Stallion Mage: A Horse Shifter Mpreg Romance (COMPLETE)

A Mage's Determination (2/2)

With wild hope that someone was coming to help him, the mage twisted his neck, only to freeze at the shape of a stallion, black as night, and a huge gray brute. It was not his friend and his mate. It was those two.

What do I do? Alvarr didn't want to give into the instinctive fear that was trying to take over his mind, but he wasn't sure if he could master it. Did he act as though he did not notice them? Did he just try to get away from them as fast as he could, back toward the shelter of the Elders' tent? No. That wasn't an option. The snow would slow him down. Even though he was normally faster than they were, they had more strength to get through the deep drifts.

And then, Alvarr did not have time to decide. They had obviously seen him and were heading straight toward where he stood. The mage's heart beat faster, and his legs trembled, but he knew that to show weakness in front of those two would mean disaster. For him, his foal... or for them.

As those two approached, Alvarr remembered when he had tried to tell Laren about them. Though Laren's words had stung, now, the mage wondered if Laren may have been partially right. Alvarr had always run from them. And they didn't respect him, whether it was because of his small size, his fear, or his ability to use magic. There had been that strange time, when they had all brought him gifts, but Alvarr had suspected it was just a different way of tormenting him.

This time, he would take the leader's advice and stand his ground. In part, because there is no other choice. If I try to escape, I will be caught, anyway.

He watched them lumber through the snow, which made them slow. It took the edge off his nerves. Perhaps they're only coming to find food.

The big gray and night-black stallions were just one length away.

"Greetings, brothers" Alvarr said quietly, determined to take charge of their interaction. Thane nodded his sleek black head, and Alvarr cautiously dared to hope that this would go better than previous encounters. But then, Nassor spoke in his hoarse, low voice.

"Little mare," he sneered, his great head lowered as though he was trying to butt the snow.

Ignoring him, Alvarr turned toward Thane. "If you're coming to find food, there is some. Though it is buried, it is still good."

"The little mare-mage is showing us favor," Nassor said. "I greatly enjoyed your gift from yesterday."

"We gave grass at everyone's dwelling," Alvarr said. "Barron and I are only doing what we can to help the tribe, and you are part of the tribe." Alvarr kept his voice steady, but his hooves shifted through the snow, instincts to run away lighting up his every nerve. Of the two of them, Nassor was worse.

And yes, there it was. The mage could see the ugly interest in Nassor's eyes, the delight of a bully with a victim. Thane looked on with disinterest, doing nothing to stop him.

Alvarr strained his hearing to pick up any other signs of life, but there was only the soft rush of wind over snow-laden tree branches. They were alone. There was no one else to help him.

Hot panic bubbled up in the mage, though he tried his best to appear calm. Before, he was unwilling to even consider using his power, for fear of hurting a tribe-brother. But now that I have someone to protect, I may not be able to even use it.

He risked a glance into Nassor's eyes. Thane had wandered away to the side of the stream, nosing with interest at the buried grass beneath the snow. But Nassor stood tense and ready. His nostrils flared. "You smell sweet, little mare."