Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls Book 2) Page 2

  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 it.”

  “Yes, he does! You all have to do it. That’s part of the contract.”

  Dead threw up his hands and sauntered off. “Tell them to take it out of my paycheck. I’m not going to take some dumb pictures with a bunch of humans. I’ve had a shit night, Cheyenne. I’m not even a top three bull anymore, so I don’t really think my contract sticks.”

  “Yeah, but in two weeks you’ll be back in the top three!” Cheyenne yelled after him. “This is just a bump in the road! We will train harder!”

  “I don’t need to train harder! I need to grow my beard back. That’s probably where my power came from.”

  “Your beard?” Cheyenne asked with a snort.

  “Yeah! And you come along and make me trim it for stupid social media and to look like some pretty boy for the lady fans, and I don’t care about any of that. I liked being hairy!”

  “Yeah, I’m aware, Dead! Your constant pictures of your hairy legs say as much, but you look much more handsome now.”

  “I want to look like a mountain man. I’m never listening to you again,” he grumbled. “I’m going home.”

  “Your home is a camper.”

  “Then I’m going to my camper. I have to lick my wounds in private and drown my sorrows in cheap beer.”

  And that was Raven’s que. She cleared her throat and called out softy, “Excuse me?”

  Dead stopped in his tracks and twisted around and, good golly, that man was something to look at. He was tall as a mountain, wide as a barn, and had bright green eyes, even brighter than her own. He was wide in the chest and trim in the waist and wore a charcoal gray T-shirt that emphasized his ripped physique. He wore jeans with mud smears, and his sandy brown hair was all messy on top. Maybe he’d ran his hands through it a bunch, or maybe he’d spent time in the mirror getting it to stand up like that. She didn’t know. All she knew is he was the most striking man she’d ever seen.

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  Raven swallowed hard. Be brave, little cow. She lifted up a beer. “It’s getting a little warm, but I got a beer for you.”

  He frowned but then sidled Cheyenne in the narrow hallway, approaching Raven. “I know you.”

  “Oh, no, not me. I’ve never been to one of these things before.”

  “You’ve never been to a shifter bull riding event?”

  She shook her head and held out the cup of beer. “I don’t even own a pair of boots.”

  Dead hooked his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. “Motorcycle boots count as boots.”

  Raven stared at the toes of her black leather boots. “Oh. I guess that’s true.” She cleared her throat again and murmured, “Here.” She shook the beer a little that she was still holding in her outstretched hand.

  Dead closed the last few feet between them and, holy bull balls, he was so much bigger up close. She had to stretch her neck all the way up to look him in the face.

  His eyes were narrowed and suspicious. “Are you trying to roofie me?”

  “W-what?” she stammered. “No! Of course not.”

  “Dammit. That would’ve been fun.”

  “Dead!” Cheyenne admonished. “It’s not okay to make roofie jokes!”

  “Warden,” he called over his shoulder, “have you ever met a cow shifter before?”

  Raven’s heart got sucked straight up into her throat, and she froze.

  “Uuuuh, no,” Cheyenne Walker murmured, walking toward them.

  “Because this little stick of dynamite smells like a cow.”

  Now self-conscious, Raven sniffed herself, but she just smelled like she always did.

  Dead snatched the beer from her hand and tinked it against her own beer, then intertwined their arms like they were drinking champagne at their wedding. “Ready?” he asked.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, leaning as far back from him as possible.

  “We are chugging this together.”

  “Why?” she squeaked out. “W-why would you want to drink like this?”

  “Because you said ‘it’s okay.’”

  Oooooh, he did recognize her from the arena. Clearly, his human side was present when he was in his bull form.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Uuuuummm…”

  “To nearly breaking my best friend’s leg, trying to kill a rider, and almost dropping to fourth place and breaking up my herd.”

  “Uuuuh, cheers?” To the weirdest toast ever.

  Arm hooked in his, she drank her beer, but not fast enough. Dead of Winter slammed his back and even spilled some as he gulped it in just a few swallows. And then he had time to tell her, “Come on girl, get it down! Chug it!”

  And she did. She spilled it a little and was embarrassed, but when she looked up, he had the biggest grin on his face. And a silly little piece of her glowed with pride. Over drinking a beer? Her life was really strange tonight.

  “Want me to sign your boob?”

  “Wh-what?” she yelped.

  “Dead!” Cheyenne exclaimed. “You can’t ask girls that!”

  “Why not? Most of them ask me to sign their boobs. ‘It’s Okay’ seems a little shy. Figured I would ask her first and then she doesn’t have to muster up the nerve.”

  Cheyenne’s whiskey-colored eyes were round as moons. “I’m so sorry for his behavior. What’s your name again?”

  “Cow shifter,” Dead answered for her.

  “Zip it, Dead. No more words,” Cheyenne growled.

  Okay, they were kind of funny. “Um, my name is Raven.”

  “Haaaa!” Dead laughed. “A cow named Raven. This is awesome.”

  Cheyenne snapped her fingers at the exit and glared at Dead. “Go. I know what you’re doing. You’ve being awful so I won’t make you sign autographs tonight. You win! Go check on Quickdraw.”

  Dead arched his eyebrows up high, and his lips thinned to small lines under that hotboy beard. “On second thought, I want to sign autographs. Me and Raven the Cow are going to sign them together.”

  “Um, I’m good,” Raven said softly. She tried to unhook their arms, but Dead, smooth-as-you-like, grabbed her hand and hooked it into the crook of his elbow.

  “I feel like starting some rumors tonight,” he said, staring at Cheyenne.

  “You know what?” Cheyenne said loud enough to echo down the hallway. “Go do it then. Do whatever you want. Go start some media circus. Go spiral, but it doesn’t take away from what’s really happening!”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You’re upset over Two Shots, and you’re spiraling over dropping a rank. You’re still part of the herd, Dead! Dropping a rank doesn’t matter to me or to Quickdraw or Two. You’re still one of us.”

  “Go check on your mate,” Dead murmured. “Me and Raven have boobies to sign.”

  “But I don’t want to sign any boobies,” she quietly assured him as he pulled her toward the signing tables.

  “Come o
n, girlfriend.”

  “I’m not anyone’s girlfriend! Oh, my gosh.”

  She swallowed hard when they got to the doorway. The VIP crowd had grown, and they all looked at her and Dead in the mouth of the entrance. Her cheeks caught fire. “I’m gonna go see about a thing and go bury myself in a hole and never come out again,” she murmured, releasing his arm.

  She tried to duck to the side and make her escape, but Dead grabbed her hand in his, intertwined their fingers—intertwined them!—and then waved at a group who were snapping pictures. The line at his table was cheering.

  “Shoot me with a water gun,” she uttered on a breath.

  “This is my girlfriend, Raven,” Dead announced.

  “I actually just met him,” she said as he dragged her straight through the crowd toward his table.

  “She is a moo cow shifter.”

  “It’s actually just called a cow shifter.”

  “Her name is Raven and her mother is a pirate and her father is a seaman who works on a crab boat.”

  “They’re both schoolteachers.”

  “Who teach bomb diffusing in the Netherlands.”

  “Um, sixth grade math and English in Idaho?”

  “And she has an announcement to make about how big my dick is.”

  “I have no knowledge of his dick size!”

  He yanked the chair away from Quickdraw’s table and set it gallantly beside his, then gestured for her to take a seat. “My queen.”

  “I’ve never wanted to kill a stranger before now,” she muttered under her breath, frowning at the boxes of magnets and bookmarks and pictures of Dead that filled open boxes under the table.

  “That feeling won’t fade with me.” Dead arched his eyebrow up higher and pulled her seat back a little. “Have a seat, Sugar Tits.”

  Raven eyed the exit. All she had to do was make it across an alleyway of trotting horses with riders, bolt under the VIP sign, and then leave the way she came in. Just with two less beers. She was still holding her empty cup.

  “Have a seat, have a seat, have a seat,” Dead started chanting, and to her utter dismay, the line in front of them started chanting the same.

  If the earth opened up right now and swallowed her whole, she’d had a good long run at life and would be fine with it.

  Cheyenne was standing off to the side, arms crossed over her chest, frown furrowing her forehead. I’m so sorry, she mouthed to Raven.

  Me, too, Raven mouthed right back.

  Living a literal nightmare, which was to have people’s attention on her, she sat in the chair and wished she could bury her head in the sand like an ostrich.

  The table got rushed by the first three girls in line, who all had pictures of Dead. Two were glossy eight-by-tens of his black and white bull mid-buck, his back hooves kicked up in the air, while the other one was of him without a shirt on, Wranglers, belt buckle, and a horse saddle thrown over his back. Now, Raven had never been a fan of cowboy hats because they just weren’t her style, but on Dead of Winter? He looked sexy. In the picture, a sheen of sweat glistened on his muscular chest, and he had his chin tilted up as he gave the camera a wicked smile.

  “You like that one?” he asked as he signed the first one with a silver permanent marker.

  “Me?” she asked.

  “Yeah you. You keep starin’ at it. It’s okay to tell your boyfriend he’s hot. I like compliments. Compliments and positive reinforcement make me work harder. For example…” He looked up at his fan and grinned at her. “If a woman told me she liked something in the bedroom, I would explore everything about that until she was moaning my name and begging me to never stop.”

  The fan started fanning herself with a sign that read—Raven leaned forward and squinted at the upside-down words—Dead, Dead, you’re good in bed.

  Oh, God. “I should really be going,” Raven whispered.

  “Nonsense, you aren’t going anywhere,” Dead rumbled, squeezing her leg under the table.

  She didn’t even flinch. Huh. It actually was a little comfort. Huh.

  “Look, when you’re in a relationship—” he started.

  “We aren’t in a relationship,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.

  Dead held up a finger and winked at the next fan, then yanked Raven’s chair right up against his and leaned into her ear. “You support your person. Tonight, I have to sign a bunch of half-naked pictures of myself for these humans. I don’t like humans much. And I have to take pictures I don’t want to take and fill these ladies’ spank banks with the fantasy of me, when in reality, I just dropped to a rank that guts me, I’m worried about my friend, I’m drowning in guilt, I’m starving, my shoulder is sore because I can’t seem to keep the damn thing in its socket, and the only thing that has felt decent tonight is when a woman I’ve never met before said ‘It’s okay,’ in that arena. Support me here, and I’ll buy you a pair of boots.”

  Raven parted her lips to respond, but no words came out. He was just lingering by her ear, his lips almost touching her lobe. She could feel the featherlight wind from his warm breath, and chills rippled up her forearms. “What kind of boots?”

  “Western, of course.”

  “I don’t wear cowgirl boots.”

  “They’ll be leather, good quality, and I’ll find them in black with a little bit of a heel to show off those sexy legs of yours. Python if you want. I could see you liking snakeskin boots. They match your style. The next rodeo you come to see me at, you’ll be wearing the right shoes.”

  Well, she didn’t plan on attending any more rodeos, but how the heck was she going to argue with that? Those boots sounded awesome. And he’d paid attention to her style. Maybe trying black cowgirl boots wouldn’t be so bad. If they were a gift and she didn’t have to pay for them.

  Raven cleared her throat and smiled at the fan who was waiting on the other side of the table, snapping pictures of them with her phone. “Would you like a complimentary magnet of Dead’s bull?”

  “Atta girl,” Dead murmured, easing back. He winked at her—winked, like hot boys did in the movies—and then began conversing with his line again.

  A few fans later, Cheyenne came up behind them and set two ice waters on the table. She leaned into Raven and whispered, “There is a money box under the table with some change. The pictures are ten bucks apiece if anyone wants to buy one for Dead to sign. The rest of the swag is free. I usually do this for all the boys, but Two Shots can’t sign tonight. Quickdraw is coming out any second, so I can handle his table if you are up for working Dead’s.”

  “She ain’t workin’ it,” Dead said. “She’s gonna just have fun with me and all these lovely ladies tonight. This table is the party table. How you doin’ tonight?” he asked a woman approaching from the front of the line.

  Cheyenne rolled her eyes heavenward. “Raven, if you need anything, I’ll be floating back and forth between here and Two Shots’ room.”

  “Is he okay?” Raven whispered.

  “He will be. There is a vet in with him now.”

  “He changed?” Dead asked.

  “He had to turn bull so they could make sure the bone didn’t snap. They think it’s just a deep bone bruise, though. Stop worrying, Dead. He’s not fragile.” Cheyenne shoved him in the back of the head.

  “Disagree,” he muttered as he signed another picture.

  After Cheyenne left, Raven got into the rhythm of it, and really? No one paid much attention to her. For the most part, she got to keep her cloak of invisibility, setting up little gift bags of swag, taking money for pictures, and lining everything up in order so Dead could sign one stack and then move onto the other as he talked to his followers. She even got efficient at taking pictures for people who wanted them with Dead. They would hand her their phones and she would snap a few and, after an hour, she pretty much had it down.

  She and Dead made a good team for a couple of strangers. Two times, before they took their seats after pictures, he patted her on the butt as if he knew he
r. And once she signed a napkin for a very shy fan who said she liked Raven’s tattoos. About ten times, the giant, intimidating, bull monster named Quickdraw Slow Burn stared at her with confusion in his dark eyes from the next table down as he signed autographs. She got it. She was confused, too.

  She didn’t belong here.

  An hour and a half in, and Cheyenne told them it was time for Dead to do his interviews.

  “But we still have a line,” Raven murmured, gesturing to the fifteen or so fans still waiting to talk to Dead.

  “Yeah, I don’t give a shit about the interviews. These ladies have been waiting a while,” Dead rumbled between jokes with a blond-haired beauty with a megawatt smile.

  Cheyenne’s dark eyebrows drew down. “Buuuut, you always tell me to let you know when you can stop signing. You hate doing this stuff.”

  “Well, tonight I want to get through the line,” he said with a shrug.

  Cheyenne’s frown morphed into a grin. Pointing at Raven, she said, “You did this.”

  “What? What did I do?”

  “You’re doing magic. Dead is always a shit about the work after an event. Good job, gold star,” she said as she walked away. “A plus! I’ll push Dead’s interviews back to last.”

  The line went fast, and Raven started organizing the small amount of remaining swag into one box as Dead went to talk to Quickdraw, who was also getting ready to leave. Her ears picked up just about anything so she could hear their conversation just fine.

  Dead asked, “Did you see him?”

  “God, you’re like a mother hen,” Quickdraw muttered. “He’ll be fine. It was an accident.”

  “Yeah, I accidentally tried to kill a rider and hurt Two instead.”

  “Who’s the girl?” Quickdraw asked low.

  “Met her tonight. Name’s Raven.”

  “Shifter?” Quickdraw was looking mighty busy stacking his leftover magnets just so.

  “What’s it to you?” Dead asked, his voice darkening.

  Quickdraw straightened up and looked down his nose at Dead. Then he looked at Raven. Then back at Dead. “A human won’t survive you, asshole. My concern is for her. Not you.”