Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,3

his face and made him flinch when it landed on his neck. It tightened, and then a second landed on his neck before he could back up. The pickup men were here to take him from the arena since he hadn’t gone through the exit gates on his own. As they dragged him toward the open gate between two of the chutes, he locked his legs, tried to keep his eyes on the girl. The girl who stuck out like a sore thumb. The only girl still sitting in her seat while everyone else was up, cheering and jeering. The only one who’d been speaking quietly just to him.

It’s okay.

No, Girl Who Didn’t Belong.

His entire life, he’d stayed away from close relationships, because he hadn’t wanted to be hurt ever again, and now he’d hurt Two. Two, his friend. Two, his herd. Two who had to buck in two weeks and keep his rank so this herd could stay together, and Dead had just landed on his leg.

It wasn’t okay.

Chapter Three

Raven fidgeted with the VIP pass around her neck. “Two more please,” she asked the cashier at the booze truck.

“You can sure put the beer away,” he said. Oh, she knew he was teasing from the sparkle in his eyes, but she didn’t want him to think bad of her. “I’m getting one for someone else.”

“Ten bucks again,” he said as he set the plastic cups on the counter.

She paid and made her way carefully back toward the chutes. There was a VIP entrance there. This pass had cost her an arm and a leg, but when else would she get a chance to meet him? To meet Dead of Winter, the badass number three bull in the world. Well…number four now. He’d just dropped a rank tonight. Some bull shifter named First Time Train Wreck had outscored him, but she didn’t really understand any of the technicalities of this sport. Dead had bucked his rider off before the buzzer, so why the heck did he get dropped a rank? Everyone in the arena had gone wild when he’d bucked and gone after his rider.

Dunbar Whatever-His-Name-Was had recovered. He’d just been knocked out. He’d come out behind the chutes and watched some of the other riders after a few minutes. That was good. At least, Dead hadn’t killed him, but she’d watched the huge black and white bull’s eyes. They had stayed on his teammates, not the rider. He hadn’t cared much about what happened to Dunbar. Something was wrong with that bull. She had to know if the man was as monstrous.

She passed under the VIP sign and made her way down a narrow alleyway, showed the man at the end of it the pass that hung around her neck, and asked where she was supposed to go.

“Right there some of the bulls and riders will be signing autographs,” he said, gesturing to a row of tables against a wall.

“Thank you so much,” she said quietly.

A couple of pretty girls on horses trotted through the alleyway so Raven pressed her shoulders against the wall to stay out of the way of those hooves. She didn’t know anything about horses, or rodeos, or any of the events she’d just seen, but she’d enjoyed herself. This was a completely different world than she was used to.

Careful not to spill the beers, she made her way to where other VIP members were gathering around the tables. A few of the tables already had riders at them, signing autographs for lines of people. The three closest to her were labeled Quickdraw Slow Burn, Two Shots Down, and Dead of Winter on a place tag written with pink glittery ink. She didn’t know why that made her giggle, but it did. Those boys didn’t look like the pink sparkly type.

There were already lines in front of the bulls’ tables. She stood in Dead of Winter’s line behind a trio of excited cowgirls for a few minutes, but the beer was getting warm, and everyone who was anyone knew warm beer was gross.

So, she meandered away from the crowd and peeked through a doorway the signing riders had come through. In the hallway were none other than Dead of Winter and Cheyenne Walker. They were talking low, but cow shifters had amazing hearing, so she could make out what they were saying just fine.

“He’s going to be fine, Dead. Kicking yourself isn’t an excuse to skip out on the signing.”

“Well, Quickdraw doesn’t have to do