Teague’s stallion kept its pace steady but swift as it fell into something like, what, seventh place? It was hard to tell straight off. There were so many competitors. The hellhorses didn’t stay in their own lanes. They ran as a tight herd, biting and body-slamming each other as they strived to reach first place.

Voices gave a fast commentary over the loudspeaker, but Khloé wasn’t really listening. She was focused on the track, calling out Teague’s name and cheering on his demon.

“I like the way Teague’s hellhorse hangs back a little, like it knows it’s a given that it’ll win,” said Devon.

“The race is still hard to watch,” began Harper, “because you know there’s no way that they’ll walk off that track without some injuries. Shit, they’re coming to the first hurdle.”

Khloé held her breath as Teague’s stallion jumped high, clearing the wall and ditches. A couple of the others weren’t so lucky—one scraped its belly on the pieces of broken glass that studded the top of the stone wall. Another landed awkwardly, and one foreleg crumpled beneath it. In both cases, the steeds tumbled into the ditch of spears.

Raini flinched. “It’s painful to watch.”

Khloé nodded. “That had to hurt like a mother.” Her demon loved the mercilessness of it all, the freak.

She bit her lip as the rest of the hellhorses rocketed across the track, their legs a blur. They galloped through pools of flaming water, leapt over hedges that blazed with hellfire, and cleared walls that were embedded with thorns and spikes—always striving to avoid the ditches. Some succeeded, but not all.

“There’s fourteen steeds left,” said Keenan. “Thirteen,” he corrected when a hellhorse tumbled into a lava ditch. Its squeals of agony made her chest hurt.

The other steeds paid it no attention, needing to focus. They bolted, their hooves thudding so hard on the ground she would bet the spectators near the fence could feel the vibrations.

Her heart sank when she glimpsed the next hurdle. It wasn’t simply a high wall. Short swords stabbed out of its sides and surface every few seconds. Swords which could easily slice the knees, legs, or stomach of the hellhorses.

As the steeds approached the hurdle, the one beside Teague’s swung its head, neck extended, and bit Teague’s shoulder hard enough to make it nicker and shake its head.

“That mothertrucker,” Khloé hissed, remembering not to swear in front of Asher. She suspected that said mothertrucker had hoped to distract Teague’s steed from adequately prepping itself to jump. She mentally crossed her fingers and toes, hoping the dirty trick wouldn’t work.

Time seemed to slow for her as she watched her anchor push off its hindlegs and leap into the air. Khloé squeezed Keenan’s hand, fighting the temptation to close her eyes. The hellhorse soared, all grace and power … and it cleared the hurdle.

She practically sagged. “Thank freaking God.”

A few of the other steeds didn’t manage to clear the wall, and the swords sliced through their stomachs. Wincing, she flinched as—to make their pain even worse—they fell into a ditch of boiling water. One of them was the mothertrucker who’d bitten Teague’s steed. Well hello, karma.

“They’re dropping like flies,” said Keenan. “There’s only ten left.”

All ten rocketed along the track. Some were tiring and falling behind while others, including her anchor, purposely surged forward. They tackled more hurdles, and most cleared them. Two found themselves in ditches, leaving only eight competitors.

As they neared another hurdle, one steed breathed fire onto the rear legs of the one in front of it. The surprise and pain must have been enough to put the hellhorse off its game, because it lost its momentum and didn’t quite make the next jump. Worse, it fell onto a bed of red-hot iron spikes.

The fucking firestarter targeted Teague’s steed next, blowing flames at his hindlegs and tail. Shit, no.

Her anchor let out a throaty whine, and its pace faltered slightly, making her stomach drop. But then it put on a burst of speed, even as its tail blazed with hellfire.

Devon bounced lightly on her toes. “That’s it, run, you psycho, run!”

Khloé joined her hands together and put them against her mouth. “Come on, faster. You got this.”

It picked up speed again and leaped over the next hurdle … neatly skating right into third place.

Keenan rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s third, baby.”

“I know.” Khloé fanned her face. “Okay, they’re almost at the final part of the track.” The hurdles there were the worst, and some were close together.

The remaining competitors galloped along the track, their coats gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat. They also attacked each other—biting, body-slamming, breathing fire, and puffing out smoke in an effort to fog the others’ vision. The pain and distractions sometimes worked, causing some to fall or trip up. The rest forged onward.

The voices coming from the tiered stands became louder, and the commentator’s voice became thick with urgency.

Tags: Suzanne Wright Dark in You Romance
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