its head.
“That mothertrucker,” Khloé hissed, remembering not to swear in front of Asher. She suspected that said mothertrucker had hoped to distract Teague’s steed from adequately prepping itself to jump. She mentally crossed her fingers and toes, hoping the dirty trick wouldn’t work.
Time seemed to slow for her as she watched her anchor push off its hindlegs and leap into the air. Khloé squeezed Keenan’s hand, fighting the temptation to close her eyes. The hellhorse soared, all grace and power … and it cleared the hurdle.
She practically sagged. “Thank freaking God.”
A few of the other steeds didn’t manage to clear the wall, and the swords sliced through their stomachs. Wincing, she flinched as—to make their pain even worse—they fell into a ditch of boiling water. One of them was the mothertrucker who’d bitten Teague’s steed. Well hello, karma.
“They’re dropping like flies,” said Keenan. “There’s only ten left.”
All ten rocketed along the track. Some were tiring and falling behind while others, including her anchor, purposely surged forward. They tackled more hurdles, and most cleared them. Two found themselves in ditches, leaving only eight competitors.
As they neared another hurdle, one steed breathed fire onto the rear legs of the one in front of it. The surprise and pain must have been enough to put the hellhorse off its game, because it lost its momentum and didn’t quite make the next jump. Worse, it fell onto a bed of red-hot iron spikes.
The fucking firestarter targeted Teague’s steed next, blowing flames at his hindlegs and tail. Shit, no.
Her anchor let out a throaty whine, and its pace faltered slightly, making her stomach drop. But then it put on a burst of speed, even as its tail blazed with hellfire.
Devon bounced lightly on her toes. “That’s it, run, you psycho, run!”
Khloé joined her hands together and put them against her mouth. “Come on, faster. You got this.”
It picked up speed again and leaped over the next hurdle … neatly skating right into third place.
Keenan rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s third, baby.”
“I know.” Khloé fanned her face. “Okay, they’re almost at the final part of the track.” The hurdles there were the worst, and some were close together.
The remaining competitors galloped along the track, their coats gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat. They also attacked each other—biting, body-slamming, breathing fire, and puffing out smoke in an effort to fog the others’ vision. The pain and distractions sometimes worked, causing some to fall or trip up. The rest forged onward.
The voices coming from the tiered stands became louder, and the commentator’s voice became thick with urgency.
Khloé’s heart jumped as Teague’s hellhorse slid into second place. “That’s it, that’s it, keep going.”
The small female hellhorse was hot on its heels. It moved closer, and closer, and closer.
“Okay, they’re coming up to the last hurdle,” said Harper, bouncing from foot to foot.
And it was a bitch of a hurdle, too. The flaming hedge was wrapped in thick, thorny vines that snapped out like small whips.
“Go, go, go!” yelled Raini.
Just as the remaining steeds neared the hurdle, the female hellhorse slammed its body so hard into Teague’s stallion that the male almost crashed into the fence that bordered the track. Worse, the move put the steed at an angle that made it awkward for it to clear the hurdle.
“What a devious little bitch,” spat Khloé, forgetting she wasn’t supposed to swear.
She almost covered her face with her hands as the stallion and the female leapt into the air. Teague’s steed successfully jumped the hurdle, to her utter relief. The female, however, wasn’t so successful—its leg buckled as it landed, and it went down hard, tripping up another competitor and taking them both out of the race.
Khloé grabbed Keenan’s arm as her anchor hurtled into first place. The people around her yelled encouragements at the steed, but she held her breath. Finally, it ran over the finish line.
She beamed. “It won!”
An applause broke out, and the spectators went wild. Some people in the neighboring box began swearing and kicking up a fuss. Apparently, they’d bet on the wrong hellhorse.
Cocky and proud, it slowed to a trot and tossed its head, flicking its luxurious mane.
“I totally knew it would win,” said Devon.
Khloé winced at its injuries. “It’s hurt, though.” It had cleared the hurdles, but it had come away with burns, puncture wounds, and ugly cuts.
“They’re all wounded,” Harper pointed out.
Keenan turned his little imp to face him and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Feel