Page 3 of Guarded by the Hellhound (Accidental Monsters #3)

RAIDER

S unlight is slowly creeping in through the curtains.

I did not sleep much. My instincts were on high alert, and they kept screaming at me: Protect!

Protect! I look at the human lying next to me.

She sleeps lightly, stirring with every bit of noise there is.

Her anxiety is playing up, even in her sleep.

When I think about how she tensed up yesterday when that guy at the park stood close to her, my hackles rise again. Protect her! My instincts screamed at me, getting me out of the haze that was clouding my brain. So, that’s what I’ll do.

I don’t know her name; hell, I don’t even know my own.

She keeps calling me Raider, so I guess that’s my name now.

I rest my head on my front paws. My mind is one big foggy blur.

I vaguely remember a place with a lot of barking and harsh lighting; it was an assault on my delicate senses.

Then, there was an amazing smell, the softest touch, and a sense of transport, I think.

Impressions and smells and feelings are all I have of the past until I suddenly snapped into a lucid state again last night.

Now, my mind is clear but blank. All I have to go on are my instincts, and because they are telling me to protect the nervous human with the delectable smell, I protect her.

A whiff of fear comes rolling off her, followed by a scream; she must be dreaming.

I sit up, but I can’t protect her from her dreams, and neither can I comfort her in this form.

It’s strange how my memory comes up blank when I think about myself, yet I know mundane things, and my instincts speak clearly to me.

Something is wrong with her. I just need to figure out what, and in the process, figure out what the hell has happened to me.

She stirs again, slowly this time, and by the looks of it, she is waking up. Her eyes blink open, and she sits up. She smiles, and I let out a bark, glad to see her smiling.

“Good morning, Raider,” she says in her soft voice. “Did you sleep well?”

I answer her with another bark.

She smiles and rubs my head. “Yeah, I know, me too,” she mumbles before she gets up and walks towards the bathroom. I wait patiently by the door, giving her some privacy. She is still yawning when she comes out.

“Come on, boy,” she says. “I need coffee, and you need food.”

I shudder. I don’t like the dog food, but I know I have to eat it for now. I have no idea when I can shift back to my human form, and I need to maintain my strength. So, I follow her to the kitchen, resigning myself to kibble for breakfast.

After breakfast, she gets dressed, and we take another walk.

I use our time out in the world to observe her a little bit.

She is soft, shy, and very, very scared.

She has submissive written all over her, and that makes my alpha heart beat faster.

I still don’t know why she’s so scared, though, but I stick to her side like glue, not feeling comfortable leaving her .

Rain starts coming down again as we reach her house.

Suddenly, she stops and begins to tremble.

I plaster myself against her side and nudge her hand, scanning the area for our attacker.

She clings onto my collar and walks towards the house on wobbly legs.

That’s when I see it: a stuffed dog is nailed to the door by a big knife.

I growl low in my throat. Somebody threatened her?

Threatened me? Still holding on to me tightly, she reaches for her phone and takes a picture of the thing.

She glances around before she gets her keys.

“Guard,” she tells me with a shaky voice.

I bark to let her know I understand, turning around to look at the yard.

I hear her fumble with the keys, and when she finally manages to unlock the door, she bolts inside, pulling me with her.

Once we are safely inside and the door is locked, she falls to her knees, crying.

She tries to unlock her phone to call someone, but she doesn’t seem to be able to get it unlocked, which makes her cry even harder.

I nudge her hand, trying to distract her.

Big, blue, haunted eyes look at me. She’s a mess.

Rain and tears have mixed, soaking every exposed piece of her skin.

She looks so tiny and fragile like this.

It makes me want to worship her and build her up because I don’t believe this beat-down, scared person is who she really is.

I let out a bark, and she sniffs one last time.

“You are right. I should call the police,” she says before picking up her phone again and unlocking it with trembling hands.

I keep my body glued against hers, relying on my body heat to calm her down.

I feel her heartbeat gradually slowing down, and when she talks to the police officer, her voice no longer trembles.

The police arrive shortly after she makes the call.

She keeps me inside while she talks to them out front, and it makes me livid.

I can’t protect her from here, and I bark fiercely to let her know I disagree.

However, she doesn’t let me out, so I am forced to watch from the windowsill.

I prick up my ears to listen in, dropping into the middle of the conversation.

“That’s one fierce dog you have there, ma’am,” the officer says.

“He’s very protective. Honestly, that’s why I got him. Though now I wonder if I made the right choice.”

The officer sighs. “I’m sorry we can’t do more, Ms. Thorne. They don’t leave prints, and they haven't shown you any bodily harm, so I can’t spare a patrol car.”

She huffs. “So just threatening to come for me is not enough?”

The officer shows courtesy by looking embarrassed. “I am sorry, ma’am. It’s still harmless in the eyes of the law.”

I watch as she hugs herself, looking small and frail.

The officer walks up to his partner, who is bagging the evidence, while she watches them walk to the car.

I let out a bark; she should come inside —it’s not safe out there.

She jolts to awareness and quickly comes in, locking and double-checking all the locks before making tea and settling on the couch.