My Trojan Horse Majesty (The Russian Witch’s Curse #5)

10. Izzy

Chapter 10

Izzy

T he day Tim kissed me, it was very, very cold.

Ironically, I doubt it would have happened if not for Paige, my best friend. . .who hates him. Paige is a skier. She and I had very little in common when we were matched as roommates our freshman year of college, but over time, we became more and more similar. In fact, we became partners when our largest difference became our biggest connection point—I loved horses, and she loved plowing through snow on sticks.

By her sophomore year, we had realized where our interests connected and decided to try skijoring, on a lark mostly. She had a ski team friend who mentioned that they had a friendly competition the following week. Paige decided she wanted to try it, but she needed a horse to pull her with a rope through the ski course.

At forty miles an hour.

Millie probably would have killed us, but I convinced Steve and Mom to bring the horse I learned barrels on, Chromey, and he was a champ. Running in the snow didn’t scare him. Racing past screaming crowds gathered along the course didn’t faze him either. The only part that made Chromey nervous was the flag we had to carry for our college.

All in all, though we didn’t get close to first place, we were almost as far away from last. We decided to do it again.

And again.

And then again.

After my tenth or twelfth run, we started rolling Millie into the lineup. She was bred for reining, so I didn’t think she’d be great, but she got the hang of it quicker than I expected. The flag never even fazed her.

By my junior year, I’d been working for the Bear River Equine Hospital for a few months already. I knew most of the vets there. So when I showed up at the Heber City Utah skijoring competition, I wasn’t even surprised to see they were the vet for the meet. I was actually proud to introduce them to all the friends I’d made in the bizarre sport I’d fallen in love with.

“And this is Timothy Heaston,” I said to Paige. “He’s our orthopedic surgeon, so I’m not sure why he had to come.”

“I wanted to come,” he said. “I love things like this, and when I heard you would be here, I didn’t want to miss it.” But he was staring at me, not Paige.

“I know everyone here’s a potential client,” Paige said. “But you’ll have to cheer the loudest for us.” She winked.

Tim stepped closer. “Izzy’s the only one I’ll be cheering for. She’s the only one I even see.” Then he winked. . . at me.

“At first I thought it would be fun flirting with him,” Paige said. “But I didn’t think he’d actually like you. He’s way too old for you.” Paige glared as he rejoined the Bear River team.

“Let’s just worry about the race,” I said.

It was the first time we’d ever taken first place, and it was very, very exciting. We even won some money. After all the photos and the interview with the local Heber City paper, I was finally walking Chromey back to my trailer when my “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” ringtone alerted me that my mom was calling. In the process of trying to answer, I almost ran into someone. I dropped my reins, Chromey spooked, and I fumbled my phone. Chromey reared back, which was very uncommon for him, and he was hovering over me, blocking out the sun.

The person I almost plowed over was Tim.

He gracefully caught my phone, snagged Chromey’s reins before he could bolt, and swung me around behind him to keep me safe. “Careful, champion.”

I swear, the whole thing played out like a scene from a movie. He was in the right place at the right time, and without missing a beat, he set my horse at ease, kept me safe, and prevented my phone from breaking. I was in awe , even more than I had been before.

“It was exciting, watching you in your element,” he said.

“It was your cheering that did it, I think.” In spite of the cold, my cheeks felt warm. His arm—still braced around my lower back—helped.

“You were spectacular. Really.” His eyes dropped to my mouth.

I inhaled.

And then he kissed me. It felt like everything in my world dropped into place in that moment. Sometimes, when things feel hard, I think back on that moment. When I was in trouble, he swung me around and shielded me with his body. At the time, I remember thinking it might be the closest thing I’d ever experienced to having an actual white knight.

When the men who shot at us before show up again, my heart races, and I realize I’m in more danger now than I was that day, when Chromey panicked and I was almost trampled.

Sadly, Leonid Ivanovich is definitely not a knight.

He’s also not dressed in anything remotely close to white—he’s not even wearing his own clothes. But whereas Chromey could be calmed with a steady gesture and a smooth voice, I doubt anything like that will work here. In fact, as I take in their expressions and their approach, I notice something. Something very bad.

“Leonid,” I whisper. “He—he’s got a gun.”

No matter how many times you watch a heroine on a show stand up to someone bravely, no matter how many times you run through a life-and-death scenario you see in a movie or read in a book, nothing really prepares you for facing the rounded end of a metal weapon that’s pointed at your face in real life.

I remember the sound of the bang when they fired last time.

I remember how Drago—Leonid—flinched.

And I remember frantically checking him over after he charged them and finding no damage at all. I hadn’t understood it then, and I’m not sure I really get it now. He said it was because of the remnants of a protection spell, but what does that even mean?

Harry Potter’s not real.

Twilight? As far as I know, there are neither werewolves nor vampires. But yesterday, I’d have sworn there was no such thing as a man who can turn into a horse, and clearly. . . If any of that existed, now would be a great time for a shirtless wolf-man to show up and twist this gun into a hunk of deformed metal. Bopping the guys on the head for good measure wouldn’t hurt, either.

When the short man swings his gun around to point right at my head again , I panic. I should duck. I could scream. In fact, I ought to dive behind the truck.

But I don’t do any of that.

I stare at him wide-eyed and dopey, my heart hammering.

Until Leonid yanks my upper arm back, stepping into place in front of me. “Put that down.”

The small man smiles. “Before she had a big, scary horse racing to her aid.” He snorts. “Now. . .just you?” He shakes his head. “I’ll be honest. I was way more scared of the horse.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Leonid says. “Because I’m the czar of Russia. One word from me will end not only your life, but also the lives of every person you’ve ever cared remotely for.” I can only make out the side of his face, but the brutality of Leonid’s smile chills me to the bone. Definitely not the white knight I was looking for. Honestly, he looks a lot scarier than the shirtless wolf-man.

And yet, this man, this scary man with his posh British accent is facing the two who are threatening me, and he has no weapons at all.

“The czar of. . .” The small man’s laughter grates on me, like a dentist drilling on a molar. He slaps the tall man on his side. “This fake British man says he’s the czar of Russia.” He sighs. “That’s very interesting, because I just found out that I’m the queen of bloody England.”

“Oh, I think not,” Leonid says. “Queen Camilla has better personal hygiene, and is both much prettier and much smarter than you.” He curls his lip. “I’m also more afraid of her than I could ever be of someone who breathes through his mouth like you do.”

The little man may be uncouth, but he understands the insult. He takes one small step closer. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re on Timothy Heaston’s property, and you’re with his girlfriend, so in my book, that makes you fair game.”

“Game?” Leonid doesn’t even look one percent scared. “Game for what, exactly? I feel like chess would be beyond you—checkers, maybe? Can you keep the difference between black and red straight? What if we stack up one of the checkers? Wouldn’t you get confused?”

“Why does he sound British if he’s supposed to be from Russia?” The tall man’s frowning. “Because I do feel like I saw him on TV.”

“My English tutor was British,” Leonid says. “A tutor is someone who teaches you things. Unlike the two of you, I’m quite bright and pick things up right away, so hiring tutors makes sense.”

“If you really are Russian, you must be stupid,” the tall man says. “Here in America, we know not to insult people who are holding guns.”

“Was I insulting you? I thought I was merely stating facts—facts I didn’t think you could comprehend.” Leonid steps toward them, his right hand holding me behind his back. “What’s most entertaining to me is that here in America, the scariest thing you can imagine is a gun.”

“Oh please,” the short man says. “What could be scarier than a gun?”

Leonid turns toward me slightly, just enough that I can see his profile. “Turn me back.”

“Into a horse?” I hiss. “How would I even do that?”

“I don’t know. How did you turn me last time?”

“What are you two talking about?” The small man shakes his gun at us. “Stop it.”

“If you don’t,” Leonid whispers, “I’m not sure how?—”

But the small man’s out of patience. “I’ll show you why we’re scared of guns, big talker.” He shifts so his eye’s just behind the barrel, and then he pulls the trigger.

It all happens so quickly that I’m not sure exactly what happens. The bullet never hits us, and somehow, instead, the two men catch fire. The short man drops his gun on the ground, and it goes off again. That bullet never reaches us either, but the screams from the two men as they burn?

They must be able to hear them in outer space.

Their bodies burn on and on and on. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stop hearing their screams and smelling the odor of melting flesh.

“What on earth happened?” I’m casting about for someone else—anyone, or anything—who could have set them on fire. “Did the gun misfire? Did it spark or explode?” But how would they both go up in flames like that?

Leonid watches them with a tilted head, utterly unconcerned, for another two minutes or so until they’ve burned down to nothing but two smoking piles of ash. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Then he slowly turns around, smiling. “I just discovered that thanks to our connection, when I’m touching you, I have full access to my powers.”

I leap backward. “Are you saying. . .” I swallow. “Did you just incinerate them?”

He looks utterly unfazed. “Of course I did. Did you think it was a terrible sunburn that just spiraled out of control?”

Is he making a joke ? “Two men just died.”

“I’m pretty sure they only qualified as men in the loosest sense of the word. If you’d seen their faces, the way I see them, you’d know I was doing the world a favor.”

“You—what? Their faces?”

“When I asked you to shift me into a horse, I tried to do it myself, and I felt the ability. That’s when I began to wonder if I might be able to do more. . .”

“So you got your powers, and then you just killed them?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Leonid says. “There’s no body. Even in America, they need a body to convict you. And besides, I have diplomatic immunity here. Neither of us will be in trouble.”

Great.

I’m somehow linked to a psychopath .