Black Moon Draw

"You are drunk, but you are not blind," he growled. "You see this?"

She grabbed at the medallion, missed then tried again. "Yes."

"It means you are mine."

"Oh, no." She shook her head solemnly. "The Red Knight said . . . you don't want me. Or you'd have ritual. Done the ritual. And you have a princess."

The Shadow Knight almost released her. She wasn't steady enough on her feet. He was so, so tempted to let her take her chances. That the Red Knight put this foolishness into her head was not helping.

"What ritual?" she asked, puzzled gaze going from the medallion to his face again.

The Shadow Knight relaxed. There was no ritual between a knight and his witch. It had been a ploy by the Red Knight, one she fell for. "He may be right. I may not keep you."

"You can't sell me." Her tone took on a plaintive note, her features falling into sorrow.

"You are a terrible battle-witch," he replied.

"I'm not a virgin either."

He froze. "What?" Heat unfurled in his lower belly and spread outward quickly, beyond his control. He'd purposely tried not to notice the flush of her cheeks that made her eyes sparkle, or the way her shapely body molded against his. Unaccustomed to restraint, he'd been moderately proud of himself for not acting on how enchanting his witch was.

"Not for three years. Maybe that's why." Sagging against him, the battle-witch planted her forehead in his shoulder. "I need brownies."

Her nonsense was straining his patience. "I have seen you use your magic."

"Maybe all those witches lied to you."

The Shadow Knight took her shoulders and pushed her away from him, seeking her eyes. She gazed up at him, a combination of lost and confused.

But she was not lying. The soft skin, perfect curves, and spirited woman before him retained her magic despite not being pure.

"You jest," he said, thoughts flying to a little known line in the legends about his family, a mad, prophetic mumbling that made no sense until now. Only one other battle-witch was rumored to have maintained her magic after losing her purity.

It is not possible. He had fancifully entertained the idea the woman who bore the name from legend was destined for a similar fate: to become a warrior queen.

But he had not considered it truly possible. The day his war was over, he retired the battle-witch or the gods returned her to her home. The idea his hands didn't have to stop the next time they met her bare skin . . .

"It is possible." She rolled her eyes at him with a noisy sigh. "I'll show you." The battle-witch took his cheeks in her hand and pulled his face to hers, kissing him.