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Not to fear.

Not even to the Rut.

If it comes for me, I’ll fight it.

I will claw and bleed and rage against it.

I’ll tear the gods down with my bare hands before I let it take me from her.

And if the only way to stop myself from becoming that monster is a bullet to the brain?

So fucking be it.

Because there is no other.

No one else I want to touch. No one I want looking at me with need in their eyes.

Only her.

Always her.

My Bull, usually a smug son of a bitch who growls and kicks at everything, goes quiet.

Peaceful.

And then, as if to seal the decision, he lets out a low, contented snort and settles deep inside me.

Even he knows.

She’s it.

The one.

The only.

And for the first time in my life there’s no argument in my head.

No hooves dragging me in opposite directions.

There’s just her scent on the air, her voice in my ear, and this blazing, gut-wrenching truth that’s carved itself into my chest like a brand.

Arliss is mine.

And I’ll move heaven and fucking earth to be worthy of her.

“You’re quiet.”

Her voice cuts through the soft hum of the truck’s cabin like a warm breeze, and I sigh, tipping my head back against the headrest like a man who’s just found religion in the form of a five-foot-something blonde with curves that could end wars.

“I’m just happy, I guess.”

The words come out kind of dazed, even to me.

And honestly? That tracks.

I’m not the guy who usually gets this.

I’m not the one women fall for.