"Now a tree-witch is not real."

"You-"

"Quiet." For once, she heeded the note of warning in his tone. He considered her, aroused by the softness of her skin and her direct gaze. "Naia."

"Yes. Better than witch. Why don't you use names here?" she asked.

"If a sorcerer or witch knows a man's name, he can put a curse on the man," he replied, revealing half the truth about the custom. The other half he did not think her ready for, not after she had unknowingly given her name to him. The custom was not as binding on a witch or sorcerer, but he took no chances by revealing the truth.

"Oh. So no one here knows your name?" she asked.

"They do not."

"You have no family or friends?"

"Family, no. This notion of friends is not our way. I am the knight, the lord, the master to every man and woman in my kingdom."

She nodded, though she appeared bewildered as well. He almost asked what her world was like if not ruled by knights but stopped himself, not wanting to strengthen her connection to a place that did not exist any longer. His own confusion ran deep; he had not known other worlds existed before her.

"Can I be a knight?" she asked, calming.

He laughed. "You cannot hold a sword. How would you be a knight?"

She sighed. "I don't understand why there's so much death."

"Battle is for a purpose. Each death must be necessary. If it is not, it is cruel."

"I think killing anyone is cruel."

Each life taken, each kingdom conquered he regretted none of it, because there was a much greater evil he fought. "You do not fully understand my purpose," he said.

"There can be no reason great enough for what I saw. And yet, I understand why you did it. I don't know what to think about it."

With some regret, he realized he might not have the aid of the battle-witch in his final days of battle. He would still fight until the very last breath in his body, with or without her help.

Her trembling had ceased, but the shimmer of vulnerability remained. It was unusually appealing, the unguarded way she looked at him with her heart in her eyes and her plump lips parted.

"'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 body 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.

Her squire had managed to avoid it, but the witch was stuck in the middle, her feet sank into the ground while critters with shells that reflected the moonlight scuttled up her body.

She was panicking, flinging them and knocking them off, her uncertain squire wringing his hands helplessly nearby.

Assured it was not another attack, the Shadow Knight sheathed the weapon at his back and strode down the hill. He motioned the squire away and surveyed the creatures. They were already eating through her clothing in spots. Purple magic glowed around her faintly, the way it had earlier in the day when she defeated Green Dawn Cave. Her power was un-channeled, undisciplined, spinning off into the night instead of defending her the way it should.

Whipping out a dagger, he closed the distance between them. "Witch, be still!" he ordered.

She was mumbling something, tears on her face and eyes crazed.

"Witch!" he bellowed.

She froze and looked up for a split second, long enough for him to grab her attention.

"The more you fight them, the worse they bite," he told her. "Be still."

"That's absurd! These can't . . . be real!" She wailed and began whacking at the bugs again. "Ow! They're biting me!"

"Be still," he said more quietly. "Remember the third law?"

Flinching, her struggles slowed.

"I will not let you die. You will have to trust me."

She met his gaze, wincing as more bugs bit her.

Without looking away, he motioned the squire over and pointed back towards camp. "Bring her clothes."

The boy went.

The Shadow Knight grew nearer, stopping arm's length from her. "Any doubt in your mind that those bugs will eat through your skin to the bone?"

She swallowed hard and shook her head.

"Any doubt in your mind that I can stop them?"

Her response was a little less certain.

"Obedience is born of trust. Do as I say, the way I say it, and you will not be eaten alive tonight. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Very, very slowly, bend down and dig out one of your feet."

She started and then stopped, cursing.

"Slowly," he repeated, amused. He squatted with her, watching.

The battle-witch obeyed and began pushing bugs around to get to her feet. "Oh, god. This is . . . I feel like I'm going to pass out. I hate . . ." She wobbled.

"You do and they eat you," he warned. "Do as I say, Naia. Be calm."

She glanced up when he said her name.

"They are restricted to an area around you. Once you step out of it, I can take care of them," he told her. "Now, dig out your foot."

The battle-witch did so slowly, wincing with each bite. Half her skirts were gone, along with the bodice of her dress.

He watched, leery of any sign the bugs had managed to crawl inside her. Men did not normally die of being eaten to death. The bugs usually clogged their lungs or jammed their hearts long before then. Telling her the truth was unwise, and he kept his tone soft and calm, never revealing his own concern for the popular traps set by Brown Sun Lake.

"It's free," she said, her voice sounding fainter, a sign she was either ready to retch or panic.

The Shadow Knight rose and circled her, expertly judging where the trap ended. Picking the spot closest to her, he held out a hand and prepared the dagger in his other. "Here."

She was nearly covered in the bugs. They crawled up her hair and neck. Her gaze was glossing over in a sign he was close to losing her.

"Now," he barked in his command tone.

Jarred, she reached out to him and stepped at the same time.

The Shadow Knight snatched her and whirled, flinging some critters off, and then deftly cut free the remains of her clothes to free her from the majority of them.

She was trying to fling off the rest, panicking and dancing like a madwoman.

"Stop!" he snapped and replaced the knife. He snatched her by the back of her neck and lifted until she was on her tiptoes, her focus shifted from bugs to breathing. She went rigid, gasping for air, while he swept a large hand down her curves to pick, flick and swipe bugs away. She wore clothing beneath the dress he did not recognize and which left most of her exposed. One garment appeared to be to support her breasts while the other was around her hips and feminine parts. "Be still. Understood?"

"Yes."

Releasing her neck, he lifted her arms by the wrist and started at her hands, running his palms firmly down her smooth skin, ensuring he missed no part of her body. When he was finished, he twirled her and did it again.

Her eyes were squeezed closed. He slowed his movements, enjoying the sensation of her too-soft skin. She was neither too small nor too plump, her body the perfect combination of curves and plushness. From the large breasts to the flair of her hips, she was the kind of woman whose body he would worship in bed until she was too exhausted to move.

His hands reached her stomach and the sensitive skin there quivered. She pushed at him.

"Stop," he growled. "Obedience, witch." Lifting her arms back into the sky, he touched her stomach and hips again.

She flinched and licked her lips, a faint flush on her cheeks. She shook from the cold, fear, and his touch, and he kept his hands on her hips a moment longer than necessary.

Kneeling in front of her, he traced his palms over one smooth leg, from hip to toes, and then the other. She had the softest, smoothest skin he had ever experienced, with no birthmarks or scars marring her. He had never touched any witch this way, but there was aught about her that snagged his senses and compelled his attention towards her.

The Shadow Knight stood and moved behind her. He took her wrists and placed her arms at her side before stepping into her body. With her plump ass at his groin, he had a hard time concentrating on working the bugs free of her hair, his other hand on her lower belly to keep her against him, in case she followed through with her promise to pass out.

"'Tis a shame you are destined to be a witch," he said. "A man would take great pleasure out of your body."

She said nothing. She was tense.

"Trust, lady." He softened his voice, not quite understanding her fear. He only killed those he needed to and never bedded a woman who was not willing. She was like one of the foals, new to the world, fearing the touch of the man that cared for her. What worked best with young animals was calmness and warmth.

His duty was to protect his armies and wards, not coddle them. Had she been any other battle-witch or warrior, he would have rescued her then left her to deal with the bugs.

With her, it was not simple duty. It was overwhelming desire as well.

Her supple skin was a reminder he had not bedded a woman in over two fortnights, her silky curls another indication she was from a world where she was pampered and not forced to work the land or with her hands at all. She had time to care for her skin and body, and it showed. He marveled at the subtle differences, fascinated by her body.

She was forbidden. The thought had the opposite effect it should; fire lit in his blood and he breathed in her fresh, womanly musk.

He plucked bugs free from her hair and dropped them at his feet, crushing them. Running his hands through her hair and then neck, he leaned back to ensure none of the bugs had returned to their battle-witch feast.

The Shadow Knight turned her to face him, keeping her body against his. She was upset but quiet, her arms clutched to her chest as if she tried to hide her breasts. She was also much more expressive than he was accustomed to, making no attempt to conceal the emotions flying through her gaze.

He absently wiped tears from her cheeks but managed to subdue the primal need to wrap both arms around her and kiss her, until her fear was gone and she begged him to touch her again.

"I don't like it here," she whispered, gazing up at him in distress. Her warm frame trembled.

"'Tis your home." The words were firmer this time, and he felt the shift inside him, the acknowledgement he had no intention of returning her to her world. What belonged to him was his forever, even if he was never able to touch the sacred skin of a battle-witch in the way of a lover.

They gazed at each other, the quiet night and moonlight providing a backdrop that reminded him too much of peace, a word he banished in Black Moon Draw, a word too dangerous to utter when his life and the lives of everyone in his realm depended on him waging war. He had always despised quiet moments like this, for a peaceful period meant he was not fighting or moving his armies into position.

For the first time since he was able to remember, he found himself enjoying the heat of her body, the opportunity to study her pale features and gaze into eyes the color of sea-shallows.

"M'lord!" The squire's cry broke the spell.

The Shadow Knight released his battle prize with some reluctance and stepped away, facing the approaching boy.

"Does she live?" the squire asked anxiously.

"Aye, she does. Turn your head away, boy."

The squire's eyes fell to her then away just as quickly. He held out the clothing he had brought.