Black Moon Draw

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. 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.