"You are drunk, but you are not blind," he growled. "You see this?"

She grabbed at the medallion, missed then tried again. "Yes."

"It means you are mine."

"Oh, no." She shook her head solemnly. "The Red Knight said . . . you don't want me. Or you'd have ritual. Done the ritual. And you have a princess."

The Shadow Knight almost released her. She wasn't steady enough on her feet. He was so, so tempted to let her take her chances. That the Red Knight put this foolishness into her head was not helping.

"What ritual?" she asked, puzzled gaze going from the medallion to his face again.

The Shadow Knight relaxed. There was no ritual between a knight and his witch. It had been a ploy by the Red Knight, one she fell for. "He may be right. I may not keep you."

"You can't sell me." Her tone took on a plaintive note, her features falling into sorrow.

"You are a terrible battle-witch," he replied.

"I'm not a virgin either."

He froze. "What?" His body responded in a way he couldn't control. Heat unfurled in his lower belly and spread outward quickly. He'd purposely tried not to notice the flush of her cheeks that made her eyes sparkle, or the way her shapely body molded against his. Unaccustomed to restraint, he'd been moderately proud of himself for not acting on how enchanting his witch was.

"Not for three years. Maybe that's why." Sagging against him, the battle-witch planted her forehead in his shoulder. "I need brownies."

Her nonsense was straining his patience. "I have seen you use your magic."

"Maybe all those witches lied to you."

The Shadow Knight took her shoulders and pushed her away from him, seeking her eyes. She gazed up at him, a combination of lost and confused.

But she was not lying. The soft skin, perfect curves, and spirited woman before him retained her magic despite not being pure.

"You jest," he said, thoughts flying to a little known line in the legends about his family, a mad, prophetic mumbling that made no sense until now. Only one other battle-witch was rumored to have maintained her magic after losing her purity.

It is not possible. He had fancifully entertained the idea the woman who bore the name from legend was destined for a similar fate: to become a warrior queen.

But he had not considered it truly possible. The day his war was over, he retired the battle-witch or the gods returned her to her home. The idea his hands didn't have to stop the next time they met her bare skin . . .

"It is possible." She rolled her eyes at him with a noisy sigh. "I'll show you." The battle-witch took his cheeks in her hand and pulled his face to hers, kissing him.

Rarely did anyone catch the Shadow Knight by surprise, but his witch had a way about her that left him . . . leery. His guard was down with the drunken wreck of a woman in his arms, and the kiss was the last act he expected of the woman that was either frightened of him or angry.

As with any woman, he instinctively responded. She was drunk, but her kiss was deep, firm.

Hungry.

She tasted of wine and what herbs the Red Knight used on her, her velvety tongue and the warm, moist depths of her mouth inciting his imagination to consider how the depths between her legs would feel. Desire flared to life within him, fire making him more sensitive to her womanly musk and the petal softness of her skin.

Suddenly, she sagged in his arms, unconscious.

He lifted his head, not expecting his body to respond to her the way it did. His thoughts were spinning, his body fevered. Was this part of her magic? To seduce a man? For he had not felt this besotted from one kiss ever.

One of his hands went to his loins, where his arousal strained against his breeches. Thus far, his man parts had not fallen off.

Maybe all those witches lied to you. He had never directly asked a witch if she were pure; it was a fact for every witch but the great warrior queen of Black Moon Draw. This witch claimed not to be and even more vexing, had kissed him expertly and left his manhood intact.

Bewildered by what passed, the Shadow Knight stooped to pick her up. She was unconscious, breathing deeply, her lips reddened from the kiss.

She did not kiss like a woman who had never been touched.

He set her down on the bed and straightened, gaze lingering on the rise and fall of her chest and her perfect, large breasts.

Taking a step back, the Shadow Knight battled internally for a long moment, torn between the desire in his body and the reeling of his mind. If what she said was true, that she retained her magic despite not being pure, she was not the kind of witch he was accustomed to. She was different, like the warrior queen from long ago, destined for a fate he had not considered.

She belonged to him and his kingdom, to rule at the side of her knight, the way the great warrior queen who died a thousand years had.

Yet he was in no position to claim her outright, not with his betrothed ensuring the cooperation of the Red Knight, ruler of one of the two remaining kingdoms he needed to subdue.

Her claim about his death at Brown Sun Lake rang clear in his mind.

Nowhere in the legend did it say he died before the end of the era.

Nowhere in the legend was there a battle-witch that did not go to battle, either.

The last of his line, he had no one to ask about these terribly timed mysteries and no ally whose word he would trust. He had relied on his battle-witches, master-at-arms, and instincts since beginning his journey to reclaim what was rightly his.

With his thoughts in rare turmoil and his battle-witch most helpful when passed out, he had only one place to turn: to the man who helped raised him and served loyally at his side.

The Shadow Knight dressed in jerky movements, replaced his weapons and boar's head, and sought out his master-at-arms for an overdue discussion about the battle-witch he had found.

Chapter Thirteen.

The battle-witch was running hard through the forest towards the clearing she glimpsed ahead. Branches snagged at her purple dress and whipped her exposed skin, leaving angry red lines across her cheeks and forearms. Her lungs burned and her legs were heavy, but she continued to fly at the quick pace, the warning scrolling across her hand driving her to hasten her step even more.

The medallion beating against her chest with each step was made as a sign of the love and trust of the Shadow Knight, embedding the magic of Black Moon Draw into it and entrusting her with the protection of his kingdom. She grasped it with one hand and felt her power swell.

She broke out of the dense forest and stopped to suck in a deep breath, eyes taking in the battlefield before her. The Shadow Knight's armies were defeated, nearly everyone dead, while the Desert Knight of Brown Sun Lake stood at the center of the last battle.

The Shadow Knight knelt before him in defeat, his warrior's body shaking from blood loss and his proud boar's head bent in sorrow.

Her heart broke for him and guilt tore through her. It was, after all, her fault the battle had been lost. She'd tempted him in a way no other battle-witch ever had. On the night before certain triumph, they both surrendered to their desires for one another instead of making preparations the way they normally did. They whispered the vow of eternal bonding as they made love and exchanged names, the most sacred act between a man and woman in a world where a name gave someone else great power.

At dawn, he was gone, and the message of his death began scrolling across her palm. She initially did not understand how it was possible, since she had gifted him her purity. But soon, it became unimportant why her gift worked when it should not. What mattered: saving the man she loved from certain death.

As she watched, the Desert Knight raised his massive sword.

She ran, a scream tearing free from her throat.

The sword dropped, and with it, the head of the Shadow Knight.

The battle-witch didn't stop running, even when the warriors of Brown Sun Lake rushed to intercept her, not when they fell beneath her power and lay writhing in agony from her magic.

She stopped over the body of her dead lover and husband, tears burning down her cheeks. The battle-witch whipped off the magic medallion and held it up for everyone to see. Summoning her magic for one last spell, she turned her gaze to the Desert Knight, who stood ready to take her head next.

She did not care what fate befell her. No part of her was willing to live without him. Instead of fleeing, she mustered the worst curse the realm had ever known.

Her eyes began to glow unnaturally and the magic coursed through her.

"By the blood and magic of Black Moon Draw, sealed by the Heart, you will know no peace until the heir of the Shadow Knight sheds the blood of all who wronged him and reclaims what is rightfully his! The last great battle-witch of my world will come to him in a thousand years with magic far greater than any you have ever witnessed," she hissed at him. "You and every other man of this world will kneel before her and beg for mercy, and she will grant none!"

The Desert Knight appeared taken aback but then sneered at the words of the battle-witch, raised his sword once more, and took her life. He claimed the medallion as his own and hid it away, for if the battle-witch destined to return was unable to access the magic, she was not a threat to his heirs.

And with the final curse and death of the battle-witch of Black Moon Draw - the great warrior queen Naia who ruled for but seconds thus ended the golden era of peace and began the era of fog, darkness, and war to last a thousand years.

The vision fades, and I open my eyes. It continues to play through my mind like a movie. I'm breathing hard and sweating, and my legs are wooden, heavy, and sore, as if I was the one running.

Thank god, I have no hangover. Judging by the sky visible outside the windows, it's almost dawn. I stretch, mind racing. What part of that was really a dream and what part was something else?

I've never had a dream so vivid or real. It was short yet chock full of information that makes my head spin.

My hand goes to the medallion at my chest, and I take it off. It's definitely the same one from the strange dream, though worn by time, faded, and . . . sad. Or maybe, I'm sad after experiencing the despair of the woman in my dream.

"Heirloom," I murmur, figuring out finally what the medallion is. She also called it a Heart and said there was magic in it.

It seems pretty un-magical to me. The Shadow Knight thinks it's important and I don't quite get why. Is it simply the symbol of a bygone, golden era?

One that ended in a tragic tale of the love of a Shadow Knight for his battle-witch. The depth of her emotion makes my eyes mist over. I've never felt that for anyone, not my first love, not Jason. The love fashioned into this medallion isn't possible in the real world. It's the great romance, soul-deep true love, which only exists in books.

I'm not going to cry. The love this woman felt makes my pain over Jason seem petty. Brushing my thumb over symbols too faded to be read, I wonder for the first time what is written on the medallion. A poem from a man to the woman he loved?

Her final, horrific curse that condemned an entire world to war for a thousand years?

"Hell hath no fury," I recite. I kind of envy her, the depth of her emotion, the love of a man that powerful, the fact she was his equal. It's perfect.

It's also not remotely real, and that makes me so much sadder for her and me.

The last great battle-witch of my world . . . I can't get those words out of my head. Replacing the medallion, I chew on my lower lip, thinking hard. The woman, the warrior queen Naia, was from another world. Mine?

If my dream was . . . well, inspired or maybe even written by LF, does that mean everything in it was true? Did this happen a thousand years ago and was she talking about me coming here? I've been called the last great battle-witch by the Red Knight and the Shadow Knight.

"Sorry, but you'd be way disappointed, sister," I murmur, upset that I can't even live up to a dead woman's expectations. If there's magic in the medallion, I can't feel it, and I'm not about to start killing people out of vengeance for an event that never really happened.

Yet it's really hard to dismiss the dream and the emotions that went through me when I was living it.

With a sigh, I rub my face. If I'm supposed to make things right, I'm failing miserably. Another thought makes me blush hot.

. . . the most sacred act between a man and woman in a world where a name gave someone else great power . . .

Is that why the Shadow Knight reacted strangely when I told him I had a name instead of calling me witch? Did he think I was hitting on him or more embarrassing proposing? I didn't mean to act like I was coming between him and his woman.

He later asked me what my name was, but he seemed very grave about it. What about the Red Knight? He seems like the kind who would ask to blackmail me later for political reasons.

Both hid the full truth that a woman and man exchanging names was a helluva lot more meaningful here than it is in my world.

The Shadow Knight didn't reveal his name. I don't know why that bums me out, unless it's because of my self-esteem issue. Not that I want to be married to a mass-murdering knight from a fantasy book . . . but . . .

Ugh. I'm a mess. He's taken.

I wish I could confirm what I saw in the dream.

Then again, if I did, wouldn't that make It harder for me to pretend this place isn't real?

"You cannot go anywhere, witch!" The squire is adorable, groggily alarmed. He lifts his head from his nest of blankets and pillows next to the fire.

"Do I look like I'm going anywhere?" I grumble.

"The Shadow Knight says you "

"Where is he?"

My companion climbs to his feet, his dark hair ruffled charmingly. "On the roof."

"Roof?"

"'Tis where the Square Table is," he says with a look that tells me I'm supposed to know this.

"Who puts a table on the roof?"

"'Tis not a real table." He shakes his head.

There are times when the nonsense of this world makes me want to throw things. "Take me to the roof and this imaginary table."

The squire appears ready to lecture me the way his master might, but I stomp my foot and point towards the door. With a mumble I can't hear, he pulls on his boots and picks up his massive sword and straps it to his back.

I'm fully dressed after passing out. I recall talking to the Red Prince without knowing for sure what we talked about.

He passes me more of the minty water. I drink greedily, my stomach empty, and hand it back.

We leave the chamber and walk through two hallways before reaching stairs that appear to be suspended in midair, leading to the roof.

"Wow." I circle the odd scene. "These are magic stairs?"