Page 90 of My Wild Horse King

It’s boring of me, to be honest. I mean, of course I like the tall, handsome, smart, accomplished man with the beautiful abs and the magical powers. The one man who could conceivably take all the powers we know about and defeat Leonid. The one man who might actually be able to keep me safe from anyone who threatens me, if only we can get his magic working.

Of course I like him.

I’m so predictable, like a monkey always chasing the higher branch.

The others have reason to mock me.

But when he kisses me, my heartsoars.When I’ve seen people kiss in movies, it always sends a little thrill through my whole body. They press theirmouthstogether, of all things. It makes no sense, if you’re thinking about it objectively. I mean, that’s where we put food. We speak from our lips and with our tongue. Why would we want to press them against someone else’s?

Madness.

But when Gustav shifts to fill the space right in front of me, drops the saddle to the ground, and his hands grab my upper arms. . . When his head lowers over mine. . .

My breath catches.

My eyes close.

And his mouthfinallycloses over mine. Every single nerve ending in my body sets fire. My knees stop working, and I nearly collapse, but his arms tighten around me, bringing me closer. His mouthmovesover mine, and then his tonguedarts into my mouth, like a tiny conqueror.

It’s the most electric thing I’ve ever experienced, and I harness the power of lightning, until the voices we heard come closer, and Gustav freezes. I’m terrified that he’ll pull away until he kisses me with even more fervor.

That’s when I realize thatit’s fake.

For once in my life, I thought someone actually liked me. He said it was real. But just like the others, he’s kissing me to avoid having to explain our reasons for being here to some errant teenagers chasing their dog.

The boy makes a sort of snorting sound, and the girl giggles, and then they rush past us.

Once they’re gone, I shove away.

“Well, that worked.” I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. “I can’t say it was exactly sanitary, though.”

Gustav’s face falls.

Was I too blasé? Is there a chance he kissed me, at least in part, because he wanted to?

“You better shift fast, or I may have to kiss you again.” Whatever I imagined, there’s no trace of it. His face is one hundred percent mocking.

I nod, and I turn away so he can’t see how gutted I am. And then I shift into the good little horse he needs me to be. I can’t look at him while he saddles me. I force myself to act like what I am—a means to an end. A horse he’ll ride to get the attention of the woman who hopefully has the journals we need so he can learn how to defeat Leonid.

The man I alerted to his whereabouts.

Or, you know, the man I tried to rat out.

At least the weather’s brisk as we head for the Daggett County Fairgrounds. The wind keeps me from being too hot, and now that he’s got a saddle, Gustav feels remarkably balanced on my back. Riding a horse isn’t quite like riding a bike, but a lot of it does come back when you restart. Hopefully he’ll manage to do reasonably well as we add speed to the mix. We walk for a bit, then we trot a while, and eventually, he asks me to speed up, so I canter a ways down the side of the road.

A few passengers in cars and trucks gawk at us, but not too many. I doubt trail riders are rare in this area. It’s probably just strange that we’re out alone, or perhaps that no one knows us.

When we reach the fairgrounds, already warmed up, Aleks has checked us in, and we stand and watch as the other barrel racers run the pattern a time or two. Other than Gustav, there don’t appear to be any boys riding. I’m not sure how to ask about that, but another thing I’ve noticed is that the girls don’t seem to be very consistent on which direction they go around the first barrel.

Some take the left one first.

Some take the right.

I turn to catch Gustav’s eye, and then I toss my head to the left. Then to the right. I’m worried he’ll have no idea what I’m saying, but he nods.

“Hey.” He catches the eye of one of the riders who’s leaving through a narrow alleyway. “Does it matter which direction you take that first barrel?”

The rider’s smile is disbelieving. “Hasn’t anyone taught you to ride the pattern?”

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