“Give me the necklace. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I must.”

“Or you could walk away,” the nymph said.

“Last chance.” He gave both weapons a shake. “My woman will reward me for allowing you to live. I want my reward. But if I fail to give the necklace to Hades, I’ll be punished and another warrior will be sent to you.”

“I’ll hide before—”

“Wouldn’t matter. Pandora would find you.”

“Pandora?” The nymph shuddered, her cheeks paling. “Here. Take the necklace and go!”

18

“The definition of marriage? When a woman adopts an overgrown man-child who cannot be handled by his parents any longer.”

—Olivia, fallen Sent One

KATARINA: 0. BADEN: 1.

Potrebujem pomoc—I need help.

Katarina had forgotten her desire to train Baden the instant he’d looked at Fox with yearning—yearning for a woman who wasn’t “weak.” Her pride had taken a serious beating.

When his expression had projected anger immediately after, she’d deduced the truth. The yearning had stemmed from camaraderie rather than sensuality. As if he’d seen an old friend after years apart, and both looks had been directed at Distrust.

He hated the demon and rightly so...but perhaps he missed the companionship. Right now, he trusted himself around so few people. With good reason! Hades was doing his best to turn him into a prized pit bull, a fighter whose only instinct was to attack.

Well, too bad for Hades. Pit bulls were actually gentle giants. When raised right, they were sweethearts through and through.

Time to up her game, Katarina thought. And she had a plan. A trial by fire. Or rather, a trial by touch.

Touch was the greatest tool in her arsenal. While Baden used guns and knives to convey a message, she used her hands. Skin-to-fur—or skin-to-skin contact created a bond between two creatures—uh, people. Touch said you are not alone. Touch said I’m here for you.

And really, she just wanted to get her hands on him again.

Biscuit and Gravy nipped at her pockets as she led them to the bedroom she’d claimed as her own. A decadent affair with vibrant gold curtains, portraits of kings and queens hung throughout, and hand-carved furniture. She’d just finished baking sugar-free dog cookies, the plastic bags in her pockets stuffed with the crumbles.

“Sit,” she said, and after each dog obeyed, she passed out treats.

Before offering another, she asked the boys to shake her hand. “Good job, guys.”

They devoured the next round, and she thought she might burst with love. Why had she tried so diligently to guard against the pain of another loss? Humans needed love to survive. Love was sustenance. Love was life. The more she poured into others, the more others could pour into her.

Biscuit licked her hand. Gravy hopped around like a bunny as he tried to bite his brother’s tail, intending to use it as a chew toy. A friendly bout of wrestling broke out. The two exuded more happiness every day, not to mention a more playful spirit and confident outlook.

She’d begun to think they’d make excellent guard dogs. Schutzhund training worked best with puppies that were calm and confident from the start, who’d been socialized early so that nothing startled them. Not that nervous, unsure dogs couldn’t be trained, but it was often the same as giving a fully-loaded assault rifle to a frightened man whose finger twitched every time he spotted his own shadow. Also, nervous dogs tended to have selective hearing and often ignored their handler’s commands, biting anyone, even their handler, out of fear for their own safety, not out of a desire to protect.

Biscuit and Gravy probably hadn’t been socialized and might even have a history of abuse, judging by the way they reacted to strangers, but they definitely had the necessary confidence. They also had a high prey drive, which was another essential. The need to find, pursue and capture food. Or, one day, bad guys.

The two had already excelled at basic obedience training, and though she’d only just begun teaching them to track—toys, treats, and one day, if she decided to take them to the next level, drugs—they’d proven adept at that, too, with a keen sense of smell. Next would come bite work, which would begin as a game.

In fact, she made everything a game from start to finish. The heavy, padded sleeve she gave them—a prelude to going after a living being—was used as a chew toy. They played tug-of-war with it, driving their excitement level higher and higher. The goal was never to hurt but to hang on to the toy until she told them to release it.

The key? Redirect their aggression. And love them. Always love them.

So many people who’d paid for her services had asked how she worked such miracles with dogs. Her answer was twofold. One, she picked her pups from shelters. Adopt don’t shop! Shelter dogs knew a home was a gift. And two, affection gave birth to protection. It was as simple as that.

Her other dogs, the ones she’d rescued from fighting rings, had needed more affection and reassurance than these two. Even more time. Time that had been as mentally and emotionally exhausting as it had been exhilarating. Another reason she’d had to remain strong after her mother’s death.

Without strength, we have nothing.

She’d had something to give.

“I’m going to take care of you,” she whispered. “And I’m going to give you the life you deserve.”

They stopped wrestling and peered at her with adoration, as if they’d understood her words. She thought they might be trying to tell her We’re going to take care of you, too.

They shared a look of...anticipation? Gravy’s head tilted to the side. Biscuit nodded. In unison, they closed in on her. Each nuzzled one of her wrists, and when she tried to turn her hand to pet them, each flashed a pair of fangs—fangs?!—and chomped deep into her vein.

A torrent of pain! Yelping, she tried to yank free, but the two only clamped on harder. At least the pain faded, replaced by a warm rush of—

Tristo hrmenych! Was she high? She’d always eschewed drugs, but this fit her brother’s description perfectly—vertigo, a feeling of lightness, as if she could float away like a balloon, a sense of ecstasy, all right in her world. Shit! What was happening to her?

The dogs released her at last, and she toppled over. Her limbs shook, her bones vibrating. Each of her organs caught fire; the blaze consumed her, sweat soon drenching her. She was dying. She had to be dying. She—