Riders (Riders, #1)(23)

It waded deeper into the water, toward me. A wave rushed past its thick chest and it shied back, head bobbing, but its attention never left me.

I knew this wasn’t a dream. Everything felt crystal clear. The cold salt water tickling my throat. The way my sweatshirt and jeans made me clumsy as I treaded water. The ocean swells lifting me as they headed for the beach. But I also couldn’t believe I was awake.

“Are you real?” I shouted over the crash of the surf.

The horse reared, making no sound as its massive hooves slashed at the night. It settled back into the water with a splash and let out a wet snort. Then it turned and trotted away, disappearing back into the fog.





CHAPTER 14

The next thing I remember was waking up to someone shoving me in the shoulder. I grabbed the first thing in sight—my attacker’s ankle—and yanked the hell out of it. By the time I figured out what was actually happening, Daryn had already hit the sand.

She was only down a second before she sprang back up. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry. You grabbed my shoulder.” I came to a knee and decided to stay there. I’d startled her. She’d fallen hard and looked a little shaken up.

“Grabbed?” She brushed off her clothes. “I was just trying to wake you up. I barely touched you.”

That was possible. I’d had a terrible night of sleep. Superficial sleep. Shivering, sporadic sleep. After my swim in the ocean, I’d changed into dry clothes, but now I was damp again from the sand and the cool air. And still on edge. And still on one knee. Why again? Was I proposing?

I jumped up. “You just surprised me.”

Daryn was giving me a steady look. She didn’t appear to be thinking good things and my face was going hot, so I decided to survey the surroundings, starting with the part of the world where she wasn’t.

Morning had broken. Fog was starting to burn off. No giant red horses in sight. Good. Maybe I had just hallucinated it, like Samrael’s snout. Wait, that wasn’t good.

“You went for a swim?” she asked, eyeing my wet clothes piled on the sand.

“Yep. Just felt like taking a swim.” I wasn’t ready to talk about the horse. Not even close.

She crossed her arms. With my Giants sweatshirt swallowing her up and her hair all sleep-tangled, she looked different than last night. Softer or something. “So…” She glanced behind her, toward my Jeep. “Do you have any money?”

An antsy feeling stirred inside my chest. If she needed money, she was probably heading out on her own. Not what I wanted, but I couldn’t blame her. I hadn’t exactly treated her great yesterday.

“Yeah,” I answered. “I have money. Daryn, listen, I—”

“Great,” she said. “Let’s get some food. I’m starving.”

*

She taught me how to hot-wire my Jeep, which was easier to do than it should’ve been, then we fell quiet as I got us on the road. After last night’s fight and this morning’s takedown, we were oh for two on communicating. It seemed better for now to just not try.

As I drove I became hyperconscious of the cuff on my wrist. I didn’t know if I was responsible for what had happened during the night, and part of me worried a horse might suddenly appear out of nowhere, maybe galloping alongside the Jeep or sitting in the backseat or whatever. But neither happened, thankfully.

We stopped at a breakfast place called Duckies in a tiny beach town. I made sure to broadcast my make-peace-not-war message as soon as we stepped inside. With the number of truckers and bikers in there it could’ve turned ugly otherwise. Then I asked our server for the booth by the windows near the emergency exit, some part of me registering that I was thinking in terms of tactical advantages and escape plans. I didn’t know what was happening and I wanted to be ready for anything.

Daryn and I gave the waitress our orders right away and had a bonding moment over the fact that neither of us liked coffee. It was a quick moment. Then she pulled a beat-up journal out of her backpack and started writing in it. I channeled my energy into making a multilevel structure out of sugar packets and creamer pods.

When our food came, she plowed through a stack of blueberry pancakes and I put away a plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns, knowing it would give me heartburn, but I was hungry and needed the fuel. We still weren’t talking but I had plenty of time to observe her. She ate like she was storing up for the winter. Fast. A little messy. Drowning every bit of pancake in a waterfall of maple syrup like she had reverse diabetes. Her foot wiggled under the table as she ate, which was weird because usually she seemed really calm. She’d tied her hair up in a knot on top of her head and …

I don’t know. She looked good.

Shame she was such a head case. Probably a criminal on the run. Bummer she thought I was one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

When she glanced up and caught me watching her, she gave me a look, like what? So I shrugged, like nothing, and we carried on eating and not saying a word.

It was the strangest breakfast I’d ever had.

I didn’t know what to make of it.

So far every second with this girl felt like coming around a blind corner.

We were waiting for the bill when she said, “Your hand looks better.” She wiped her lips with a napkin. “Does it hurt?”

“Oh, this? Barely. Almost not at all. It did last night but now it’s better. Weird, because it was really busted up, but now it’s, like…”