Rejected Mate's Ascension

Chapter 9. The Blossoming Young Love

It was hard to tell where the winter's chill released its grip on the mountains, and the spring truly and properly began. Was it back in Washington? Later in Oregon? I only know that when Harold and I left the Trail and entered the rolling and green foothills of El Dorado County, California in April greeted us with the kind of warmth I didn't expect in Grauberg until July.

Humans enjoyed it too, so for the last few days we rarely shifted. Winding our way between the slopes covered in brilliant green grass, trees crowning them, and small mirrors of ponds, we looked like regular tourists.

Despite the weight of the pack being harder on the human skeleton, I enjoyed sunlight on my bare skin, though I was worried I'd pay for it in the evening, since no amount of sunblock could save me from a sunburn even up North. Harold's tanned complexion was much more at home here than among the snows of Grauberg. His strides grew sure, with such a sense of belonging, that I stopped for a second on top of a hill we'd just climbed. "Are we on the Ranch Almarr already?"

"We've been crossing it for a while," he said, pointing further west, toward more hills sporting fluffy white shapes over the grass. "The principal estate is way over there, but my grandfather bought out parcel after parcel in the forties and fifties, so...it's large. But not too far to go now."

Wind rustled in the leaves. Some bird trilled overhead. A ladybug landed on my forehead with a light bump. It was absolutely idyllic, except his mood was turbulent; and I sensed it, despite not a muscle moving in his face. "Worried?"

"No," he lied and pointed again. "We have a welcoming committee."

A little further down, a brown ribbon of a beaten trail waved through the green carpet of grass. A couple of horse riders moved on it, toward us. They had extra, unsaddled horses in tow.

I chewed my lips. "Maybe they are just out for a ride..." Goddess, I hoped so.

"Horses aren't your thing, are they?"

What gave me away, I wonder? The lip-chewing, the anxious glances or slowing down of my steps?

"I like horses perfectly well in the movies." Or from the distance that separated us now. "They are graceful, majestic beasts, but so are many other animals, and I never wanted to ride one."

"Really?" His wide, dark brows quirked in a heart-achingly familiar amused mime. "I always dreamed of riding a lion as a kid. Or a dragon. A giant fire-breathing red dragon."

Too bad you settled for riding a hellhound. We had just gone ten days without mentioning Scarlett, so I held back this low blow. The spring day was too beautiful to spoil. And, I didn't want to hurt him...yet.

"Good luck with that." I shook my head and started downhill.

Harold followed, chuckling. Sunlight filled his irises with a twinkle. When he was like that, I didn't want to hurt him at all.

I barely reached the bottom of the hill when the riders popped seemingly from nowhere.

The horses reared to a stop from a gallop. Sixteen hooves stomped the ground in a thunderous accord three yards from me. The horses' massive chests shone with perspiration and—I swear—steam erupted from their nostrils. Bridles cut tight across the enormous yellow teeth as they whinnied, protesting that they didn't get to run me down.

The riders probably spotted us from afar, the same way Harold saw them and cut across, but my panicking mind didn't have time to process it.

I staggered backward until my pack bumped into another wall of solid, sweaty flesh—Harold—and froze, gasping for elusive oxygen.