The treats she left behind after each visit had already worked wonders. Now, instead of growling when she approached, they wagged their tails and jumped around with excitement.
So precious. And they just happened to be her favorite breed: rescue. Okay, okay, they were also a mix of other breeds. The pair had short fur and large, square heads with wide, muscled chests like pit bulls. Except, in terms of body size, they were as big as full-grown Great Danes—roughly one hundred and twenty pounds—even though their (extra sharp) teeth told her they were both under four months old.
I like big mutts and I cannot lie.
Biscuit had a serious underbite. Gravy, who was mostly white, had a line of black fur over his upper lip. The most adorable mustache! The two loved to wrestle and bite fight—the canine version of does this hurt, huh, huh, does it, well, what about this?
Three times she’d fit them with collars, and three times they’d ripped the leather to shreds only a few minutes later. They hated the leash and bucked like rodeo bulls every time she tried to lead them.
Anytime another human...or immortal...neared them, the pair stilled and quieted. Not with fear—which was what she’d expected—but curiosity. They observed the world around them with intelligent eyes. Eyes that actually changed color with their emotions, from black to blue to green, something she’d never seen in a dog before.
The dogs became agitated only when Baden approached, and she wasn’t sure why.
Her motto in the past: if my dogs don’t like you, go to hell.
Not that Biscuit and Gravy were hers. But she knew deep in her heart Baden wasn’t all bad. He couldn’t be. He’d taken care of her for days...weeks. He’d bathed her—won’t think about that—fed her, given her shelter and a closet full of clothing. More than that, he’d comforted her during the worst of her despair. Actually, he still comforted her.
Whenever waves of grief revisited, leaving her curled up in bed, feeling as if she were drowning, he would gather her close and pet her until she felt normal again.
Do I even know what normal is anymore?
He came and went whenever he pleased. And even when he didn’t please; he would disappear with a scowl, the bands on his arms glowing bright red. Sometimes he returned in the same condition he left. Sometimes he returned covered in blood. Every time, he appeared to her first, wherever she happened to be.
The very first time, she’d offered to wash him the way he’d once washed her. He’d accepted reluctantly, as if he expected her to attack while his back was turned. The second time—and every time after—he’d handed her a rag before she could utter a single word.
Once or twice, he’d returned and paced, muttering to himself.
I’m a gentleman. Life is precious...unless the life belongs to my enemy. Everyone is my enemy. No, no, I have friends.
Pep talks, she’d soon realized. Pep talks she found adorable. He didn’t want to hurt people, but a literal beast lived inside him and that beast craved bloodshed. Which made her impulsive offer to give him whatever he wanted quite foolish. But she couldn’t bring herself to regret stepping into the fray with him. He’d been consumed by rage, and she’d desperately yearned to ease him.
But, really, she could have just sung a song to ease him. Whenever she hummed, he would drape himself across the bed and drift into a peaceful sleep.
Her junkyard dog was definitely trainable.
LGB?
Today? Pretty high. He was already pacing. She watched as he stomped through the kennel she’d built in the backyard. Biscuit and Gravy watched him, too. Without growling. Ah, what sweet progress.
He was tense, his hands curled into fists. As strong as he was, his bite would be far worse than any dog’s, with real potential to damage her or worse, to kill her, but if she succeeded—when she succeeded—she would be helping more than Baden. She would be helping his friends. She would be helping the women he dated in the future.
A shard of jealousy razed her, which alarmed her. I haven’t done more than dream-kiss him. Jealousy was ridiculous.
“With all your flashing around lately,” she said, initiating conversation in an effort to distract them both, “have you come across my brother?”
“No.” One word. No more, no less.
Had he reverted to the Baden she’d first met? Was he no longer the warrior so deeply concerned for her welfare? “With Alek out of the picture, I pray Dominik gets clean.”
This time, silence greeted her.
Determined to engage him, she tried a new topic. “Do you know Biscuit and Gravy are the same dogs we encountered in New York?”