Riders (Riders, #1)(89)
“You’re one of a kind, aren’t you?” I said.
He was looked at me so directly. I felt like he wasn’t just listening to me; he was understanding. That gave me a boost of confidence.
“Okay, Big Red. I’m going to touch you now. If you’re going to burn me I’d appreciate it if … you didn’t burn me.”
I reached out and rested my hand on his neck. I felt solid muscle covered by fine soft hair that radiated heat. Warm. But I’d expected much more. He just felt like he’d been sitting in the sun.
What got to me though, after a couple of seconds, was feeling him breathe. Feeling his pulse. Feeling all the power in him. All his fire, inside and out.
If I could find a way to connect with him, it’d be mine.
He would be mine.
Maybe this was going to work out.
*
After that, I was on a mission to bond with him. I spent the next few days calling him up and letting him run himself out, then approaching him and resting my hand on his neck. We gradually worked up to the point where he’d let me drag my hand over his body as I walked around him. He liked this, I could tell, because he’d dial back the fire, keeping it away from me. I had yet to actually make contact with any flames on him. His red coat just felt warm, and with the weather in Jotunheimen continuing to cool, the warmth felt good.
I kept talking as I worked with him because Daryn had said I should. I told him about my mom and Anna. I told him about the San Francisco Giants and the game of baseball in general, which took forever. Riot got an education on the national pastime. I told him about RASP, which he liked the best. I’d been skipping stones into the water, in perpetual motion as usual, and he’d come right up next to me, his big hooves clopping into the shallows like he wanted to hear me better.
Even when his eyes were staring off across the fjord, I felt his attention. He listened to me even when I wasn’t speaking.
After a few days, I started pacing along the banks as I talked and he plodded along beside me, his hooves like small meteors crashing by my feet, his tail blowing along, various parts of him on fire. Riot had a lot going for him, but subtlety wasn’t his gift.
I quickly became addicted to the feeling of being with him. I grew impatient at the end of my training sessions with Marcus, eager to get back to Riot. I was first to rise and last to sleep, as always, but now it was because I wanted to spend as much time as I could with my horse.
Little things got me. How Riot would look over if I stopped talking like, Why’d you stop, Gideon? How he’d nudge my arm to let me know he wanted my hand on his shoulder. How, when we’d see the other guys with their horses, he’d become a little crazy and overprotective. And my favorite—how whenever I mentioned Daryn he’d strike a pose and torch up. Major show-off.
He was funny. Just really great company.
A couple of days into working with him, I laced up my cross-trainers and took off. He stayed right with me again, so we added running to our time together. Occasionally, we’d pass the other guys and there’d be comments. I had horseback riding all wrong, they’d say. Or they’d place bets as to when I’d jog by with a saddle on my back, Riot sitting in it. I didn’t care. I loved running on my own, but with a horse keeping pace for you?
Not many things were better than that.
But there was something better. The more time I spent with Riot, the calmer I felt and the less I saw of Ra’om’s images. I started sleeping better. My nightmares came less frequently. I could go long stretches without thinking about Samrael hitting Daryn, or seeing my father falling from a roof. At night when I looked into the darkness, I didn’t see Ra’om’s red eyes anymore—I saw Riot’s. Every day, my horse put my head just a little more to the right. He managed the impossible: He mellowed me out.
The one thing that wasn’t happening, though, was riding.
About a week in, as we approached the two-week mark in Jotunheimen, I knew the time had come to give it a try. I woke up and left for the river before anyone else had stirred. I wanted to be alone for my first attempt.
We’d had two solid days of freezing rain in a row, and our practice field was mostly mud now. Any day, I expected to see snow. Any day, I expected to see the Kindred.
I summoned Riot and he came right over to me, bobbing his head. He was excited to see me, too.
“What’s up, Big Red?” I said, smoothing my hand over his coat. He nudged me with his head, telling me to get moving. He thought we were going for a run. “We’re going to do something a little different today. Something new.”
His amber eyes held steady on me. He was ready, too.
“We’re gearing up now, Riot,” I said. I knew from the other guys that our horses’ tack came up when we mounted. I wanted to make sure Riot knew that, too. “Your saddle and bridle are coming up. Then I’m going to get on your back. I’m going to sit on you, so prepare for that, okay? Here we go.”
I reached for his withers with my right hand, and grabbed a thick bunch of red mane with my left, holding tight. I saw the flash of a stirrup, jammed my foot into it, and swung up.
Everything clicked into place—both my feet were in the stirrups, I was sitting in the saddle, the reins were even in my hands—but my first thought wasn’t about the gear. I’d underestimated Riot’s size. I was way the heck up there.
The second thing I noticed was that not only had Riot’s tack come up, but so had my armor—and—that I was on fire.