And not the cute kind. The “does that thing belong behind reinforced glass?” kind.
My ears twitch with every comment.
“Is that a wolf-dog?”
“Mommy, look! It’s huge!”
“Is that… legal?”
“Oh my god, look at those shoulders.”
Okay, that one I’ll allow.
I walk beside Violet as if none of this is happening, trying not to look like a predator wandering the aisles in search of discount kibble.
She’s holding my leash like she trusts me not to cause an international incident. Like I’m something steady and safe. And God help me, I actually want to live up to it.
Which is insane, considering every cell in my body is itching to raise my head and remind these humans that I am, in fact, themost dangerous creature within a fifty-mile radius. A predator playing pet. A weapon pretending to be soft.
She taps her cane ahead of her, politely warning the universe she’s coming through, every sharp click radiating this quiet confidence that doesn’t match her size at all.
Then she starts muttering to her phone. “Siri, what do dogs need? Siri? Hello? Don’t ignore me. Siri, don’t sass me today. We’re in public. Behave.”
Her voice is a little loud, a little exasperated, and impossibly endearing.
A woman snorts behind us, trying and failing to hide her laugh.I get it, lady, she’s adorable. So fucking adorable.
My entire body turns into cooked spaghetti and goes completely stupid at the sound of her voice, at the way she tilts her head as she talks, at the tiny bounce in her step when she’s excited. Every instinct in me is screaming to stand closer, to shield her from the aisle traffic, to herd the humans away like unruly sheep who don’t know how close they’re wandering to danger.
She’s so small. So fierce. A little storm wrapped in soft edges. And she’s attracting the attention of every male in this store.
I can see their eyes tracking her in lazy, curious appreciation. She can’t see any of them staring at her ass, but I can.Move along, pervs.
A woman steps closer, voice dipped in that syrupy tone humans use when they think otherwise abled comes with fragility.
“Sweetheart, can I help you find something?”
Violet straightens. Not much, just a subtle lift of her chin, a shift in her spine, but I feel it through the leash like a pulse. Her whole energy tightens, not afraid… determined.
“No thank you,” she says lightly. “I’ve got it.”
The woman lingers, pity radiating off her so thick my wolf wants to shake it off like water.
“Are you sure? It must be difficult.”
Violet taps her cane once, the sound cracking through the aisle like a teacher’s ruler.
“Yes, I’ve got it,” she repeats firmly, already stepping away.
The pity-scented woman retreats, chastened.
I blink after Violet, impressed. She didn’t snap. Didn’t wilt. Didn’t let pity stick to her for even a second. She just redirected it effortlessly, like she’s practiced this a thousand times and still refuses to shrink for anyone.
My wolf lets out a low, satisfied hum. Strength recognizes strength.
The more I think of it the more I recognize it. Yes, I’m proud of her.
And then she beams at me. Well… not at me. More like at the general vicinity of my existence, but her smile seems to be tethered to my chest.
