"Kill the rest of the critters in the trap."

Without hesitation, the boy drew a dagger and began hunting down the bugs.

The Shadow Knight faced his beautiful battle-witch with her wide eyes and near-naked form. His eyes swept over her while he held out the clothing.

'Tis a shame battle-witches are pure. Or maybe, it was good, for she was already distracting him from planning his next battle.

"Bring her back when you are done," he ordered her squire. Silently acknowledging the wisdom of putting distance between him and the most fetching woman he had ever met, he whirled and strode back to camp.

Chapter Eleven.

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 body 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 body. 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 fiancee 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 body 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?"

"No."

"We will take a route . . ." The boy continues to explain the route and expand on his earlier list of atrocities the Desert Knights have committed over the past thousand years. I listen curiously, amused by his animated features. ". . . and slay him." He finishes and I shift with a grimace.

There's no way I can ride a horse today. Uncomfortable already, I refocus on the boy. "How do you know all this history?" I ask. "It doesn't seem like you have time for school if you're riding to battle all the time."

"I am a scribe," he says proudly. "'Tis my duty to know history, letters, and writing."

It's an odd combination. They value history, even if no one wants to talk about the past. "Not many people do that here?"

"Nay. There are but three in our armies, and that is threefold what other armies contain!" he says in excitement. "I am with you to record your great deeds and help guide you in our ways."

"And protect me."

"Yes." He blushes, as if he'd forgotten the most important duty.

That explains a few things. Like how he can hardly lift a sword and would probably climb a tree with me if we were confronted by anyone.

Bathroom. I look around, once more surprised when an outhouse magically appears. I don't question it this time, simply happy to have one around. When I emerge, the squire stands.

"We must go," he says, indicating the mounted lord and master of the universe.

I meet the gaze of the Shadow Knight who handled me with a combination of gentleness and command last night. I've never thought myself submissive in bed, but I'm entertaining the thought now. My cheeks grow hot as we look at one another a little too long.

"Are we off to slaughter a bunch of " I start.

With his usual charm, the Shadow Knight reaches down to grab me and hauls me unceremoniously onto the horse in front of him. I admire his strength but the manhandling? Every once in a while I start to think I'm doing the feminists of my world wrong by wanting to surrender each time he touches me.

"I can ride on my own!" I say, at once flustered by his scent and nearness.

"Were I to trust a tree-witch." He wraps both arms around me in a silent refusal to let me go. "You did not protest last night when my hands were on your body."

Those thick arms and the warm skin of his chest are better than a shot of espresso. I'm wide-awake, wet somewhere I don't want to be, and blood buzzing. I love being in his strong arms.

"I feared for my life," I muttered.

"Obedience, witch. You should fear me as well."

Oh god, take me now. Totally not the right answer for this situation. "Okay. I'm being good."

He releases me.

I swing my leg over the withers and make an attempt to get comfortable. He loops an arm around me securely then takes the reins with his other hand. My ass is pressed to his crotch in a way that sends a flurry of fiery butterflies through my system.

"Too tight," I complain, wriggling. It's chilly and misty, and I'm burning up.

He says nothing and nudges the horse forward without loosening his grip.

"You ride with the Shadow Knight." The woman's voice is suspicious, displeased. Ugly Duckling, the sister of Disney Princess, pulls up alongside us, her critical gaze on me. "Can you help us, witch?"

"She will perform her duty as required, as will we all," the Shadow Knight replied brusquely.

"My brother will not be pleased if you continue to push off the bonding to my sister."

"'Tis between her and me and not your place to ask."

The woman's face flames red. She ducks her head in a quick, embarrassed bow and then rides away quickly.

I'm not sure what's going on between the Shadow Knight and his betrothed, but I envy anyone who has a protective sibling. I'm an only child, one who grew up uncertain how to handle other people. I was always jealous of other kids who had huge families with tons of brothers and sisters. Plagued by awkwardness and insecurity, I'd give anything to have a sibling to help me through the worst parts of growing up. Ugly Duckling is concerned about Disney Princess, even though I don't think a woman that intelligent, sweet, and beautiful has any problems with the world.

The Shadow Knight begins talking to a man with a possum head far too small for his human body, and I don't let myself giggle the way I want to. I'm stuck in this place between laughing and running when it comes to most of this world.

The army is mostly ready. We pass the defeated warriors of Green Dawn Cave, chained together in lines that wrap around the camp. I hate seeing them like this and cling to the hope that the Shadow Knight wasn't lying about sparing their lives.

I hope they aren't sent to the edge of the world. Slavery seems like a fate worse than death. The men appear miserable already. The Disney Princess is riding among them, pausing occasionally to address either the defeated or the victors. I'm expecting her to hand out water bottles or something in the role as the perfect princess.

As if spotting her, the Shadow Knight steers the horse away, putting her behind us. Something really weird is going on, but I'm not about to delve into it. I can't get the picture of people dying, or the defeated men, out of my head.

What makes everything so much harder to bear: the Shadow Knight is doing what's right in his own barbaric way. It's eye-opening, soul shattering, and absolutely necessary.

If I believe this place is real, I'll never stop crying. No matter how it feels or smells, or how real last night was with the Shadow Knight, I can't accept a reality so different from my own. It's so cruel.

"What say you, witch?"

"How can you hear me?" I mutter. It's sporadic, and judging by his expression last night, he's not even aware that he's occasionally overhearing one of my thoughts.

"Madwoman."

"I am not a madwoman."

Silence, followed by a terse, "You should not have heard that."

"Finally! So did I read that thought out of your mind the way you've been doing to me?"

"I possess no such power."

He's so dismissive of the few things that make sense to me! With frustration and desire bubbling inside me, I've never wanted to slap or throw myself at anyone in my life, aside from Jason, who rightly deserves a punch. Would my family be happy I'd finally left the house? Am I grounded enough now?

The bitter thoughts weigh on me. Which is worse? Being dumped at the altar or ending up here?

After yesterday's battle, I'm almost thinking here is worse. I didn't think it possible.

I have to pull myself together. I've been floating around in shock, but it's my third day here and I'm no closer to finding out what to do about the countdown on my hand. It's hard for me to admit that the brutal, unrepentant Shadow Knight who wipes out entire armies might be the Hero of this story, and I'm no closer to getting home.

"Summons, sire," a man says, approaching on foot with a satchel. He has the head of a weasel.

The Shadow Knight pulls the horse to a halt and takes the bag. As I watch, he reaches in and pulls out a fat yellow bird.

"I've seen one like that!" I exclaim.

"Messenger bird." The Shadow Knight sets it on his hand and holds it open for me to see. I can't reconcile the Shadow Knight who kills men with his bare hands and the man who can hold such a small, delicate creature. The bird is tiny, further dwarfed by the size of the knight's hand. He makes everything he does appear effortless, no matter what level of strength the task calls for.

I take the bird carefully in both my hands, not wanting to hurt it. There's nothing attached to its leg like a carrier pigeon's and I lift it higher, seeking out the alleged message.

"Share your story, little bird," the Shadow Knight says.

I lower the bird and stare at it. "Seriously? So it does talk?"

"A bird does not talk," the Shadow Knight replies with some scorn. "It conveys a message into your mind."

Because that's not weirder than a talking bird.

"'Tis the way of our world," he growls. "You alone now have a fourth law, witch: Acceptance. Of everything." He hands it back to the messenger, who rides away. "We are being summoned to a Knights of the Square Table meeting."

I laugh. "Really? Knights of the Square Table?"

"How is that amusing?"

"You wouldn't understand." Grinning, I shake my head and clear my throat. "So what is this meeting about?"

"I imagine my reclaiming of land. The remaining Knights are displeased and trying to garner support among my conquered subjects. They have tried bribing and threatening me but to no avail. I will conquer them as I did the others."

"Of course." I roll my eyes.

He nudges the horse forward and in a new direction, back towards the forest.

"Why do you say reclaim?" I ask reluctantly. I don't want a reason to sympathize with him more as the potential Hero, but I'm curious. "Did you lose them?"

There's a pause then a clipped, "Yes."

"Bad story?"

"To repeat such a story is to invite its reoccurrence."

Another stupid rule. "Okay. We won't talk about the past. You're taking me to this meeting?"

"I am."

"Do you think that wise?"

"They do not know you are a very poor battle-witch. Were I to attend without you, they might suspect," he reasons.

My mouth drops open. I'm offended, but should I be? I've been trying to convince him I'm not a battle-witch since he found me. But he doesn't think of me as a non-battle-witch.

He thinks I suck. Just like everyone else in my life.

Would Jason have gleefully sold me to a slave trader to marry someone not obsessed with fictional characters?

New start. I chant the words. They're drowned out by the part of me that wants to break down and sob until LF lets me go home.

"We may have to cut off your hand to show them you have power, since you cannot perform any great feats yet," the Shadow Knight adds, increasing my misery.

Is that amusement I hear? My god why can't I figure out this man?