Page 52 of His Hunted Witch

She lived for the smile that crossed his face. “Scouts honor.”

“Wait, you had scouts out here?”

He just laughed.

“This is Goldie,” Aiden shouted. “You harm an eyelash that fell from her eye a week ago, and I will kill you.”

“The witch?” someone asked, and a few people came out of the barn to gawk at her, too. Aiden pointed to a lanky man about the same age as him with hair a shade lighter near the barn door.

“Goldie, this is Paul, a cousin of mine. He runs our stables. Paul, this is Goldie. Please keep her safe.”

Paul didn’t look like an asshole teenager. She squinted at him. “Have you ever carted off a woman on one of those horses of yours?”

The man blinked. “No, ma’am.”

“And I don’t need keeping safe.”

“No, ma’am,” he repeated.

“I can take you back to the house instead,” Aiden said. “Nobody can get in.”

Goldie shook her head, impatient with her fear. “I’m a witch. I’ll be fine.”

Without further discussion and sure his order would be obeyed, Aiden jumped into his saddle and rode away.

The mare shifted to follow, and Goldie hauled back on the reins.

“Easy,” Paul said, now looking at her with open curiosity.

“How do I get off this thing?”

The man cocked his head. “You’ve never been on a horse?”

She gritted her teeth. “Couple of times. I’ve just never had to get off a horse before now.” She’d either been pulled off or fallen off every time she’d been forced onto one.

“You’ve never had to get off?” A horse bumped his shoulder from behind, and he shifted to run his hand down its neck.

“Don’t ask,” she said, exasperated.

“No, ma’am.” He clicked his tongue, and her mare followed him.

“How did you do that?” she asked, clinging to the saddle horn, trying to remember her lessons.

He clicked again. “It just means go. They understand perfectly.”

She clicked. Nothing happened. “Of course they do.”

One black horse and one brown one with a rippling coat followed Paul. They were taller than the mare. Watching the ease of their gait, Goldie realized again how wrong the mare felt beneath her. Beauty wasn’t in pain, a perfectly fine horse, but she would never run like these guys.

Paul led her into the stable yard where another man waited, this one a little older than either of them.

“Ma’am, pleasure to meet you.”

“We haven’t,” Goldie said, distracted.

“Pleasure to be meeting you?” the man asked uncertainly.

She looked at him. He had a thatch of thinning hair and a slightly stooped posture. She couldn’t tell for sure, but she’d bet her new furniture that he wasn’t a shifter.

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