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“Ow! Fuck,” George says, trying to shake him off.
But my dog has demon blood.
He’s not easy to dislodge.
Only then George rears back and—
“Don’t!” Lake snaps.
Too late.
Steve squeals as George’s fist connects with his side and lets go, landing in the snow in a heap.
“Steve!” I gasp, lurching forward.
George lifts his leg, preparing to kick, but before I can get to him, Lake is there, shoving George back into a tree, his elbow pressed into George’s throat. A glance over his shoulder. “Check on Steve, butterfly.”
I inhale, broken from my stasis with that order, dropping to my knees in front of my baby, who stares up at me with pain in his eyes. He tries to get up, tongue out, panting heavily despite the cold air whipping around us, but collapses with a pained sound.
“Shit,” I whisper, eyes tearing up.
That’s the worst sound I’ve ever heard.
I carefully scoop him up.
“Let’s get him inside the house,” Lake says, whipping George around, taking my ex’s arm and bending it behind his back, frog-marching him forward.
We move slowly up the snow-filled stairs, having to proceed carefully because of the accumulating snow, because some of that snow is turning to ice. Steve whimpers a few times, but doesn’t otherwise make a sound, doesn’t try to launch himself out of my arms in order to chase an errant snowflake, to pee on a deck post.
He just lays limply in my hold.
Worry digs its claws in deeper.
“Breathe, butterfly,” Lake murmurs as he draws George to the side at the top of the stairs. “And walk carefully, yeah?”
I inhale.
Exhale.
“Yeah,” I whisper with a nod and start moving forward again, rounding the corner of the house, moving around to the front of the house, to the front door—
Then skid to a halt so quickly I nearly fall.
Focused on getting away from him, I hadn’t really heard the final words that George said in the woods, hadn’t reallyprocessedthem.
But turning the corner and seeing who’s standing on the porch has them whipping back through my mind, slamming home, nearly sending me to my knees.
Steve stiffens in my arms, growls softly.
“Shh,” I whisper, kissing the top of his furry head. “It’s okay.”
Footsteps behind me.
A scuffle.
The woman in front of me straightens from where she was bending toward the green pot on the porch and cries out, starting toward us. “What are you doing to him?”
“Don’t fucking move,” Lake snaps. He comes close, bends forward over my shoulder and I glance up at him. “Your sister?” he asks softly.
