Twenty.
Fifteen.
I can see the steam of its breath blowing white in the headlights. The shine of a horn. The thick neck. The shoulders bunching like a wrecking ball in motion. Fuck me!
“Kai,” I bite out, “shut up and pray.”
“Don’t tell me to pray,” he yells, twisted around in his seat. “God can’t save us now!”
The tires finally bite. The truck jerks, traction catching, and I punch the gas.
We shoot forward just as the bull hits the edge of our light.
There’s a violent scrape along the side of the truck. Horn against metal. A hard jolt that vibrates through the door like a warning punch.
“That—” Kai chokes, eyes huge. “That thing just tried to open my door!”
“I felt it,” I grind out, heart trying to kick through my ribs as I floor it down the road. The truck fishtails once and straightens. “Hold on.”
He’s grabbing the handle above the window like he’s hanging off a cliff. “Carter, I do not want to be taken out by a demonic bastard! Fuck, it looks like one of those territorial Chianina bulls but with a black coat.”
In the mirror, the bull keeps coming for a few terrifying seconds, pounding after us like it can’t believe we’re getting away.
Kai watches it, breath coming fast. “It’s still running. Why is it still running?”
“Because it hates us,” I say flatly.
“This is the universe going, ‘Stop talking about June and drive the damn truck.’?”
The bull finally drops back, slowing to a heavy trot, then to a furious stop in the field, head high like it’s offended that we didn’t die properly.
Kai stays twisted around, staring until it’s just a shape in the dark.
Then he exhales, long and ragged. “Holy shit.”
“Fuck.”
“That horn was an inch from my door.”
“Don’t talk about inches,” I mutter automatically, still riding the adrenaline.
Kai whips his head toward me. “Not the time.”
I let out a breath that turns into a laugh I didn’t plan on. “Where the hell did that thing come from?”
“I don’t know,” Kai says, still half shouting, “but it had murder in its eyes. That wasn’t a normal bull.”
“Maybe it was trying to tell us something,” I say, hands tight on the wheel.
Kai nods hard. “Yeah. ‘Wrong neighborhood, assholes.’?”
He laughs, short and shaky, and then it catches in his throat like he can’t decide if he’s going to laugh again or throw up.
“Christ,” he says. “That was the closest I’ve ever come to being gored.”
“We’re adding this to the list of things we never tell anyone,” I say.
“Agreed,” he says immediately. “This goes to the grave. You could torture me, and I’d still deny we got chased by a demon bull.”
