Black Moon Draw (27 page)

He’s so warm and strong, his chest wide and firm. He’s not shivering in the cold air like I am, and he’s radiating heat that banishes the chills from me completely. I’d like to think I offer some resistance before melting into his body, but I’m pretty sure I don’t.

Instead, my eyes close, and I relax. He maneuvers me until he, too, is comfortable, my face tucked into the nook of his neck while his chin rests on my hair. He brushes a curl from my face, hand resting briefly on my neck and thumb rubbing my jawline. The movement is absentminded, as if he’s deep in thought, rather than meant to provoke the fire in my blood.

“Are you worried?” I ask.

“I do not worry.”

I sink a little more into Black Moon Draw, a little further from my apartment in the city. The more I think of him, the fewer barriers I can throw up between us. While still barbaric, he’s single handedly trying to prevent this world’s equivalent of the apocalypse. I’d like to think, if given the chance, I could leave my home for twenty-five years to risk my life fighting a war that hasn’t been successfully won in a thousand years.

Then again, I won’t submit a resume to a new position to find a job making more money
that might require me to step outside my comfort zone
. What does that say about me? What right do I have to judge him?

“You’re so much braver than I am,” I whisper, stricken by the comparison of our two existences. Between us, he deserves to be the real person and me the secondary, cardboard book character thrown into a story so the hero has someone to talk plot points out with. No one can stand that kind of character.

In my place, in reality, he’d change the world.

The single thought cores me. Fatigued, sorrowful, I start crying.

“I have never seen a battle-witch weep so readily,” he complains. He hugs me closer to him, rubbing his stubbly cheek against mine.

I touch his jaw and neck tentatively with the fingertips of one hand, awed by the sandpapery roughness, warm skin, and the pulse beating strong and steady. This reality is like the sunrise, a flare of light in the darkness followed shortly thereafter by the entire world bathed in brilliance.

I am the worst person ever to live
.
Drawing a shaky breath, I close my eyes and review my life up until now. What the dead warrior queen says clicks, and her words repeat on a loop in my head.

How often are we given a chance to make a difference?

She’s right in every way. My life was a waste before Black Moon Draw; it was utterly meaningless, filled with empty dreams and fear of failure covered by a thick layer of insecurity and desperation.

But here, in Black Moon Draw, I can help the most courageous man who ever existed save his world. He doesn’t wear Christian Grey’s suits or have Mr. Darcy’s gentlemanly manners, and his world isn’t perfect and pretty, waiting only for a heroine he can’t resist to complete it.

My mind spirals down this track for quite some time. The Shadow Knight holds me quietly. Any chance I had of remaining emotionally untangled is rapidly fleeing.

“Atreyu, I want to help you,” I murmur when the emotions start to quiet.

“You will.”

“So far I think I’ve caused you a lot more heartache.”

“In many ways,” he says, his chuckle making the chest beneath my hand rumble. “I understand what it is to be thrust into a position you had no choice about.”

“You are this weird mix of batshit, mass-murdering crazy in battle and super sweet when we’re alone. I can’t figure you out,” I say.

“And you are sometimes a battle-witch and sometimes worse than any page I have trained.”

“I like everything about you except that sense of humor!” Irked with him once more, I lift my head and push at his chest.

“Quiet,” he rumbles. “I am enjoying having you in my arms, Naia.”

God I love the way he says my name.
That easily, he manages to melt my frustration. I relax and tuck my head back where it feels natural, in the nape of his neck. I want to do what my cats do and nuzzle him, rub my cheeks and hands all over him in what I’m pretty sure is a feline expression of ownership.

Hollowness has settled into my heart, and my chest aches in response. The mess with Jason seems distant and irrelevant, like it happened ten years ago instead of ten days. There’s no comparing breaking up with someone who made me feel bad about myself with helping someone this incredible save his world.

When I start to think too deeply about how I was destined to get sucked into a book, I get a mild headache reminiscent of a wine hangover.

“There is naught about you that is not beautiful, even your tears,” he whispers.

Then you need glasses.
I’m instantly angry at myself for not being able to enjoy one tiny moment with him. Banishing the negative thoughts born of lifelong insecurity, I decide to accept his compliment and pretend the most handsome, bravest, and sexiest man ever means what he says.

It feels . . . good. As strong as the urge to cry was, only like a bubble of happiness.

“Is your determination to remain honorable this night intact?” he adds, amusement in his tone.

I hesitate, my physical body humming with desire. His muscular frame is pressed to mine and images of him naked flash through my thoughts. I know how thick his biceps are and the shape of the muscles of his back and chest, how round and perfect that ass of his is. And his thighs . . .

The hollow between my thighs has been wet and hot since we lay down together, and the fact he’s flat out offering to make love to me . . .

Where I was cold before, I’m burning up now.

We’re alone out here. No one would know if we made love under the sky atop clover grass that smells so sweet.

His hand travels up my back to my neck and he cups the back of it, lifting my chin with his thumb. His scratchy cheek brushes mine, the pad of his thumb tracing my lower lip. He dips it into my mouth and I suck on the tip lightly. Withdrawing it, he replaces his thumb with his lips.

His kiss is deep and slow, his depths tasting as good as he smells. His velvety tongue explores my mouth, and any bone in my body that wasn’t already a wet noodle turns into one. I kiss his plump, soft lips with fervor, needing more of him, wanting to know how otherworldly his perfect body moves in bed.

My whole body lights up on fire from the inside out, a combination of warm electricity and desire stronger than any physical sensation I’ve ever experienced. He’s growing hard, his arousal long and thick, pressed to my hips. The Shadow Knight’s hand leaves my face and travels down my torso. He squeezes one butt cheek and pulls me into him.

My core aches in response.

Breaking away from my mouth, he begins a trail of hot kisses down the side of my face to the sensitive skin of my neck below my ear. Breathlessly, I run my fingers through his hair. I’m standing on the edge of the tower once more, ready to leap off and trust him to catch me. Thrilled, terrified, horny . . . I
want
to jump, to lose myself completely in his brownies scent, hard body, and warmth.

For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid to take a chance and really feel.

“Honorable or no?” he whispers against my skin.

I’m breathless, my entire body alive and screaming for him in a way it never did Jason. Opening my eyes, I’m struck by how deep the sensations run – and by how nagging one tiny voice remains.

I don’t want to disrespect Disney Princess. I also suddenly have the urge not to disrespect me, either, not to settle for being second-rung, no matter how incredible a night in this man’s arms might be. I don’t want to be a one-night stand, to open my heart and soul to someone I can never have, no matter how much I know he’ll do things to me that I’ll never, ever forget.

I deserve better.

“I do not disagree,” he says before I can voice my response aloud. “You deserve a man I cannot be at this moment.”

In my heightened state of awareness, the words crush me. The ultimate rejection. I’m regretting my decision, even if some part of me knows it’s the right one.

He releases my ass and shifts his hips back, wrapping me once more in a hug as intimate as it is platonic.

The tears are back, a combination of hurt and frustration. What are the chances I find a man who makes me feel the way this one does – and he turns out not only to be a fictional character, but one who is engaged to someone else?

Par for the course.
It takes me a good five minutes before I can breathe steadily again, and there’s no way my humming body is going to let me sleep or calm down when I’m in his arms. His passion has the power of a tsunami, and it would be so easy for me to surrender and let him sweep me away.

But not right. As much as I hate to admit it.

Blinking away tears, I press my face to his neck and breathe his scent.

He says nothing, and I work on calming down. What’s clear: there’s no way I can take a nap. My body responds to his touch rather than my silent commands, and bleakly, I realize this might be the only opportunity I ever have to experience a night with someone like him.

And I can’t do it.

We don’t remain much longer. I want to write off my inability to sleep on the cold weather and grass tickling my cheeks, but I know it’s the wired energy, hard body, and sexually-charged tension that’s preventing me from calming down enough to sleep.

We start down the dirt road once more. My feet hurt worse from blisters and my pace is much slower.

The Shadow Knight doesn’t complain. The awkwardness between us is charged with emotion and attraction, not to mention apprehension about what happens in two and a half days.

At long last, moonlight reveals the steep walls of his hold, visible up a winding dirt road that runs along the cliff. Only the wall is visible from our angle, but it’s enough to show me how large the seat of his kingdom is. The imposing wall stretches from the cliff for over a mile inland.

A large party on horseback emerges from the fortress and barrels down the road, stopping as they reach us. A man with the head of a Jackal dismounts and drops into a low bow before the Shadow Knight.

“M’lord. We were sorry to hear of the death of your second. I am his brother, here to replace him.”

Wolfie’s dead? I had no idea. A glance at the Shadow Knight’s face is enough to tell me this is a big deal. His jaw is clenched, his eyes gray gems. His sadness in the tower makes sense to me now. I have to imagine he and his second were close, since he told the master-at-arms his secret.

“Your steed, and one for the witch.” Jackal says, motioning someone to bring two horses forward.

“The witch rides with me,” the Shadow Knight says firmly.

I curse him silently but don’t say anything, my mind taken over by another question I hadn’t thought to ask. On the roof of the Red Knight’s, my little squire had been prepared to die for me.

Had he?

I can’t stomach the idea.

“Brown Sun Lake is marching upon our lands. The Desert Knight has tricked us, crept behind our armies,” Jackie-the-Jackal continues, urgency in his tone. “His armies are at the edge of the forest.”

The Shadow Knight mutters foul curses, all business once more, his battle energy back after a rather peaceful day walking. He slings himself onto the horse. Bending down to grab me, he gives me a warning look as I push at his arm.

“I can ride my own horse,” I object.

“On the battlefield, I command.” He cups his hand behind my neck to bring my face closer to his. Gray overtakes his eyes.

Don’t think of the kiss.
It’s too late. My eyes go to his full lips, and I recall what it was like having him on top of me and his mouth pressed to mine. Any truce I thought I had with my body is instantly gone, boiled alive under his intensity.

“Do you understand?” he whispers.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

He releases my neck before wrapping an arm around my waist and hefting me before him. I shiver as our bodies meet. Each touch is getting harder to ignore.

The horses head away from the castle, following a dirt road leading along the foothills of the mountains.

“The answer to your question from earlier is nay,” he says for my ears only.

“What question?” I reply.

“This is your home, Naia. I will do everything in my power to show you that.” His hand slides to my lower belly, and he presses me more firmly against his hips. “You belong to Black Moon Draw. You belong to me.”

“So we’re back to that,” I manage somehow to keep my tone even. My pulse races and I’m overly aware of his strength and heat, the width of the hand on my belly, the way he nudges my head aside with his chin. “Did you forget our deal already?”

He says nothing.

The men around us move away, spacing out as we ride along the foothills towards a break in the mountains.

“Naia,” the Shadow Knight’s voice is almost too quiet for me to hear. “My master-at-arms did not have a brother.”

My eyes go to Jackie, who leads the procession, followed by other men whose faces are conveniently hidden by their animal heads. “Then who are they?” I ask, uneasiness trickling through me.

“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.”