Page 10 of Anton

As soon as I step into Thora’s house, I know she isn’t here.

She never is at this hour, off at work tending to those animals she loves so much. Some days, she doesn’t come here at all. I’ve only seen her sleep here once. Which makes me wonder…

Does her family even know about this place? Is the good girl being a little naughty, keeping something from them?

My finger drifts over a photo of her with her siblings, sitting on a console table in the foyer. She looks happy, smiling for the camera in cutoff jean shorts that show off her tanned legs and a crop top revealing just enough skin to drag my mind straight into the gutter. I want to push the fabric higher, touch what’s underneath, and find out if she’d like it.

My body tenses.

Fuck that. What the hell am I doing? This is research. That’s all.

There’s a new stack of mail at the edge of the table, left in complete disarray, and I flip through it to see if there’s anything worth noting. There isn’t. Bills, advertisements, nothing that tells me anything I don’t already know.

When I put it back, I straighten it first, like a small gift from me to her.

I move into the kitchen and open the fridge, finding that same godawful green juice she likes to drink.

What is even in that? All I know is it smells like shit.

There’s nothing else in here except a couple of glass bowls with chicken and rice.

I wonder if she plans to come here after work or head back to the farm. I guess I’ll find out.

I head down the hall and take the stairs, making my way toward the open door at the end. Her bed comes into view first: a blue floral comforter spread across the mattress. The second I step inside, her scent hits me again. The same one from the day she infected my dog, who still hasn’t recovered.

I should pay her back for that. Only fair.

Without thinking, I lift the pillow and bring it to my face before closing my eyes.

Blyat…that scent. She smells good, I’ll give her that.

I lower the pillow, but something catches against my fingers as I let go. A thin strand of dark hair lies across my palm, and I stand there staring at it before stuffing it into my pocket. Maybe there’s some useful DNA on it.

I cross toward her dresser, opening drawers and observing her neatly folded clothes. It would be easy to take something—maybe a pair of panties she wouldn’t miss—and I actually consider it.

Then I shut the drawer. Don’t need it. I have her hair. That’s psychotic enough.

I go back downstairs, knowing full well I’ll probably be back even when I don’t have much of a reason to come anymore. I’ve been here twice already: once to install the cameras, and again to make sure I didn’t miss anything the first time I went through her things.

So why the hell am I here again?

THORA

“It’s okay, girl.”

The mare tosses her head and threatens with a hind leg.

I ease back, holding my hand out. “I’m not here to hurt you, beautiful. I just want to help you, okay?”

Poor thing came in yesterday with ligament damage and pain through her back. I got her treatment plan in place and gave her a little time to settle, and now it’s just a matter of patience. Because sometimes that’s all we need.

It takes time to earn their trust sometimes. Some of them come really broken and scared from owners who mistreated them. Looking at her now, I’d bet that’s exactly what happened here.

When I approach again, she doesn’t lash out. She only watches me with those wide, uneasy eyes as I skim my fingers over her muzzle. Her body remains rigid beneath my touch, but as I continue speaking in a soft, soothing tone, the tension gradually eases from her.

“That’s a good girl.” I stroke her again, a little closer now, using my whole hand and letting her get used to me one touch at a time. “I know you’re hurting, baby, but I’m going to get you comfortable again. You’ll see.”

Once she’s calm, she swishes her black tail and rubs her muzzle deeper into my touch.