My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 342

Lyra

I followed Odile silently, my arms crossed and my chin tucked down into my scarf, the cold wind whipping my hair and biting at my exposed skin. The treeline came closer, and I could see the horse now, a skittish thing picking at the frost-bleached grass, no one minding it.

Odile approached slowly, her body language changing instantly. She moved more slowly, more deliberately, her steps low and even as if she didn't want to startle the animal.

"There you are. There you are, you big coward. Nobody's going to eat you." Odile murmured, edging close to the animal. She was good at this. She was good at this in a way that was a little strange to me.

She glanced at me once, over her shoulder. "Come here," she said, not turning around. "Come on. He won't. Come here."

I hesitated, unsure. I didn't know this horse, didn't trust it, and I sure as hell didn't want to get closer to Odile. But she didn't look back at me, and something in her voice made me move. I edged closer, keeping a wary distance, but she caught my hand before I could stop her, pressing it flat against the horse's neck.

I flinched at the sudden grab, but Odile didn't let go. The horse was warm beneath my palm, and I could feel its heart beating against my hand.

"He's just cold," Odile said quietly, her fingers still wrapped around mine. "Everyone's meaner when they're cold." I glanced at her, but she was watching the horse, her voice soothing and calm. "He's not a threat to you. He won't hurt you if you don't hurt him. He's just scared. He just wants to be left alone."

We could do just that. Leave the damn animal alone. But I didn't say that out loud.

For some reason, I didn't want her to let me go, and I didn't want to hear her easy words, the stream of calm, comforting nonsense about strays and fear and trust. I didn't want to feel the heat of her fingers against my own, didn't want to feel the horse's warmth seeping into my bones. So to deflect the closeness, the strange intimacy of it, I asked her, flat, "What kind of name is Odile, anyway?"

Odile grinned then, glancing over her shoulder, unbothered by my sharp tone. "My father gave it to me," she said. "It's from where I'm from. It's old, one of my people used."

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