Page 44 of Savage Reins
"Charming way of showing it." I look down at the carrot pieces decorating my chest.
"Here." Without thinking, Mira reaches out and brushes the pulp away with her bandaged hand. The gesture is automatic, intimate, and it stops us both short.
Her fingers linger against my shirt for a heartbeat longer than necessary. When she realizes what she's doing, color rises in her cheeks, but she doesn't pull away immediately.
"Thanks," I whisper, and I manage a smile.
The moment lingers between us, charged but different from the desperate hunger of last night. This feels warmer, more settled. The sizzling tension that's been crackling between us since I arrived has softened into something deeper.
"Tell me about the first horse you ever trained," I say, needing to break the tension before I do something foolish in broad daylight.
Mira steps back, but her expression stays open. "Her name was Zvezda. Star. I was eight when Dad bought her, barely weaned and wild as anything."
She settles against the rail beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. "Took me months to get close enough to put a halter on her. But once she trusted me…" Mira shakes her head, smiling at the memory. "She'd break out of every paddock on the ranch to follow me around. Dad would find us in the vegetable garden or by the pond, her grazing while I read under the trees."
"What happened to her?"
"Sold her when I turned sixteen. We needed the money for feed." The sadness in her voice is old, worn smooth by time. "I cried for a week."
I can picture it—a young Mira, all stubborn determination and hidden softness, crying over a horse she loved more than most people love family.
"I always preferred animals to people. They're honest about what they want."
"And what do they want?"
"Food. Shelter. Not to be hurt." I meet her eyes. "Simple things."
Mira nods, understanding passing between us without words. We've both learned to read intentions, to spot danger before it strikes. The difference is she learned it from horses. I learned it from humans.
Rusalka wanders closer, nudging my shoulder with her nose. I reach up to scratch behind her ears, and she leans into the contact.
"She really does like you," Mira observes.
"The feeling's mutual."
We fall into comfortable silence, watching the mare explore the arena. The sun climbs higher, promising another hot day. In a few hours, the real work will begin—long training sessions, pushing Rusalka harder as race day approaches.
"Do you think Vadim will keep his word?" Mira asks quietly. "If she wins, I mean."
The question I've been dreading. The truth is, I don't know. Vadim operates by his own logic, and that logic doesn't always include mercy. But looking at Mira, seeing the hope she's trying so hard to hide, I can't give her anything but certainty.
"He will," I say firmly. "I'm sure of it."
The lie comes easily, but the conviction behind it is real. Because I've drawn a line in my mind now, one that has nothing to do with Vadim's word or the Vetrov family's honor. If Rusalka wins and Vadim goes back on the deal, he'll have to go through me first.
And I have no intention of letting that happen.
Nothing will come between me and protecting what's mine. Not Vadim, not the Karpins, not the entire Bratva if it comes to that.
Mira is mine now. This ranch is mine to defend. And I'll burn the world down before I let anyone take them away.
"Good," she says, leaning into my shoulder. "Because I'm starting to believe we might actually pull this off."
I wrap my arm around her, careful of her bandaged hands, and feel her settle against my side. For the first time since I arrived here, the future doesn't feel predetermined.
It feels possible.
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