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Pushing onto my knees, I reach out a cautious hand, imagining this thing tearing one of my fingers off. Its muzzle lifts to a snarl, and I hesitate, but it doesn’t actually growl, just makes a rumbly sort of sound.

I reach again. It snarls, but doesn’t growl, and my hand is shaking like a leaf, the closer I get to it. When my finger finally makes contact with its fur, it jerks slightly and snarls again, but doesn’t move. I brush my hand over its coarse fur, watching its lip descend back over those intimidating teeth.

It slides down onto its belly beside the fire, while I continue to stroke its fur.

“You’re awfully big to be someone’s pet.”

The dog’s eyes grow heavy like I’ve hit the right spot behind its ears.

“Where’s your master? Is he near here?”

Once again, the wolf dog’s tongue sweeps across those chops, and I wonder how hungry it would have to be to consider eating me. My thoughts drift back to Titus’s words, about there being enough food here to keep a lion from eating me. Within minutes, the dog collapses to its side, and it’s then I see what I suspect might’ve brought it to me. A rusted nail, perhaps from the rubble of the abandoned hive, sticks out of the pad of its foot.

Blood trickles from the wound, and when I take hold of the end of it, the dog whimpers, drawing its paw inward.

“I can remove it, if you’ll let me. But you have to promise me you won’t bite me in the process.”

The dog pants and whimpers again, lying still, as if offering permission.

Nervous, I rub my fingers together, keeping my eyes on the dog. At home, we had one, or two, stray dogs that I became familiar with. Got to know their personalities enough to recognize my boundaries. I know nothing of this dog. And the fact that it’s clearly not the average domestic variety makes it even more dangerous.

Setting one hand on its leg, I take hold of the nail’s head and swallow a gulp.

One, two …

One hard yank, and the dog yelps, the sound of it bouncing off the rock walls. The dog shoots upright, and I hold up the dislodged nail for him to see.

“No, no! Look! I got it! It’s out, okay? The nail is out!”

The dog licks its wounded paw, and I toss the nail into the flame.

A warm wet tongue against my hand startles me, and I jump back. With a smile, I pet the top of his head and scratch in that spot behind its ear again. “All better?”

The dog growls in response, and I kick away on a wave of fear.

It turns its attention away from me, toward the massive shadow coming over the rock.

Once in view, Titus skids to a halt and reaches for the knife at his side, slowly tugging it from his pants.

“No. Wait.” My voice hardly carries over the snarling, as Yuma jumps to his feet and backs himself alongside me, hackles sticking up. “This is Yuma. Someone’s pet.”

“And he’ll make a fine dinner.”

At that, I jump to my feet, taking the same defensive stance as the dog. “The hell he will!”

“That’s a wolf. Gets hungry enough, it’ll gladly take you as its dinner.”

“He was hurt. I helped him. Surely, there’s some wolfy code of honor.”

“There is no code of honor out here. In case you missed the bodies back at the abandoned camp.” Titus’s eyes dip to a frown, the knife still propped in his hand, ready to attack. It’s then I notice two rabbits dangling from his other hand.

The dog seems to take notice, too, as it sits back on its haunches and its tongue sweeps across its lips again

Sheathing his knife, Titus crosses the camp to the other side of the fire, where he gathers up two longer sticks of wood, which he rubs with a small bit of water from his canteen, and then lays the hunted animals on the ground in front of him. Knife in hand, he carves the tips of the sticks to sharp points and sets them aside. When he swipes up a rabbit, he holds it out in front of him and squeezes the animal’s ribcage down to its belly. A popping sound has me frowning, right before something drops from its butt onto the ground. Mouth gaping, I study the pile of bloody gore that appears to be its innards, and slapping the back of my hand to my lips is all I can do to keep from throwing up at the sight of it.

Titus tosses the pile away, offering some relief, and Yuma practically leaps in the same direction after the raw meat. Two quick twists snap away the head and tail. The tearing sounds that follow skate down the back of my neck, horror sweeping over me, as I watch Titus rip the skin away from the rabbit’s body, leaving glistening red flesh. He nabs a nearby fallen branch, bending it as if to test its strength, and stabs the end up through the animal before propping it over the fire.

What the unholy hell ...