His body moves with the bull like they’re dancing. Like nothing in the world could shake him loose.
The buzzer sounds.
EIGHT SECONDS.
The arena explodes.
I’m screaming—I don’t even realize it until my throat goes raw. Charlie is shouting, Jake is on his feet, pumping his fist, and I’m crying and laughing and shaking all at once.
He did it. He actually did it.
Beau dismounts in one smooth, controlled motion, landing on his feet like a cat despite eight seconds of being rag-dolled by a demon bull. The bullfighters rush in, moving Hellfire away, and Beau pulls off his helmet.
Even from here, I can see the grin splitting his face.
The scoreboard flashes: 97.5 points.
The highest score of the night. Possibly the highest score of the entire season.
He’s won. He’s the National Champion.
“Holy shit,” Jake breathes beside me. “Holy shit, he did it!”
Charlie is on his feet, pulling me up with him, and suddenly we’re all hugging and jumping and laughing at the same time because my Alpha just won the biggest title in professional bull riding, and I get to be here to see it.
Beau is in the center of the arena, surrounded by reporters and cameras, but his eyes are scanning the crowd. Searching.
Looking for us. Looking for me.
Our eyes meet across the distance, and the bond between us flares, hot and right. I feel his triumph like it’s my own, feel his joy and relief and overwhelming love pouring through the connection we share.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t stop for the reporters shouting questions. He just runs—straight toward the stands, toward us, vaulting over the barrier like it’s nothing and taking the stairs three at a time.
“Beau!” I’m laughing, crying, trying to get to him, but there are too many people in the way.
He doesn’t care. Just pushes through the crowd, his focus locked on me like I’m the only thing that matters in this entire arena. When he reaches our row, the railing blocks his way, but he doesn’t stop—just grabs the railing and jumps, pulling himself up and over until he’s right there, right in front of me.
And then his hands are on my face, and his mouth is on mine, and he’s kissing me like he’s drowning and I’m air.
The crowd goes absolutely insane.
Confetti is falling from the ceiling—gold and silver catching in the arena lights, coating everything in glitter. Cameras are flashing. People are screaming. The announcer is sayingsomething about champions, but I can’t hear any of it over the rushing in my ears and the feeling of Beau’s lips on mine.
He tastes like victory and leather and mine.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes are bright, pupils blown wide, and his scent is overwhelming—leather and bergamot and salt mixed with triumph and joy and pure Alpha satisfaction.
“I love you,” he says, loud enough for half the section to hear. “I fucking love you, Willa.”
“I love you too,” I manage, and then he’s kissing me again, softer this time, tender despite the chaos around us.
“Congratulations, you showoff,” Jake says, appearing beside us with a huge grin. He pulls Beau into a one-armed hug, careful not to dislodge me. “National Champion. Again. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
“Someone has to keep the McCrae name in the headlines,” Beau shoots back.
With his arm wrapped around my waist, he lifts me high enough that my legs go around his waist automatically, his arms keeping me pressed against him. Everything fades to black except these men, my Alphas, my pack.
