Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,8
by the bright green in his eyes, the perfect shade of brown of his hair, his tan skin, or muscles curving against his T-shirt… As much as she wished she wasn’t awed by the curve of his smile, the white of his teeth, or the thickness of his manly beard… As much as she wished she wasn’t struck by his powerful stance or his ability to look her right in the eye and hold her gaze…she absolutely was. “Please don’t ask me to do the interviews.”
“I won’t make you do the cameras. I think you don’t like that attention.”
“Nope. Not at all. Not even one percent.”
He dropped his gaze to her arm. “But you tattooed your skin. If you don’t want people looking at you, why did you decorate yourself like this?”
“I did that for me. I wanted to like what I saw when I looked in the mirror, and I think tattoos are beautiful.”
“Hmm,” he said softly with a nod of his head. “Well, I think they’re beautiful now, too. Maybe someday you can tell me what they all mean.”
She didn’t know why that made her sad. Perhaps it was the realization that tonight would end soon. “Yeah. Maybe someday. Hey, Dead?” she asked as he turned to walk away.
“Yeah?”
She bit her lip and looked at where the line of fans had been. “I was supposed to be one of those girls tonight.”
He shook his head. “What girls?”
“The ones standing in line to spend a couple minutes with you. Maybe get something signed, but really I just wanted to ask you a question.”
The toe of his boot hit a clump of dirt as he adjusted his weight and settled the box under one arm. “What question did you want to ask?”
Be brave. “Your mom is human.”
She could hear him swallow hard, and his voice lost some of its luster. “Yeah.”
Be brave, be brave, be brave. She forced her gaze from his boots to look him in the eyes when she asked, “So how did you learn how to be a bull?”
The muscles in his face relaxed, and he just stared at her like he was looking right into her soul. “Who’re your parents, Raven?”
“That’s not why I came he—”
“Who?” he asked again.
Raven shrugged. “I’m adopted.”
“By humans?”
She nodded.
“Shit, girl.” He scratched the corner of his lip and got a faraway look before he repeated that softer. “Shit, girl.”
“I’m just… I guess I’m just…”
“Trying to learn.”
“Y-yes. Trying to learn.”
“How to be goddamn longhorn.”
“You ever feel stuck between two worlds?” she asked on a breath.
He dragged those darkening eyes down her throat to her chest, then to her arms, stomach, legs…motorcycle boots. “Sometimes. Most the time, no. I picked. I chose the bull when I was twelve. I don’t call myself half-human. I’m shifter, that’s it.” He jerked his chin up toward the rodeo arena behind her. “That announcer can say all he wants about my human side, but the truth is, there is no human side. My choice.”
He set the box back on the table and leaned against it, eyes on her…always eyes on her. “Did your adoptive parents understand you?”
“They tried their best.”
“Mmm. Do you have any friends who are shifters?”
“Yes.”
“Another cow? Or a bull?”
“No. Wolf.”
He huffed a humorless laugh and clutched the edges of the table he’d sat on. His strong triceps flexed with the movement. “Well, aren’t you interesting? A cow named Raven who thinks she’s human. What color is your animal?”
“I don’t think that’s appropriate to—”
“Rule number one to being a cow shifter? There’s no shame in your animal, and you sure as hell shouldn’t want to hide her. What color?”
“Black.”
“Black and…?”
She pursed her lips, but he asked again. “Black and what?”
Her voice barely sounded like anything as she whispered, “Just black.”
“Holy fuckin’ shit.” Dead stood and laughed so loud it echoed through the empty space. “What’s your last name, Raven?”
“O’Connor.”
“No, I mean what’s your real last name?”
Why was she shaking? Why was her heart pounding so hard? She couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to. She’d come here to ask him questions and maybe understand herself better, not be interrogated on stuff she didn’t want to discuss. Ever.
“Forget it.” Raven turned and made her way for the exit. This had been a bad idea. A really bad idea.
“Did they brand you?”
Those four words froze her in her tracks. Her feet turned to cement blocks, and she couldn’t move.
He was coming closer. Dead. She could feel him and hear him. Closer and closer until he lifted the hem of