The Charmer by Autumn Dawn

mind their request
for riding lessons; in fact, he’d volunteered himself and Keilor as
instructors. Keilor had seemed about to object until he’d noticed
Jasmine’s obvious displeasure, at which point he’d graciously
agreed.
    The man did love to torment her.
    Jasmine spied a row of tightly capped bottles
full of a milky liquid sitting in the sun. She hefted one
thoughtfully. With a naughty smile she spun it by its neck and
launched into the routine from the bar scene of Cocktail.
    Wiley put one hand on her denim covered hip
and chuckled as she watched her friend’s antics. “You’re going to
break that.”
    She grinned and passed the bottle behind her
back and up over her shoulder. “Never.”
    Wiley snorted and flipped the end of her
French braid back over her shoulder. “That’s what you said the time
you dropped the shampoo bottle and it broke open all over the
kitchen floor. We were skidding across the tile every day for the
next three months.”
    “Shoddy craftsmanship,” she retorted, but
caught the bottle deftly and studied the cloudy liquid. “What is
this stuff, anyway?” She looked up and saw their instructors
approaching. Both were dressed for action in the black uniform and
buckled leather vests of the Haunt guard, but with the addition of
red embroidered patches on their left breasts, possibly an
indication of rank. The patches looked like Celtic knot work.
Jayems also wore a torque around his neck.
    Of course the tanned skin in place of the
pelts of the Haunt made an enormous difference in how she saw the
package. Jayems’ muscles flexed naturally as he walked, and for a
moment Jasmine envied her friend. She looked up and caught Jayems
surreptitiously admiring Wiley’s backside. He noticed her noticing
and raised a regal brow. What of it?
    She refused to look at Keilor.
    It was Keilor who answered her question. He
took the bottle from her hands and considered it thoughtfully.
“Partly digested feeder beetle and browse.” He smiled faintly when
Jasmine leaned back in disgust. “For the orphaned young stags.” He
nodded his head towards the nearby pen holding three of the young
creatures and replaced the bottle with the others.
    “Stags are omnivores,” Jayems explained.
Jasmine noticed he stood just close enough to Wiley to make her
friend fidget, but not close enough to excuse her from seeming rude
if she moved away. The fact that Wiley was fidgeting and not
freezing made her frown. She almost acted as if…
    “They nurse at birth, but as they grow, they
need more nourishment than milk provides. Gradually their mothers
wean them onto regurgitated browse and prey…” Jasmine gagged, and
even Wiley made a sound of disgust, “until they are old enough to
find and digest their own food,” he finished wryly.
    Jasmine, always the one with the weak
stomach, looked at the stags with something close to horror and
spoke before she thought. “And we have to ride these things?” She
grunted when Wiley jabbed her hard in the ribs with her elbow.
    “You need the exercise.” Wiley told her,
giving her a significant look. “You wouldn’t want to lose the
little muscle you’ve got, would you?”
    Jasmine bristled. “Just because I can’t run
triathlons doesn’t mean I’m not in shape. I work out.”
    Wiley snorted. “ Sweating to the Oldies doesn’t count,” she said contemptuously. She regularly won
triathlons, and she could be a bit of a prig about physical
fitness. Unfortunately, she’d also decided to make keeping Jasmine
in shape her life’s work, in spite of Jasmine’s asthma and the fact
that Jasmine could care less about clogged arteries or decaying
bone density.
    “I never—” Jasmine protested hotly, but
Jayems cleared his throat, cutting her off.
    “Ladies.” He looped his arm through Wiley’s
with smooth finesse, much to her consternation, and made a sweeping
gesture with the other. “Adventure awaits.”
     
    Keilor reflected wryly that he was hanging
himself with