Quickdraw Slow Burn

by T. S. Joyce

  “Mine, too,” she growled.

  Then she dragged her nails against his beard, and he turned and clamped his teeth onto her hand. He waited for her to nod her head before he bit her.

  “Good boy,” she murmured as he released her. He’d done his research on claiming marks. Most wolves didn’t do them anymore. They were an old tradition, but she wasn’t most wolves. She was a lone wolf, and he’d broken her skin. He’d just become pack.

  Quickdraw lowered his body to her, thrusting…thrusting…deeper.

  He felt so good, his skin on hers, his powerful chest against the softness of her breasts.

  She ran her hands up his flexed triceps and tossed her head back, let herself drown in the wave that was Quickdraw. Faster…faster…harder…

  He was grunting the sexiest sound with each thrust now, and his fingertips dug into her waist, keeping her body from ramming upward across the floor.

  “Quickdraw! Quickdraw! Fuck, I’m coming again!” she yelled.

  “Come on,” he growled out against her ear. “Come with me.”

  Harder…harder…so sexy…so powerful…

  As her body shattered, she screamed his name, and with a groan, he rammed into her, pulsing heat. Throbbing pleasure burst through her body, her orgasm dragged out by the pulse, pulse, pulse of his hard cock inside her.

  Shocked and spent, she laid there under him, dragging her fingertips lightly up and down his back. Her hand tingled with the warmth that dripped from it, but the bite didn’t hurt. It felt right. Felt important. If a glowing sensation existed, that’s what she felt. The tingling spread up her arm, but it still didn’t hurt.

  “Do you know what you’ve done?” she whispered. Did he understand he’d just claimed her and bonded her wolf to him?

  Quickdraw rolled off her and dragged her with him, adjusted her like she weighed nothing until her back was to him and every inch of his torso and legs was warm against her.

  He hugged her up tight and pressed his forehead into the back of her head.

  Softly…so softly…he murmured, “I know exactly what I did.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Annabelle,” Quickdraw whispered in the dark, shaking her gently.

  “Mmm?” she asked sleepily. Where was she?

  She felt around beside her to the space where he’d been lying when she’d fallen asleep.

  “Annabelle, can you wake up?” he asked again. Another shake from the other side. Oh, he was standing beside the bed, not in it. Her wolf eyes adjusted quickly as the sleep slipped away from her foggy mind.

  She bolted up suddenly. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” He sat on the edge of the bed and slid his big hand over her thigh, squeezed it comfortingly. “Do you want to come with me to practice?”

  The closet door was a mirror so she could see the dark silhouette of herself. Her hair was sticking up like a bird’s nest.

  “Oh, Lord.” She patted the mangled thing down, but it wasn’t going anywhere. It was a combination of sex hair and wet hair dried slowly over a restless night of sleep. “You’re going to practice at”—she squinted her tired eyes at the clock on the bedstand—“four o’clock in the morning?”

  “It’s tradition,” he said softly. “My parents used to take me to bucking practice early in the morning. They supported me when I said I wanted to buck. Just…spent all their money building chutes and hired a trainer. My dad was out there with me every day when I was conditioning, clicking stop watches, yelling at me when I needed it. And my mom was the one who was cooking the right food to make me grow, sneaking me compliments when she saw improvement. They aren’t here anymore. My dad passed from a bad heart, and my mom passed a few months later because her heart broke. I guess love killed her. I still do an early morning session for them before events. They are always in my head the morning of—my dad yelling because he knew I could do better and my mom whispering how proud she is of me.”

  Annabelle scooted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Does the whole herd go to your practices?”

  “The herd doesn’t know I do this. Not on the day of. I never talked about this tradition before.”

  And he was sharing it with her.

  She smiled in the dark and nodded against his shoulder. “Of course, I want to come with you.”

  “Good. Dress comfortable and warm. No one will be there but us.”

  Quickdraw stood and turned on the bathroom light down the hall so she could see better, but her eyes had an easy adjustment. He was already dressed in Wranglers, boots, and a black sweatshirt. He looked so tall and strong and handsome.

  “I’ll get coffee and breakfast ready while you get dressed,” he murmured, then leaned onto the bed and kissed her quick. “I like your hair like that. Means you had a good night.” He gave a wicked smirk and made his way into the kitchen.

  Of course, he would like sex hair.

  She dressed quickly in stretch pants, her comfy pair of comfy, wool-lined snow boots, a black T-shirt (because, secretly, she wanted to match Quickdraw), a hoodie, and her jacket. Her wild hair went up in a messy bun. Teeth brushed and makeup applied, she meandered out of the bathroom feeling excited and not-at-all tired anymore.

  She quickly sent Raven a good morning text like they’d been doing ever since they got phones at age sixteen. Morning, MooMoo. Already up and ready for the day! Aren’t you proud of me? I didn’t sleep until noon. See you when you wake up! P.s. I’m finally ready to admit it. I have a huge crush on Quickdraw. He’s good. Send.

  She shoved her phone into her back pocket and made her way out of the bathroom, then froze as a hollow feeling hit her stomach.

  Her skin got clammy, and she was suddenly way too hot. Oh, God, she was going to get sick! Annabelle turned back around for the toilet, but as fast as the nausea had occurred, it was gone again. She stood there for a few moments, her hands shaking, feeling the aftereffects of that awful feeling of not being in control.

  So far, she hadn’t had any morning sickness.

  “Are you okay?” Quickdraw asked from behind her.

  Plastering a shaky smile on her lips, she said, “Yeah. I’m good, just maybe hungry.”

  The crinkle of paper sounded as he opened a paper back in his grasp, and he said, “Here. You can eat these on the way.”

  When she looked inside, there were several individually wrapped fried pies.

  “I’ve got thermoses of coffee for us, too.” He shrugged up one shoulder. “My dad always got me and my mom cherry fried pies for my early morning practices.”

  “They’re part of the tradition?”

  He nodded, and from the vulnerability in his eyes, she knew this was another thing he didn’t share. She took one of the pies from the bag and smiled. “Cherry is my favorite flavor.”

  “I’ll have to do better keeping you fed,” he rumbled, brushing past her into the bathroom. Under the sink was a first-aid kit, which he pulled out and then twitched his head for her to come closer.

  Confused, she stepped up beside him. He pulled her hand under the tap water. She’d completely forgotten about the bite because it didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like anything, but it looked rough. It was red, and the skin was torn in a perfect bite pattern.

  As if he’d doctored wounds a hundred times before, he cleaned it with solution, put gauze on it, and then wrapped it with a bandage.

  Straightening his spine, he told her, “I don’t like that you’re hurt, but on this one, I wouldn’t take it back.”

  Her heart beat faster. “So, you don’t have any regrets?”

  With a shake of his head, Quickdraw said, “Not even one.”

  Tears prickled her eyes, but she didn’t know why. It was a mixture of relief and joy, but also fear of his reaction when she told him the real reason behind her feeling nauseous.

  That had to wait until after he bucked. Right now, he needed to have his head in what he needed to accomplish.

  And she w
as going to be the best cheerleader in the world for him.

  Holding their thermoses, he led her out of the warm RV and into the chilly night. Or early morning, she supposed.

  It was dark as tar out here, yet she could see her breath freezing in front of her face. Quickdraw opened her door for her. She took the thermoses from him and set them in the cupholders as he made his way to the driver’s seat.

  And then with country music playing low and his hand around hers, he drove them a few towns over to a private property. An old man waiting on the porch of a log cabin near the bucking chutes waved at them.

  After parking the truck, Quickdraw led her to the house and said, “Morning Russ. Thank you again for letting me use your arena.”

  “Ain’t not skin off my back, but I didn’t know you would be bringing a lady with you.”

  Quickdraw frowned. “That a problem?”

  Russ’s bushy eyebrows raised, and he shook his head. “No, no, no problem at all. A couple of my bulls don’t like people who are shorter in stature, so maybe keep her steered clear of the holding pens on the north side. I don’t want them riled up too early or I’ll never get back to sleep, the loud motherfuckers.”

  Quickdraw nodded. “Will do. We’ll be three-up three-down on practice bucks and then be out of your hair.”

  He handed him an envelope, and Russ opened it and checked the cash.

  “Good luck,” he called out as they walked away. His tone was dry.

  When they were out of earshot, Annabelle asked, “He doesn’t like women much, does he?”

  “I guess not. I’ve known him for years, and he’s always been squirrely.” Quickdraw grabbed some worn ropes out of the back seat of his truck. “He used to be a stock contractor for our circuit. He bred and trained bucking bulls for the riders to practice on when they were prepping to ride one of the shifter bulls. He retired a couple years back, but his son still keeps some bulls here in the pens. He takes on the bulk of the work now.”

  Quickdraw grabbed a camp chair and a rolled-up blanket from the tool chest in the bed of his truck. Annabelle followed him toward the dark arena. Thank goodness for her werewolf vision because there were no lights on out here. The lack of illumination didn’t seem to bother Quickdraw, though.

  “I’ll be a few minutes stretching, and then do you want to tighten my flank strap and yank the chute gate open?”

  “Of course! Whatever you need.”

  “My bull won’t hurt you. Not now. Just pull it open when I’m ready and climb that fence over there to give me room. I don’t usually use the rope when I’m doing solo practice, but it might help to get my belly burned before tonight. The bull will be even more pissed when they tighten one on sensitive skin.” He removed his shirt and hopped the fence easily, walked away toward the chutes while rubbing the rope back and forth across his stomach.

  She winced at how much that must hurt, but he didn’t respond to the pain at all. And it hit her as she watched him walk away. His whole career revolved around pain. He had to shred his body and condition it to keep in shape for bucks. He had to stave off injuries or heal them fast. He lived in pain for the love of his career. This man thrived on suffering. He excelled at it, which was how he’d gotten that top bull rank. And he never complained about discomfort.

  She’d never met a man so tough, and it made her respect him even more.

  A bull bellowed from the holding pens on the opposite side of the arena and, on instinct, she sniffed the air. She inhaled something she hadn’t expected; the air was heavy with the smell of man and fur. Not Quickdraw and not Russ.

  Maybe Russ’s son had spent a lot of time here last night and his smell was lingering?

  She narrowed her eyes at the chutes beyond the arena. Russ had acted weird about her being around those bulls, and now her wolf instincts had perked up.

  She made her way around the corner of the arena to the straightaway behind the chutes. She could see the bulls moving around in the pens as she approached, but they weren’t targeting her. They were actually moving away from her and restless. Huh.

  She rested her arms on the pen of the three in front. Dang, they were monstrous, and their horns were much longer than she’d seen on other bucking bulls.

  “Hey, boys,” she murmured as one paced across the length of the pen right in front of her. It had a brand that looked so familiar.

  The half-moon was low in the sky and cast everything in a blue light. That brand, though.

  She turned around and started walking away, shaking her head to try to rattle a memory loose. H10R. The font was even familiar with the little hooks on the end.

  Raven.

  Annabelle locked her legs and skidded to a stop, frozen there as the memory of Raven’s brand filled her mind. On her hip, there was an H6O. The sixth calf of a Hagan pair, and the only heifer.

  H10R was the tenth calf from a Hagan pair, and the R would be the first letter of the Hagan herd name.

  They had a Hagan brand on a bull that wasn’t a shifter.

  Chills rippling up her spine, she padded back toward the bulls, dragging her cell phone out of her pocket. She turned on her light to see the brand better.

  Oh shit. Those brands…she knew those brands. Shocked, she looked at the hips of all three bulls in this pen.

  H10R

  H8R

  H1C

  Her heart drummed against her chest. Those were just like Raven’s brand. She hadn’t been mistaken. Annabelle shone her light over the other pens. There had to be a dozen bulls, and from what she could see, they all had Hagan brands.

  The big gray brindled bull in the pen walked directly in front of her line of site and stopped, and when she shone the light on his face, she stumbled backward.

  His eyes were human. They were a light hazel color.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered in horror.

  These bulls weren’t animals at all. They were changed shifters! They were Hagan bulls!

  “Quickdraw!” she yelled. “Something is wrong!”

  She turned and started running toward the chutes. A man appeared out of nowhere, and she almost ran into the chest of Arrow Caster. He gripped her shoulders. She opened her mouth to scream out a warning to Quickdraw, but Arrow shoved her backward. She barely caught herself from falling. Fury flooding her veins, she staggered upright and clenched her fists at her sides. She was going to fucking kill Arrow.

  “I told you not to go back near them bulls,” Russ said from behind her. As she turned around, she saw the shovel just before it connected with her head.

  There was an agonizing flash of pain, and then everything went dark.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The buzzing noise in her ear was getting annoying. What was that? A fly?

  Shoo fly, I’m sleepy.

  The buzzing got louder.

  She cracked an eye open but didn’t understand the world around her. Didn’t understand the chaos.

  She was in an arena, lying in the dirt, with bright lights blinding her. There were men running around, but her vision was blurred.

  Her head hurt so bad. So bad she closed her eyes and blinked hard a few times to clear the fog from her mind.

  The buzzing got even louder, filling every corner of her head.

  Take stock of your surroundings. She could hear Rork’s voice so clearly in her head, for a moment, she thought he was here with her. She blinked hard and scanned the arena, trying to shake off the fog in her head.

  She focused on the men in front of her. Three were in the dirt, not moving. One was staring vacantly right at her, his face covered in red. They were dead. Several other men stood on the fence, looking in at them. Arrow was near them.

  She was dreaming…right?

  Four giant men were on the other side of the arena, and all were yelling as they held something down. No, not something. Someone.

  They jerked Quickdraw out of the arena dirt and up on his knees. He was covered in blood, and the dirt stuck to the places on him that seep
ed red: a gash above his eye, deep slashes over his ribs. Red ran down his side, creating crimson mud on his body and beneath him. “Let her go!” he demanded, his face twisted with a wild fury she’d never witnessed before.

  “You killed Jax!” one of the men yelled from where he was checking the pulse of the man staring at her with empty eyes.

  “And two others,” Arrow said calmly from where he was filling a needle with a brown liquid from a vial. “Why the fuck would we let you go?”

  “She’s waking up, boss,” a man said from too close to her.

  Annabelle tried to get up, but she couldn’t because there was a boot pressed against her back.

  No, no, no.

  The boot eased off and the man beside her yanked her up, and she staggered to her feet, his hand too strong in her hair. He was definitely a shifter. A bear perhaps. He was too big and smelled too dominant to be a wolf. She sniffed again. There was another man behind her—the one who had held her down with his damn boot—and a human to her left.

  “Let us go,” she murmured, but the words were hard to get out. When warmth trickled down the side of her face, she remembered the shovel.

  Russ had betrayed them.

  “Boss, what do you want me to do with her?” asked the behemoth holding her by the hair.

  Annabelle’s eyes were watering from the pain as she held onto the man’s meaty wrist to try to take some pressure off. Her feet were barely on the ground.

  It wasn’t Arrow who answered him, though. It was a man leaning against the back gate in the shadows. “She’s a werewolf. Give her Filsa.”

  “You put that shit in her veins,” Quickdraw growled, “And I swear on my mother’s grave I’ll kill you all one at a time, and I’ll do it slow.” There was truth and promise in his voice.

  “We ain’t dealing with some she-wolf changing in the truck,” Arrow sneered, tossing the empty vial to one of the other men along the fence. He squirted a few drops out of the sharp tip and then headed for Quickdraw.

  Beside Annabelle, the human was rifling through a medicine bag.

  Shit, shit, shit. “You can’t give me any drugs. Please!” It would hurt him. It would hurt her little boy.