“Hi, handsome boy.” She kneels, her hand smoothing over his fur. “Your dog is nice.” Her voice drops, soft, almost playful. Nice? Kane isn’t fucking nice. He’s a killer. I’ve locked him up countless times to keep him from tearing out throats. He doesn’t even let Griff touch him. “What’s his name?” she asks, her fingers brushing the ridge of his back. “Kane.” He wags his tail, leaning into her hand like a damn house pet. No growling. No teeth. No threat. I glare at him. He’s a territorial bastard who hates everyone but me. Yet here he is, eating up her attention like a pathetic lapdog.
Yess
