Heart of a Demon (The Dark Angel Wars 1)

“You fight with guns? I thought it was just swords.”

She shrugged. “A lot of the guys are old school, with the silver coated swords and daggers. But my generation is spicing it up with silver bullets. They’re not just good for werewolves, you know.”

I felt my eyes grow huge. “Werewolves are real?”

Next thing you know, she’d tell me vampires were real too.

“No, silly.” She laughed, her face turning red. “I was joking. Werewolves are just a myth. But you should’ve seen your face.”

I blew out a frustrated breath and barged ahead of her, determined to put her freckled face behind me. Raquel caught up in a couple of bounds, her long skinny legs easily outpacing my own.

We entered the huge stables and instantly I was calmed by the familiar smell of dozens of horses. Each stall was full. Walking by the doors, I counted twelve bays, three palominos, and six chestnuts. A beautiful dappled gray was being groomed in the aisle. It tossed its gorgeous mane of hair and snorted at me, lowering its nose so I could scratch it.

“Reba doesn’t normally like humans,” a woman said behind me.

I turned to see a stout, barrel-chested woman with wavy black hair approach us. Compared to the giants that strolled about here, even towering over me, she was positively short.

Coming up beside me, she stroked Reba’s snout. “That’s why I got her for such a great price. Her rider couldn’t get her to behave. She was trying to train her to win competitions.”

Reba whinnied and pranced in place, sticking her nose in the short woman’s pockets.

“Always wanting a treat.” She chuckled, pulling a carrot out and putting it on the palm of her hand for the horse to snatch.

“Laramie, this is Lizzy.” Raquel said, watching Reba warily. “She just loves horses. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wanted to come see your stables.”

Laramie grinned at me and slid a bridle over Reba’s nose. “Want to take a ride on this little lady? I was just getting her ready for some exercise.”

I had to stop myself from squealing with excitement. After the week I’d had, riding a horse would feel like heaven.

“I think the look on your face says enough,” Laramie laughed. “Let me get her saddled for you and I’ll lead you to the corral. I’ll get Tim McGraw out for Raquel.”

Raquel groaned as if she’d just been grounded for a month. I shook my head at her, but couldn’t keep the smile off my face. How anyone could hate horses was beyond me.

“Laramie names most of the horses after country music stars,” Raquel whispered in my ear. “She’s obsessed with it. It’s always blaring on the radio when I have to help her clean the stalls. Makes me want to puke.”

Luckily for me, I didn’t mind country music at all. Laramie led me to a giant corral where Hank Williams blared through a pair of rusty old speakers. A few other riders already rode in the corral, doing figure eights and ju

mping over poles. My heart quickened when I spotted Gabe riding a handsome black horse with a white star on its forehead. He leapt over a four foot jump, landing smoothly on the other side.

“I’m going to assume you know what you’re doing and just let you have at it,” Laramie said in her gruff voice.

She helped me get my foot in the stirrup and swing my leg to the other side. I settled into the polished black English saddle like it’d been made for me. Reba moved forward at the touch of my heels and we walked around the ring a few times to get used to each other. Eventually, we fell into a stride and began to pick up the pace, even braving some of the lower jumps.

This was the happiest I’d been in days. My heart had ached for Lara Cleary’s riding lessons and her little bay horse, Charlie. Out here, all my cares and fears fell away until it was just me and that horse, trotting across the corral.

I’d almost forgotten there were other people in the corral with us, until Gabe and his black horse cut into our path, making me pull back on Reba’s reins. I nearly lost my seat. He stopped in front of us, allowing his horse its head to pick at some stray grass.

“You’re a great rider,” he said, his eyes trailing from my boots to my face.

The time he’d spent out in the sun had already given his skin a healthy glow, so very different from the couple of days he’d spent tied up in my shack. He really was back to normal.

I looked down at the reins, fighting the blush that heated my face.

“Thanks, you too. Your horse is a beauty.”

He looked down at the horse and grinned. “Laramie named him Clint Black. I just call him Clint.”

Clint snorted at that moment, as if he knew we were talking about him.