Chapter One #2
Not a request. Just a statement of fact delivered in that deep voice that made Sonny’s bunny want to agree to anything. His mate had a name. Reese. It fit somehow, solid and strong and unmovable.
“Sonny,” he heard himself say. “I’m Sonny.”
Reese’s expression softened. Not much, just enough that Sonny caught it. “The dogs are your priority.”
“Yes.” The word came out fiercer than Sonny meant it to. “They’ve been through enough. They deserve better than what those hyenas did to them.”
Something flickered across Reese’s face. Approval maybe. Or respect. Sonny couldn’t read him well enough to tell. His mate was a wall of controlled power and barely visible emotion, the kind of shifter who probably never showed what he was thinking.
“A vet lives with me and my team.” Reese was already moving toward the door, his massive frame cutting through the café, customers instinctively making room. “We’ll get the dogs checked out. Get them safe.”
Sonny instantly followed. His feet just moved, carrying him after Reese like they’d been doing it forever. His bunny had settled completely, all the fear and panic from the last two days evaporating in Reese’s presence.
The street outside was cooler than the café had been. Sonny’s thin jacket did nothing against the evening breeze. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to generate warmth that his exhausted body couldn’t quite produce.
His mate noticed, ice-blue eyes sweeping over Sonny again, lingering on the way he slightly shivered.
“My truck is two blocks away.” Reese started walking, long stride eating up the sidewalk. Sonny had to take nearly two steps for every one of his just to keep up. “We’ll get the dogs first.”
Sonny nodded, even though Reese wasn’t looking at him anymore. His mate had priorities that matched his own, which should’ve been reassuring but, instead, only made the whole situation feel more surreal.
Just thirty minutes ago he’d been running for his life. Now he was following a polar bear who was apparently his destined mate to rescue the dogs he’d stolen from a hyena fighting ring.
His life had become a very weird movie.
“They’re good dogs,” Sonny reassured. The words tumbled out with an overwhelming need to explain.
“I know they look scary and they’re from a fighting ring, but they’re gentle.
The male lets me check his wounds without flinching.
The female curls up against my legs when she sleeps. They just need kindness.”
Reese glanced back at him, expression hard to read. “You’ve been taking care of them you said?”
“Someone had to.” Sonny strangled the fabric of his jacket. “The hyenas just saw them as cash cows. As property that could keep the money flowing. They didn’t care that the dogs were suffering.”
They turned a corner, and a truck came into view. It was massive, black, with enough chrome to blind someone in direct sunlight. The kind of vehicle that looked like it could drive through a building and come out the other side unscathed. Sonny’s entire apartment could have fit in the truck bed.
“How long were you at the fighting ring?” Reese unlocked the truck with a chirp that echoed across the quiet street.
“About a month.” Sonny felt nauseous just thinking about it. “They needed someone who could patch up the dogs between fights. Keep them alive long enough to be profitable. I didn’t know what I was getting into when I took the job.”
That was a lie. He’d known exactly what he was getting into. The hyenas hadn’t been subtle about their operation. But Sonny had needed money and a place to hide after his last disaster, and working for criminals had seemed preferable to starving on the street.
He’d been wrong about that.
Reese opened the passenger door and waited.
Sonny climbed in, his body protesting every movement.
The seat was soft, made of expensive leather that probably cost more than Sonny had made in the last year.
The truck smelled like Reese, of something clean and cold and fundamentally safe that made Sonny’s bunny want to curl up and sleep for approximately three days.
“Direct me.” Reese started the engine. The sound was a low purr, controlled power that matched its owner.
Sonny gave him directions in short bursts, tracking the streets they passed.
Everything felt different from inside the truck, safer.
Like the metal and glass created a barrier between him and the rest of the world.
His mate drove with the same controlled power he seemed to do everything else, his large hands steady on the wheel.
The house appeared on their right. Sonny pointed, and Reese pulled into the driveway like he owned the place. Maybe he did. Sonny didn’t know Crimson Hollow yet.
“They’re in the back.” Sonny was already opening his door before the truck had fully stopped. The dogs had been alone for too long. What if they’d gotten scared and run? What if someone had found them?
His feet hit the driveway, and he was running, his muscles screaming in protest. The gate squeaked as he shoved it open. The backyard stretched out ahead of him, shadowed by the setting sun.
The dogs were exactly where he’d left them, pressed together on the concrete patio. Both heads lifted when Sonny appeared. The male’s tail gave a tentative wag. The female struggled to her feet, despite her injured leg, limping toward him with an eagerness that made Sonny’s throat grow tight.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He dropped to his knees on the concrete, ignoring the pain, and let both dogs press against him.
Their warmth soaked through his thin jacket.
The male licked his face with a tongue that smelled like the water he’d drunk earlier.
“I told you I’d come back. I always keep my word. ”
Footsteps sounded behind him. Heavy, measured, unmistakably Reese. Sonny glanced up to find his mate standing a few feet away, those ice-blue eyes fixed on the dogs. His expression was stoic, that wall of controlled emotion that Sonny couldn’t crack.
“This is them,” he said unnecessarily. His hands gently slid over both dogs, checking their wounds again even though he’d done it thirty minutes ago. The male’s ribs were still too prominent. The female’s limp was still there.
Nothing had changed except now they had actual help. “The hyenas called them Brutus and Killer, which is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Look at how sweet they are.”
The male had rolled onto his back, exposing his scarred belly in a display of trust that made Sonny want to cry. The female had her head on Sonny’s knee, watching Reese with guarded curiosity.
“Those names don’t fit.” Reese’s voice had grown softer, though it still carried that natural authority. He crouched, making himself smaller, less threatening. The female gave a small wag of her tail.
“I know, right?” Sonny scratched behind the male’s only ear. “They need real names. Names that match who they actually are.”
Reese extended his hand slowly, letting the female sniff him. She leaned into the touch when he scratched under her jaw, her tail wagging harder. “She’s a fighter. Delilah.”
The name settled over the female dog like it had been waiting for her all along. Sonny’s bunny recognized the rightness of it, the way it transformed her from a victim into something stronger. “Delilah,” he repeated. “Yeah. That works.”
Reese moved to the male, who immediately tried to lick his hand. “And he’s got the build of a warrior under all that damage. Hercules.”
“Delilah and Hercules.” Sonny tested both names, feeling how they fit. They were perfect. They gave the dogs an identity beyond their suffering, beyond what the hyenas had tried to make them into. “Those are their names now. Their real names.”
The male, Hercules, seemed to approve. He wiggled on his back, his tail thumping against the concrete.
Delilah had relaxed completely against Reese’s hand, her eyes half closed in contentment.
Both dogs had accepted Sonny’s mate without hesitation, which should’ve been surprising given what they’d been through.
But his bunny understood. They recognized safety the same way Sonny did, on an instinctive level that went deeper than logic.
“We need to get them to the vet.” Reese straightened in one fluid motion, his size once again dwarfing Sonny. “Can they walk to the truck?”
“Hercules can. Delilah’s leg is getting worse.” Sonny hovered his hands over her injured limb. “I can carry her.”
Reese made a sound low in his throat that might’ve been disagreement. Before Sonny could process it, his mate had bent down and scooped Delilah into his arms. The dog should’ve panicked, should’ve fought against being held by a predator shifter this powerful.
Instead, she settled against Reese’s broad chest, head tucking under his jaw.
Warmth spread through Sonny. His mate was holding a traumatized fighting dog with a gentleness that contradicted everything about his size. Delilah trusted him completely, practically melting in his arms. The image burned itself into Sonny’s mind.
“Come on, Hercules.” Sonny stood on legs that felt like jelly and started toward the gate. The male followed without hesitation, his determined gait uneven from his poorly healed ribs. They made it to the truck as a small group, Sonny opening the back door so Reese could settle Delilah on the seat.
Hercules needed help climbing in. Sonny lifted his back end while the dog scrambled with his front legs, both of them working together until he made it onto the seat beside Delilah. The two dogs immediately pressed against each other, seeking comfort in familiar contact.
“They’ll be okay back here?” Sonny’s hands lingered on the door frame, reluctant to close it and separate himself from the dogs even for the drive.
“They’ll be fine.” Reese was already moving toward the driver’s side. “Hop in.”
Very funny.
Sonny climbed back into the passenger seat. The truck now smelled like dog in addition to Reese. A combination that should’ve been unpleasant but just made everything feel more real. He twisted around to check on Delilah and Hercules, needing to see them, to confirm they were actually there.
Both dogs had settled, their eyes half closed. Delilah’s breathing had evened out despite her pain. Hercules had tucked his nose against her shoulder. They looked almost peaceful, which was more than Sonny had been able to give them in weeks of trying.
The drive to the veterinary clinic took less than ten minutes. Reese navigated the streets with the same controlled confidence, his presence filling the truck cab until Sonny felt cocooned by it.
Protected.
His bunny kept trying to completely relax, to lower defenses he’d been clinging to for days, but his human brain kept insisting on constant alertness.
His mate pulled into a lot next to a Victorian painted house the color of a robin’s egg, complete with white trim that made it look sort of like a wedding cake.
A sign out front read Crimson Hollow Veterinary Clinic in cheerful script, and there was even a picket fence, along with a small parking lot beside it.
Lights were on inside despite the late hour. Reese parked near the front entrance and killed the engine.
“Wait here.” Reese was already opening his door, already moving with that purposeful stride that suggested he expected to be obeyed.
Sonny waited approximately three seconds before twisting around to check on the dogs again. Delilah had lifted her head, her ears perked toward the clinic. Hercules was panting, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
Both dogs looked anxious, bodies tense.
“It’s okay,” Sonny murmured softly. “This is a good place. They’re going to help you feel better.”
He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince the dogs or himself. Veterinary clinics meant strangers touching them, examining their wounds, possibly causing pain in the process of healing. Delilah and Hercules had been hurt for weeks. Trusting new people was asking a lot of them.