Page 29 of Fate Awakened

The hope that maybe, just maybe, I could have it all. Love, a career, and a life full of impact. He made me believe I could be loved, cherished, adored even. All the fairytale bullshit I rebuffed for years finally made sense. It became reasonable that women threw their dreams, pursuits, and aspirations out the window.

Hell, I’d even begun wondering what jobs I could look for in Vegas, so I wouldn’t have to leave him. For a moment, I’d considered changing all of my life’s plans to keep him. But it was all for nothing, for a player whose carefully chosen words were meaningless.

I’m a fool.

Catching movement at the door, I freeze instinctively. The fear that Hudson or Ghost would come to collect from me what all men believe they’re entitled to from a woman. I curl up on impulse, my self-defense training running through my mind.

Get them off balance.

Use their size against them.

Hit them where it hurts.

Make noise and run.

Not sure how the ‘make noise’ or ‘run’ would work in the middle of the forest in the winter, but I wouldn’t let them take from my body. I’d die first.

The door slowly opens. I note how silent it is. Not like in the movies where the hinges creak to announce someone has arrived. The hall light is off, so the only visible light comes from the nightlight plugged in near the dresser. Holding as still as I can, I steady my breathing, trying to calm the hammering of my heart.

A large white paw enters the room first, and my breath releases slowly. Following the paw is a large pure white male dog. He’s beautiful. His fur reflects in the small light, and he stops at the entrance to the room as if he realizes I’m in there. I vaguely remember Ghost mentioning a dog, but this guy looks more like he's ready to pull a sled or join a wolf pack than be a domesticated house pet.

His eyes meet mine, and the icy blue shade fits his frosted look before his head scents the air looking around the room. Cautiously he strides toward the bed.

I hold still, not wanting to provoke him. I’ve never been an animal person. I couldn’t ever get Fleabag to sit near me at the apartment. Dogs usually bark in my direction or run behind their owners like I’d hurt them. Even the hamster at my third foster home would bite my hand if I tried to hold it despite it being friendly with literally everyone else.

He stops at the side of the bed, slowly sitting on his hind legs.

“OK, buddy. You can go lay over there,” I whisper, pointing to the blanket on the floor.

His head turns to look in the direction I point and then returns to me, but he doesn’t move.

“Go lay down,” I say a little more forcefully. Hoping the extra command gets him to go away.

He lays down at the side of the bed, tongue lolling out in what appears to be a smile.

Idiot dog.

“Not here, over there,” I correct, still keeping my distance from him.

A whine escapes him as he sits back up, resting his chin on the side of the bed.

“Not the brightest bulb, are you, boy?” I laugh lightly and tentatively reach to pet him.

My hand moves slowly, palm angled downward to show my intent. His eyes trace the movements, but he doesn’t change expression. Gently, I trace my fingers over the pristine coat, starting on his head. His muscles relax into the contact, the silky softness giving under my fingertips, allowing for my exploring touch. I move to scratch him behind his perked-up ears, causing him to close his eyes in appreciation.

“You’re just a big softie, aren’t you, boy?”

I pull my touch away, breaking our connection. His eyes reopen, leveling on me in a way that feels familiar. Strange how I feel more connected to a dog than most humans. I tip my chin up, nodding over to his bedding, and this time he listens, moving gracefully over to the blanket fort on the floor.

It strikes me how perfect this dog is for someone like Ghost—built for the cold weather, independent but fierce. Odd that he didn't bring the dog on his trail today. Though as I think it, I remember the wild wolf we encountered, and I’m momentarily grateful that this guy didn't have to fight for us. The wolf likely wouldn't have backed off had we had the dog with us. He wouldn’t have had a snowball's chance in hell of beating a real feral wolf.

Maybe it’s better the way it happened.

A while later, I hear the front door shut and the sound of boots being stomped off.

Hudson’s back.

Inside the room, the dog, which I realize I never got a name for and didn’t see a collar on, lifts his head as if on alert. He stares down the door crack, unmoving, while sounds in the living room float down the hall. It takes no time before the sounds stop, leading me to believe Hudson has made himself at home on the living room couch.

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