Page 75 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

Emmet cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

I exhale. Tight. Pained. “When I came here, I was running from something.”

Zeke, blunt as ever, scaly rage simmering just beneath the surface, hisses, “Fuck, bro. We’re all running from something.”

But Max, Alpha calm, Alpha clear, he just cuts through the noise.

“What is it, Kian?”

And I say it.

Whisper it, like the word itself might bite me.

“The Rut.”

Silence falls like a guillotine.

Even the barn seems to hold its breath.

“The Rut? No shit,” Emmet breathes, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

I nod, jaw tight.

“My father succumbed to it. That’s why I’m here. And he’s, well, wherever the fuck he is. Probably stuck in his Bull, plowing through a herd of dairy cows as we speak.”

Dante’s head jerks. “Dairy cows? Like regular ones? Not Shifters?”

I meet his stare. Hold it. Let him see I’m not joking.

This isn’t a punchline.

This is my goddamn nightmare.

“The Rut infects a Bull, man.” I say, voice quiet and sharp as broken glass. “It takes over. First the body. Then the mind.”

Max stiffens. “I don’t understand a thing you’re saying. Someone better fucking explain. What the fuck is the Rut?”

Emmet clears his throat, glancing at me for permission.

I give him a nod. He’s got the words. I can’t breathe.

“Some subspecies of Shifters. Bovids and Cervids mostly,” Emmet manages before Max interrupts.

“Who-vids and What-vids?”

We all snort.

Max wasn’t always a cowboy. The city slicker only recently learned which end of a horse to saddle, for fuck’s sake.

But he means well. And right now, I need that.

Emmet sighs, then goes into a deeper explanation.

“I mean Bulls, Elk, Reindeer, Caribou, Moose?—”

“Meece,” Dante mutters, trying for humor.

Zeke smacks his arm.

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