Lord of Chaos (The Dragon Demigods #7) - Charlene Hartnady Page 0,2

eyes drift down to the dog, who is at my heel…as usual. “That’s a beautiful canine you have there.”

Great!

Small talk!

Fuck!

“My name is Gretchen.” She points at a plastic, handwritten name-tag. “How can I help you, dear?” Then her eyes widen. “You want to adopt a brother or sister for this gorgeous doggo to play with. Am I warm?” She gets excited, her eyes brightening.

Before I can utter a single word, she bursts into rapid-fire conversation. My ears are bleeding. I don’t think there is another shelter in Newfolk. If there was, I would leave and go there. Fuck me, but this is torture!

“I know I’m right. What’s her name? Let me guess…” She rubs her hands together. “Buttons? No, wait, that isn’t right!” She shakes her head, looking at the dog, “Bella…that’s better…or Sadie? What about Sadie?”

I frown. Whatever this woman is smoking, I want some. I need some to get through this conversation.

“No?” She shakes her head, clearly thinking it through.

I feel a headache coming on. I want to press my fingers to my temples but refrain.

“Oh, I know…what about Millie or Coco? Willow? No? Nugget!” she yells. “It has to be Nugget.”

Nugget!

What the…?

Who in their right mind would call a dog Nugget?

“Satan’s Spawn,” I deadpan, folding my arms.

She clutches her chest, “Satan…um…” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Satan’s Spawn,” she shakes her head, keeping her very wide eyes on mine, “isn’t such a good name…um…for a girl. Is it really Satan’s Spawn?” I notice that her hand is still clutching her chest, which is heaving.

I shake my head.

She pushes out a heavy breath and laughs…loudly. It hurts my ears. “That was a joke. Good one! You got me.” She laughs harder.

I work to keep from growling at her. “The dog isn’t mine,” I say as I walk to her desk. The dog follows. It sits as soon as I stop walking.

Gretchen is eyeing the creature. “She seems to know you just fine.” She looks up, suspicion in her eyes.

“She’s been staying with me for a couple of days. The dog just turned up a few days ago and wouldn’t leave. I put up fliers and posted on all the local Facebook groups, but no one has claimed her.”

“Did you take her to the local vet to check if she’s microchipped?”

I nod. I’ve tried everything. This is it, the last resort. “I take it no one has called to say they’re missing a dog?”

Gretchen’s eyes cloud. “I’m afraid not. Looks like a pure-bred Doberman. She’s a good size too. Hard to miss.” Gretchen is looking down.

I look down as well. The dog is there, sitting at my heel, calmly waiting.

“She likes you.”

I shift. “I’m not a dog fan.” I shake my head. “I don’t have time for one.”

“Larger breeds are generally easier. They tend to be less active. An older dog is already trained and—”

“You can stop!” I try to keep the growl from my voice and fail. “I don’t want the dog.” Why do I keep having to explain myself? First to the guys and now to Gretchen.

I see her swallow thickly. She nods once. “Of course. It is more difficult to rehome larger, more aggressive breeds. We might not be able to find a home for her.”

I don’t want to hear this.

It’s not my problem.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. I realize that I mean it.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can say to change your mind?” I thought the look the dog gave me on the way here was bad…I was wrong. The look Gretchen is giving me right now is way worse.

I shake my head. “I’m afraid not.”

“I’ll need you to fill out a form with your information.” She pushes a few keys on the computer. “It would be helpful if you could leave a donation.” An old printer starts up in the corner.

Gretchen stands and hobbles over there. She presses the heel of her hand into the small of her back before fetching the form and handing it to me with a pen. “That’s my last one…don’t steal it.” She touches the pen.

I quickly fill in the form. It’s basic. Doesn’t take more than a minute. I hand it back to Gretchen. Her eyebrows shoot up. “Better with women… You’re not sure about other dogs or cats?”

There was a section asking for details about the animal being brought to the shelter.

I shrug. “I haven’t known her for very long. I’ve noticed that she seems to prefer women, for the