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He landed in the lower branches of an oak and glared
down at her. Shocked and surprised at finding him there, she stared up.
The frightened mare glanced at Sara. Sara rumbled in
agony.
Males . . . huh.
He sighed and eased down from the tree, dropping the
last few feet. Another mare, a quiet, older mare, let him mount. She was
agreeable to his knees and followed Benny's silent commands.
The trail up the mountain grew steeper and Sara's
grumbling louder. She reached out. The mare Benny rode squealed and kicked
backwards. Losing his seat, Benny grabbed a double handful of coarse black mane
and bellowed, “Whoa. Whoa, dammit,” at the mare. He tugged the shaken mare
to a halt and glared back at Sara.
She gave him an innocent blink.
Benny bared his teeth in a grin that held much promise
and tapped the mare he rode in the ribs. He watched the ears. When they flicked
back and the eyes started rolling, he twisted and caught Sara, mouth open, teeth
bared not an inch from his mount's fat rump.
“Keep it up, and I'll tie you to a picker bush.
Under a bridge. Got it?”
Sara's eyes rolled in alarm. A bridge? Trolls lived
under bridges. Sara shook her head and sulked. No fair. Now he wants to
feed me to a troll. Damnable male.
A fine, taut smile crossed his lips, dented his
cheeks. Benny chewed on his lower lips to keep from laughing. God, but the look
on Sara's face. One for the record, but yo.
The temperature dropped and the air grew crisp, with
pockets of frost showing where the trees thinned. They followed a broken trail
up through the hills. Sara shook her head and nickered encouragement at the
lagging, overfed mares. This wasn't the Perfect Place, only Sandy Valley was
Perfect, but this would do. With all her being she ached to return to the valley
she was born in.
They came to a place where the laurels grew in
profusion, pushing up around the now decayed trunk of a giant of an oak. The
tangled black trunks of the laurel were woven with greenbrier and Virginia
creeper. Benny slumped. His mind, his body, were wearied, numbed with the pain
of imprisonment and being used like an animal by this woman.
He slid off the mare and caught at her mane to keep
from falling. His legs dragged him back to prowl through the dark in an attempt
to find the trail again. Deer used the path, a lot of deer. They didn't just fly
over this mess. Behind him he could hear Cindy moaning through the gag.
Benny turned to make a mocking retort and then there
was Sara, grumbling and pushing at him as usual.
“Yeah, yeah, quit yer bitchin', lady,” he said,
for some reason feeling lighter and happier than he had moments ago. Benny
scratched the skin between her eyes, and she grunted a moan of pleasure at him.
“'Nough. Let me by.” Benny pushed his thumb into
her neck and Sara shoved over.
He grabbed Cindy by the hair and yanked her head up.
Her wide, frightened eyes made his heart constrict. Not because he cared. She
was evil, a using bitch, but because he didn't want the controls to start in on
him. Not now. Not when he had a chance at revenge.
The forest, never really quiet, grew strangely silent.
Even the mares stopped browsing and stood, eyes wide, ears up, on the two.
“Hey, Cindy. So what your problem?” He gave her a
gentle smile. “Missed your bridge club meeting, huh? Too bad. Yeah, real bad.
Bim. Y'know, there was this old dude, English, I think, who once told my uncle
that they say back home that clubs for ladies is fine,” Benny assumed the
tight, cool accents of an Englishman, “if kindness don't work. Funny, hain'a?”
A scowl replaced the smile on his face and Benny
shoved her over the far side of the mare's back. Benny rubbed the fine blond
hairs from his hand and slapped Sara on the flank.
Ever dainty, but rarely so meek, Sara stepped away
from the crumpled heap and went to join her family, her eyes and ears wary on
Benny.
He stood over her, legs spread in a masculine stance,
hips thrust forward. His eye narrowed, emotionless.
An arm snaked down and Benny jerked Cindy to her feet.
“Cold?” he said, jeering at her shivers. “Get
used to it, bim. Things'll get a hel’ of a lot colder if you mess up.” Benny
crouched by her feet. “Please, warden,” he almost begged. “Give me a
reason to ruin you.” Rising, he scowled down at her. “Any dammed reason.”
Her eyes misted in the faint light. Benny forced his
eye away before the feelings that welled in him were discovered to be pity,
something he didn't want from others and tried to return the favor. Cindy didn't
deserve mercy. She had none, and he dammed well didn't plan on showing her any.
He glanced back, to the east. Already the lines of
demarcation were showing. The sky went from a comforting velvet black to shades
of violet on the rim of the earth.
The sound of horses champing at the twigs of poplar
and wild apple brought his wolf to bear. His stomach growled and demanded food.
Real food, like the quail he lost, the meals refused. The air that was free was
heady and sharpened his appetite as well as his wits.
He felt the pocket. His knife was gone. That meant no
meal until he acquired another. Benny glared at the ground and began to kick
around for a likely rock.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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