"'Tis a shame you are a battle-witch," he murmured, eyes on her mouth.
"Why? Because you can't sell me like a horse?" she retorted.
He liked her spirit as well and only wished it was directed towards his enemies. She was often fearless with him, or at least, she was unusually candid. On the battlefield, she was terrified of everything. It was another contradiction about her he found intriguing, if vexing.
"To sell you would be profitable," he agreed. "To take you to my bed would no doubt give me more pleasure this night and may convince you of how real I am."
She stared at him. "But you're betrothed!"
"Not to bond you, witch, just to taste you." He trailed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip as he spoke, eyes on hers.
He waited for her reaction, not able to predict the otherworldly witch the way he did even his greatest enemies.
She knocked the hand holding her chin away and then yanked out of his grip.
He released her. They both knew he did not have to, if he chose otherwise. But he preferred her anger to her vulnerability, an emotion that unsettled him.
"If you even think about deflowering me or whatever you call it here, remember that your man parts will fall off!" she told him.
"You would be worth it."
Flustered, she mumbled something and whirled away, tripped over her feet and then broke into a run. She clearly felt the tension that was between them, a dangerous attraction that he had to prevent from turning into more, if he was to have a real battle-witch. Her reaction was enough to tell him he had stumbled upon a potentially effective way to control her.
Fortunately, he preferred the victory the battle-witch might still grant to the feel of her beneath him.
Her squire, hidden in the shadows, raced after her into the darkness.
It was unusual to taunt a battle-witch this way, even for a man who acknowledged no laws he had not made himself. The Shadow Knight's eyes went from her fleeing form to the sky. He spent a long moment in thought, unable to take his mind away from the battle-witch or the impending danger of the era's end.
A yelp tore his attention away. His instincts took over. He was running before he had time to register what happened. Sword in hand, he crested a nearby hill at full speed and then stopped, taking in the situation. His battle-witch, however horrible at battle, had stumbled upon aught she was supposed to find to protect his men: a trap set by his enemies.