****
Climbing up on the back of a bull had never been easy; it wasn’t easy Dean’s first time, and it never got better. As he hovered over the massive beast, his splayed legs just an inch from the solid wall of muscle, he tried to clear his mind of everything but the reality of the bull. He didn’t think about the fact that he held his own destiny in his hands; that this ride could change his life. He didn’t think about the crowd, or how strangely silent they were as they waited for the chute gate to open. He didn’t think about Marisol—though he knew she was watching and there was a special pleasure in that knowledge—and he didn’t think about all the rides that came before this. That moment—in all the world—only the bull, Red Bantam, mattered.
He settled onto Red Bantam’s back, wrapping his right hand in the rope. The beast was vibrating, and Dean knew from the second they touched that he would be in for one hell of a ride. There was nothing but power between his legs—big, primordial, furious power. He would never tame that power. No person could ever truly harness it, but he had his own deep well of power, and he could draw on that to meet the bull buck for buck, twist for twist. The rides only lasted eight seconds, but in those eight seconds he felt more alive, more like himself, than any other time. When he was on back of one of nature’s meanest behemoths, his own dual nature merged into one. More than a man. Not just an animal. He could meet the bull on its own terms and he could emerge victorious.
Dean nodded, giving the signal that his tie was secure and his mind was ready. The gate opened to the loud buzzer, and Dean was suddenly five feet in the air. The bull leapt from the chute and came down with a bone-jarring thud. Dean gritted his teeth together and kept his left hand high in the air, his spine arched back. The bull bucked both its back legs out, slammed his head back, and arched up into the air. Dean focused on the back of the animal’s head, the crowd an impossible blur around him, all sound fading except the beat of his own heart counting down eight seconds.
The bull spun in a furious circle, all four hooves leaving the ground before it bucked its back legs. Dean’s muscles strained to resist the G-force generated by the bull, his core pulling tight to keep him upright. He felt the strength of the bear surge through his frame, keeping him locked in place as the bull twisted and jumped and fought. Adrenaline flooded his system and time slowed to a crawl. Even the bull seemed to be moving at half its regular speed, and the certainty that he was where he belonged, that he had already won, spread through him with a calming warmth.
Things didn’t start to go wrong until after the buzzer sounded his eight seconds. He pulled on the rope to free his hand, but the knot didn’t loosen. The bull didn’t care that the eight seconds were over—Red Bantam just wanted the cowboy off his back. It doubled down on its earlier attempts, bucking harder, its sides heaving furiously.
Ernie appeared in a flash of red and yellow, trying to distract the bull long enough to give Burt a chance to free Dean. They only needed a second or two; as long as the bull stopped bucking, Dean could make his escape.
But the bull could not be distracted from the irritating weight on his back, and Ernie’s attempts only seemed to enrage it. A bull rider learns early on never to panic, and Dean remained calm as he tried to untangle himself, forcing himself to ignore the real danger he was in.
“Come on, kid,” Ernie shouted, jumping forward to grab the rope. He gave it a good tug and the tension eased from Dean’s wrist, giving him the chance to throw himself from the animal. Just as he hit the ground, he heard the crowd give a collective gasp of fear, and he crawled from the spinning bull as fast as he could, turning over on his back to see that the bull wasn’t anywhere near him.
It was circling Ernie.
Ernie, who was down on the ground and not moving.
Within seconds, the bull hooked its horns under Ernie and tossed him in the air like a rag doll. He fell back to the arena dirt, seemingly lifeless as the bull spun around, pawing the ground. Dean knew the bull would go back again for a second attempt, and a third, and a fourth, until he was finally satisfied that the interloper was dead. Red Bantam ignored Burt altogether, lowering his head and preparing to charge.
Dean had about two seconds to think over his options. He knew he just put in the best ride of his life. He knew he won. He had no doubt that the purse was his, and with that purse came the opportunity to take on the best bulls in the world. After years of barely getting by—of amateur rodeos, injuries, loneliness, pain, and hard work—his dreams were finally in reach.
He also knew that if he didn’t do something right then, Ernie would die.
Dean only had two seconds to make his decision, but in truth, there was only one choice he could ever make. He jumped to his feet and sprang forward, letting go of the reins that kept the bear in check. Now fully shifted, Dean landed between Ernie and the charging bull, roaring a warning. The bull turned at the last second, dodging Dean and sprinting to the end of the arena. When Red Bantam reached the fence, he reared around without stopping, lowering his head as he prepared to attack.
Dean remained standing on his hind legs, holding his ground in the face of the charging bull. He swung his massive paw at the great head just before the horns reached his hide, knocking the bull to the side with so much force that it stumbled and nearly fell. But the animal was graceful despite his great size, and found his balance before turning on Dean once again.
Red Bantam’s second attempt was more successful than the first, its right horn piercing Dean’s left side. He growled with pain and swiped at the bull again, his claws digging through the bull’s thick hide. Red Bantam bawled in fury, the blood dripping down his side doing nothing to slow his attack. The bull kicked its back leg out, connecting solidly with Dean’s hip, but he was past the point of feeling any pain; now the blows from the bull were just vibrations. The scent of blood drove him into a rage, and he could sense he was losing himself completely to his animal instincts, but he found himself helpless in the face of controlling them.
He hit the bull again with his claws, tearing at the animal’s snout, ripping his flesh like it was made of tissue paper. Blinded, the bull bawled again as he slammed his horns into Dean’s side, hooking his head upward. Twin rivers of blood gushed from Dean, but he used the bull’s close proximity to his advantage, attacking with sharp teeth and claws in a frenzy until the bull twisted away and leapt out of reach.
Burt and the other bull fighters jumped into action. The bull was losing steam as he lost blood, and the men were able to herd him towards the open gate. EMTs raced into the arena as soon as they were given the all-clear, and the sheriff’s deputies were hot on their heels. Dean saw them approach but didn’t realize what they intended to do until it was too late: the three deputies fired at the same time, shooting tranq darts into his thigh, side, and neck.
Dean roared once and everything went black.