Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,14

the grill. “Fight number, I don’t know. Maybe three? Pack name, not applicable, lone wolf, and rank in the pack? I guess alpha.”

“And his name?” Dead asked primly as he set the wings on the grill one by one with a pair of tongs.

“Annabelle.”

Dead jerked his attention to her. “Wait, what? I thought wolves were all male.”

“They’re supposed to be.” Raven shrugged and took a sip of her fizzy orange drink. He was still staring at her, so she braved-up and explained the bare minimum. Annabelle had secrets, but who would Dead tell? He was a shifter, too. He would understand. “Annabelle wasn’t born a werewolf. She was made into one.”

He shook his head, his eyes so round like the full moon behind him. “How old was she when she was turned?”

“Third grade, so she was eight. It was an accident. A wolf was out hunting and she was out playing in the yard. The wolf stopped himself from killing her, but he’d scraped her with his teeth, and she survived. I met her when I was in fifth grade. My parents actually tracked her down and befriended her parents. Moved us two states away so I could have a shifter friend. They didn’t know much about shifters back then, but they figured out what I was real quick after they adopted me. And they wanted to keep me safe and keep my animal a secret, but they wanted me to have a friend. So, they rearranged their whole lives to give me Annabelle.”

“And to give you to Annabelle,” Dead said.

“Yes. The home I grew up in is right next to theirs. Neighbors, and both of our families protect each other. Like a team. Always have.”

Dead grinned. “I’ll say it again. You won.”

“When you said that earlier, it took some weight off my shoulders I didn’t realize I’d been carrying. One conversation with you, and I felt lighter. That’s pretty cool.”

“Well, that’s what boyfriends do. We carry some of the weight.”

Raven rolled her eyes at his obnoxious grin and rubbed the goosebumps on her arms.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Yeah, but I’m—”

Dead bolted up the stairs into the camper and was back with a hoodie in his hands before the door even had a chance to swing closed. Holy moly, he was fast.

“—tough,” she finished her sentence.

“Stand up,” he told her.

She set her drink down and stood. As he pulled the giant black hoodie over her head, she carefully shimmied her arms into the sleeves, and when she had the hem settled somewhere around the vicinity of her knees, he eased the hood off her head and smoothed out her mussed hair. His fingers turned to feathers as he tucked her hair behind her ears. She could feel the callouses on his strong hands when he cupped her cheeks and, for a moment, she thought he would kiss her. He hesitated, staring down into her eyes, and she wanted it. Dear God, she actually wanted a kiss from an almost-stranger, and she never did that. Never opened up fast or trusted a man with affection who hadn’t earned it over time.

He didn’t kiss her, though. He eased her back, grabbed her hand in his, and spun her slowly.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a smile.

Dead pulled her in, his one hand cradling hers, the other hand on her waist. “Just follow me.”

He swayed to the side two steps, one back, two more steps, one back. She messed up. She stepped on his boots and stumbled and tensed up, gripped his hand so tight.

He smiled and pulled her to a stop. Took his cowboy hat off and put it on her. It was big but stayed in place well enough as she looked up at him.

He positioned his hand around hers again and whispered, “Don’t think. Just melt.”

And then his eyes capturing hers, he swayed them to the side two steps, back one. Two and then one. There was no music, but there didn’t need to be. Dead had good rhythm.

She’d come here tonight to meet a stranger and ask him a question to try to cool a fire inside of her. But now she was slow dancing in the illumination of a few strands of outdoor lights hanging from a camper, dinner on the grill, and a good man taking her on her first two-step. And she knew he was a good man. Her inner animal hadn’t been much help growing up, but she could see the good in people. She could