Black Moon Draw

"I will not lose you."

"I don't trust my magic to work!"

"'Tis a part of you. I trust it and I trust you."

Ouch. If I weren't already worried about my finicky ability to use magic I don't understand, his statement sinks the delicate self-esteem I've been working on bolstering. "You should know better by now. I'll just disappoint you."

"Nay. You cannot." He lifts my chin to meet his gaze, his thumb resting at the side of my mouth. The air between us shimmers with something forbidden and intense enough to make my blood heat. "Use your magic."

My hand is gripping the medallion. "It's too much of a risk. If it doesn't work for some reason, you'll get hurt."

"So be it. I accept that."

"I don't. I won't. If there's one person who can save this world, it's you." The idea of him dying in front of me makes my chest tight and my stomach churn. It's more than physical attraction, more than the thought of a book character dying. The pain I feel witnessing his death in my mind is worse than what I went through the day Jason broke it off with me. "Let me go, Atreyu."

"This is what you decide, after all we have been through? To trust my enemy?" Inexplicable anger flickers through his eyes and he grows tenser, colder.

"Yes." For now.

"Then heed this warning. If you use the magic of Black Moon Draw in support of my enemies, I will come for your head," he growls angrily and releases me.

I slide to the ground and grimace, testing my legs before I step away from him quickly. For the first time since we met, I'm scared of him. A man like him doesn't make empty threats.

From his mistress to his enemy. Typical, moody, idiotic asshole of a man! I guess if I'm of no use to him, he doesn't need to keep me around. Innately, I understand he can't risk letting the equivalent of a nuclear bomb come into play in the middle of a medieval battle.

I'm too pissed to acknowledge that truth.

The archers lower their bows, and the leader of the Brown Sun Lake goons grabs my arm and shoves me towards the figure standing behind him.

"For your father, with my deepest respect," he says with a bow of his head.

The man who waved at me returns the bow and takes my arm much more gently, leading me away. I peer into the darkness of his hood, trying to see his face, hoping it's my squire or the princess undercover.

A glimpse of his chin reveals a goatee, newly grown.