Chapter 20
REGINA
Killian was not jokingabout showing up to class as my service dog.
I come downstairs the next morning to find him standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his massive chest, wearing the most absurd thing I've ever seen in my life.
It's a service dog vest. Bright red nylon with "EMOTIONAL SUPPORT ANIMAL" emblazoned across the chest on a black patch with white letters. The thing is clearly designed for an actual dog. A large one, sure, but nowhere near the size of a six-foot-seven alpha shifter built like a Greek god who accidentally wandered into a CrossFit gym and never saw reason to leave.
The straps strain against his shoulders. The velcro is clinging on for dear life. And his expression is completely, deadly serious.
I lose it.
The laugh that tears out of me is loud and ugly and completely undignified. I have to grab the banister to keep from fallingover, tears streaming down my face as I wheeze like a broken accordion.
"This isn't funny," Killian says, which only makes me laugh harder.
"Where—" I gasp for air. "Where did you evengetthat?"
"Prime delivery." He adjusts one of the straps, which immediately pops loose again. "Rushed shipping."
"Killian, you cannotaccompany me to work as a service animal. Especially not like that."
"Why not? I'm very supportive. And I provide plenty ofservices."
"You're a person!"
"Not when I shift." He says this like it's a perfectly reasonable argument. "I spend half my life a wolf. Wolves are basically dogs. Dogs can be service animals. Ergo, I qualify."
"That's not how logic works."
"It's howmylogic works."
Sean appears behind him, spatula in hand, grinning like Christmas came early. "Dude, I told you that vest was too small. Should've gotten the XXXXXL."
"They don't make XXXXXL service dog vests, Sean."
"Maybe that's a sign."
Killian growls at him, but I can tell he's not really angry. And when he looks back at me, I catch the glint of humor beneath the stern facade. He's being ridiculous on purpose. Trying to lighten the mood, ease my nerves before my first day.
It's working, damn him.
"I appreciate the commitment," I say, finally getting my breathing under control. "Truly. But I'm going to be fine. Villeneuve isn't going to eat me."
"You don't know that."
"Pretty sure if he wanted to eat me, he would've done it when I was staying at his house."
Then again, I didn't actually see him eat anything. Not that I'm about to fan the flames of their paranoia by admitting that.
Killian's jaw tightens at the reminder, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he reaches up and rips the vest off with one violent motion, the velcro shrieking in protest.
"Fine," he mutters. "But I'm keeping this. For emergencies."
"What kind of emergency requires you in a service dog vest?" I ask him.
"The kind we haven't encountered yet."
