We did. When the stranger had shifted back into horse form, I grabbed a handful of mane and pulled myself aboard. Once settled on his back, I twisted around. "Good luck, everyone."

Horses snorted softly in response. I took a deep breath, clenched my legs against the stallion's belly, then said, "Ready."

He sprang forward, all raw muscle and power. We sped down the road, arrowing toward the brightly lit fence, the wind a howl that snapped at my hair and stung my skin with ice.

The clatter of hooves on stone sang through the night. A shout went up from the left of us. Pain flicked my ear, and I jerked away, catching sight of sparks as something hit the road. Warmth began to trickle down my neck.

"They're shooting at us," I yelled. "Faster."

He surged forward. Behind us, a horse screamed. I looked over my shoulder, saw a bay go down, half his head missing. Fear knotted my stomach. They'd rather see us dead than have us escape.

The fence loomed. I closed my eyes and held on tight as the stallion gathered himself, then rose. The sensation of flying seemed to go on and on, then we hit the ground with enough force to jar every bone in my body and almost dislodge me.

But we were over the damn fence.

Now all we had to do was shake any pursuers, and find out where the hell we were.

The stallion ran until the howls of the pursuit were lost to silence and all that surrounded us were trees and mountain.

Eventually, we hit a stream, and he slid to a stop. I fell more than jumped off his back, but my legs were like jelly and collapsed underneath me. Flopping onto my back, I watched the golden haze sweep across the stallion's body. In human form, he fell beside the river, sucking in water as greedily as I sucked air.

"Not too much," I said, my voice little more than a pant of air. "Cramps."

He grunted, but stopped drinking and rolled into the water instead. His mahogany skin gleamed with heat, and his breath was little more than a wheeze.

It was amazing he'd run as long as he had, especially if he'd been locked up for any length of time.

I turned my gaze to the night sky. The moon I couldn't see was beginning to wane, suggesting it was around three in the morning. Though we'd run for a good two hours, we had to be a hell of a lot farther away by dawn if we wanted to remain free.

The trembling in my legs finally eased enough that I could push onto all fours. I crawled to the river and scooped up handfuls of icy water, sipping it until the fire in my throat had eased. I splashed some over my face, then more over my neck and ear to wash away the blood, but I felt no better. What I needed was a hot bath, a big fat steak sandwich, and a large cup of coffee. And not particularly in that order.

"You'd better wash those body wounds down, too," he commented, husky tones so soft his words barely carried.

I glanced at him, but his eyes were closed. "I intend to." I shifted shape first, just to help the healing process along a little more, then pushed up into a sitting position and began to clean not only the blood and dirt from the wounds, but the horse hair and sweat from my legs and nether regions.

I don't know what Lady Godiva's caper was about, but she obviously hadn't been riding that horse bareback for the sheer pleasure of it. Horse sweat against bare skin was not nice.

"Do you think they'll still be giving chase?" he asked, after a few moments.

"Oh yeah. Those things hunt by scent, and we weren't exactly careful about not leaving a trail."

He grunted. "I just wanted to get away from the bastards."

Didn't we both. "How long were you there?"

"Months, at least. Some of the others had been there over a year."

"And they were… ummm… milking you all?"

He opened an eye and gave me a measuring sort of look. "How did you guess?"

I shrugged. "The guard said they were taking specimens."

"Even so, that wouldn't have been my first guess."

"Two months ago, it wouldn't have been mine, either." But I'd learned a lot since then. Been through a lot.

"Meaning you have some idea as to what was going on in there?"

"Vague suspicions, nothing more."

"Like what?"

I grimaced. "Gene research. Crossbreeding."

His face was expressionless, his eyes slightly narrowed. He obviously suspected I knew more than what I was saying, but all he said was, "How long were you in there?"

"Around eight days, but tonight is the first night I can really remember."

He grunted. "It was like that for me, too. Though I was apparently there for two months before I came to my senses."

Then obviously, we'd all been drugged. But why did it take two months for the effects to wear off the stallions, and just over a week for me? Was the simple fact that I shouldn't have woken yet the only reason I'd been able to escape?

I scrubbed a hand across my eyes and wished the fog would clear so I could remember what had gone on. "Did you ever try to escape?"

"No, because it was impossible. The chains were never off us, and the stables were fitted with psi-deadeners, just in case any of us tried to get cute that way."

At least that explained why I hadn't sensed what they were—though he'd known what I was, which was interesting. Or maybe it was simply a matter of a horse being sensitive to the odor of a wolf.

"Did they do any more than milk you?"

"No, thank God."

"Did you ever see any other type of shifter?"

"We were never out of the damn stable."

Then he had to have been superbly fit before he'd been captured to still carry any sort of strength and endurance months down the track. He crawled out of the stream on all fours, and stretched out on the grass.

My gaze traveled down the length of him. It wasn't only his coloring that was magnificent. He was built like a thoroughbred—broad shoulders, powerful chest, slim hips and long, strong legs. His rump and back still bore the barely healed whip scars, but he had the best ass I'd seen on a man since Quinn had walked in, and then out, of my life.

I'd never met a horse-shifter before, and had to wonder where they'd been hiding all my life. If this man was a sample of what they had to offer, I might be tempted to seek one or two out the next full moon. If they could get over their instinctive hate of wolves, fun could definitely be had.

"There's no vibration of steps through the earth," he said.

"They could be way behind, but they will be following us."

He shifted, his expression intent as his gaze met mine. "You seem very certain of that."

"They tried to kill us rather than capture us. That suggests they value secrecy more than they value us."

"Then we'd better get moving again."

Moving was the last thing I wanted when every bone ached with weariness. I needed to sleep even more than I needed coffee—a big statement considering how hooked I was on caffeine. But staying put, even for a few hours, wasn't an option when we were still so close to that complex.

He climbed to his feet with effortless grace, then offered me a hand. His fingers were warm despite the time he'd spent in the water, and his palm was rough against mine. He pulled me upright then let go, but made no immediate attempt to move away.

My gaze rose to his. Awareness burned in his brown eyes, and suddenly I remembered that this was a man who hadn't been with a woman for many, many months. The icy water had washed the stable smells from his skin, and his musky odor, rich with the scent of desire, swam around me. Lust stirred, warming the chill from my flesh.

He raised a hand and brushed wet strands of hair from my cheek. "May I know your name?"

His fingers trailed heat where they touched. It felt nice, and the stirring lust sharpened. Though nowhere near enough to wipe out the fear of recapture and the need to get moving. I quickly said, "Riley Jensen. You?"