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“And don’t even get me started on your sable coat—why, you’re positively glowing. Someone takes good care of you, don’t they?”

This time, when Saint stands, he doesn’t stop until he’s right against my leg, then he lowers himself again.

Holy fucking shit. This apex predator has a weakness for sweet talk—just like his master.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m on my knees, hand outstretched.

“You like that, don’t you? Being told how handsome you are?” My fingers sink into his sleek fur, scratching gently behind his ears. The texture is soft, like velvet over steel.

I’m so caught up in this surreal moment that I don’t hear Cade re-enter the room until he clears his throat.

I look up to find him watching. His face is carefully blank, but there’s something burning in his eyes that makes my breath catch.

I should move. Stand up, brush off my knees, and pretend I wasn’t just baby-talking his killing machine. But I’m frozen under that green gaze, pinned like a butterfly to glass.

The air between us thickens, charged with something that feels like the moment before lightning strikes.

And then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, my stomach lets out a growl so loud it could wake the dead. Even Saint whips his head to me, his red eyes comically wide.

Heat floods my cheeks as I fight the urge to crawl under the nearest furniture.

Real classy, Luna. Sounding like a dying whale in front of the man who already has too much ammunition against you.

Cade finally breaks our staring contest and his gaze slides to Saint. “Very good job, mate.” His voice comes out like gravel over silk. “To me.”

Saint’s muzzle curves in what I swear is a canine grin. Before I can process that, the beast leaps to his feet, and I scramble out of his way, my ass hitting the floor hard.

Saint pads over to Cade and rears up, placing his massive paws on Cade’s chest.

Wow, he’s enormous—his head is level with Cade’s chest when he’s on his hind legs.

The sight is both terrifying and oddly beautiful. There’s an implicit trust between them, a bond that speaks of years together. It’s like watching two pieces of darkness click into place.

I might have charmed Saint, but his soul belongs to Cade. Everything Saint did just now, Cade instructed him to do it.

I realize with a jolt that Cade planned the whole thing. He was probably smirking behind the whole time. The same way he planned the chase. The same way he owned my reaction on his motorbike. He’s always in control.

“How long have you had him?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Cade’s eyes flick to mine. “Since he was a few days old.”

Figures.

“Where—” I wet my lips and rephrase. “How did you come about his breed?”

The silence stretches so long I think he won’t answer, like he’s weighing whether or not I deserve this piece of Saint.

“He was a rescue. I took him from a dog fighting pit in Mexico. His mother and her six pups were pitted against spotted Hyenas. Only Saint survived, and barely.”

My lids fall shut as bile rises in my throat. Images flash unbidden—blood, teeth, and the squeals of dying puppies.

“Oh my God, Cade,” I whisper.

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice hard as steel. “The dog fighters more than paid for it.”

Our eyes lock, and understanding floods through me. “Like Hector paid?”

Cade does that thing with his head, a side-to-side motion I’m starting to recognize means ‘possibly.’ “Something like that.”