Trent straightened, watching me. His eyes were dark in the dim light, and he looked really, really good in his English riding outfit, the trousers tucked in his boots and a cap on his fair hair. “He likes you,” he said, watching Tulpa nose me.

“He always has.” Smiling, I stepped out of the horse’s reach.

Trent took the horse’s bridle, and seeing him angle to the gate, I opened it up. “Got your boots on, I see,” he said cryptically, and I looked at them, seeing their newness.

“That’s what you said.” Why was I out here? Did he want to go for a ride? Take me out to the woods and shoot me? Oh God. Where are the dogs?

Trent tied Tulpa to a post beside a rack of saddles. “You probably don’t know how to ride English, do you?” he asked, and when I didn’t answer, he turned to find me in the middle of the aisle, my face cold.

“We’ve got western,” he said, and I backed up a step.

“I’m not going riding with you,” I said, unwrapping my arms so I could move.

“Why?” he asked lightly. “I know you’re not afraid of horses.”

“I’m not going riding with you!” I shouted, and Tulpa tossed his head. “Your dogs are out of their kennel!” Oh God. I had to get out of here.

I spun, striding away.

“Rachel.”

“Nice try, Trent,” I said, feeling for my keys.

“Rachel.”

He touched me, and I turned, finding him three feet back, his hands raised in placation. Damn, he was fast. “I’m not going to let you get me on a horse so you can lure me into the woods and hunt me like an animal!” I shouted, not caring if I sounded scared. I was.

“No,” he said, voice calm. “That’s not what this is about.”

Shaking, I forced my arms from around myself. “What is it then?”

Trent sighed, shifting his weight to one foot. “It’s the new moon,” he said. “You’re late. Ceri and Quen are already out there. I was waiting for you.”

I tossed my hair, my stomach clenching. “For what?”

“To ride, of course.”

I exhaled, shaking. “What makes you think I want to ride down a fox and watch dogs tear it apart? I’ve been on the other end of this game, Trent, and it’s—”

“It’s not a fox,” Trent said grimly, crossing the aisle and getting out a second, brown horse with a beautiful black mane and tail. “I thought you might want to take part. Seeing as, well …” He hesitated, the horse snuffling behind him. “I will not be crossed, Rachel. I want to count you as … well, not a friend, exactly. Maybe a business associate. And a hunt is one way to cement ties.”

“What are you hunting? “I asked, scared for an entirely different reason. “Trent? Answer me.”