Free Running Wild by Joely Skye Page B

Zachariah’s grandson , he reminded himself as if that would help calm his nerves. He walked over and ducked through the doorway.
Ri zipped it up, saying “Mosquitoes” in explanation. Seamus tried not to feel claustrophobic in a tent that contained two of them, Ri so tall and, well, ripped.
“Sorry about that,” said a now-dressed Ri. At least, he had on boxers and an undershirt. “I wasn’t quite prepared.”
“Oh?” managed Seamus, at a loss for articulating an actual question. It was kind of dim in the tent, and as if observing the same, Ri pulled out a batteryoperated camping lamp, turned it on and hung it on a hook in the middle of the tent.
“I’m starving.” Ri dragged a box out from under his cot. It contained mealin-one bars of some sort. Seamus wasn’t that hungry. “Do you want one?”
“No, thank you.” Seamus watched Ri eat five of them then grab a water bottle, offering a second one to Seamus. That he took. They drank, watching each other.
Ri was different here. More in his element. Still wary, but more confident, more decisive, even if it was just about getting dressed, getting fed and drinking.
He also looked…relieved, which took the edge off Seamus’s nerves, though he didn’t understand why.
“So, Ri.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Why did your horse bring me here?”
    Ri blinked, working his way through those words. He didn’t think Seamus had figured out he was a horse. That was too outlandish for a human to believe. Perhaps Seamus thought Ri was a horse owner.
    “I guess the horse wanted us to meet,” Ri suggested. He needed to ease into this topic, but Seamus didn’t respond to Ri’s tentative smile. His gaze was intent on Ri, like he was a puzzle to figure out.
In fact, Ri hadn’t seen Seamus this tense since that first night they’d met. “What?” asked Seamus.
“I need to tell you some things. They’re difficult to articulate.” Seamus didn’t quite roll his eyes but it was a near thing, and he jerked away.
    “Tell me some other time. For now, I just want to get back to the farm.” Ri blew out a breath. “The farm is no longer safe.”
“No longer safe?” Seamus repeated, incredulous. “Are you claiming that a
    tent is safer than a house?”
“When they don’t know where the tent is, yes.”
“ They? ”
Ri didn’t want to start with the werewolves as an introduction to shifters.
After all, not all shifters were psycho. He and Zach had been okay, at least as kids, before Zach snapped.
    “Ri,” Seamus demanded. “ Articulate . Right now. I want some answers, and I think I deserve them.”
Ri opened his hands, like that could communicate anything, and Seamus nodded encouragement. Ri blew out a breath and looked away. “I think I just have to say it.”
“ Yes . Exactly. Just say it.” The intent look on Seamus’s face did something to Ri, though he understood it was not a sexual gaze. Seamus wanted answers, but his close attention threatened to distract Ri.
“Okay, okay.” Ri swallowed, placed his hands on his hips. He pulled in a breath, let it out. It felt like one of the hardest things he’d ever said, and he had to push the words out. “I’m a horse.”
Seamus’s expression went blank. Soon it would become what-the-fuck, soon he’d sneer. Ri stumbled on.
“Horse shifter, that is. Black, that’s me.” Ri pointed to himself then outside to where he’d been horse, as if that would help. But he was in it now—he couldn’t stop the conversation he’d started—though God he wanted to.
Seamus’s gray eyes narrowed, assessing, and Ri waited, wondering if he needed to offer proof of some sort or just let his words sink in.
His guest plopped himself down on the cot and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Ri released a breath of relief. Seamus wasn’t turning away, not yet. The freckles were, well, cute, but stood out because Seamus was pale from the stress of today, perhaps from the stress of being around shifters.
“Ri, I’m going to ask