Black Moon Draw

"Okay," I say finally, thoroughly exhausted. "I need a break."

"We cannot stop all night," he warns.

"I know. Just for a bit?"

The Shadow Knight relents, albeit unhappily. He leads us off the road.

When he's not looking, I let myself limp. My god - I haven't had blisters since I was a kid! I forgot how much they sting.

He chooses a spot at the base of a hill to offer some protection from the wind whipping by and sits down. I sit beside him and lean back against the sweet smelling grass, groaning.

"My warriors can march for two days without stopping to rest," he says.

"I'm not a warrior," I mutter under my breath. My teeth begin chattering soon after we stop.

"Never met a battle-witch who could not start a fire."

"Are you trying to make me feel bad?" I snap.

"Anger keeps you warm."

Rolling my eyes, I pull my knees in and hug them with my arms. "Maybe it was a bad idea to stop." I'm too cold to take the nap I need.

"I imagine returning from the dead requires rest." His shoulder brushes against mine as he shifts closer. A moment later, his arm circles my shoulders.

"Um, probably not a good idea," I say, tugging away. My thoughts go to earlier, when he seemed amused by my rationale behind not wanting to hurt his fiancée's feelings.

"I respect your honor and your cowardice. You need rest."

After a brief hesitation, I let him pull me into his body.

Guiding us onto our sides, he wraps his other arm around me and tucks me against him. One of his legs drapes over my thighs, drawing our hips together. Folding my hands to my chest, I rest a cheek on his bicep and breathe in the scent of brownies and grass, unable to recall when I last experienced anything nearly as comfortable.

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 him, 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.