Page 49 of Your Wild Omega (The Feral Actress #2)

Chapter forty

Red

I want to cry out, but I’m frozen as the jockey slaps a hand down on my horse to stop his fall, landing awkwardly half-over the railing. The animal beneath me whinnies and shies sideways, slamming my calf into the wall. I shout as pain rebounds up my leg.

The bell rings, and light floods in as the front bars fly open.

I tilt as my half-rearing horse surges forward, and for a moment, I’m suspended above his back.

And then he leaps again, sending me tumbling backward.

Dirt and sky mingle for a moment before I crash to the ground right in front of the gates.

“Ashana!” a male voice cries from the sidelines.

The thump of my body hitting the dirt track echoes around and around inside my riding helmet. I hope they got that on film, even if it wasn’t planned for the scene, ’cause I bet it was spectacular.

Fuck. I can’t breathe. My lungs spasm as the impact travels through my body, not in a hurry to free me.

The sky above skews like one of Leanne’s Van Gogh prints.

I had to sign a hazardous work waiver to do this filming, but I fucking hope it doesn’t come into effect today.

Zack will never forgive me if I break my promise by not coming home tonight.

For a long, agonizing moment, I exist in this state of frozen awareness, gaping for breath. Finally, sweet air rushes into my lungs and I heave gratefully, but it’s followed by a tally up of bruises that I don’t appreciate one bit. Damn, it hurts.

“Don’t move,” a medic calls, crouching beside me.

“I’m all right,” I manage to spit out, coughing up dust. “But that was gnarly.”

Mr Yun looms over me. “Red! How do you feel?”

I flash him a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold up filming. Did you get that shot?”

He barks out a strained laugh and rests his hand against his forehead. “Woman, go to the medic bay and get checked over. Rickon’s never going to forgive me.”

I blink twice. He’s right. Rickon will lose his shit. “How about we don’t tell him just yet?” I say, sitting up slowly with a wince. The medic protests and supports my neck, but I ignore him. “Once it’s old news, he can’t complain much, right?”

The director shakes his head, but smiles wryly. “How on earth does he manage you?” he asks.

I grin. “It’s a secret.” I rub my aching calf.

“But honestly, you should rewrite the script. Make that a staged accident by the other owners but Ashana can’t prove it to the—” I click my fingers, trying to remember the word.

“Stewards,” I manage after a moment. At least my fingers still work fine, despite the ringing in my ears and the strange throb of my pulse pushing blood to my bruises.

“Go get checked out,” Mr Yun orders. “Let me worry about the script.”

The paramedics strap a brace around my neck, just in case. I lean on one’s shoulder and call out to the director, “But I’m not fucking doing it again if you missed the shot!”

He waves at me without looking.

Every bone in my body complains as the team helps me to my feet. Damn. I’m gonna get Tiffany jewelry as a gift for my stunt double, if she goes through things like this on purpose.

“I’ll go with them,” someone says behind me.

The makeup assistant rushes up to hand me my phone, which is great because Rickon’s already calling. I guess this bond is a two-way deal.

“Hi, Rickon,” I say as I climb into the golf cart.

“What happened?” he gasps.

I snort. “I’m fine.” Some little white lies, maybe. “The horses are a bit antsy today and things got, ah, bumpy.” I turn to grin at the kind soul who volunteered to come with the paramedics and lock eyes with Bradley Jacks, who’s sitting beside me. Fan-fucking-tastic.

The vehicle sways as we go over a speed bump, and Brad wraps his arm around me to steady me. I can’t even tell him to kindly fuck off because Rickon’s on the line and if I’m not careful, my first alpha will drag my other alpha out of their cozy li’l love nest before he’s healed up.

My good mood evaporates. “It’s kinda hectic here, so I’ll have to call you back later,” I tell Rickon, avoiding Bradley’s eyes so he doesn’t get the wrong idea. “Love you guys.”

“Love you too.” The line clicks off.

“I’m good, thanks,” I say, brushing Brad’s arm loose and gripping the side of the cart.

He smiles sympathetically. “Feeling any better? That looked like it hurt.”

I lift one shoulder. “Well, I don’t think anything’s broken, but the bone wizards will let us know soon.”

“Bone wizards?” He snorts with amusement.

Yeah, I enjoy making people react. Even handsy alphas who don’t know how to take a hint.

Perhaps that’s why I love acting: love me or hate me—by which I mean my character—people are feeling something when they watch movies.

Not to mention how I’ve learned pretty much everything I know from video media.

“Seems like you’re getting along well with your alphas,” Brad remarks.

“If by well you mean in love and bonded, then yes.” I drag my riding skivvy down to reveal the bite scar, the only one of my scars I’m proud of.

His brows pop. “Well, that escalated fast. Is that Rickon’s?”

“Nope. It’s Zack’s.”

His gaze roves my neck, and I release the stretchy fabric to cover myself. The slimy fucker’s brows lift. “Yet you can’t tell them the truth about falling off a horse?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I snap back, pain shortening my temper.

“Okay.” He shrugs his handsome shoulders. “Sorry, I was just concerned. I suppose that feral wouldn’t understand, anyway.”

Yeah, right. Concerned about how his so-called charm isn’t working on me, perhaps. I look past him, scanning the racing track buildings. “Thanks, but no need to worry about me.”

His face shutters, but we arrive at the med bay and his reply gets cut off.

Still, I know what he’s thinking. Rickon and I have spoken enough about Zack while on set, answering curious crew members’ questions, for everyone to know Zack’s a reformed pit fighter.

Which makes him dangerous and undesirable to most.

But not to us.

The medical staff onsite won’t let me go until I’ve had a full checkup, during which we discover a massive black bruise on my calf. Good luck to me for hiding that from my guys for more than thirty minutes. At least I’m wearing riding pants in most of my scenes so it won’t be visible on set.

An hour later, I head back to the track and the staff member in charge of all the horses walks up to me. “Feeling okay, Red?” he asks.

I shoot him a lopsided grin. “I’ll live.”

He nods. “I’ve taken plenty of spills off horses myself. It’s not exactly fun.”

“Was kinda fun before the landing part,” I say.

He chuckles. “Can I recommend paragliding instead if you want to fly?”

A snort escapes me. “Noted.”

“I came over because if you can still move around, it’s important to get back on a horse as soon as possible after a fall. Otherwise some riders develop a nasty fear of falling.”

I hold up one finger. “Just to be clear, it’s the fear that’s nasty, not the actual falling?”

He nods, flashing dimples as he smiles. “That’s right. Puts a dampener on the sport, and horse riding is one of the greatest pleasures this world offers.”

I spread my hands helplessly. “Well, we can’t be missing out on pleasure, can we?”

The man laughs. “I like your attitude, Red. It’s refreshing after working with so many actors who get caught up inside themselves.”

“You mean ones with bodies insured for millions who don’t want to get their hands dirty? Yeah, I’m not that sort.”

He winks then turns away, calling for a groom. A minute later, I’m eye-to-eye with a brown horse sporting a long white blaze down her forehead. She seems taller than the horses I’ve ridden before, and I gulp down a mouthful of nerves.

You can do this, Red.

The groom pops a mounting block down next to her and lengthens the stirrups. The mare stands still, maybe as worn out as I am after all the excitement today.

“Hey, is Chuckles okay?” I ask, remembering the way my other horse panicked. “He didn’t hurt himself, did he?”

“He’s fine,” the groom reassures. “They’re giving him some calm-down time.”

I nod and size up the horse in front of me once more.

“Just get on and do a few laps around the warm-up yard,” the head trainer encourages.

I climb the two steps and gather the reins in my left hand over the horse’s withers.

After inserting my boot tip into the stirrup, I bounce lightly and then swing up and over.

She dances one step, making me sway, but the younger groom croons and holds her head steady.

I slip my right boot into the other stirrup and settle in.

My gaze drops, and for a moment the ground writhes, suddenly far away like a chasm. But as soon as I look up, the sensation stops. Right. I’ve done weeks of lessons and filming, and this is the first time I’ve fallen. It won’t happen often.

The head groom touches my knee lightly. “Feeling okay?”

I nod and gather the reins. “Yeah, it’s not so bad. I can do this.”

My body aches with the movements, but even that fades as we do a few laps of the round yard.

I suck in breaths as deep as my bruised ribs will allow, finding my zen.

And feeling proud of myself. This fall is kind of like my life, but I managed to haul myself off the ground and keep going.

It will be something to tell my crazy therapist about at our next meeting.

And with every rhythmic pace of the horse beneath me, I feel the contented warmth of my alphas in my chest, fainter now that I’m far away from them, but ever-present.