Last Ride of the Umbra Fae

11. Vessa

11

Vessa

T he tonic felt like an illusion as I rolled it between my fingers, its inky swells of dark magic glinting in the battering sun. I popped the cork off with my thumb, tipped my head back, and swallowed every last drop. I felt the power of the Eternal rush through my body, a welcome heat that coiled down my spine only to flush back up in a comforting, vibrational buzz. The pain had eased, and my eyes closed in a soft flutter as the sore flesh around my neck began to heal. I removed my hat and gloves to feel the full effect, freeing myself of any constricting material over the healing process. Hells, if I were under the moon, I would have stripped off all my clothes and doused myself in it.

The pleasant breeze was the calm to my storm. Every breath grew lighter, and the pounding of my heart slowed to a resting pulse. Looking ahead at Raven, I wished he could experience this type of healing. It had taken about an hour for the full shift to occur; his silkened, luminescent feathers had shrunk down to shoulders full of sharp thorns until they’d fully receded. I knew the poor bird would spend the rest of the evening sulking. I would have given him this tonic, but I already knew he would never take it.

I didn’t expect Pa to say a damn word after what had happened. He was lost to his own thoughts, keeping his stare on the terrain ahead.

As silent as the dead.

I knew anything that came out of his mouth would end with a jab. The old man didn’t mince his words for shit, especially when he was in a mood like this. I was lucky not to be the target of his ire because something loomed whenever he looked at Ryder.

As the cocky, invasive cowboy watched everything I did, every thought that flitted across my face, I used it to my advantage.

“What’s your story?” I asked.

The question must have caught him off guard, because he looked insulted.

“There is none,” he replied in a quick, muted tone, tightening his grip on the reins as he shifted in the saddle.

“Everyone has a story.” I hummed.

“Well, mine isn’t worth remembering.”

I side-eyed him. “Why not?” I asked, putting my hat and gloves back on before leaning forward and reaching for my horse’s reins, sensing his searing stare at the curve of my back. Sucking in a sharp breath, I continued, “Just because you’re a cocky fucking bastard doesn’t mean you should be forgotten.”

The remark drew a laugh from him. A glint of a pearly smile peeked from his shadowed jawline, but I kept my poker face on.

“So what are you trying to tell me, Desert Storm? That after all this is over with, you’ll want to remember me?” His tone was smooth and sultry. He caught something in my expression that made him ride slightly closer. I swallowed hard as his scent enveloped me. Somehow, even after all the bloodshed, he still managed to smell clean. I looked down at the bloodied mess I was covered in.

He must have had heat exhaustion, because he then said, “I can guarantee, after all this, I’d like to remember you. If I had to slice another man’s throat to be in your orbit, I’d do it. I’d sever the chords of anyone who was ever tempted to touch you again.”

Well fucking damn.

My breathing hitched. I wanted to look his way, but I was afraid if I did, it would be a one-way ticket inside his pants. My back stiffened. I couldn’t lower my guard over a few heated words, but dammit, he made it easy. The air suddenly felt thin, and the space between us simmered with coiling heat. I needed to ride away before I became a moth dumb enough to fly into his flame.

For the next three days, we managed to ride without another disruption as we closed in on Journey’s Cliff, a resting place further north. After riding in silence for a few hours, I’d finally had enough. Though my veins felt like they were on fire, I made my next moments memorable.

“Let’s place a bet,” I said to Ryder, grinning. “I’ll race you two miles out. If I win, you tell me a piece of your story.”

The suggestion clearly piqued Ryder’s interest.

“And what happens when you lose?” His smirk sent warmth pooling below my belly, as if I could see everything he’d like to do. He was looking at me like I was some sort of prize to be won, possibly a wild animal to tame, but there was no taming me.

“Trust me, asshole. I won’t.” With that, my mare reared, and I took off riding.

I heard his horse gallop behind me, but I left him in a cloud of dust. I felt the adrenaline wash over me as I rode faster across the desert beneath the hard and blazing sun. My horse’s mane whipped against my face as I leaned into her lead.

When the timing was right, I felt no fear as I let go of the reins and held my arms out to the wind. I had no wings to catch me, but I rode as if I did, pretending my life wasn’t in peril as I felt the dirt pelt harder against my face. I was dangerous when I didn’t care. This was the side of me Pa and Raven feared, but to me, it was the best feeling in the world.

I heard the devil himself hoot and holler as a storm behind us rumbled, a thunderous warning growing across the terrain. He was gaining speed around every curve of the land, chasing at my heels like a disastrous nightmare. The hair rose on the back of my neck as a chill swept down my body. I felt the whisper of his power, like unseen tendrils reaching for me. Peering back, the ominous clouds were gaining speed. And so was Ryder.

I grinned.

Maybe I could finally wash some of this blood off me. Ryder’s hat flew back, flicking rapidly like a trapped firefly caught on his drawstring.

Good. I hope that slows him down.

And it did. By the time I’d faced forward, I had hit the two-mile mark. Sensing it in my bones, I leaned back in the saddle and gave the reins a gentle pull for my mare to slow to a trot and then slowly came to a stop.

“Woo-hoo! You’re quite the storm.” His voice wrung out as he dismounted his stallion, still relishing the rush of adrenaline. The spurs on his boots chimed as he sauntered my way. With beads of sweat above his brow, he put his hands on my mare and stroked her mane. Surprisingly, she didn’t pin her ears back, but I tried not to be disappointed; I wouldn’t have been opposed to her kicking him.

“Well,” he said with a labored breath, “looks like I owe you a story.”