Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,15

hear the honesty of their voices and read the intentions on their faces.

Dead was a monster in the arena, but he was good outside of those rails.

He was good outside of those eight seconds.

On and on they danced, and he pulled her closer and closer until her cheek was resting right over his drumming heart. His hand was strong but tender around hers, and his other palm was pressed so comfortingly against the small of her back, holding her in place against him. They were so close that his hat shifted on her head, so he took it off and set it on the lawn chair, spun her again, and then went back to dancing without missing a beat.

He eased her back. “Just trust me.” And then they really moved as he guided her in circles and figure eights all over that light-speckled gravel.

He’d called her a puzzle and then taught her how to dance. Tonight was one for the books. Probably the most illuminating night of her entire life in so many ways.

He guided her back to the chair, pulled the hat back over her head, and said, “I’m gonna make a cowgirl of you yet.”

Her heart dropped, and she tucked her chin to her chest.

He lifted it with the curve of his finger. “You got sad. Why?”

“Because you and I know tonight is all we have.”

“I don’t know shit,” he murmured through a crooked grin. “Ask Cheyenne.”

“Halloooooo!” came a call through the night. Cheyenne and Two Shots Down were headed their way through the shadows that separated their camper from Dead’s.

“We smelled chicken and you owe me sustenance,” Two grumbled hoarsely. He was deeply limping on his left leg.

“Who says ‘sustenance?’” Dead jabbed at him as he turned to check on the chicken legs. “I made enough for you moochers. Figured you would find your way here.” He turned to Raven, and his eyes grew serious as he explained, “They are obsessed with me.”

Two Shots Down offered a hand for a shake and introduced himself. “I’m Two Shots. Cheyenne told me about you.”

“Hopefully it was good things,” she said, ducking her gaze as she shook his massive hand.

“Cow shifter, got Dead to sign through the entire line of his fans, ate half his bag of chewy sprees at the table, and he didn’t even throw a tantrum. And you were nice to my lady.” Two Shots winked and nodded. “You’re just fine by me.”

“Quickdick!” Dead yelled at the top of his lungs.

Raven and Cheyenne jumped like jackrabbits in startlement.

“Come out and eat while the eatin’s good!” Dead yelled, flipping the wings on the grill.

“Did you just call him Quickdick?” Cheyenne whispered in horror.

“Yeah. I’ve been trying out new nicknames to call him during interviews. That one is my favorite. Second favorite nickname is for Two Shots.”

“Oh yeah?” Cheyenne asked. “And what is that?”

“Two Shits.”

Two Shots shoved him hard in the shoulder, and Raven had to clap her hand over her mouth to cover her laugh.

The creaking door of Quickdraw’s camper opened slowly, filling the entire doorway with an angry giant. “What in the name of Satan’s balls did you just call me?” he yelled.

“Oh, I must not have said it loud enough,” Dead called out. “Let me try again.” He sucked in air for a good yell, but Quickdraw beat him to it and screamed, “No!” The word echoed through the entire park.

Okay, now, Two Shot’s shoulders were shaking with his quiet laughter.

The behemoth poured out of that little doorway and stomped down the stairs hard enough to rock the camper. His boots made little tufts of dirt clouds as he sauntered directly toward them and, oh God, “Are we going to die?” Raven whispered.

“Nah, just Dead’ll be dead,” Two Shots enlightened her as he pulled a couple of cold ones from a blue cooler sitting by the door of Dead’s camper.

“Oh,” she chirped. This orange soda wasn’t nearly strong enough. Inside of her, the animal stirred. Uh oh. “Um, you should stop right there,” she said in a soft, shaky voice to Quickdraw.

“What?” Quickdraw belted out.

Raven cleared her throat and shook her head apologetically, dared to look in his pissed-off, dark eyes. “You should be nice to him.”

Dead leaned over and sniffed her. “You smell like fur. Smells good. Oh, my God, are you going to change?”

“I honestly don’t know what to do with this,” Quickdraw uttered, confusion furrowing his dark eyebrows. “She’s little and quiet. I have to do what she says? Yes? Because she’s a