The kind of people who want a pit bull are the very last people who should have a dog.
Or a child.
Who leaves a two-year-old alone with a dog that's already killed a puppy? So now the dog dies, the girl gets reconstructive surgery and will probably still have scars--and her idiot mother, who caused it all, goes unpunished." "Her mom will probably feel bad for the rest of her life," I ventured.
"It's not jail time, but she'll be punished." Samuel gave me a look under his brows.
"She's too busy making sure everyone knows it wasn't her fault.
By the time she's through, people will be sympathizing with her." "Same thing happened with German shepherds a couple of decades ago," said Adam.
"Then Dobermans and Rottweilers.
And the ones who suffer are the kids and the dogs.
You aren't going to change human nature, Samuel.
Someone who's seen as much of it as you have should know when to quit fighting." Samuel turned to say something, got a good look at my neck, and froze.
"I know," I said.
"Only I could go to Spokane and get the only vampire in the whole city to bite me on the first day I was there." He didn't laugh.
"Two bites means he owns you, Mercy." I shook my head.
"No.
Two blood exchanges means he owns me.
So I had Stefan bite me again, and now Stefan owns me instead of the Boogeyman of Spokane." He leaned a hip against the counter, folded his arms over his chest, and looked at Adam.
"You approved this?" He sounded incredulous.
"Since when did Mercy ask my approval ...
or anyone's approval before she did something? But I'd have told her to go ahead if she asked me.
Stefan is a step above Blackwood." Samuel frowned at him.
"She's now second in your pack.
That gives Stefan your pack as well as Mercy." "No," I told him.
"Stefan says not.
Says it's been tried before and didn't work." "A vampire's sheep does as it is told." Samuel's voice grew deep and rough with worry, so I didn't take offense at being called a sheep.
Though I would have under other circumstances, even if it were true.
"When he tells you to call the wolves, you'll have no choice.
And if the vampire, whose slave you are, tells a different story--I know which one I'd doubt.
`Old vampires lie better than they tell the truth.' " The last was a werewolf aphorism.
And it was true that a lying vampire could be difficult to detect.
They had no pulse, and they didn't sweat.