Page 34 of Muzzled

Waiting until he descended the stairs, she let the door slam shut and adjusted the bags on her shoulder. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The reality of what had transpired over the past twelve hours was only now beginning to solidify for her as the enormous hound padded beside her, his fur so purely black, it was almost surreal.

As surreal as the hound himself was.

She’d been almost certain she’d dreamed everything when she’d snapped awake this morning, her alarm blasting beside her. Waking from a dead sleep, she’d been disoriented and groggy, moving through her morning routine in a complete fog until she caught a shadow moving past her window. One look through the blinds at the black dog prowling the property was all it had taken for the events of the previous night to come barreling into her consciousness.

The beast at her side chuffed, nudging her backpack.

“There’s nothing in there for you,” she muttered, lifting it into a less uncomfortable position. When Ryan locked his jaws on the bottom of it and tugged at it, she stopped walking and dropped it onto the sidewalk. “See?” she said, unzipping it to show him the paint and cloths shoved haphazardly into it. “Nothing.”

He gently bit at one strap until he created a large enough loop for his muzzle to fit in and attempted to slide it on.

“You want to carry that?” she asked, tentatively reaching out to take the bag when he nodded and nattered at her. “Here. Paw,” she ordered, sliding one strap over his front leg before she loosened the other strap. “Paw up.” Tightening the buckles enough to steady it, she stood and looked at him. “Comfortable?”

More nattering ensued, followed by a gentle butting of his head against her arm.

“I don’t even know how to talk to you like this,” she muttered, rubbing the tension from her shoulders as they walked. “Isn’t it weird how our voices instantly go into cutesy-baby cooing whenever we talk to animals? Does it annoy the hell out of you?”

There was a soft chuff of agreement.

Or, what she took as agreement.

“This is ridiculous,” she continued, stopping at the corner to wait for the light and dropping her hand to the scruff of his neck when a woman eyed them. “If I get a ticket before we get a collar, you’re paying it.”

He nodded, staying tight to her side as they crossed over to the pet store.

“Ma’am?” a young man called out as they entered, his eyes widening as he looked at the beast at her side. “That fella’s going to need a leash in here.”

“That’s what he’s picking out right now,” she called over, scanning the signs and leading Ryan to the correct aisle. “Okay. Which do you like?”

He took an inordinate amount of time deciding, waffling between several until she held one out to him. “What do you think?”

He stilled as she sized it on him, slipping her fingers between the delicate silver chain mail and his fur.

“That won’t be strong enough if he gets away from you, ma’am,” the clerk called over from a distance. “Those are usually doubled-wrapped for small to medium dogs.” He watched her as she unhooked the chain. “What’s his name?”

Name.

Right.

“Orion,” she replied, selecting a matching leash and walking to the counter.

The cashier seemed impressed when Ryan remained tight to her side. “Well-trained animal.”

“He better be,” she said as he rang up her purchases. “Or I’ll send him to the pound.” The low howl Ryan emitted was almost forlorn and she gave his head a quick scratching. “Don’t start with me, boy.”

The clerk pulled a bone-shaped treat from a container and passed it to her. “What kind of dog is he?”

Holding the bone out and raising a brow when the offering was met with an upturned nose, she peeled the price tag from the collar and slid it around his neck. “He’s a mutt. A mutt who better not push his luck right now if he knows what’s good for him.” She attached the leash and slid her wrist through the delicate chain. “Thank you.”

Ryan stayed tight to her side as they left the store and walked through the increasingly busy street, the crowds parting as people got a look of the 220-pound beast and the thin chain around his neck.

“I think I see why you don’t hang out like this,” she murmured, noticing the wide berth they were given. “If you end up scaring off my customers, I’m researching kennels.”

*

Ryan lifted hishead and scanned the crowd, inordinately satisfied with the distance the audience was keeping from him and Micah. The scent of her oil pastels was blending with the odors emitting from the shoes surrounding him, and he turned his muzzle into the bend of her knee to replace the stench with Micah’s sweet smell of vanilla and raspberry.

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