Black Moon Draw

Like I could sleep after last night. I still feel the sensation of his hands exploring my body. Not even the fact that I hate camping - the cold mornings, grass up my nostril, my stiff back - can distract my mind long from what happened.

Well, except for recalling those disgusting bugs. My bites healed quickly - the benefit of being a witch around here - but I jump every time anything touches me. I could really use a huge breakfast, some ibuprofen, and a one-way ticket out of this horrible place.

Who sets man-eating bug traps? What other horrific surprises are waiting for me?

"Witch."

My whole world wakes up at the low, inhuman growl of the Shadow Knight. For a moment last night, I thought he was going to kiss me, and he all but threatened to drag me to his bed, if I hadn't been a witch. I can't get over how his palms branded my skin. I never noticed that with Jason, never found it interesting what his hands were like at all.

Sex with the Shadow Knight and all his intensity and command would be incredible.

But unrealistic. I can't sleep with a man who doesn't exist, especially one who thinks I need to be pure to use my magic. I also wouldn't dare do to his fiancée what Jason and his woman did to me.

He sure felt like he existed last night. Caught in the memory of his thick body, fierce expression and brownies, I forget my grumbling muscles and empty stomach long enough to start to smile wistfully. I spent the whole night imagining erotic fantasies, envisioning his naked form in every position, every -

"Witch!" he says impatiently.

Then there's this attitude of his. He's kind of a dick. At least, that's what I want to believe, because otherwise, I can't think straight. My thoughts stray to how gently he touched the skin of my inner thighs, my hips, my ass . . .

I twist to glare up at him. It's daylight - and foggy. Last night was so nice and clear and we're back to the fog that follows the Shadow Knight around, a sign of his curse.

"Come." He's wearing a kilt and chaps with no tunic, the sight of his muscular chest and arms filling my belly with butterflies.

Rolling my eyes, I push myself to a sit and take the canteen thing my squire holds out to me. Its contents taste like mint green tea, not water, and I drink a lot of it before handing it back and climbing to my feet.

"Today we go to the deserts of Brown Sun Lake," the squire tells me. "Have you been there?"