“I think we’ve met our match, guys.”
Sloane
Saturday Late Morning
“Jack,” I called out as I maneuvered through the chairs on my patio, “I want to be mad at you for giving him my number, but honestly, I’m not.”
Jack laughed low as he sat down. “Can you repeat that?”
“Seriously, Jack.” I glared at him. “I like him. His friends seem nice. Nosey, but nice. They’re on their way over.” Which freaked me out a bit. Jack and Grim were the only people who ever came to my house. I’d never invited other guests over. Except one. The fucking druid.
Franklin arrived outside with food and beverages, seemingly ignoring us as we talked. He had a way of being so silent that sometimes I didn’t even notice him. Not in a “you’re my staff” sort of way, but more like he projected an “I didn’t want you to notice me so you won’t” sort of vibe. I often wondered if he’d been an assassin before my parents had assigned him to me. I'd never asked him, but it would make sense. When I was thirteen, he’d started teaching Jack and me how to use an array of weapons. He still corrected us when we practiced with them.
“Franklin, I have visitors coming over. They should be here within the hour. They’ll park out front and join us on the patio. Please send the hounds to me if you see them. I’d like to warn them of our guests too.” He stared at me for a solid minute with his eyebrows raised to his salt and pepper hairline. Then he grinned down at me and patted my shoulder, like he knew something I didn’t, and hustled away to bring more plates. Sometimes I thought the old male was more than just a vampire. Other times, I was pretty sure my parents told him things they didn't want me to know yet.
Atlas, Cronus, and Helios came bounding up the path a few minutes later. They held the appearance of English Mastiffs, except maybe a hundred pounds heavier. Father always said they resembled the breed from hundreds of years ago, like they were ready for the front lines of war or lion hunting. I may or may not have had special armor made for them in the case of... an emergency. Really, I bought it because I knew they would look badass covered in it when they were on fire. The armor was made specifically for them by a friend in Stars, and it stayed on their true forms. It couldn’t be seen when they looked like regular-ish dogs.
They barked, nipped, and bumped into each other as they made their way to me. I found myself smiling at their playfulness. I mean, they were cute and deadly, but still so super cute. It was my favorite mix of adjectives when describing them. Cute and deadly. Just like me. They really did look like regular dogs from a distance. The remarks were pretty easy to say whenever someone was nearby and didn’t understand what they truly were. They usually stayed far enough back that people didn’t have a chance to notice their true size.
They weren’t regular dogs by any means, though, not at all. They were hellhounds, gifted to me by my Papi as pups. I’d had them for a little over six years, but they didn’t age like dogs. They’d be with me until I died. That was their level of devotion. I loved them dearly too, but I loathed their diet. The woodland creatures around my home probably didn’t care for them either. I hadn’t seen any deer, squirrels, or rabbits here in... ever. Just the half-chewed bones when I ran the wooden paths around my property.
Atlas trotted over and laid his head on my left shoulder, leaning his body weight into me. He was the sweetest of the three and was always laid back unless he sensed a threat. I rested my head against the right side of his face and rubbed my left hand down his neck. He loved affection. When he was done with my attention, he headed to Jack. Jack never gave him more than a few strokes to the head. He didn’t care for my hounds after being my roommate for several years. Jack and Cronus had a sticky relationship.
Cronus was extremely overprotective and liked to herd me from my car to the front door. It was annoyingly adorable. He waited by the gate when it was time for me to get home. He patrolled the grounds like a good watch dog. If he and Atlas would stop chasing bees, I thought I might love them even more. When they got stung it fucked with the glamor that was layered on top of their true forms. The swelling distorted the illusion that disguised them, making them look very displeasing to the eye. Fun fact: giving hellhounds antihistamine was like feeding them cocaine. They went nuts and tore everything apart.
Helios had a fiery personality, hence his name. He was an irritable, growly beast who watched over everything but still loved a good ear scratch. He was a tiny bit temperamental with everyone, except me. Okay, a large bit. I was the head bitch of our pack, so he didn’t do more than simply test my patience. He wouldn’t dare bite the hand that scratched his ears.
I touched each one of them in the center of their heads and sent them blurry images of my visitors so they knew not to attack. I couldn’t see all the males clearly yet, but the idea was that they shouldn’t defend against the group of five. I swear Cronus lifted an eyebrow at me when he understood what I was implying. Rotten hound. I’d been getting too many of those curious looks lately.
“Cronus,” I warned slowly, “Don’t look at me like that. These are my guests, and I want you three to escort them to me when they arrive. Please be nice.” I turned hard eyes to my troublemaker, “Helios, don’t growl at them. I told them you were sweet. We won’t be letting them know that you guys are hellhounds, is that understood?”
Helios huffed smoke from his nostrils but inclined his nose to let me know he comprehended my request. He was the only one I ever worried about not following instructions. Cronus and Atlas would follow them exactly. Atlas licked my cheek as the three trotted off to wait by the gate, appearing to anyone else like well-trained dogs. I had a feeling Helios was going to be a dick, though. It was just his personality. I was sure before my guests left I’d have to explain why my “dog” had a fire-tipped tail or why smoke was pouring from his nose. Should be a fun conversation. Insert heavy sarcasm here.
“I can’t believe you: A) trained hellhounds and B) let them lick you. That’s gross, Lo. Do you know what they eat?” Jack constantly gave me shit about my boys. Always had, always would.
“They are my babies, Jack,” I told him for the millionth time. “Those hellhounds don’t run around looking for ass, and they feed themselves. They even have a bedroom.” I raised my hand before he could interrupt me. “I know, I know. I spoil them.” I rolled my eyes. “But I don’t regret it. They are loyal to no one except me. They’ll protect me with their lives. Literally. No questions asked, and they expect nothing in return except a good belly scratch.” Who needed a man when I had a thousand pounds of extra warm, cuddly hellhounds in disguise? Me. I needed company that talked. Preferably of the sexy male variety. Please and thanks.
I felt like I’d rolled my eyes more in the last few days than I had in my entire life. That shit was getting out of hand. Papi used to tell me they were going to get stuck in the back of my head one day, and that terrified me. Still did. Then Dad laughed at me for that being the one thing that would scare me. I was a little vain, sue me. I would not look sexy with my eyes permanently viewing the front of my brain. Also, I got that that wasn’t how it worked, but it was what I imagined.