“Borrowed,”she groused. “Then I suppose we must walk there. Perhaps we may reach it before dark.”
Could she even summon a clover horse while her magic was tangled with Runes?
He turned to her, amusement dancing in those copper eyes. “Or we call on Saeroth.”
Alora frowned questioningly. “Saeroth?”
The moment she said it, the shadows vibrated. Darkness peeled away from the ground like ink rising from paper. It swirled, gathering shape, solidifying with a snort that puffed black mist into the air. A massive black stallion stood before them, hooves made of smoke, mane drifting like torn velvet.
Rune stroked the large creature’s neck. “This is Saeroth. My mount.”
The horse tossed its head, embers glowing deep in its eyes as if acknowledging her with ancient disdain.
Alora stepped back. “Rune… that’s a demon.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “And an obedient one. He isn’t normally this receptive when called.”
Saeroth snorted heavily, flicking his tail of smoke. It was much more sentient than her ponies of clover.
In one fluid motion, Rune mounted the saddle, then extended a hand down to her. The gesture shouldn’t have made her pulse stutter, but it did. Placing her palm in his, he pulled her up effortlessly and seated her in front of him, drawing her close against his chest.
Heat swept up her neck.
His arm slid around her waist with commanding ease, strong and warm where it circled her stomach. His breath brushed her temple. The slow, steady beat of his heart pressed against her back. Even mortal, Rune still smelled of smoke and amber.
Mist curled around the stallion’s hooves as Rune gripped the reins.
“Hold on,” he said softly.
“I am,” she replied curtly, though her voice wavered.
Rune’s lips brushed her ear, tone a seductive threat to her composure. “Tighter.”
Alora flushed, fingers gripping the mane. The horse surged forward, and Rune’s arm tightened around her, firm and sure, his hand splayed protectively over her abdomen. His other hand took the reins, guiding the stallion through the trees with fluid confidence.
The forest blurred into shades of amber and evergreen.
Her heartrate thrummed at every shift of his body against hers, the press of his thigh, the warmth of his breath, the strength coiled in him even without magic.
She didn’t dare look back at him.
But she could feel him watching her.
The trees pressed in close as Saeroth carried them deeper into the woods, hooves trotting over fallen leaves. Alora tried to focus on the path ahead rather than the heat of Rune’s body against hers, or the steady weight of his arm wrapped around her waist.
“So,” she said after a moment, clearing her throat, “your magic is more useful than I thought.”
He hummed, noncommittal. “Well, it’s certainly no array.”
The word pricked against her mind like a cold needle. Array. He referred to the glyph circle she had trapped him in.
“I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I know.” His voice dipped low. “I will forgive it once. Never do so again.”
“Then don’t lie to me again,” she replied sharply.
Silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. He didn’t argue. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t tease her the way he usually did when she tried to pin him down.
