The man laughed, a hiccupping, bitter croak of noise.The muzzle of the shotgun wobbled as he tried to brace it.
“Ididn’t want any of this,” he said.“You brought it to me.You strawmen with your fake letters and fake smile and fucking fake DOGS!”
He pulled the trigger.
Cloister threw himself down.Hefeltthe hot wash of buckshot skim along his back, from the nape of his neck to his ass.It didn’t feel like any of it had got him.If ithad, it hadn’t killed him.The spray of pellets cracked and plinked against the truck.The prowler gave a raw, shocked grunt of pain from the impact of the butt against his sternum.
Dust puffed damply around Cloister’s mouth as he exhaled raggedly.A drop of blood ran down his jawline and plopped onto the dirt, sucked down into the mud.So he’d been clipped at least.
And shotguns had two barrels.
Cloister braced his elbow on the ground.“Gib Laut!”he snapped out the command, as crisp as strained lungs could manage.
Behind the prowler, Bourneville braced her front feet and dropped her head as she gave forth a vicious, full-chested fusillade of snarls and barks.It was the sort of noise that reached right down into something primal and yanked on it.
The prowler flinched and started to swing the shotgun around.
Cloister threw himself forward.He grabbed the shotgun with one hand, barrel hot enough to sting against his callused palm, and the two of them wrestled for control of it.He won.When the prowler’s finger spasmed on the trigger, the shot went into the desert, blowing a handful of sage and briars to pulp and splinters.
The blast made Cloister’s ears rattle and buzz, almost drowning out Bourneville’s still furious snarling barks.He wrenched the shotgun off the prowler, tossed it up onto the road, and wiped blood off his face onto his arm.Under him, the prowler screwed his eyes shut, face twisted in expectation.
Cloister glanced up at Bourneville, who was still barking.Her bloody teeth snapped at the air.
“Ruhig.”
She stopped mid-snarl, ears perking up and body immediately relaxed.With a huff, she flopped down onto her belly, tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth like a ribbon as she panted.
“I keep telling people, don’t run,” Cloister said.He rolled the prowler over onto his stomach and pulled the lead from his neck to use as a makeshift set of cuffs.The man made a rough sound of pain.It was hard to tell if it was from his shredded arm or his probably cracked sternum.Probably both.“Nobody listens.Maybe you guys should talk to each other.”
Cloistertookthecapoff the water bottle with his teeth.He poured some into his cupped hand for Bourneville to drink.She butted her nose into his palm as she slurped it up.Blood and dirt matted her fur flat to her skull, her ruff sticking out in spikes like he’d invested in a coyote collar.
“That was for you,” the paramedic said dryly.
One of the deputies on scene laughed at that.
“She’s the elite athlete,” Cloister said.“You want, you can standmea beer later.”
It occurred to him, a second too late, that he had a boyfriend now.That was going to be awkward if the paramedic took him up on the offer.Luckily, all he got was a snort and directions to keep his scrapes clean.As the guy walked away shaking his head, Bon lifted her head to watch him go.The water that dripped from her chops was bloody.Cloister frowned as he caught under her muzzle and pushed her lips back from her teeth with his thumb.
She huffed her opinion of her exam against his palm but let him look.
A field exam was limited, but her incisors looked fine.There were no obvious cracks or damage to the other teeth.
“The hero of the day isn’t going to have to get a grille, is he?”Kincaid inquired from behind Cloister.
The sound of his voice made Cloister’s shoulders stiffen with the leftover resentment from the earlier interrogation.He knew better.Bourneville picked up his tension and growled, the sound bubbling blood between her teeth.
“No,” he told her.She stopped, but kept her eyes on Kincaid.
“He doesn’t like me.”
Cloister took his attention off Bon long enough to look up at Kincaid.“That’s not true,” he said.“I don’t like you, she can just tell.Iwouldstep back, though.”
Kincaid smiled and took one small pace backward.“Sorry, ‘she.’I didn’t mean to get that wrong.”
“You did,” Cloister corrected him.“Not sure why.She doesn’t care.Lemme see, Bon.”
She gave him an aggrieved look but let him coax her jaws apart.Teeth still looked fine.She’d just managed to take a chunk out of her own tongue during the fight.
