Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

slower pace, the black horse snorting in impatience. “Thank you. I appreciate you doing this with me,” he said, his low voice blending perfectly with the leaves, stirring in me like the wind in my hair.
    And here I had just gotten done telling Ceri I wouldn’t work with him. “You’re welcome. If I hadn’t, then Ceri would have refused to leave.”
    His profile showing his concern, he tucked a wayward lock of his hair away.
    “You really should think about including a pixy clan in your security,” I added.
    Trent looked up into the canopy. “That’s what you keep saying.”
    “Then maybe you should listen,” I shot back. Tulpa had already resumed his faster pace, and it irritated me. “Or at least do a cost analysis or something.”
    Pulling Tulpa up short, Trent smiled with half his mouth. Molly stopped as well, and a sudden memory exploded in me, brought forth by the tension, the dappled sun, even the shadowed air drawing goose bumps. He had been lanky and insecure with youth, and I had been awkward and overly confident with the first hints of health, but Tulpa had been the same, and I had been irate that he’d gotten a larger horse than me and I couldn’t keep up.
    “What?” he asked, and I put a hand to my cold face.
    “Um,” I said, scrambling. “Ceri might be right.”
    Molly shifted under me, and Trent reached out. I froze as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing the rim of my hat. “About what?”
    My heart was pounding. “That you’d be good at being king of the elves.”
    His hand dropped, and I breathed again. Head bowing, he looked at his fingers laced among the reins. “I can be both what I need to be and what I want to be.” But it was soft, and I wasn’t sure he believed it.
    “I tried that, and it didn’t work,” I said, the reins slipping through my fingers as Molly stretched to crop at the spindly grass surviving under the shade. “It didn’t work for Batman, either.” Trent didn’t look up, and I blurted, “At least you have something worth fighting for. Trent—”
    “I’ve been meaning to ask if you would like to choose a horse from my herd,” he interrupted me. “One who would be designated as yours for when you ride with us. I still owe you a proper Hunt.”
    My eyebrows rose, more because of the change of subject than the offer. “We are sitting here in the middle of nowhere waiting to be attacked, and you offer me a horse?”
    Tulpa sighed, making Trent shift his seat. “We can talk more about your conversation with Ceri if you like.”
    Oh God. No. “Sure. I’d love a horse,” I said, feeling the need to give Molly a pat. “I’m not really into the Hunt, though.” I remembered the sound of the hounds, the heart-stopping fear that they might catch me. Is he nuts?
    He nudged Tulpa into motion, and Molly followed. “If you change your mind, let me know. Ceri would love another feminine presence on the field. She says we men lack style in running down prey.”
    I’ll bet. “I might just do that,” I said. “If only to get you to stop giving me Molly all the time.”
    Trent’s smile warmed me all the way to my center. It was true and honest, and he was smiling at me. Stop it, Rachel. “What’s wrong with Molly?”
    “Nothing, but you keep giving me a horse I can’t possibly win with.”
    His face lost all expression as he thought that over. Then his eyes narrowed. “You can’t have Red. She’s not in the herd you may choose from.”
    It sounded like a rather formal statement. The fiery horse was way out of my league, and I hadn’t even been thinking about her. “Why not?” I teased. “She’s sweet.”
    Trent stiffened, but he wasn’t looking at me. Under him, Tulpa snorted, and with a sudden shock, I felt a huge drop in the nearest ley line.
    Jenks pattered through the leaves, wreathed in a haze of silver sparkles. “Hey! Someone just made a huge bubble between here and the stables! It poked above the Turn-blasted trees.”
    I stared at Trent. “Nick can’t make a bubble bigger than three feet.”
    “Ceri . . .” Trent whispered. “The girls . . .”
    “Trent!” I exclaimed, my hand outstretched, but he’d already wheeled Tulpa around. With a word I didn’t recognize, he urged him into a full gallop. In an instant, he was gone, the thudding of his hooves fading.
    Molly snorted as I jerked her to follow, head tossing when I kicked her into a gallop. Hanging on low to her back and knees