Satan's Sword

by Debra Dunbar

  Wyatt looked worried. Really worried. I’m not sure why. The worst thing that could happen would be me humiliating myself three seconds into the race. He should be used to this sort of thing.

  “This is going to be fun,” I told him. “It will counteract the horrible boredom of the dressage test I’m doing this afternoon. Don’t be a stick in the mud. Please go take care of the registration. Oh, and did you pack my jumping saddle?” I asked. It was going to really suck if I had to do field jumping with a dressage saddle.

  “Yeah, I thought you might do some light stadium jumping, but not this,” he protested.

  He was worried. It tugged at something inside me. No one had ever worried about my safety before. Were all human boyfriends this way? I walked over to kiss him but Diablo took exception to the public display of affection and tried to bite Wyatt. No way was I putting up with that crap, so I zapped him with a small disciplinary burst of raw energy and he jumped back, looking at me appraisingly. I kissed Wyatt again, this time without interruption, lead rope firmly in hand. We stood for a moment, arms around each other, as I breathed in his warm, human scent.

  “I’m going to do this Wyatt. I’ll either stay on or I won’t. You should video it just in case I fly off and he drags me around the field. You could post it all over YouTube, or maybe even sell it to one of those funniest video shows.”

  Wyatt sighed and kissed the top of my head.

  “Okay. Please keep your heels down and don’t get too forward on your jumps.”

  Wyatt went to take care of my registration and I led Diablo around to tie him next to Piper. He snapped and pawed at my big gelding, who eyed him placidly and continued to munch from his hay bag. That’s my boy. Unflappable, even with some crazy animal threatening him. Steeplechase was the first event, so I put my field saddle on the grey, making sure I pulled the stirrups all the way up. It was going to be really weird riding that way. I wouldn’t have much leg against the horse to hold on. Given my horrible balance, I probably would be off at the first jump. Luckily, Piper’s bridle fit Diablo with some small adjustments. Piper was well-mannered, so I’d put a gentle snaffle bit on the bridle. With this monster I’d probably have chosen something like a double twist wire. I’d have to rely on my own special skills to keep him in line and not the bit. Just as well. Elsa was always yelling at me to ride with my seat and not my hands anyway.

  Before I led Diablo to the warm-up field, I needed to have a chat with him. Just to make sure we both knew who was holding the reins in this relationship. I stuck my thumb and fingers at the edge of each nostril and held him just above the lip, forcing him to meet my eyes.

  “I know what you are, and I’m sure you know what I am. Life with me will be far better than with the humans. I understand what you need, and I’ll allow you privileges beyond what the humans would, but I will not allow you to attack what is mine. That horse over there, he is mine and you are not to threaten him or hurt him. The human who was here, he is mine and you are to obey him as you would me. If you harm him in any way, I will not hesitate to kill you. Death by my hands will not be quick or painless. Make me angry enough to kill you and you will wish you had met your end at the slaughterhouse.”

  I wanted to be firm with him, but I didn’t want him to think I would crush his spirit or deny him expression of who he was. It’s so hard to tell with hybrids how much firmness to use and how much kindness they needed. Boomer, my Plott hound hybrid, needed a good deal of kindness and a gentle touch. I got the feeling that I would need to treat this horse more as I would a full demon.

  We walked without incident over to the practice field and I scrambled into the saddle, wondering how long I’d be up there. The short stirrups felt weird, and I immediately pushed some raw energy down into the horse to help me hold myself on. Diablo danced sideways, but didn’t seem displeased with the energy. It had taken me months of work with Piper before he would even let me touch him. As a hybrid, Diablo was more accepting. Eventually he would be able to tolerate quite a bit of raw energy, but this was new to him and I wasn’t sure how he’d react.

  More secure in my seat, we trotted and cantered about, even taking a small cross-rail jump. At this point, my only plan was to just stay on the damned horse for as much of the race as I could. I really didn’t care if I came in dead last. Warm-up was uneventful, so I had high hopes as we made our way to the field. Okay, high hopes was a bit of an exaggeration. It was more like I had minimal hopes. Or desperate hopes.

  My hopes were dashed at the starting line. Diablo danced around, whirling like some kind of dervish and making threatening faces at the other horses that, for the most part, ignored him. As the gun went off, he was facing backwards and had to spin around before taking off. Dead last. Luckily, Diablo had a plan. He quickly made his way into the pack where he decided the main purpose of the race was to body slam the other horses and try to bite them. My main purpose was to keep my horse between me and the ground, so I let him do whatever he wanted and concentrated on holding on for dear life.

  The course was two miles, which goes surprisingly fast when you’re galloping flat out. At the first fence I had a moment of anxiety. The thing was over three feet in height and looked like a hedge with a two foot tall green padded roll in front at the takeoff. Diablo didn’t seem to jump high enough to clear it, and for a moment I was convinced we’d knock the fence over and go tumbling across the dirt. Instead, his hooves tore through the brushy top and I realized the solid part of the fence was much lower. Halfway through the race, I began to feel a bit more secure in my seat and I tried to urge Diablo to pull ahead. I knew he was capable of more speed, especially as I was increasing his oxygen uptake, but he didn’t want to forego the joy of bullying the other horses. The field was thinning out as we made it down the last stretch, so, in a final effort, I encouraged Diablo verbally.

  “You’re not going to let that nutless wonder beat you, are you? Pussy.”

  That did it, and with a snort, Diablo surged forward. Now I truly was hanging on for dear life. I felt myself unbalance and shift to the side, but held on with my link of raw energy and grabbed his mane with my hands. I also chanted “heels down, heels down” to myself, thinking that might help. It must have since I managed to right myself as we flew past the finish line. We’d come in fifth, and if there had been another hundred yards, I may have made it to third.

  Now that we were done the race, Diablo decided to show me what he was made of. He threw his head down in preparation for what I can only imagine was the mother of all bucks. Luckily, I’d been there before. The elven horses had been bucking me off for centuries and I recognized the signs. I drove my heels into his flanks, bringing his rear forward and under him. Undeterred, he continued to canter around the field with his head firmly down between his front legs. Asshole.

  After a few moments of expressing his independence, Diablo slowed down and pulled his head up to cool down. Breathing a sigh of relief, I stopped him and pulled my energy back to dismount. The bastard waited for me to drop my stirrups and shift my weight, then leapt to the side, shaking himself in a big shiver. I slid right off his side into the dirt. It had to happen sooner or later; I was just glad it was after the race was over.

  As I dusted myself off, I saw the winner come toward me leading a leggy, chestnut Thoroughbred. You could tell he was the winner because he was the only one not covered with mud from the hooves of the horses in front of him. Leading the pack had its privileges. Cleanliness was one of them.

  “Congratulations,” I called to him. “Nicely done.”

  “Nicely done on your part, too,” said a voice I recognized. “Diablo was in a foul temper today. I’m surprised you stayed on him at all. Plus, you got him to pull away from the group. That’s near impossible when he’s in one of his moods.”

  He stopped beside me and reached out a hand to rub Diablo’s nose. The horse glared at him, but tolerated the touch without baring his teeth or snapping.

  “I’m Tony Spellious.” He put
out a clean hand to shake my dirty one. “I trained and rode Diablo. I’m bummed John sold him, but he’s fed up with how difficult he is. Owner’s privilege, but if I’d known he was mad enough to unload him for a hundred bucks, I may have bought him myself.”

  “Samantha Martin,” I told him. “You can handle him?” I asked, indicating the nasty beast beside me.

  Tony laughed. “No. But I like riding things I can’t handle.”

  I may be dense when it comes to the subtleties of human interaction, but I know sexual innuendo when I hear it. Tony was flirting with me. That didn’t happen often since humans of both genders tend to be uncomfortable around me. Before Wyatt, most sex I had was either coerced or with those too drunk to heed their instincts. I looked Tony over and liked what I saw. Lean, wiry guy. Attractive face with nice brown eyes full of spirit. Hmmm.

  “Good to know.” I replied. “Do you race on the track too?”

  “No, I’m too big to jockey on the track,” he said with regret. He was only my height, and looked to be maybe a hundred and fifty pounds, so I couldn’t imagine how little the track jockeys were. “I haven’t seen you at steeplechase before. Do you ride other events?”

  “This is my first steeplechase,” I told him. “I’d like to do it again. I got talked into coming here for the dressage test, but I don’t usually do these shows. Mainly I ride in the fields around my property and sometimes fox hunt.”

  Tony looked surprised. “Wow, you really rock. I can’t believe you did so well in your first steeplechase, especially on Diablo. You must be one heck of a rider.”

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t say that if you saw my dressage test,” I confessed.

  Tony wrinkled up his nose. “Dressage is horrible. Bunch of pompous jerks and their bored horses.”

  Reaching to the back of his shirt, Tony ripped off his race number and proceeded to scribble on it with a pen he clearly had stolen from the registration table. No one rides with a pen in their jodhpurs, so he obviously must have thought this one out ahead of time.

  “Look, I really want to talk with you more, but we’ve got to get the horses back and I have six I need to work with this evening. Here’s my number. I’d love to ride with you sometime. Or take you to dinner, or just meet you for coffee. Whatever you want.” He handed me the race number and smiled at me. “Call me?”

  “Sure.” I took the number. “I’ll think about it.”

  I led Diablo back to my trailer staring at Tony’s number in amazement. Wow, some guy was actually trying to pick me up. Wonders never cease.

  Wyatt was sitting on the little three legged camp stool outside the trailer reading something on his cell phone. It must have been engrossing because he didn’t look up as I walked to the trailer and tied Diablo. In fact, he didn’t look up as I took off Diablo’s saddle and bridle and brushed him down.

  “Did you see me? I stayed on. Well, at least I stayed on until after the race was over. That has to be the most damned fun I’ve had on a horse in ages. Wyatt, I swear it’s like NASCAR with horses. It’s a total rush. I’ve got to do it again.”

  Wyatt finally looked up from his phone and fixed me with a cold stare. He was pissed. Why was he pissed? I didn’t kill myself. Was he that mad over my racing when he didn’t want me to?

  “Yes, I saw you. I watched the whole race.” His tone was arctic.

  “Why are you mad?” I walked over to stand in front of him. I hated Wyatt being mad at me. It made me hurt in my guts. “I kept my heels down. I almost fell off at the end, but I managed to get my balance back.”

  Wyatt sighed and put his cell phone aside. I feared I was going to get a lecture, but as long as it ended with Wyatt not being angry any more, I’d live through it.

  “Sam, if there was a girl here, and I flirted with her, got her number even, how would that make you feel?”

  “Is she cute?” I didn’t know how I was supposed to respond to this one. I stared at him intently trying to see if I could read his mind. “Does she like threesomes? Are you saying that you found a girl here and want to do a threesome? Because I’d totally be into that sort of thing. As long as you were, that is. But not if you’re not.”

  Wyatt let his breath out in an exasperated puff. “That’s not what I mean Sam! You were over there picking up that jockey. Right in front of me. I watched you race, waited for you, and you ignore me and go flirt with that guy.”

  “You want to have a threesome with the jockey?” I asked hopefully. Wyatt threw up his hands in frustration, clearly even more angry.

  “What do want me to do?” I wailed, digging my hands through my helmet-flattened, sweaty hair. “Wyatt, I’m not human, and I don’t understand what you mean. Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

  “I don’t care if you flirt with guys, but not when I’m around. I need to be your number one guy, your only guy when you’re with me,” he shouted.

  I grabbed the race number with Tony’s phone number on it and ripped it up, throwing the bits on the ground

  “He’s a good rider, Wyatt. And he trained this horse. I thought he could give me some input, that’s all.” I walked over to him and sat, straddling him on the little camp stool. “You are my number one guy Wyatt,” I told him. “My partner in crime. You’re the most important human to me ever. In over nine hundred years, you are my most favored human, ever.”

  To make my point, I kissed the corner of his mouth, and then trailed my lips up along the edge of his jaw line. He smelled so good with the warm sunshine on his skin. He hadn’t shaved this morning and the stubble scraped lightly on my lips as I worked my way up to nip at his earlobe.

  “I’m a good rider, too.” Wyatt’s voice was husky and I caught the sexual innuendo that time also.

  “Mmmm, you are. You ride me like no one ever has before,” I whispered in his ear, then proceeded to run my tongue around the edge before tugging gently on his earlobe with my teeth.

  That must have been the right thing to say, or possibly the right thing to do, because he crushed me tight in his arms, and buried his face in the space where my neck meets my shoulder. I shivered as he kissed me in that oh-so-sensitive spot, and decided there were activities I wanted to pursue far more than the upcoming dressage test.

  Digging my fingers into his hair, I pulled his head up so I could kiss him thoroughly. He dove his hands down the back of my stretchy jodhpurs, and grabbed my ass, grinding me against him. I could feel important parts of his anatomy stirring between my legs and a thick heat wash up through me. Just as we were getting into the moment, the little camp stool crashed beneath us, dumping us flat onto the ground next to the trailer wheels. We didn’t break stride and continued to kiss sprawled on the grass and dirt beside the trailer. Wyatt pulled on my shirt, popping off a button in his hurry to feel the skin underneath. I cut right to the chase and went for his belt and pants.

  “Let’s take this in the trailer tack room,” I suggested as I unhooked the belt and yanked it in one motion from his pants with a whip-like snap.

  And we did. Banging the metal door against the frame and knocking saddles off their posts in our haste. This wasn’t our usual slow, thorough exploration of each other. This was fast, messy, and noisy, with torn crumpled clothing, mouths and hands all over the place. I’m not much of a screamer, but we both shouted encouragements at each other and came in a loud, sloppy, sweaty mess. I’m sure the folks with neighboring trailers were very entertained.

  The tack room was trashed. Hell, we were trashed. Saddles and bridles were strewn around. The plastic tub holding the grooming and vet supplies had toppled over and colorful vet wrap had unrolled like streamers on the floor. My jodhpurs were balled up around one ankle, where they had gotten stuck on my riding boot, and my shirt dangled like a white scarf around one wrist. Wyatt’s shirt had been carelessly tossed into the poop bucket, and his pants never made it past his ankles at all. We sat on the floor wrapped up in each other’s arms and laughed at the wreckage.

  “I don’t
want to put that back on,” Wyatt commented looking at his shirt.

  “You’ll have to go shirtless,” I told him tracing a line with my fingernail down his chest. Wyatt shirtless was a thing of beauty. He leaned over to kiss me and winced.

  “I think I’m sitting on a hoof pick,” Wyatt said shifting to pull it out from beneath his naked ass. “And you’re going to be late for your dressage test if you don’t hurry.”

  I thought about bagging the rest of the horse show and enjoying a repeat performance or two with Wyatt, but Elsa would probably come drag me off him if I was late. Reluctantly, I got up and stripped off my muddy and wrinkled shirt, hoping I’d remembered to pack an extra.

  In no time at all, I was presentable with clean clothes. Wyatt was helping me with my stock tie while I tucked my hair back into a smooth ponytail covered by a net. Not a good look for me, or for anyone actually. I made it to the dressage ring just in time to head in and do my pattern of walk, trot, and stop around the ring. Piper slogged his way around with the animation of a corpse, halting crooked, and cutting his corners. As expected, I came in last, and I got the usual frothing-at-the-mouth verbal abuse from Elsa regarding lack of impulsion, lack of bend, and over-flexing. Yep, I suck.

  It was midway through the afternoon by the time we got home. Wyatt stayed to help me with the horses and clean out my trashed trailer. I promised to meet him later at The Eastside Tavern, but first I had things to do. Starting with a hot shower. I’m a big fan of smelling like sex and sweaty horse, but it felt good to clean up. As I prepared to run out the door, I saw the light flash on my mirror and instinctively hit the button.

  Chapter 4

  I don’t usually get a lot of calls from home, and I let most of them go to message. This was on my Steward’s line, so I didn’t think twice before punching it.

  “What?” I barked in my standard greeting.

  “Mal, you fucking bitch. I can never reach you, you never call me back. I need you to get this motherfucking thing over to me now. Like yesterday.”