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They’re lining us up, and it’s time to focus, but my horse is laughing. “Quicksilver,” I hiss. “Pay attention.”
He practically saunters into his chute, totally unconcerned.
The other horses, even the palomino mare, are jostling around, eyes rolling, hooves pawing, nostrils flared.
Thankfully, when the bell rings and the chutes open, my very calm, very steady stallion still bursts out like a rocket. We break early—which I didn’t really mean to let him do, but we’re clearly going off script.
It finally hits me. If there’s another shifter here, Leonid came.
As we round the first bend, we’re running alongside three other horses. A black, a bay, and the stupid golden mare. Quicksilver’s moving smoothly, totally unconcerned. It’s almost like he’s out for a morning jog alongside a friend. The mare keeps looking sideways at us, but whenever she does, her jockey crops her. That makes Quicksilver pin his ears.
“Let’s give them some space,” I hiss.
My big guy listens, and as we swing wide, covering more ground to keep up with the leaders, the mare does the same thing. Her jockey’s hauling on her face to move her back inside, but she doesn’t care, throwing her head up to avoid the bit. Her visible eye keeps rolling our way.
I hate it.
I urge him forward, kissing and whipping my hands back and forth. Quicksilver listens perfectly, putting on a burst of speed that is still a little thrilling, even weeks into riding together. Most horses couldn’t keep it up for a full furlong, but he does, widening the space between us and the others. One horse length.
I glance back again.
Two.
“Alright boy. That’s good. Let’s settle in.”
He slows just a hair, swinging around at the halfway mark, handily ahead of the others. We maintain our lead for another round, not really pulling ahead, but maintaining.
As we go into the last round, the mare makes her move.
I hear it before I see her, the churning sounds of hooves striking dirt that’s just a little too hard. Then I see a flash of gold, and she’s beside us, racing top speed.
So much for pacing against the others. She’s about to set records. I remind myself that I don’t need to win. I repeat it over and over in my mind. Only, I don’t really seem to be listening to myself. I crouch lower, urging Quicksilver to give it everything he has.
He listens.
His muscles strain.
His hooves clatter.
My heart hammers.
And we pull ahead, inch by inch, and then in the last straightaway, I ask for everything, and it feels like we’re truly flying. We pull ahead of her, finally. A full length. And then a bit more.
Until a wretchedly familiar zing runs through my entire body. It bows my back out. The reins slide through my numb fingers, my muscles unable to contract. I very nearly fall.
Quicksilver slows in response, and that blonde witch flies past us.
I scramble back upright and grab the reins, but we take second place. I want to murder that mare—it had to be her. She must have electrical powers, and I’m ready to hop off and find out how she’s here and why.
Only, Mirdza, Kristiana, Aleksandr, and Grigoriy all close ranks around me almost immediately. They’re all shaking their heads.
“She zapped me,” I hiss. “That’s illegal.”
“Racing on a shifter probably is too,” Mirdza hisses right back.
“But—”
“Just wait,” Mirdza says.
