18
Luna
I stare in disbelief at the door Cade just shut, my body frozen between fight and flight.
I’m trapped halfway between the kitchen and the den, directly in the line of sight of St. Michael. Wiping my sweaty hands on my torn skirt, I force myself to look at him properly.
He’s huge, with a muzzle that seems capable of snapping through bone. Muscles ripple beneath a gleaming black coat like waves under a dark sea. This isn’t just a dog—he’s the stuff of nightmares.
I resist the urge to scream for Cade. I’ll be damned if I give that smirking bastard one more thing to hold over me. Between the motorcycle orgasm and my graceless collision with the cupboard, I’ve hit my humiliation quota for the decade.
Time to start proving I deserve my reputation as a badass—assuming I don’t end up as Saint’s chew toy first. Although, for now, the dog hasn’t moved. He’s not even looking at me.
I swallow my panic and try his name. “Saint?”
His head swivels to me, and my breath hitches. Christ, that face. And those eyes—they’re blood-red, for fuck’s sake. My gaze skims over him, searching for a collar or leash, anything to suggest this monster is under control.
Nothing. Fantastic.
My pulse pounds in my ears as Saint’s gaze assesses me. I swallow again, my mind racing back to Cade’s earlier words. He’d promised the dog wouldn’t hurt me but then thrown in that lovely bit about not getting eaten.
Thanks for the vote of confidence, sadistic jerk.
I recall the way Cade spoke to Saint. There was something strange about his cadence, the way he stressed certain words.
And there’s also the small matter of how my name rolled off Cade’s tongue. He called me Luciana, and damn if it didn’t send a flutter through me—a ridiculous thought to dwell on, considering I’m seconds away from becoming dog snack.
Suddenly, something shifts in Saint’s demeanor. One moment, he’s perched like some medieval guardian, all coiled menace; the next, he’s stretched out on the floor, massive head resting on one paw.
Those red eyes still hold mine, but something’s changed in them. They’ve softened around the edges and almost . . . curious?
The steel band around my chest loosens slightly. Maybe this beast isn’t about to tear me limb from limb a fter all.
I wet my lips, searching for words. “Hey there, big guy,” I start, my voice shakier than I’d like. “You’re quite the specimen, aren’t you? Look at those muscles. Bet you work out more than most humans, huh?”
To my absolute horror, Saint rises to his feet and stalks toward me.
Oh no. Hell fucking no.
I scramble backward, and he immediately sits back down, head on paws, looking around like an oversized puppy waiting for treats.
That’s when it clicks. That jerk was pulling my legs. This isn’t some uncontrolled beast; Saint is trained to perfection and won’t hurt me any more than Cade would.
“On second thought, you’re not so scary,” I drawl, finding my rhythm now. “And that personality? You’re much more charming than Cade.” I can’t believe the words pouring out of my mouth, but holy hell if it isn’t working. That stump of a tail starts wagging, and I have to bite back a hysterical laugh.
“And don’t even get me started on your sable coat—why, you’re positively glowing. Someone takes good care of you, don’t they?”
This time, when Saint stands, he doesn’t stop until he’s right against my leg, then he lowers himself again.
Holy fucking shit. This apex predator has a weakness for sweet talk—just like his master.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m on my knees, hand outstretched.
“You like that, don’t you? Being told how handsome you are?” My fingers sink into his sleek fur, scratching gently behind his ears. The texture is soft, like velvet over steel.
I’m so caught up in this surreal moment that I don’t hear Cade re-enter the room until he clears his throat.
I l ook up to find him watching. His face is carefully blank, but there’s something burning in his eyes that makes my breath catch.
I should move. Stand up, brush off my knees, and pretend I wasn’t just baby-talking his killing machine. But I’m frozen under that green gaze, pinned like a butterfly to glass.
The air between us thickens, charged with something that feels like the moment before lightning strikes.
And then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, my stomach lets out a growl so loud it could wake the dead. Even Saint whips his head to me, his red eyes comically wide.
Heat floods my cheeks as I fight the urge to crawl under the nearest furniture.
Real classy, Luna. Sounding like a dying whale in front of the man who already has too much ammunition against you.
Cade finally breaks our staring contest and his gaze slides to Saint. “Very good job, mate.” His voice comes out like gravel over silk. “To me.”
Saint’s muzzle curves in what I swear is a canine grin. Before I can process that, the beast leaps to his feet, and I scramble out of his way, my ass hitting the floor hard.
Saint pads over to Cade and rears up, placing his massive paws on Cade’s chest.
Wow, he’s enormous —his head is level with Cade’s chest when he’s on his hind legs.
The sight is both terrifying and oddly beautiful. There’s an implicit trust between them, a bond that speaks of years together. It’s like watching two pieces of darkness click into place.
I might have charmed Saint, but his soul belongs to Cade. Everything Saint did just now, Cade instructed him to do it.
I r ealize with a jolt that Cade planned the whole thing. He was probably smirking behind the whole time. The same way he planned the chase. The same way he owned my reaction on his motorbike. He’s always in control.
“How long have you had him?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Cade’s eyes flick to mine. “Since he was a few days old.”
Figures.
“Where—” I wet my lips and rephrase. “How did you come about his breed?”
The silence stretches so long I think he won’t answer, like he’s weighing whether or not I deserve this piece of Saint.
“He was a rescue. I took him from a dog fighting pit in Mexico. His mother and her six pups were pitted against spotted Hyenas. Only Saint survived, and barely.”
My lids fall shut as bile rises in my throat. Images flash unbidden—blood, teeth, and the squeals of dying puppies.
“Oh my God, Cade,” I whisper.
“It’s okay,” he says, his voice hard as steel. “The dog fighters more than paid for it.”
Our eyes lock, and understanding floods through me. “Like Hector paid?”
Cade does that thing with his head, a side-to-side motion I’m starting to recognize means ‘possibly.’ “Something like that.”
“Good.” The vehemence in my voice startles me, but I’m not ashamed of it.
A smile tugs at the corner of Cade’s mouth. “Glad you approve, princess.” Then his eyes drop to my midsection. “Now, when did you last eat?”
I try to remember through the fog of the past twenty-four hours. “Uh . . . water this morning? Before that . . .” God, how long has it been?
Cad e jerks his head toward the kitchen. “It’s fully stocked. And since you’re now an expert on where everything is, knock yourself out.”
Yes, I’d noticed the kitchen was stocked like a mini Whole Foods. The problem, though, is that it’s all raw ingredients. No quick fixes, no sandwiches, not even a cookie—just endless produce.
“Do you want to eat anything?” I try for casual, hoping to manipulate him into chef duty.
But he just gives me that maddening shrug and heads back into the den then clicks his tongue. Saint follows like his shadow, those red eyes finding mine one last time.
I see we’re back to the grunts and shrugs. Still, I can’t squash the ridiculous feeling that I passed some sort of test.
I, who makes men jump through hoops just to earn a coffee date, am sitting here getting giddy because some dangerous, infuriating man approved of how I handled his dog.
What the actual fuck, Luna?
Pulling myself up to my feet, I stalk back to the kitchen and eye the gleaming appliances with trepidation. The fridge yields eggs, milk, butter, and an array of peppers.
Now if only I could cook.
But there aren’t many ways to fuck up an omelet, right?