Page 67 of Savage Reins
Mira shifts in her sleep, murmuring something too soft to hear. Rusalka adjusts slightly, careful not to disturb her rest.
"You have to win tomorrow," I tell the horse. "You have to run faster than you've ever run, because if you don't, I lose both of you. And I can't—" My voice breaks, and I have to swallow hard before continuing. "I can't live in a world where she doesn't exist."
I grit my teeth and my jaw locks. The horse watches me with dark, knowing eyes. As if she understands the weight of whatI'm asking. As if she knows that tomorrow's race will determine whether love or violence wins in the end.
I stay there until dawn begins to creep across the horizon, watching Mira sleep beside the creature that might be our salvation. Memorizing the peaceful expression on her face, the way her hair falls across her cheek, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.
Because after tomorrow, I might never see her this peaceful again.
After tomorrow, everything changes.
26
MIRA
Dawn bleeds across the horizon in shades of copper and ash, and I stand at the fence line clutching Rusalka's halter so tightly the leather cuts into my palm. The county road winds past our property half a mile through the trees, but I can see the trailer hauling Thunder's Shadow and the other race contenders as it rumbles toward the track's entrance. The diesel engine growls through the morning air, carrying horses worth more than our entire ranch.
My chest feels hollow, scraped raw by fear and anger and the terrible certainty that today will end everything. One way or another, the Petrov name dies with this race. Either we burn in defeat or we burn from the consequences of what I'm about to do.
Rusalka shifts beside me, her breath forming clouds in the cold air. She knows. Animals always know when their humans are breaking apart inside. Her dark eyes find mine, and for a moment I see my own desperation reflected back at me—the understanding that we're both trapped in a game designed to destroy us.
"We're going to make it," I whisper to her, my voice cracking on the words. "No matter what it costs. No matter who gets hurt. We're going to survive this."
The promise burns on my tongue because I'm not sure I believe it anymore. But Rusalka needs to hear confidence, needs to feel my certainty even if it's a lie. Horses feed on their rider's emotions, and I can't let her carry my terror into that race.
Footsteps crunch behind me, and I don't need to turn around to know it's Renat. The sound of his approach sends ice through my veins, not because I fear him but because I fear what I feel when he's close.
Rusalka's muscles tense as he nears the fence, her ears flicking back in nervous awareness. She doesn't bolt or rear, but every line of her body screams wariness. Even she can sense the tension between us because of everything that's shifted.
"Easy, girl." His voice comes out soft. When I finally turn to look at him, his face is haggard, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and alcohol. "I'm not going to hurt her."
"She knows that." I stroke Rusalka's neck, feeling the tension coiled beneath her coat. "But she also knows what you are. What you've done."
He leans against the fence rail, his knuckles split and bloody from whatever he did to himself last night. "Or she knows you're angry with me…" he suggests, and I wince.
Because the truth is complicated, messy, dangerous. The truth is that he's a killer and a criminal and everything I should run from—but he's also the only thing standing between my family and complete destruction. And he's the man I love, damn the consequence, and my heart wants him even after everything.
"I heard you," I say instead, my voice barely above a whisper. "Last night. In the barn."
His whole body goes rigid, and for a moment he looks younger somehow. Vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache. "You were supposed to be sleeping."
"I was. Until you started talking to my horse about loving me."
The words fall into the morning air like stones into still water, creating ripples that change everything. He closes his eyes, and I watch him struggle with whatever he's feeling—shame or regret or the kind of pain that comes from wanting things you can never have. I swear I see him tear up, but he will never allow me to see him that vulnerable, and he hides the emotion as quickly as it surfaced.
"Forget you heard that." He opens his eyes, and they're empty again, carefully controlled. "It doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?" I step closer to the fence, close enough to see the individual whiskers on his jaw, the scar that cuts through his left eyebrow. "Because it sounded true when you said it."
"Truth is a luxury people like me can't afford."
"That's not an answer."
He looks at me for a long moment, and I see something crack in his expression. Something raw and desperate that he usually keeps buried beneath layers of violence and duty.
"Yes," he says finally. "It's true. I love you, Mira. I love your strength and your stubbornness and the way you fight for things that everyone else has given up on. I love how you talk to horses and how you smell like hay and soap and something clean that I'll never be able to touch without ruining."
My throat constricts, making it hard to breathe. "Renat?—"
