Page 285 of Dragon Slayer

52

VLAD THE FUCKING IMPALER

Adela hadn’t lied – she really had ridden jumpers in high school. And before that, too, all the way back to the jodhpur-straps and short boot phase of her equestrian career. Her Uncle Miguel had been a horse trainer in Cali, breaking rodeo mounts and pleasure horses out of a massive Quarter Horse barn owned by three rich white men who were nice enough, but didn’t expect to break a sweat when they stopped in, lit cigars in-hand, to inspect their animals. Miguel had been part of a huge crew, from grooms, to stall-muckers, to other trainers like him. He’d taught her to ride in a big western saddle as broad as an armchair, and she’d taken to it with an almost violent passion. But then she’d seen one of the owner’s girls riding English – jumping a big-boned chestnut horse over rails – and she’d known that was what she wanted to do. She’d scraped and saved every summer, and her own jumper, bought with her uncle’s help when she was twelve, had been gray and rangy, with a bad tendency to bolt. She’d gone to Regionals at sixteen.

A natural, so many had said of her.

But then her father had died, and her mother had needed her help, and she couldn’t afford to keep her horse.

And then the economy had tanked, and Mama had gotten sick, and even three fast food jobs hadn’t been enough to keep them afloat.

And then she’d joined the Army. And she’d been good at it.

And then she’d lost her foot…

She hadn’t lied, but she’d left a good many things out. Things like that fact that she’d been the one to pick the horses at Blackmere, and track down all the necessary tack; had guessed right about the size saddle Vlad the fucking Impaler would need.

A babysitter, the girl – Mia – had called her. And she was. She was also: scared out of her skin to be in the company of these two immortal monsters; and enjoying herself in spite of it, because a chance to ride was a chance to ride, no matter the company.

When the trail widened, Mia reined up so she could ride alongside Valerian, which meant Adela had to watch them flirt awkwardly with one another. Which…ugh. Yes, he had golden hair, and yes he was pretty in aLord of the Ringskind of way, but what could the girl possibly see in him? He was a criminal, for God’s sakes. And, according to what Talbot had told them, a one-time kept sex pet of his brother’s worst enemy. That did not make him a catch in Adela’s opinion.

They reached the stream – one that she’d scouted out the week before on her own, and found it to be wide, but not deep, its water clean and clear. That day, she’d dismounted and taken her boots off, rolled up her breeches, and waded in, towing her horse – a sweet-natured Bay named Ranger – in after her. It had been the best afternoon she’d had in years.

Now, she steered Ranger up past the lovebirds and to the water’s edge. The gelding lowered his head and whuffed, eager for a drink. She loosened her reins, letting them slide through her fingers, spine relaxing…

“Wait,” both brothers said at once.

Ranger flung up his head. He inhaled once, deeply, and let out a huge snort, like a frightened buck.

She tightened her reins in a single movement, winding her fingertips in a chunk of mane for good measure. “What?” But then she saw it. On the opposite bank: a bear.

She’d done a cursory review of Virginia’s native wildlife one night in the manor, bored out of her mind and not wanting any surprises on a trail ride. Black bears were listed as indigenous, but the website had described them as “small and shy.” This bear wasbig. Not grizzly-sized, no, but still broad and healthy, its coat shining in the dappled light, its shoulders and flanks well-padded with the fat that it was already gathering for winter. A bear didn’t have to bethatlarge to kill you, she thought, stupidly, in the tense moment that she and her horse both stared at it.

And then she saw the cubs. Two bright-eyed, fluffy things peeking around from behind their mother’s back legs.

Oh shit.

Ranger snorted again, and attempted to duck and whirl away. She tucked her elbow into her side and held the rein fast. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” she tried to soothe him, but she spoke through gritted teeth.

He backed up instead, hasty, unsteady steps over the loose rock of the bank, and bumped into one of the other horses.

“Control him,” Vlad commanded, voice oddly quiet.

Adela put a leg into him, and murmured comforting nonsense, and grappled for control of the bit. The other horses were nervous and edgy, but only Ranger was losing his mind. He spun, a full one-eighty, kicking up a loud spray of water, and she caught brief flashes of the others’ faces. Fear, surprise, grim resolution – that last was Vlad.

Ranger slipped and nearly went to his knees. “Shit.” Adela braced her hands on his neck, trying not to throw him further off balance.

When he stopped, suddenly, she nearly fell off, still spinning, her weight thrown awkwardly half-out of the saddle. Vlad stood at Ranger’s head, holding his bridle. He murmured something to him in another language. Ranger quivered, from nose to tail, but he froze, and his ears swiveled wildly between her, and the bear, and Vlad. Adela could see the white of one eye as he tried to shift his head. Vlad held him tight.

Vlad looked up at her, and their gazes locked. His eyes were almost gray in this strange forest light, and very calm. “Dismount,” he instructed.

What an excellent fucking idea.

She nodded, and then began to ease her weight out of her right stirrup. Slow and steady, no sudden movements.

That was when the bear let out a furious sound and charged across the stream toward them.

Adela knew right then that she would fall, and that it would be bad, but it seemed to happen in slow motion, and she noticed everything in a hazy swirl, certain details leaping out with strange vividness. She noticed:

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