Page 109 of Centaur Bolt

“You want to do this, here? Now?” he snarled.

For shaft’s sake, Marcus. Suck it up. We need to get out of here, and I’ve got my metaphorical hands full.Iskar’s urgency carried through his words, and I sensed him reaching within me to start the process.

I gritted my teeth and handed her to Havoc. As I yanked off the cloak and rolled it, I hated the way her head rested on his massive chest.

My own chest was dotted with dark scales.

Focus, my boy, or she won’t live free for long.

Damned clever Gryphon. It was the one thing he could have said to ensure I would. The pain hit me as my limbs shifted, but with my attention split, it wasn’t as bad as before. It happened faster, too.

Havoc laid her down beneath the tree with more care than I would have credited him with. By the time he fetched the saddle, I stood over her, poking her with my nose.

There was no response. She’d been shaky when she’d Jumped before, but I hadn’t the experience to judge whether this was normal.

At least shifting to my equine form helped Iskar contain the darkness within. It seemed calmer. Or maybe it just understood that, for the moment, we needed hooves.

Worrying about Riley, I barely acknowledged the Dragon fastening the saddle, his fingers moving rapidly over the buckles. I opened my mouth for the bridle and stood like a rock while he scooped her up and laid her over my shoulders while he climbed aboard.

Then he gathered her into his damned lap, and I almost lost it again. Clumps of hair drifted off the skin of my neck to be replaced by dark scales. My mood was not improved by his heels hammering my sides, or by the darkening sky opening up above us, drenching us in an instant.

I picked up a jog, avoiding the overgrown access road by weaving through the forest. We’d only just entered their shelter when Havoc grabbed the reins.

If it weren’t for Riley in his arms, I would have erupted. Instead, I seethed as I slid to a halt.

Just as a huge shadow glided by overhead, heading for the pond.

35

Riley

Images flashed through my mind.

At first, when the strong arms closed around me, I let everything slide. I knew those arms. In them, I was safe.

And I needed safety. My body ached from toes to hairline, and I was alternatively icy cold, and then steaming hot. Was I sick? Or was this just the effect of the Jump?

It hadn’t been a big jump in time. Not even a full day, nothing like going back before the academy had been built. Had I done too much in a short period? Cara had also said something about existing in two places at once—was that why I was so sick?

All I wanted to do was lie in Marcus’s arms, and sleep. But then he handed me over to another. I cracked my eyes open to meet those that gleamed copper. I recognized that gaze. Was I dreaming? My head fell against a chest that was hard as iron, and my thoughts blurred.

I was jostled awake in the same arms. Branches thrashed at my legs, and the sky spat water that ran over me in wind-driven rivulets. We were on a horse, pelting through a forest at a pace that many would consider reckless in the extreme.

A powerful arm held me sideways in the rider’s lap. A risky position because the other hand clutched the saddle horn with a grim determination, as though it were holding him on. The reins flapped loose, threatening to tangle in the bushes we alternately pushed through or leaped over.

Our mount’s mane was so long it whipped around me and blocked my vision. So wet it looked dark, but when it clung to my arm, I deciphered the chocolate brown streaked with gold—I glanced down at the straining shoulders below, and saw golden dapples.

Marcus.We were riding Marcus.

His ducking, dodging progress through the forest denoted both panic and determination. It was quite clear that we were in trouble.

That thought helped to clear my aching head. I straightened against my supporting arm and squirmed, trying to sit astride rather than sideways.

“Sit still, bitch,” his deep voice growled.

Who the hell was he calling bitch? I grabbed his arm—the water ran off the armor, cladding it, making it slick as hell—and levered myself off it. Marcus helpfully pushed his shoulder up beneath me, helping me throw my leg over the horn.

Or almost. The hand with a stranglehold on it was in the way.

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