Stallion of Ash and Flame (Siren Publishing Classic) (6 page)

Two came inside our home, searching. They did not enter our stalls. None of us trusted them.

Did they act like they found what they searched for?

No, they showed anger.

Did you hear any of their words?

Only words of anger. They spoke about a third person. One who would arrive soon. That is all I can tell you, stallion Trail.

Trail sent an image of his horse self making a bow of honor to Chief, a formal end to their communication. Tensing his jaw, he eased his foot off the accelerator. Hell and hoof-sucking mud, he didn’t have time to deal with a patrol officer over a speeding ticket, and, double hell, he didn’t want to spend his energy on detecting them, either.

Seneca had to be protected no matter the ultimate cost to himself. Spreading his sixth sense like a bubble, he watched for enemies while remaining focused on the road. Once he whipped the pickup onto her drive, a moment of relief washed over him.

He made himself cruise as slow as cold molasses, then park. Jumping out, he sniffed for her. Not seeing Chief, he strolled toward the stable. The need to race toward her overwhelmed him, even if he didn’t act on it.

Sensing for her presence, he momentarily took his attention off their enemies. An instant later, she stood before his mind’s eye. He jogged toward the stable, entering as she led her half-Arab stallion toward his stall.

“You’re back.” Could that be some relief in her tone? He hoped so. “I don’t think you’ve officially met Ignition.”

“Ignition?” Trail formerly bowed in his mind to the royal lineage stallion, who returned his greeting.

“I lean forward and he’s like the ignition on my car. Only he zooms and hits his racing stride instantly. All without touching a pedal. Don’t you, darling?” She kissed Ignition’s cheek, then freed him to trot inside his stall. Eagerly, he circled his body, alertly watching her bring his bucket of grain and goodies.

After giving Ignition a slap on the neck, she swung around to face him. “All done here,” she announced. “What? Did you drive through a forest fire? You smell like smoke. And I don’t mean cigarette smoke. Which I can’t stand, by the way.”

“Don’t smoke,” he mumbled a reply. Stunned, Trail barely avoided staring at her. Normally humans couldn’t smell the smoke of the fire he’d just consumed. Why could she? Worse, he had no ready answer for her. She could find out if he lied and said he’d gone through a trash fire in town, or driven through the smoke of a forest fire on the highway.

“Must be because I carried out some ash and charred wood from my wood stove. Wanted to make certain no flare ups started a fire while I’m gone.” He smiled to take the edge off his lie.

She gave him a dubious look, then walked past him on her way out of the stable. “I’ve got the alarm down here set for a wider area.”

He fell into step beside her. “While there’s still some light, I’ll work on the security of the house.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she tossed, sarcasm part of her voice. After releasing a long loud sigh, she continued, “After I check on Luke and Spook, I’ll heat up some dinner. I hope you’re not the finicky type.”

“Did I mention I make a mean omelet?”

“No. How mean is it?”

“Anything and everything but the kitchen sink.”

“Well, if you don’t like mine, you can cook up an omelet. Suit yourself.”

“Anything else need doin’ tonight?”

She paused, thinking. “I don’t think so. Other than I wish I could stay up and keep watch. But, honestly, I’m too drained.” Stopping at the bottom of the porch steps, she whirled around to him. “Oh yeah. I’m going to sleep with my pistol on the bedstand, so don’t barge in my bedroom for any reason.”

“No, ma’am.” He flipped her a grin, tipped his hat, then wheeled toward his truck. Never challenge a mare in that mood. Besides, he’d nearly grabbed her against him and tried out her mouth as a fit for his. Not that he doubted for a tail-flicking second her luscious mouth was a perfect fit for his taking. Damn, he knew it was.

At his truck, he turned around in time to see the door swing shut. Checking his psi-senses, he reaffirmed that no one lurked nearby. Quickly pulling out the equipment he’d bought, Trail set to work securing the windows and all the doors with superior locking mechanisms. Next, he set up an unseen electric shock barrier which could be powered by an indoor plug or run on solar energy. Lastly, he juiced up her alarm system, adding some simple technology from his realm. He’d used it back at his rental house.

Once he’d tested out everything to his satisfaction, he hauled his gear into Rory’s room, glad for the private entrance. Out of habit, he stowed everything away in an order that would give him instant access without thought. Truth told, he lived like a moving target since it was the only way to stay ahead of his enemies on Earth.

He cleaned himself up listening to the sizzle of bacon and inhaled the aroma as he changed clothes. Gazing at himself in the bathroom mirror, he rubbed his chin wondering if he should shave off his five o’clock shadow. She might think he made himself ‘pretty’ for her and planned on making a move. He might be planning like a rutting stud, but he didn’t want her on guard more than she already was.

For that reason, he merely swiped a comb through his shoulder length hair, the same color as his mane. A dark brown close to black, it was burnished by bronze like his coat. His mane and tail were a darker shade. His skin color showed the bronze pigment as well. He could move about on Earth easier than some of his brethren since his features resembled the Apache race mixed with Caucasian
blood. However, many of his race would have been considered so odd in appearance as to be mutations or what they were, alien to Earth.

Donning a clean pair of denims and a dark green t-shirt, he strolled toward the kitchen. The smell of onions cooking in bacon fat and olive oil wafted toward him. Obviously hearing his footsteps, she looked up from slicing potatoes. She’d changed into a sloppy looking pale pink t-shirt and some tan drawstring pants. Her pistol lay within easy reach. Despite the looseness of her I’m-off-limits clothing, he already knew the ripe curves of her body.

“Get settled in?” she asked, then dumped a bowl full of cut potatoes into the frying pan to cook along with the sautéed onions.

“All settled in. How are you doing?”

“I’m keeping busy right now so I don’t have to think too much.” She began dicing a green pepper.

“Tell me where the plates and silverware are, I’ll set the table,” he offered as casually as he could, the last feeling he had for her being casual.

“Look in the dishwasher. I rarely have time to put anything away. It just gets used and washed.”

Heading to the dishwasher at the other end of the long rectangular kitchen, he opened it and pulled out plates, glasses and what looked like real silverware.

“Bring the plates over here. I’ll load them up once it’s ready. Get whatever you want out of the fridge to drink. There’s purified water in the gallon jars.”

Setting the glasses and silverware down on the simple plank table constructed of dark wood, he brought the two mismatched plates over to the counter beside her. “Real silverware?” he asked.

“Yep, the real stuff. Rory and I buy it every chance we get. Estate sales and such.”

“Why? For any reason other than the value of silver?”

“Yeah, that’s our secret nest egg,” she joked. “Well, I suppose it could have been if we hadn’t found...you know.” She stirred, then turned over the mixture, so it would brown more evenly, and crumbled in the bacon. “Actually, silver is good for your health. It keeps all the bad germs away. That’s why we originally started buying it. We give it as gifts to those who will use it.”

“What do you want to drink?” he asked, walking to the fridge.

“There should be a jug of fresh milk and water. I don’t have much in the way of soda, except some of the organic brands. There’s some good salsa and ketchup. Yeah, Rory has to have ketchup on about everything. Help yourself to whatever you can find. Could be a beer or two, although Rory usually keeps it in his small fridge.”

“No alcohol for me. I want to stay sharp.” He brought out the milk and water, then grabbed out a bottle of apple juice. He often drank it by the gallon.

“I heard on the news there was a fire they thought would turn ugly, but it mysteriously died out. Good thing, since it wasn’t all that far away from here.” She piled the potato mixture onto the plates, then carried them to the table. “If you don’t like my cooking, Luke and Spook will gobble it up.”

“Is that a threat?” he teased, and pulled out a chair for her.

She twisted around, staring up at him for a moment, disbelief darkening her eyes. “No,” she murmured, sitting. “I just thought if you didn’t like it, or didn’t want to finish—”

“Hungrier than a horse.” He seated himself opposite her. “How are they doing, Luke and Spook?”

“Drinking tons of water. I left their outside door open for now. I boiled them some chicken liver. Gave them the broth mostly. Dig in,” she encouraged, lifting her fork.

He did, after pouring out a large glass of apple juice. Surreptitiously, he observed her eat the first few bites hungrily, then eat because she needed to. God, how he longed to ease her way in life. Yes, she’d fought back against her bad breaks and won a lot of territory by improving her circumstances. But he knew life on Earth was about to get a lot rougher for most folks.

They ate companionably for a
while. He used the time to assess her more closely, studying the structure of her face for those clues that would give him a better idea of how to seduce her. Her mouth was generous and sensual, the color a deep rosy pink, telling him she wanted to be kissed and to kiss in return, a lot. Her pert little nose told him she liked impetuous passion and, at times, she liked to be playful. The strength and stubbornness of her chin warned him she would challenge him whenever she thought it necessary. More importantly, she would challenge his right to claim her. That was her natural female spirit.

The high flare of her cheek bones not only added to her beauty, but let him know her sexual fires soared high, once ignited. And a man who couldn’t keep up with her or satisfy her deep passions would be a major disappointment to her. This went double because of the deep coppery flame of her hair. Even now, his hand itched to grab hold of a length and pull her to him. Not a wise move, given the broad width of her forehead. A stallion always had to appeal to a mare’s intelligence first to be accepted by her. Before she would allow his mating.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He must have been staring too intently. “My apologies, Seneca, the color of your hair is unusual and beautiful.” Why not tell the truth? See where it got him for now.

“Do you have a thing for redheads? Some men do.”

“I’ve had a thing for most women,” he bantered, countering her tone, at once mocking, yet curious, and proud that she was a redhead. He gave a small lop-sided grin.

“Or they’ve had a ‘thing’ for you,” she returned, along with a one-eyed glance over his torso, then his face. Her claws showed. Inside she ran, wild as a cougar. And she would fight like one.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been neglected.” He let his gaze dance over her briefly.

“Ice cream?” she asked as if she dropped ice cubes in his lap. “For dessert. I have the good, whole cream, organic kind.”

He nodded. “I’ll clear away. And get some bowls.”

“Just put them next to the sink. I’ll let Luke and Spook lick them clean later. Oops,” she paused before she fully rose from the chair. “Some people are particular about dogs licking their dishes, even if they are washed afterwards.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

“No problem.” He grinned widely. “Besides, the damage has already been done. I assume they’ve licked those plates clean before.”

She let herself smile in return. “Often. You’ve been permanently contaminated.”

“Probably not the first time.” Scooting his chair back, he gathered up the dishes and watched as she headed for the fridge. He wondered how a woman could dance her smallest movements. Somehow she did. Not like a ballerina, nor with the sultry fertility of a belly dancer, but somewhere between the two. She would be as sinuous and frenzied as flame against him. He knew it to the proud head of his cock, now shoving impatiently against his jeans. Inwardly, he groaned.

“Brownies?” she called after him from behind the fridge door.

“Absolutely,” he called back, mentally commanding his stud flesh to behave more like a gentleman, something he’d rarely required of it.

Setting everything down, he drew in a giant breath. Hell wild, he should have known if he ever let himself this close to her, he’d gallop after Seneca, his hooves pounding full bore letting nothing and no one stand in his way. Now, only she stood between them. Pivoting decisively, he headed for the dishwasher and retrieved two bowls with two more spoons.

The sparkling beauty of her eyes met him, her most riveting feature in his opinion. Her eyes held all her secrets, the vulnerability of her heart and the toughness of her spirit. The fact that she wasn’t immune to a man romancing her shimmered in their depths, too deep for most men to notice. God as his witness, he wanted to race his needs beneath her bright sky eyes and take her often.

Trail often counted his blessings over Earthmen. In his culture, men trained themselves to notice what most men missed here about their women, or the woman they wanted. In his world, to know a mare for more reasons than mating, always meant a wooing advantage.

However, mating permanently with a powerful mare-woman remained the priority for a stallion-man, and many a battle was fought over her during a breeding rut.

“How much?” she asked, spooning out the thick vanilla ice cream.

“Couple of scoops is good.” He seated himself. An instant later, he shot upwards, cautioning her with a finger against his lips to be quiet.

Silently, he walked out to the front window and peered towards her drive. Headlights shut off, and he knew who had arrived before the man stepped into the pool of illumination beneath the tall lamppost. “Bobby McKeaver,” he announced, hearing her light tread. “He have any business here?”