Page 46 of Stitched Up in You
My brows knit together in a sharp frown before I recall Vlad rarely moves without Doyle, and I read a report not long ago with the shocking news of Vlad making a trip to the states. It must be him, as the werewolves tend to stick to their own and rarely if ever move so far south. “Hmmph.”
“Let’s see, what kind of supernatural would the great Mr. Frank Stein CEO be? Are youtheDr. Frankenstein? How cool would that be.”
“No,” I answer, my tone hard as anger explodes in my sternum at the sore spot she inadvertently grazed with her questioning. Odette and the lot of them, including Vlad and Doyle, have likened me to the monster from Mary Shelley’s horror story since learning of its inception, but in truth, I am nothing like the creature from her tale.
I suppose it’s Odette’s fault, as it usually is, that I was named such after a discussion with the lady in a drawing room, but I’m centuries older.
Vlad & Doyle, the idiots, only continue because of how vehemently I argued.If only it were that simple to reanimate a corpse.
“Eesh, okay. You can’t blame me for asking.”
I lean back in the black leather saddle, trying and failing to create more space between us. I only wish it were an improvement since this is the longest Brom has kept a saddle on and not burned it off as soon as it cinched. But riding with a raging hard on and parading around a human on another man’s horse isn’t how I expected to spend my day.
“I can and I do blame you, especially when you do something so foolish as to leave the house when you know you’reamong supernatural creatures,” I admit, wanting her to at least acknowledge that what she did was stupid. It’s a miracle the horse has behaved this long. Gods forbid she find what else is being kept on the property.
She goes still at that, and finally, quiet.
The sun breaks through the canopy of trees above the dirt lane, sending sparks shimmering over the red of her hair, that I can’t help but notice barely reaches my pectorals as it curls in a haphazard way across the white of my shirt.
“Wow, the willow trees are massive,” she remarks.
The tension lining my shoulders leaves by a fraction when the red and white stable comes into view, the small pond and willow trees I planted the first summer we arrived creating an idyllic backdrop.
Situated in the back corner of the property and away from prying eyes by design, Brom’s paddock usually has him bolting in the other direction, but today it’s as if he’s a different animal altogether.
A sharp exhale comes from her before she slumps against my chest, as if to use me as a recliner.
“What the devil are you doing woman,” I bite out, and the frown creasing my brow deepens when she only snuggles closer.
“Be quiet, you’re ruining my fantasy of galloping across the hillside with a man who likes me,” she mutters and slaps at my hand playfully.
I can’t help when a laugh escapes me, probably surprising us both.
“How long have you been keeping Brom secret?” she asks.
“For as long as I can remember,” I reply.
“Well, you can’t be that much of a tool if you’re keeping Brom safe.”
The words have a knot forming in my chest. That this small insignificant human would make such a remark after being herebarely a day, when no one ever has once thanked me for the protection I provide here. They all see it as the duty it is, as this place was borne out of survival, created to have a sanctuary to live amongst us without fear of discovery from the outside world.
I glare down at the hellish woman in my lap.
One human hardly counts as discovery, or so I tell myself.
“He sets the fields on fire when he doesn’t get a daily ride,” I say, digging in my heels to set him to a quicker pace.
Far be it from me to ruin the lady’s fantasy when my afternoon has been so derailed it hardly matters now.
Her laugh floats through the air as she begins to bounce when Brom lengthens his stride. A sharp squeal peels from her when I urge the horse faster. I don’t dare let him go as hard as he can but let him have the reins, realizing I worried for nothing when he acts the perfect gentleman for the female, running just fast enough to be deemed a gallop.
Her laughter fades as we slow and she sucks in a hard breath.
“Shoot, I think I have straw in my shoe,” she mutters, her head bending as she moves to toy with her foot.
I glance down at her footwear, wondering what her reaction will be when she finds the tracking device I planted there. “I need to get Brom back to the stable anyhow. I’ve spent enough of my day pandering to you two.”
We make it to the front of the stable and I pull him up to a short stop, spreading my hand wide across her front and middle to keep her from falling head over horse.
