And some part of me really wanted to be there for him while he was stressing out.
Why?
I had no fucking idea.
But I was just rolling with it.
Two minutes turned into five. Then close to ten.
There was nothing but the rush of the wind and the chirps of crickets.
Then, lifting above everything else, a faint few whistled notes. A bit of a song, maybe, but trying not to sound too obvious.
Colter stiffened and whistled the same few notes back.
The next time the sound came, it seemed closer, like they’d turned toward Colter’s whistle.
I straightened, sliding out of Colter’s hold, and reaching for my holster to free my gun.
Maybe it was Saint and Syn.
But I wasn’t taking any chances either.
There was a crunch.
Then shadows moved closer.
“Thank fuck,” Colter said, shoulders dropping the weight they’d been holding up. “You good?”
“Bastard got my pants,” Syn said, gesturing down at his torn pant leg. But there didn’t seem to be any blood.
“Gonna shoot me, babe?” Saint asked, smirking when he eyed the gun in my hand.
“Haven’t decided yet,” I said, but gave him a relieved smile. “Did you lose them?”
“A while back, yeah.”
“What kind of dogs were they?” I asked.
“Hellhounds,” Syn grumbled, inspecting his leg, though I didn’t even see a scratch.
“Rotties,” Colter said.
“They sounded like demons. That rumbling shit they do,” Saint said, shaking his head.
“Do you think any of the guys were alerted?” I asked.
“Nah,” Saint said. “Figure maybe the dogs take off after some prey often enough that they didn’t think anything of all the noise.”
“Poor dogs,” I said, hating the idea of any living creature relying on someone like Roach for survival, let alone anything even close to affection.
“Hey, that poor dog wanted to rip my leg off,” Syn said, holding a grudge.
“If she wanted to, she would have bitten you,” Saint said. “She was close enough.”
“She?” I asked.
“She reared up when Syn waved a stick at her. Think the other was a male.”
