The morning mist still clung to the grass, silver and soft, curling around Simon Riley’s boots as he stood at the edge of the paddock, arms crossed tightly over his chest like that’d somehow protect him from the massive creature standing a few yards away. The thing—no, the beast—was staring at him. He swore it was. Big, dark eyes, long lashes, breath misting in the cool air like smoke from a dragon’s nostrils. Muffin, Luca had called her. Simon couldn’t think of a name less fitting for a creature that could crush him like a tin can if she so much as sneezed too hard.

She flicked her tail once. Simon flinched like a gun had gone off.

He’d faced down men twice his size, watched explosions light up the desert night, survived firefights and missions that should’ve killed him—hell, he’d led them. But standing there, on a quiet little farm with birds chirping somewhere overhead, Simon Riley was staring down his greatest enemy: a horse named Muffin.

Luca’s voice was somewhere behind him, light and teasing as always, but Simon didn’t dare take his eyes off the beast. “Don’t,” he warned lowly, the gravel in his voice betraying just a hint of nerves. “Don’t you dare tell me she’s friendly, love. I’ve seen the way she looks at me.”

And he had. Ever since he’d stepped foot onto this damned farm, that horse had been watching him—judging him. She was big, brown, with a white blaze down her face and hooves that looked like they could flatten a car. The kind of animal that made his instincts scream run. But Luca had other ideas, apparently.

Luca, with his messy blonde hair that caught the sun like gold, eyes too blue to be fair, and that half-smirk he always wore when Simon was out of his element. Luca had grown up with all of this—the fields, the barns, the animals. He looked right at home in it, standing there in his worn jeans and dirt-smudged boots, sleeves rolled up, freckles scattered across his nose. He was trying to teach Simon to not be terrified of a creature most people thought was gentle.

Simon didn’t think there was anything gentle about half a ton of muscle and hooves.

He took another cautious step back when Muffin snorted, the sound loud enough to make his heart jump. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s mocking me. I can feel it.”

The horse turned her head away, uninterested. Simon straightened like he’d won something. “See that? She’s plotting. Waiting until I let my guard down.”