Page 74 of Centaur Bolt

Marcus’s entire body trembled, and his eyes were weird, even for a shapeshifter. They flickered with color that I couldn’t begin to decipher, even though I saw very well in the dark. Finally, I swore I saw a pale purple hue shoot through ‘em. Right before he took a step back and turned his head away.

Good enough. I throttled back on my own monster. No sense in ripping apart my ride.

Marcus moved off a little before beginning his shift. It wasn’t a pretty process. The guy had serious pain issues—it was always part of a shift in form, but I doubted I’d ever made those sounds while embracing my Dragon. Or even being run through with a sword.

Still, by the time the hair chased over his body, he was an impressive specimen. Glossy brown with golden dapples dancing over his hide. Centaurs had large equine bodies—his wasn’t quite the same size, but close. Only, of course, he wasn’t a Centaur. In place of his human torso, was a long, arched neck ending in a rather pissed-off-looking head.

At least, I was pretty sure that was what flattened ears and bared teeth meant. As did the short, sharp toss to his head that sent his mane flying.

I hefted the saddle. His ears flattened even more. Undeterred, I threw it onto his broad back.

He flinched, and his feet danced briefly before stopping. I fiddled with the straps, figuring out where they were supposed to go. They were helpfully attached on one side, and I let it dangle down, before walking around him. Reached beneath to grab it, and pulled it up to the buckles on the other side.

He held firm when it touched his belly. How tight did it have to be? I snugged it a bit, but when I tugged on the saddle, it was far too loose. So I grabbed the straps, and yanked.

The teeth flashed around at me, but the muzzle crunched straight into the fist I drove between me and it.

He snorted in surprise and pulled his head back. With that satisfying exchange behind us, I yanked on the straps again.

The hoof caught me on the upper thigh. I had little doubt he’d been aiming higher. I grimaced and pulled the girth one hole tighter, and this time, when the hoof came at me, I let go of the buckles and grabbed it. Hooked a foot around his foreleg, before heaving up and into him so abruptly, I felt the muscles in my back give way.

The results were well worth it. He slipped in the wet dirt and toppled over. By the time he scrambled back onto his feet, my body was healing, and one entire side of him was encrusted in mud. He tried to shake it off, but it clung like glue.

“You were far too pretty, anyway.” I bent to scoop up a handful of the muck we stood in. It splattered in a highly satisfying fashion over his sleek side.

Marcus’s equine eyes ran the full gamut of colors. He snapped the air with strong white teeth as I applied a few more handfuls, even rubbing some into his mane. When I aimed for his tail, he raised another foot, clearly accepting another dunk in the mud if it meant he could hoof me.

Crushed balls would heal, but I decided he was filthy enough. I dropped my fistful of muck and attached the breast strap across his chest. Then I unhooked the other contraption from the saddle horn.

He froze. His equine mouth opened. “No freeeking way.”

At least, I was pretty sure that was what he said. It came out rather garbled.

“Look, you stupid bugger,” I growled. “I ride you into town without this, and people are going to notice. I’m not fucking going to use it. But you have to wear it.”

The air reeked with his anger. But I was right, and he knew it.

“Open wide.” I held up the bridle.

His eyes narrowed. But his mouth opened.

I managed to feed the metal mouthpiece between his teeth without losing appendages and pulled the straps over his head. It was too small, so I fiddled with the tiny buckles. Not easy with my fingers.

Finally, the mouthpiece seemed to hang loose enough. He glared at me through the long strands of his forelock.

“Touch reeins, you die.” The words were even more garbled with the metal in his mouth.

I grabbed the reins and yanked his head toward me. “Do we need to have another discussion?”

Again, that odd flare of silver, and then, amethyst. But all he said was, “Still see scales.”

I let the reins go and looked down at myself—the cloak fell to just below my knees. I concentrated and grew the thickened scales that formed my footwear higher up my leg. It looked like leather unless you looked too closely—and a faceful of fist ought to discourage anyone from peering.

As I rearranged the drape of the cloak, a waft of pungent scent had me wrinkling my nose—it did stink. I tied the second one onto the back of the saddle, along with the bags holding our eel and crystal dust stash. I saw now that they were designed to attach to the saddle. Handy.

Marcus tossed his head. “Get on,” he said.

I checked out the stirrup before cranking my leg to my nose—well, it felt like that—to get my foot into it. I was not a small human. But the saddle more or less stayed put as I hauled myself into it.

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