Page 40 of Kentucky Nights (Dead Man’s Ranch #1)

I find something very odd about being here.

My hackles are raised, and I don’t want to alarm Lorcan or Dru, but I can’t speak to any of the animals here except Romeo.

I would never use my power for my advantage.

But usually, I hear their thoughts about being here at the rodeo.

They love to bitch and moan about their owners or how much they hate their pastures.

Some actually enjoy the rodeo and taunt the other livestock.

It’s quiet this time, as if something is blocking me from speaking to them.

“Romeo, do you hear anything from any of the animals? What’s going on?” I ask him as I swing my leg over this giant crossbred bull.

He’s half Brahma, half Longhorn, which is commonly known as a Plummer Bull. They are known for their strength and bucking abilities. There aren’t many bulls that cause my nerves to fire, but this one here is definitely one of them.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. A few horses hate their owners, and the bull you’re riding is plotting your death. You can’t hear them?” Romeo responds from the trailer I brought him in.

Typically, there are stock farms for the competitors to keep their livestock at.

Romeo doesn’t like them. He says they are “Too crowded” which is fine.

I don’t trust most people when they see a horse like Romeo, anyhow.

He’s unique. Different from any horse anyone has ever seen.

Red eyes, a sculpted skeletal face, he’s terrifying.

He’s the type a human would try to kill so they can have a trophy to mount on the wall.

No way in hell am I letting that happen.

“No. I can’t hear a damn thing, Romeo. Something is going on. Stay focused for me.”

“I’ll do my best from the trailer.”

“The sass isn’t needed. You know I can’t have you walking around. You’ll get attacked.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Another reason why I’m keeping you in the trailer,” I state in finality, leaving zero room for argument.

His silence means he knows I’m right.

The bull jostles, slamming my leg against the metal chute I’m trapped in with him.

“I can’t believe you’re the first to ride Gunpowder tonight. He’s wired,” the chute boss says to me.

“Can’t wait.” I tighten my legs on his side when he starts swinging his head left and right.

His horns are huge, towering over his head to the sky, and are as white as the moon without a single spot on them.

I take one last glance at my mate, not wanting her to notice how nervous I am.

This bull is strong, weighs thousands of pounds, and seems like the type to charge, stomp, and run you over after throwing you off.

If I could use my vampire abilities, I wouldn’t have to worry about potentially dying or getting away from Gunpowder.

Tightening the braided rope around my hand, I keep a firm grip. I’m careful not to use my enhanced strength. I’m just a man out here, and that’s what I love about this sport.

As I wait my turn, the rider ahead of me just gave permission to the chute boss to open the gate.

“Cal McCartey is off to a powerful start, riding Heaven or Hell, a bull who hospitalized a rider only last year from a severe head injury. Hopefully, Cal will survive this monstrous ride,” The announcer informs.

Heaven or Hell is slate grey Brahma with mismatched horns. One curves up like normal, while the other points down.

One to Heaven.

One to Hell.

The name is fitting.

The bull jumps and twists higher than I’ve ever seen before. Silence falls over the crowd as they watch with a held breath if Cal will come out of this unscathed.

The rider’s hat soars off his head. Heaven or Hell stomps on it, flattening and retiring it for good.

Another harsh buck and twist, Cal flies off, landing hard on his back.

Even though I’m on Gunpowder, Cal’s groans can be heard from where I sit when he tries to get up after getting the wind knocked out of him.

He isn’t moving fast enough to get out of the arena.

Cal holds his side, limping to the rails to exit.

But Heaven or Hell is not done by how he is pawing the ground, lowers his head, and releases a violent grunt. It’s as if Cal is a huge red flag by how the bull has set his sights on him.

Heaven or Hell charges.

The rodeo clowns try to intervene by distracting the bull to chase them, but it’s too late.

I hold my breath for the guy, knowing it’s far too late to save him.

The bull rams his head into Cal’s back, the horn hooking onto his shirt. Cal somersaults through the air, and his being attacked leaves me helpless. On any other day, I’d be able to save him.

Not here. Not now. I wouldn’t get to him in time before he hits the ground, anyway. Injuries are part of the sport. All riders at some point in their career have been injured.

Including me. Before the advancement of medicine and my vampire abilities, there was a time I stayed in the hospital for a month from a head injury. Being stepped on by a two-thousand-pound animal will do that to a man.

Cal lands on his side with a hard and audible whack. Everyone, me included, groans in unison. He screams in agony, clutching the arm that is broken, judging by the piece of bone sticking out of it.

If only I could talk to this bull to tell it to stop its rampage. I can’t, and it is so fucking frustrating.

“Damn, I don’t know if they will be able to get him out of there in time,” the chute boss states with heavy sadness in his words. He takes off his hat, pressing it over his heart to show respect.

Cal manages to roll to his good side, missing another savage step by the bull. Heaven or Hell doesn’t like to lose, it seems. He spins around and bucks, hitting Cal in the chest.

The snap of his sternum has me turn my head away. I don’t feel comfortable watching a good man’s death.

“Folks, this is hard to watch. Cal McCartey is a worldwide, three-time bull riding champion. There’s always that one bull that people will remember, and I’m afraid today is one of those days.”

I’m going to break the announcer’s neck when I’m done here. Who says something so insensitive to a man fighting for his life?

“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 raises his 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.