Page 82 of Kentucky Nights
“Please keep Cal McCartey in your thoughts while Heaven or Hell gets back in his pin.”
I suppose that’s better. Not great, but the announcer saved his own life by adding that sentence to his statement.
“Looks like Heaven or Hell has been successfully removed from the arena and is secure. The medics are on their way to McCartey now. Let’s hope for the best.”
One tear drop. One drop of blood. Cal would be cured. He wouldn’t have to fight for his life. I hate the rules Lorcan told me about. So much good could come of vampire healing abilities. I understand why the rules are in place. It protects all paranormals.
Can’t the rules be broken sometimes?
“Let’s give a big round of applause to Cal, Ladies and Gentlemen. He is on the gurney and on his way to the nearest hospital. If there are any updates, I’ll be sure to give them to you.”
I hate to say it, but Lorcan was a better announcer. I don’t know if I’ll tell him that because it will go to his head, and he’d volunteer to announce at every damn rodeo.
“Our next rider, Kentucky Jones!” The audience erupts in applause and cheers, already forgetting about Cal.
Even with a near-death experience, the show must go on.
“Ready?”
In bull riding, one hand must be raised in the air at all times. It can not touch the bull, or it is an immediate disqualification.
Blowing out a breath, I give a curt nod, putting Cal in the furthest corner of my mind. A second later, the chute opens, and Gunpowder flees with the power of a million pissed off cattle.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Kentucky Jones is riding Gunpowder, one of the craziest, strongest, and heaviest bulls. Gunpowder is coming out of the gate with a purpose, and he doesn’t seem to be losing any steam.”
I wish that announcer would shut the fuck up.
Gunpowder lifts his back legs, twisting his hind end before landing. He spins faster, gaining speed and strength to buck me off. My chaps rub against the bull’s hide, the leather keeping me as stable as possible.
Dirt is tossed in the air by his furious hooves, sending clouds around me. I dig my spurs into his side, taunting him to do more wreckage. Bull spurring can give me extra points. Not many do it, but I’ve been told once or twice that I have no care for my life.
Gunpowder stomps, grunting with fury to get me off his back. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice all the bleachers begin to empty. I’m holding onto the rope for dear life with every buck Gunpowder gives me. My vision of the stands blurs with every kick. I’m not able to see what is going on.
The buzzer rings when I hit the eight-second mark. Using the momentum from the bull during his next buck, I jump off, tucking my knees to my chest to roll safely onto the ground.
No cheers. No claps. No annoying announcer to inform everyone I’ve moved to the number one spot.
Brushing off my chaps, I stand, peering into the bleachers to find Dru. I don’t give a damn about anyone else here. If Dru isn’t here, something is wrong.
I forget about Gunpowder being in the arena and that no one is here to put him in a chute. I’m too focused on Dru. If I had bitten her when I had the chance, I’d be able to find her. I feel her. I can’t place where though.
“Romeo. Get to the area now—”Gunpowder’s horn plunges into me through my back, spearing through my chest. He raiseshis head, forcing me to hang in the air. I gasp, trying to push myself up and off the horn.
I can’t.
I’m too weak to save myself in this condition. Blood pours from the wound, gathering in a growing red pool on the dirt. Iron saturates my tongue, the metallic taste warning me that I could die here.
If I had just bitten Dru, if I had been honest, none of this would have happened. I would have the strength a vampire should. I wouldn’t be decomposing from the inside out.
Choking on my own blood, I gag when it is lodged in my throat, spitting the wad onto the ground.
“Is that any way to greet your son?”
My eyes are heavy from the pain. My hat falls from my head, drifting to the blood-ridden ground. I manage to turn my head to see a tall man standing there with Dru in his grasp. He has her by the throat, claws drawn, and sinking into her beautiful, soft flesh.
A scarlet haze overcomes my sight. My fangs unsheathing, wanting to protect her from this stranger who dares to put his hand on my fated mate.
“Dru,” I rasp, reaching for her with my body.
