My Wild Horse King (The Russian Witch's Curse Book 4)

27. Katerina

At first it was kind of fun watching Gustav master his magic. I remember learning myself, at a much younger age, but no one pushed me. I was allowed to discover what I could do at my own pace.

Part of that was that I’m a girl.

But a lot was that I wasn’t very old.

And even more was because there wasn’t a maniac coming for us when I was being taught.

Watching Grigoriy and Aleksandr attack him in earnest is the opposite of fun. When he breaks his arm the second time, I just can’t do it anymore. I spend more and more time in my horse form, grazing. Or going for jogs—human or horse—and even learning to bake.

Abigail makes amazing cookies, especially her ‘cowboy’ ones.

But by far the most fun I have is when the guys aren’t using the arena and Whitney suggests we practice running the barrel pattern. “I should’ve known something was wrong that day at the fairgrounds.” She’s shaking her head and smiling. “No riders as bad as Daniel improve that fast.”

“He’s not so bad.”

“His heels stay down,” she says. “It’s clear he used to ride pretty well—I’ll give him that. But he was bouncing around on your back like a sack of potatoes. He’s lost his seat.”

I can’t argue with her assessment.

“Does it upset you to be ridden?” I should’ve seen it right away in the twinkle in her eyes.

I shrug. “Other than Daniel, I’ve never really been ridden.”

“How’d you like to try it again?” Whitney inhales and doesn’t let it out. She cares about my answer.

“Sure,” I say. “Why not?”

An hour later, we’ve really improved my turning. When Whitney finally slides off, she’s never looked so happy. “Holy catnip, you’re fast.”

I can’t speak in this form, so I just toss my head.

“It’s so cool, having a horse who knows what I’m saying. A real partner.” She shakes her head. “You might have ruined me for regular horses forever.”

I’ve barely shifted—I’m super sweaty—when Kristiana calls for me.

“What?” I might sound a little terse, but sometimes it feels like one of them is always looking for me, watching me, ready to find fault with some new flaw.

“Sorry.” Kristiana’s eyes are a little hurt when she reaches us. “Gustav was looking for you.”

“Why do you guys call him both Gustav and Daniel?” Whitney asks. “It took me two days to realize they were the same guy.”

“His real name,” Kris says, “is Gustav.”

“Unless you think his real name is the one he chose,” I say, always unable to stop myself from playing the devil’s advocate, even though I mostly call him Gustav.

“He didn’t choose Daniel,” Kris says.

And I realize she’s right. His parents chose Gustav, and his grandfather forced Daniel Belmont on him. The poor guy has never been able to pick anything for himself. He was always being shoved one way or another by everyone who supposedly loved him.

I know how that feels better than most anyone.

“Do you know why he’s looking for me?” I ask.

“What?” Kris frowns.

“Well.” I gesture at myself. “I just shifted back to human, and I need a shower. But if there’s something wrong, I should run straight to him.”

“I think he’s showering right now.” Kris’s eyes are twinkling. Does she mean. . .

I feel my cheeks flush. “Wait.”

“You better hurry,” she says.

I glance between poor, shocked Whitney and devilishly smiling Kristiana, and then I turn and run toward the house. What did Gustav say to her that made her. . . I can’t even think about it.

But when I reach the house, there is water running in the guest bathroom—the one that opens onto the hallway. Did Gustav tell his sister that he wanted me to join him in the shower? Because that’s a really disturbing way for him to. . .

No. That can’t be right.

But what if it is? Will he be upset that I ignored him? The thought of seeing him in the shower. . . A shiver runs up my entire body. My hand hovers over the knob for a few seconds, and then for a few more. The water cuts off, like he’s just getting out of the shower. My window’s closing rapidly. I’m about to walk away when I remember what he said a few days ago.

I should get the one thing that makes me happy.

Me.

I’m what makes him happy.

Any doubts I had dissolve, and my hand grips the doorknob, yanking the door open and slipping inside.

Gustav makes a strangled sound and tightens the towel he was tying around his waist. “Katerina.” His brow’s furrowed, and his eyes are full to the brim with shock.

“Kris said. . .” I realize she was messing with me at the exact same time he does, I think.

His outrage melts into a smile with a free eye roll. “I’m going to kill Kristiana.”

“What did you really tell her?” I’m looking at the ground now, my cheeks bright red, I’m sure.

He steps out of the tub area, and I step back. He steps toward me again, and then, when my back hits the wall, he braces one hand against the mirror, just an inch from my face, forcing me to look up at him. “Katerina.” Somehow, even in this steam-filled room, his breath warms my face. “I’m going to walk out of here right now, even though I don’t really want to, because this—” He wags his finger between us. “It’s not about raw heat. Or at least.” His finger runs down the side of my face, and a shiver claws its way up my back again. “It’s not only about that. Tonight, we’re starting with something more substantial than heat.”

He presses a quick kiss to my mouth, and then he steps even closer, pressing his still damp, very defined chest against mine.

His breath covers my face again when he says, “We’re going on a proper date, you and me, and if we wind up back here again at the end, I won’t be upset.”

I look up at him then, our eyes locking. “A date? Why?”

“Because I like you, woman,” he says. “And because the world’s a mess, so I need this—something good—more than ever.” He kisses me again, but this time, he takes his time. His mouth is so warm, so strong, and so generous that I practically dissolve against him.

That makes him stiffen and pull away. “There are a lot of people in this house, some of them children.” He squares his shoulders. “But you should know that if we weren’t in some kind of group home setup, I’d probably be carrying you into the bedroom right now.” He kisses my cheek and disappears through the door.

When I’m through with my shower, there’s a pile of clothing waiting on me just inside the door. He must have tucked it in while I was shampooing my hair. It’s not my dress, so that means it’s probably his sister’s, which is really pretty cute of him.

The black heels he included are not cute, but they both make me smile for different reasons. And once I’m dressed and I step out, Gustav’s waiting for me.

He’s holding flowers.

I don’t shiver, but something inside my heart contracts. “Hi.”

He looks nearly as shy as I do, but he thrusts the flowers toward me. They’re clearly something he stole from Abigail’s little flowerbeds, a fistful of brightly colored pink and orange mums. I hope he asked her permission. “I—it’s cheesy, right?”

I shake my head.

“Do you want to take them? Or leave them here?”

“Will Abigail speak to us again if she sees them?”

He laughs. “It was her idea.”

That tracks.

And after we rummage around a bit, the kitchen and family area suspiciously devoid of people, we find a vase. I fill it with water and pop the flowers in, and then Gustav walks me out to the SUV we’re all sharing. There’s still no one around, which is really kind of strange.

Sure, it’s a random Wednesday in early October, but this place is always hopping with people. Where did they all go? As I buckle, out of the corner of my eye, I see them. They’re all on the side of the house, their heads peering out.

That’s more like it.

As we pull down the drive, I wave, and they all hop back.

“I told them I wanted a date,” Gustav says. “I didn’t tell them they had to hide.”

“They can’t help themselves,” I say. “I think it’s kind of cute.”

“I guess.”

I’ve seen enough movies to know that your first official date when you’ve spent a lot of time together already is always awkward. I expect us to be out of sync, a little offbeat in our conversation and movements, and a little bit nervous.

But none of that happens.

When Gustav pulls into a parking space at the Grill, he does it like a pro. He even hops out and races around the car to open my door for me. He doesn’t close my dress in the door. We don’t bonk heads. And we don’t start trying to talk at the same time repeatedly.

In fact, when Gustav reaches for my hand, his fingers slide effortlessly in between mine, and we move in tandem toward the restaurant like it’s our fifteenth date, not our first. The woman who welcomes us in waves us toward the back. “Any table you want.”

A moment later, a young girl dances her way over to the one we chose to take our order, and when I say dances, I really mean dances. She’s walking like she’s listening to music, but I don’t see any of the little white stick things poking out of her ears. She just moves like she’s happy.

I’m shocked when I actually recognize her, though in a small town, maybe it’s not really that unusual. “Emery, right?”

She blinks, frowning in confusion, and then turning to look at Daniel. “Oh, wait. Daniel the newbie barrel racer, right? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look way better in these clothes.” She’s smirking, but then she turns back toward me and tilts her head. “I’m sorry, but did we meet too? I’m usually really good with names and faces.”

I was a horse when we met, and Abigail and Amanda haven’t told anyone else about our secret. I cringe a little at my faux pas.

“I told Katerina about you,” Gustav says. “She has a great mind for names, and there can’t be very many waif-like girls who have light blonde hair like yours.” He forces a smile.

“Oh.” She nods. “I guess so.” She lifts her pen and holds it over her notepad. “Well, did you get a chance to check out the menu yet?”

After we order, she skips away, like she has not a single care in the world. I really hope that her life can stay that way for quite some time. “We need to leave here,” I say.

“They want me to use water,” Gustav says.

I drop my fork and it clatters against the table and falls to the ground.

Gustav picks it up, wiping it on his napkin and handing me his.

“It’s fine. I’ll take that one.” I reach for the one I dropped.

He sets it down and insists on pushing his into my hand. “We will need to leave soon, once I do that.”

“Is it bad that I don’t want to?” I look down at my water glass, as if focusing on something innocuous will somehow eliminate anything scary from my life.

“Do you think he’ll try to kill me right away?” Gustav doesn’t sound worried. He sounds. . .matter-of-fact.

“Yes.” My mouth is so dry. “And I don’t even think he’s the devil. I just think he’s misguided, but I do think he’ll kill you.” I pick up my water glass and take a sip. “You’re too big of a risk to him.”

“Not try?” He lifts his eyebrows. “You think he’ll succeed?”

I choke, spitting water out everywhere.

The fastest waitress ever brings our food out with a perky smile. “If you need anything for that—more ketchup, mayo for the fries, you let me know.” She bounces off before I can ask who eats mayo on their fries.

“I’m doing better,” Gustav says.

“You’re still not Leonid,” I say. “And his powers are literally strike powers. Fire and lightning.”

“I have Aleks and Grigoriy,” he says.

“He has Mikhail and Boris.” I shake my head. “Look, I hope you can beat him. I honestly do. And maybe you will, but I’m afraid.” I look down at my hands. “Probably because I care too much.”

“You want him dead?”

“More than I want you dead.” I force myself to look up again.

He smiles slowly. “I should hope so.”

“That came out wrong,” I say.

“You don’t want your boyfriend dead.” He nods. “It’s a weird start, but it’s a start, and I’ll take anything I can get.”

My boyfriend. That makes my heart flip-flop. Is that what he is? My boyfriend? “Look, if I had what I wanted, Leonid would just go back to Russia. You could return to New York and smooth things over with your company and your grandfather, and then you and I could. . .” I pick up a french fry, wondering idly whether it would be good with mayonnaise.

“Could what?” His eyes are fixed on my face.

Why am I such a coward?

“Could. . .go our separate ways?” He hasn’t touched his burger at all. He’s too busy looking at me.

“No,” I say. “Could see what we’re like together. Could focus just on us.”

Gustav leans back in his chair. “When I was young, my sister Kris begged and begged to watch this old movie. It was called Speed. Did you ever happen to see it?”

I shake my head.

“It’s about this couple that get stuck on a bus that can’t go below fifty miles per hour or something. It’s weird. But they survive the whole ordeal, and they fall in love. Only, the guy has this line where he says that relationships based on trauma like theirs never last, and then they’re not together in the next movie.”

I drop my fry. “What does that mean?”

“I always thought his statement was wrong.” Gustav leans back in his chair. “Then when I was in school, I thought I liked this girl. She was pretty. She always had her hair pulled back with this little flower barrette, and she had this really pretty, high, bell-like laugh.”

“I suddenly want a floral barrette.”

He chuckles. “But then some kids were making fun of my family for only caring about horses, and instead of defending me, she laughed. She didn’t know I was watching, but that was my first incident that raised a red flag. My second was when the teacher left the room for a minute to deal with something, and most of the kids started doing horrible things. Rifling through the teacher’s belongings, trying to change their scores in her grade book, and generally making bad decisions.”

“Okay.”

“I told everyone to knock it off. Barrette-girl was busy trying to get her grade changed.” He leans forward, bracing his hands on the table. “I think trauma situations are the only time we get the unvarnished truth about someone. So I’d rather date you now, under these circumstances, than go on a hundred dates with you back in New York where we eat fancy food and talk about nothing.”

“I think I misspoke,” I say. “I actually really like it here—the small town. People you know. Maybe it doesn’t have the most gourmet food options, but people who care about you matter way more. I guess what I mean is, I don’t want to be answering questions about who I hope dies and who lives on our dates. I wish we weren’t in this situation at all.” I sigh. “But if I have to be here, I’m glad it’s with you.”

He reaches across the table and holds out his hand, palm up.

I reach for it, dropping my hand on his warm one.

“I wanted a fry, but I guess this is fine.”

When I try to yank my hand back, he laughs. “I’m kidding, Kat.”

Kat.

With a name like Katerina, it’s an obvious nickname. You’d think a million people would have called me that, but it’s actually the very first time. My brother and Dad called me Rina sometimes. Everyone else has always used my full name.

But I love it.

The rest of the meal is practically perfect—from the tiny gathering of people all laughing and chatting at their own small tables to the perky, adorable waitress checking in on us in her bouncy, friendly way, to the way Gustav looks at me like I’m better than any food could ever be. . .I would live this moment over and over again for a very long time before tiring of it.

When the bell on the front door jingles, it barely even registers, until Gustav stiffens.

“What?” I ask.

He stands up then. “Grandfather. What are you doing here?”