My jeans, unfortunately, remain damp in the crotch area, making me acutely aware of the lingering scent. Murphy sidles up next to me, teasingly nipping at my earlobe, and whispers, “Damn, Spitfire, I can’t get enough of your scent.”
My jeans are now wetter than before as fresh slick trickles out of me and the scent is stronger. The Alpha looks infinitely pleased with himself as he grabs my hand and tugs me in the direction of the rodeo.
In the frigid, early hours of the morning, my breath forms small clouds as I struggle to keep pace with Murphy’s long strides. Bodella is tucked under an inky black night sky and it’s eerily silent. A solitary street lamp casts a dim orange hue bathing the town’s sole pub in its glow. A high-pitched howl pierces the stillness, causing the fine hairs on my arms to stand on end. It’s no ordinary dog but the distinct cry of a dingo. I’ve never seen one in person, and I don’t want to start now.
We finally reach the abandoned rodeo arena and, in the darkness, the makeshift fences look like a derelict maze, the stands looming like a haunted skeletal frame. Following Murphy’s lead, we make our way behind the arena, and the sound of huffing breaths and shuffling hooves fills the air.
We pass the medical tent and Murphy shoots me a wicked, knowing leer.
“Alright, let’s get this done, then we can hunker down and fuck like rabbits,” he says, adjusting himself with a hitch in his step.
I purse my lips together to contain the chuckle of delight. I must be broken if I’m finding his crude way of talking attractive, right?
We stop in front of an enclosure with high fences. Inside, glaring at us, is the horse I never thought I wanted to see again.
Bubbles.
“G’day, girly. You ready to meet a friend of mine?” Murphy coos at the beast, displaying no fear but a healthy respect.
“Just a friend?” I tease, knocking my hip into his.
“I’d call you my scent match but you’re still a little skittish about the term.”
My insides squirm at the mention. Blimey, I want nothing more than for these feelings to be real. I want to learn to love this man and indulge in my growing need to be his mate. Life would never be dull around him. He’d bring light and joy in the same way my father used to.
I suck in a deep breath and steady myself.
“Righto, we’re not gonna put you on top of Bubbles cause we’d need a helluva lot more people and coordination, and I’m not about to watch you seriously harm yourself. The goal is to give you enough of a thrill to clear your head. Getting in her pen will be enough to get ya heart pumping,” Murphy says, his hands squeezing the rails so tight his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t like this one bit, but he won’t let me do this on my own.
A whisper of doubt slithers past my aura’s bravado. “This is the right thing to do, isn’t it?”
Murphy takes off his hat and scrubs his hand through his blonde locks. The lines around his mouth furrowed in a frown. “Don’t ask me. I’m the reckless one and even I think this is barmy.”
Itisbatshit insane but I have to do this. I need to know. I need to be sure.
I take a deep inhale, letting the cool night air fill my lungs. “Alright, I’m ready.”
“You can still back out.”
I lick my lips and turn to face him, squaring my shoulders. “Just tell me what to do, Murphy.”
“Fuck. Okay.”
He sighs and grinds the heels of his palms into his eye socket and replies, “I reckon we do rodeo rules. You stay in the pen with Bubbles for eight seconds. That’s it. But the moment you’re in danger, I’m pulling you right out of there.”
I frown. “Isn’t that the point? For me to be in danger.”
He shakes his head fervently. “Not at risk of your life or injury.”
“There has to be an element of danger for it to work, though, right?”
There’s a panicky look in his eyes, like he’s only just realised just how dangerous rodeo is. As if it’s never occurred to him that entering the domain of a wild animal isn’t the safest act. “Trust me, you’re going to have enough adrenaline pumping to feel free of your aura sickness.”
As if to prove his point, Bubbles snorts loudly and stomps her hooves.
I swallow and my pulse picks up.
My mouth is bone dry and my breathing is erratic. I wipe my clammy hands against the tops of my thighs and inch closer to the pen.
