Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

TRISTAN

T his isn’t exactly new for me, hiding in shadow as I watch a building. A young woman sits at the window, smiling down at Loki. In the bed behind her, there’s somebody else, clearly ill from all the medical equipment surrounding them. I’m too far away, but I imagine it beeping and humming.

The woman is …

Hell, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got too much to think about, even to entertain stuff like this, but the fact is, she’s beautiful. She’s got long, soft-looking brown hair and a light in her eyes that makes me more than interested. How old is she? Maybe early twenties. She’s wearing baggy PJs that, when she stands, settle over her curvy body like they’re giving me a preview of what I’d get if I tore the clothes away.

I watch as she leans down, her gorgeous hair moving across her face. She brushes it away gently, then offers Loki another treat. He’s less nervous as he takes this one, his tail wagging from side to side. But he’s nowhere near as skittish as he usually is around people.

After a pause, Loki hops up into the window. I almost laugh, which would most likely give my position away. What would this mysterious woman think if she caught me watching her?

Loki pads across the room and over to the bed. When he hops up, I hear the woman in the bed laugh in pure delight. It’s a beautiful sound. I smile to myself. I can never be a part of a life like this—these ordinary, decent people—but I can watch and be proud that a dog from my home brings these strangers so much joy.

It’s stuff like this that makes the uglier aspects of my life easier to deal with or ignore. Speaking of which, my cell buzzes.

Watching Loki curl up in bed next to the sick person, I answer it. “Yeah?”

It’s Rafeal, or Raffie, as everybody calls him. “Hello to you, too.”

“Is something up?”

“Need you for a job. Meet at the usual place at three.”

Three, as in, three a.m. When the Trentini Family comes calling, a humble ex-dog-handler-current-dog-home-owner doesn’t have the luxury of telling him to go to hell.

“See you there,” I tell him. There’s no point telling Raffie to can his wannabe tough-guy tone. It’s probably the only thing that makes his bottom-feeder existence worth it.

After hanging up, I watch the women some more. The young one leaves the room at some point. A minute later, she walks around the side of the house with two bowls, presumably food and water for Loki. Maybe she’s learned from the last few times he prefers to eat and drink outside. I feel something inside lighting up, but I immediately put it out. After what happened… Hot damn, I haven’t thought about that in years.

The woman pauses in the light, her hair falling across her eyes, so long and wavy, right down to her chest, like she’s trying to hide that curvy body from me. I drop to the ground so she won’t see me. Apparently, I’ve become the sort of man who stalks women from the shadows.

When I look up again, she’s gone. Something in me aches. My chest throbs. What’s wrong with me?

It’s not even one yet. I’ve got time before the job. Maybe it makes me weird, but I lean against my bike and keep watching. Ten minutes later, I think the sick person falls asleep. Loki hops down and joins the woman at the window, leaping into her lap.

I grit my teeth. This could be a holiday card, the way she’s got him cradled in her arms, and her apparent love for him. If somebody treats an animal well and that animal cares about them, I typically think that person must be good, too.

Loki looks up and sniffs the air. At least, I think that’s what those little wiggling motions are. I wish I were closer so I could see more details about the woman. Are her eyes dark or light? Does she have creases at the corners of her lips when she smiles? How old is she?

Loki yaps into the night, once, twice, then repeatedly. I’ve been made.

“Hey!” the woman yells, her voice attractive in a way I don’t understand and can’t acknowledge.

Loki isn’t listening. This must be such a shocking change for him. He’s been coming here, giving warmth to this family and never scenting me. Now, suddenly, I’m in his world. That’s what smell is to a dog. It’s their entire universe.

Loki jumps up on his hind legs, more puppyish than ever, as he realizes he is right and jumps out the window. The second he reaches me, I lean down. He jumps up like he can’t contain himself. He’s got too much pride bubbling up at having found me.

“Do you want to stay?” I ask him. “Or come home?”

He tugs on my pant leg, whining. I know what he’s saying. Follow me to the nice family.

“Are you trying to get me to believe in fate and all that crap, boy?” I whisper, though the woman hasn’t left the house. She’s standing in the light, staring into the darkness.

That’s us, all right—light and dark. I have to remember who I am. What I am.

“No,” I tell him.

He moans and tugs on me again. I credit dogs with a high level of intelligence, but I’m usually realistic about it. This has me thinking all kinds of insane things, though. It’s almost like he can sense something in me—some need—but that’s ridiculous. I’m stressed. Who wouldn’t be in my shoes? It doesn’t mean a lady is the answer.

“Last chance,” I say. “I know you can get home on your own. Clearly, you’ve been handling it just fine for months. So …”

He tugs on my pant leg again. Then he must realize he won’t get anywhere. He yawns dramatically and nudges at me instead, like he’s saying, Fine, take me away .

Picking him up, I cradle him between my legs. Luckily, the bike is electric, so it’s very quiet. The engine won’t burn him up. That’s what I like about it. It’s almost silent. It helps with my second job.