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Oh my word. I scratched his butt.

Heat climbs up my cheeks until I’m sure they’re both flaming red. Get it under control, Adriana. You’re embarrassing yourself more by freaking out.

Now that his boots are both on, the man straightens. “This might sound strange to you.” His smug look is disturbingly similar in his human form to his horse one. “But my name’s actually Alexei Romanov.”

Gavriil laughs. “Sure. And I’m Joseph Stalin.”

“I’m not kidding,” Alexei says. “I’ve spent the past hundred years frozen by some kind of curse, but now that I’m awake, I plan to retake my throne.”

Oh, no. My beautiful horse-man is insane.

Or worse, I’m afraid that I might be, because I want to believe him.

9

Gavriil insists on coming with us when Aleksandr and Grigoriy start ushering us all toward their Land Rover Discovery.

“There’s no room for him,” Alexei says.

“The car has seven seats,” Gavriil says.

Grigoriy’s frowning.

Aleksandr’s scowling.

I climb into the car and scoot past the middle row to sit in the back. Gavriil moves to follow me, but Alexei stops in front of the door and slams his hand up against the doorframe. “I’ll sit by her.”

“Why can’t anyone tell me where the horse went?” Gav looks pretty agitated, understandably. If I’d experienced a few less fireballs, lightning bolts, and sentient horses in the past week, I’d probably be right where he is now.

“I freed him,” I say. “Like I told you I wanted to. After being in that stall all night, the second I opened the door, he bolted.”

Gavriil looks like he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t. “And now you’re all just rushing away?”

“Did you hear the part where there’s not one, but two different groups of men after her?” Alexei asks.

“I did,” Gavriil says, “but when did you hear that? I swear there were only four of them earlier.”

I can’t blame him for being confused. He had mounted his figurative white horse, was ready to throw down his visor and charge to my rescue, and then this insane man shows up—my insane horse disappears—and suddenly he’s being shunted to the side.

“Gavriil,” I say, half-shouting from the back seat of the car. “You have no idea how grateful I am for all your help. I’ll call you later, okay?”

He opens his mouth to talk, but then he closes it again.

“She’ll call you.” Alexei’s smiling as he hops in the car, pulling the door shut behind him. Grigoriy and Mirdza are already climbing in on the other side, and Kris and Aleks are sitting in the driver and passenger seats.

When the car starts to move, Alexei slings an arm up and around my shoulder.

“Whoa, there.” I shove his arm off. “You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine, Czar Alexei.”

“You think he’s crazy.” Mirdza’s turned around and is looking at me with what looks a lot like pity.

“What?” I can’t help my gusty laugh. “Crazy? The horse who just turned into a man right in front of me and claims he’s the emperor’s son who was killed by the Bolsheviks?”

“The whole thing’s pretty hard to process,” Mirdza says.

She’s saying she already knew. “It is.” I swallow. “Although, it’s easier when your brain has been tenderized by watching a supervillain incinerate a dozen men, lock you in a cell for a week with no food, and then send his lackey to electrocute you.”

Mirdza closes her eyes, and I hate how pained she looks.