Chapter 13

Jasmine stiffened, considering the ramifications of a really enraged Keilor. If he did what he’d done to her that afternoon over a minor infraction, what would he do to her for threatening his life? It didn’t bear thinking about.

Besides, she didn’t think she could shoot him, not even a warning shot. Just the thought of it turned her insides cold. She sighed, admitting temporary defeat.

She’d have to sleep on it.

***

“Of course it would work,” Jasmine insisted. Gravel crunched under her new boots as she followed the path to the stables. Her brown ponytail swished across the back of her neck and her black T-shirt while she checked out the area, taking mental notes.

They were speaking in Pig Latin again to ensure their privacy. Acting on a suspicion, Jasmine had subtly tested her Haunt guard’s hearing and found it amazingly acute. She didn’t dare risk whispering as they had yesterday.

A groom led a haltered riding beast past them, and she saw Wiley raise a bare arm to shade her vision as she eyed the stocky creature. The lucky girl had the good fortune to end up in the Haunt world with a tank top. The beast turned too intelligent eyes back at them and stared evilly, snorting in contempt for good measure. It had the body of a horse, but it sported more muscles than a body builder. More disturbing, its gray hide was covered with scales, and it had the clubbed tail of an ankylosaur. Rhinoceros-like horns sprouted from its nose.

She nudged Wiley. “The Arnold Swartznegger of horses.” Wiley’s snort of laughter made her smile as well, and she felt her shoulders relax a bit. They could do this.

Jayems hadn’t seemed to mind their request for riding lessons; in fact, he’d volunteered himself and Keilor as instructors. Keilor had seemed about to object until he’d noticed Jasmine’s obvious displeasure, at which point he’d graciously agreed.

The man did love to torment her.

Jasmine spied a row of tightly capped bottles full of a milky liquid sitting in the sun. She hefted one thoughtfully. With a naughty smile she spun it by its neck and launched into the routine from the bar scene of Cocktail.

Wiley put one hand on her denim covered hip and chuckled as she watched her friend’s antics. “You’re going to break that.”

She grinned and passed the bottle behind her back and up over her shoulder. “Never.”

Wiley snorted and flipped the end of her French braid back over her shoulder. “That’s what you said the time you dropped the shampoo bottle and it broke open all over the kitchen floor. We were skidding across the tile every day for the next three months.”

“Shoddy craftsmanship,” she retorted, but caught the bottle deftly and studied the cloudy liquid. “What is this stuff, anyway?” She looked up and saw their instructors approaching. Both were dressed for action in the black uniform and buckled leather vests of the Haunt guard, but with the addition of red embroidered patches on their left breasts, possibly an indication of rank. The patches looked like Celtic knot work. Jayems also wore a torque around his neck.

Of course the tanned skin in place of the pelts of the Haunt made an enormous difference in how she saw the package. Jayems’ muscles flexed naturally as he walked, and for a moment Jasmine envied her friend. She looked up and caught Jayems surreptitiously admiring Wiley’s backside. He noticed her noticing and raised a regal brow. What of it?

She refused to look at Keilor.

It was Keilor who answered her question. He took the bottle from her hands and considered it thoughtfully. “Partly digested feeder beetle and browse.” He smiled faintly when Jasmine leaned back in disgust. “For the orphaned young stags.” He nodded his head towards the nearby pen holding three of the young creatures and replaced the bottle with the others.

“Stags are omnivores,” Jayems explained. Jasmine noticed he stood just close enough to Wiley to make her friend fidget, but not close enough to excuse her from seeming rude if she moved away. The fact that Wiley was fidgeting and not freezing made her frown. She almost acted as if…

“They nurse at birth, but as they grow, they need more nourishment than milk provides. Gradually their mothers wean them onto regurgitated browse and prey…” Jasmine gagged, and even Wiley made a sound of disgust, “until they are old enough to find and digest their own food,” he finished wryly.

Jasmine, always the one with the weak stomach, looked at the stags with something close to horror and spoke before she thought. “And we have to ride these things?” She grunted when Wiley jabbed her hard in the ribs with her elbow.

“You need the exercise.” Wiley told her, giving her a significant look. “You wouldn’t want to lose the little muscle you’ve got, would you?”

Jasmine bristled. “Just because I can’t run triathlons doesn’t mean I’m not in shape. I work out.”

Wiley snorted. “Sweating to the Oldies doesn’t count,” she said contemptuously. She regularly won triathlons, and she could be a bit of a prig about physical fitness. Unfortunately, she’d also decided to make keeping Jasmine in shape her life’s work, in spite of Jasmine’s asthma and the fact that Jasmine could care less about clogged arteries or decaying bone density.

“I never...” Jasmine protested hotly, but Jayems cleared his throat, cutting her off.

“Ladies.” He looped his arm through Wiley’s with smooth finesse, much to her consternation, and made a sweeping gesture with the other.

“Adventure awaits.”

***

Keilor reflected wryly that he was hanging himself with his own rope. Proximity to the charmer was what he needed to avoid, yet where was she? Nestled between his thighs and teasing him with her luscious scent.

Not that she’d wanted to be there. It had taken some well chosen baiting on Rihlia’s part and a flat refusal on Jayems’ to ride with anyone other than Rihlia to get her into the double saddle at all.