sign of reassurance before his attention shifts to the head of the column. “I can fight forty men without a sword.”

“I know you like fighting.” I face forward. My cheek tingles where his fingers grazed it and I resist the urge to touch the sensitive spot. LF wants me to go with the bad guys. There must be something I need to know or learn. “But did you ever stop to think there are other ways to get what you want aside from brute force?”

“Nay.”

At least he’s honest. “You could turn me over to them, escape, and bring back the army.”

“Nay.” This time, it’s a growl.

“They want my magic, right? I can use it against them, or if it won’t work again, I can string them along.”

“If you failed to do as the Desert Knight bid you, he will torture and murder you.”

“There’s that. But . . .” I seek some rationale that might make him understand.

“But . . .” he prods.

“But . . . I’m not pure,” I whisper. “And the warrior queen Naia had her magic after she . . . you know. Bonded with her Shadow Knight. They can’t risk hurting me, if they want me to use my magic, and if they do, they’re in for a nasty surprise.”

“I wish ‘twas so. The warrior queen held many secrets known only to my bloodline,” he says in the same hushed tone. “No one knew she retained her magic but the Desert Knight and the Shadow Knight. They were brothers who inherited parts of their father’s kingdom. Both had a claim to the battle-witch, but she loved Black Moon Draw over Brown Sun Lake. The Desert Knight of long ago slaughtered his brother and the warrior queen then placed one of his two sons as the Knight of Black Moon Draw. Thus the first Shadow Knight of this era became my ancestor.”

“Brothers,” I repeat. “Both in love with the battle-witch.”

“Aye. ‘Tis why the original blood feud ran so deep. I do not know how much the current Desert Knight of Brown Sun Lake knows of the warrior queen and her secrets, but I must assume the knowledge was passed to him as it was me.”

“Which makes him a lot more dangerous to me than any other Knight.”

“Aye. You will not face him alone.”

“We may not have a choice. Did you think of that?”

“’Tis not an option,” he replies sharply.

“Look, you can defeat these people without me, and I can’t die. I don’t exactly want to be tortured, but if it gives you a –”

“Nay.” There’s a lethal note in his tone this time, one I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t protest. “I will do naught to see you killed.”

I can’t die. I start to point that out once more when it hits me. “You aren’t the only one who knows how to kill me, are you?”

“I am not.”

“It’s how the Desert Knight a thousand years ago killed the warrior queen.”

“A secret passed through both families, I am fairly certain.”

Now that freaks me out. It’s one thing to be stuck in a book and invincible and quite another to know I can die here.

I’ve been swiping my fingers over his forearm as we talked, and I notice the bumps breaking up his smooth skin. There’s a long, angry looking cut along his arm, as if the troll got one good swipe in before he beheaded it. The wound is crusted over, the skin around it red with agitation. It’s not infected that I can see, though there’s a dab of blood near his elbow, a sign he did something to disturb the delicate layer of skin holding the edges of the wound together.

Tracing my fingers over the injury, I frown. His blood is real. The pain this wound caused truly exists as well.

At what point did I start to believe that this world and its inhabitants weren’t just characters in a book? When did I start to care what happened to them?

Why does the long cut along his arm disturb me so much? This man can die and suffer and hurt the same way I can. The same hands capable of hurling an axe to halve a tree have also touched me with complete tenderness.

“Where’s my squire?” I ask, afraid to know the answer.

“Red Knight’s dungeon.”