But many deserved a chance to survive what was coming, at the very least. I was simply giving them that chance.
Some lived here with me. Others occupied the nearby woods. Most stayed close, having grown accustomed to the food and shelter I provided. A few I’d already rehomed, sending them farther out for their safety, placing them where I hoped they’d be harder to find.
I wasn’t Noah.
There was no great ark waiting in the wings. Just an old, rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, miles between Green River and Fantasy Canyon, in what had once been southeastern Utah. The canyons offered a natural barrier from the outside world—treacherous to cross—but over the years, I’d learned the safer paths and used them when I made the journey to spy on the Soul Serpent in the city he ruled, deep in the Colorado Rockies.
This homestead had in many ways become a sanctuary and one I would protect with my life.
I couldn’t save everyone, but I was doing my part for those I could.
Orán had initially judged me for my actions. I wondered if he still did.
I tried not to take it personally. Judgment came easily to Horsemen—it was woven into their nature. Yet I thought I’d seen something shift in him after spending time among the animals in the garden.
At least, I hoped I had.
Mucking out the stables is another test, one of trust. When we step inside, I hold out my hand. “Give me your wrists.”
He hesitates a moment before offering them, watching in open surprise as I work at the knot.
“If you’re going to be mucking stalls and helping me in here, you can’t exactly do that with your hands bound, can you?”
“I could try.”
I pause mid-motion.
“Though I imagine I’d get a good deal more done with them free. As Lila would say… consider me your workhorse, man.” His grin is impudent. A flicker of that playful side resurfacing.
“Sass will get you nowhere.”
A full-body shudder ripples through him as I loosen the rope that binds him. He tries to contain it, but a low groan slips past his lips anyway, like the rush of power flooding back in is both overwhelming and exhilarating.
He rubs at his wrists while rolling his neck and shoulders. When his eyes open again, they’re ringed with that distinctive inner light that marks him as other.
“So,” he says lightly, flexing his fingers, “if flattery doesn’t work and sass is off the table, care to inform me what does work with you?”
Now he’s just being cheeky.
I motion toward the wall lined with tools. “Hard work. And you’ll earn a good deal of my respect and trust if you don’t use any of those to stab me in the back.”
“In other words,” he says, following my gesture, “get to work and use them for what they were intended for. Shoveling horse shit.”
“It sounds like a great place to start, considering half of what’s in here belongs to your megabeast.”
His gaze drifts to his horse.
He makes a soft sound under his breath, barely audible, and she immediately ventures closer as if she’s been waiting for his attention all along. At her stall, he rests a hand against her neck, fingers brushing through her mane with familiarity.
The affection between them isn’t hard to miss… and, despite myself, I find it endearing.
“She’s a lovely horse,” I say quietly. “And she’s taken quite a liking to Lila. Truth be told, she prefers her over me.”
“Probably because she senses you’re more of a threat.”
I consider that as I grab a brush from the wall and step toward the next stall.
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe she just recognizes Lila is with child and knows to be gentle with her.”
