Page 259 of These Tears

He pulls the blanket away.

A metal travel cage fills the truck bed.

Inside it? Two wolf-grey dogs rise together. The confined crate and dense coats make them appear larger than they are. Curled tails lift, pointed ears turn forwards and dark eyes fix on me with alert suspicion.

One of them gives a low, testing bark that rolls straight through my bones.

The first thought makes me wince: Do Norwegians milk dogs?

I look from the creatures to Elias, my mouth unable to close. ‘I thought you were getting animals for the shed and the pen.’

‘I am. I will,’ he corrects himself, watching the dogs scan the treeline. ‘But we need dogs that’ll warn us before anyone, or anything, reaches the house. These are Norwegian elkhounds. Trackers, not attack dogs,’ he says. The distinction does absolutely nothing to unstick my boots from the ground. ‘They’ll sound the alarm, follow a trail and make approaching the cabin quietly almost impossible.’

The animals stand rigid within the cage, coats bristling at the spine as they take in the cabin, the shed and me. Elias doesn’t open the door immediately, just lets them look around.

‘They need to know what belongs here before they decide what doesn’t,’ he murmurs.

‘Elias, is this really necessary?’ I give the one with the darkest fur an indignant eye before I meet Elias’ eyes again.

His answer comes too carefully. ‘While you learn to live on a homestead, I say it is. These two are brothers. They have hunted together for four years. They were raised around livestock too.’

It’s diplomatic enough to pass for patience, but in the space between those words beats a steady pulse of something else.

The dogs keep watching the trees as if they already know something I don’t.

Great. I’ve now become the least qualified mammal on the property.

I look back towards the cabin and the shed, then the vast dark line of forest beyond the yard.

‘Their owner died. Anders tipped me off. I’ve brought you something else, too.’

A sudden hollow opens inside me before he finishes that sentence. I whip around to look at him.

‘You mean these two menaces are not the main attraction of the day?’ I slant an uneasy glance towards the dogs.

‘This one is called Brute,’ Elias divulges offhandedly, glancing at the one with the brighter fur. ‘The other one is Bolla.’ My mouth remains open as I look at the darker one with the tag that holds that exact word – Norwegian for bun.

‘He looks like Menace to me,’ I mumble to myself.

A sound rolls out of my giant devil so unexpectedly warm that even Menace tilts his head as if offended by it.

I shut my mouth and try to make myself look less appalled than I do.

Still smiling, Elias moves around the front of the truck, opens the driver’s door, and nods towards the seat. ‘Get in.’

I glance between him and the truck, suspicion tangling with confusion. ‘I don’t want to damage someone’s brand new—’

He catches my hand and pulls me closer, then guides me onto the driver’s seat.

‘Whose truck is this?’ I rumble.

As I’m seated, he braces one hand on the roof above me, pale eyes watching my panic with infuriating calm. ‘Yours.’

I stare at him.

Then at the steering wheel. Then back at him, because my mind can’t quite process both the lunatic and the evidence.

‘Mine?’ My voice climbs into a register no self-respecting woman should use around guard wolves. Dogs. Guard wolf-dogs… things.