Page 2 of Anton

“I’m sure his owner is just as sweet.” I scratch a bit harder, and he gets closer until his body brushes against my leg. “That was a yes, wasn’t it?”

His tail moves in slow, heavy sweeps, and before I can even process what he’s doing, he lowers himself to the sidewalk and rolls onto his back, one front paw folding toward his chest as he looks up at me with an expression so absurdly trusting it almost hurts. That’s the thing about dogs: they love with their whole being and they don’t let go.

“Oh, you sweet baby.” Crouching the rest of the way down, I scratch his belly while my friend mutters something about being safe.

“Only you could get a scary-ass dog like that to bow to you. You really are an animal whisperer.”

That’s what they say. I’ve always had a connection to animals, even when I was little and Daddy would let me play with the calves and kids. They all grew attached to me, and I loved every second of it.

“He’s not scary at all.” I glance back at Blair before turning to him again, sliding my hand over the broad stretch of his stomach. “He’s just protecting himself. Aren’t you?”

He releases another soft whine, and one of his back legs gives a faint kick when I find the right spot.

I rub his belly while his tail thumps once against the pavement. “I knew you were just misunderstood.”

As I pet him some more, this strange sensation forms. The one I haven’t been able to shake for the past couple of weeks. The one that creeps over the back of my neck at the most random times and makes me question whether I’ve gone completely mad…or someone is watching me.

My fingers still against his fur as I peer over, scanning the street behind me. Cars pass, people move in and out of shops. Nothing looks off or stands out, yet the feeling refuses to leave.

Maybe I’m losing it. Wouldn’t that be fun?

I ignore the feeling, smoothing my hand over his stomach again.

“Thora!” Blair snaps. “Okay, seriously, I think you’ve made your point.”

“I’m fine,” I say, not even looking back at her. “You worry too much.”

“Yeah, well, someone has to when you’re out here making friends with⁠—”

“Volchok.” A deep, raspy Russian voice cuts in, so sultry I shiver and pause mid-stroke.

I remain where I am, afraid to turn and face the stranger, though I have no idea why. When I feel him move in behind me, I swallow through the thickness in my throat while the heat of his body slides over mine as I get to full height.

“Do you always touch what isn’t yours?” The gruff way he says that sends a shudder through me.

As I whirl to face him, my eyes expand.

Because looking back at me is the same man who’s been haunting my dreams since the first night I saw him.

ANTON

I have no idea what this woman has done to my dog, or if I can undo it. I have spent years training him to be a killer, something people fear. And here he is on his back, getting belly rubs from the woman I’m supposed to kill.

This most definitely will not work, especially the way she’s staring at him like he’s her pet poodle. My fist curls as I stand inside the store where I was watching her like I’m supposed to.

Except I didn’t see this part coming. Sure, I know she’s a vet and all about her work at the farm with the petting zoo and the horses she rehabilitates. But I didn’t foresee her walking up to Volchok and treating him like her new project.

I need to fix this. Now.

I never intended to approach her. My job is to watch and know everything until the order comes. But the more she touches him, the more impatient I grow. She will ruin him until I have no use for him at all, and that would be a pity. He has kind of grown on me.

Fine, Thora Whitlock. Have it your way.

They don’t hear me approach, too invested in their conversation.

“I’m fine,” Thora tells her friend. “You worry too much.”

“Yeah, well, someone has to when you’re out here making friends with⁠—”