Page 141 of His To Erase

Ew.

The room is immaculate. There are books lined up like they’re scared to disappoint him. His desk is spotless, there’s not even a rogue paperclip to betray he’s human.

It should scare me. Instead, it makes me want to throw something and make a mess.

Who the hell is this guy?

He’s either a psychopath or a Pinterest board with a God complex—and somehow, I’m still wet for him. I still want him to follow through with every dark threat that’s come from that filthy mouth of his.

Who just shows up, wrecks my nervous system, and walks off like he didn’t just burn my sanity to the ground? Now I’m standing in the middle of his perfect, silent office—in my underwear—looking for proof he’s not just hot and damaged.

He’s dangerous.

I wave halfheartedly at the fake fireplace like it’s to blame. “Yeah, okay. Definitely not something I need to be unpacking right now.”

I move toward the desk. “I’m already trespassing. What’s a little felony between strangers?”

When I reach for the drawer, I brace myself—for a booby trap, for disappointment, maybe both. The drawer slides open with a soft click—and something growls behind me.

I spin too fast, slipping a little. My heart is in my throat, and I practically trip over the chair.

“Oh my fuck?—”

Before I can launch a book at the intruder or leap onto the desk like a cartoon damsel, the beast lunges—and stops inches from me.

It's massive—black fur and panting like it just ran a marathon straight out of hell. Its eyes are warm and brown and locked on mine like I owe someone money, or maybe an explanation. Its paws are the size of my face, and yet somehow, we just stare at each other like we’re both trying to figure out who the hell let me in.

Then, without a sound, it steps forward and shoves its whole damn face into my stomach, sniffing like I’m a favorite drug.

“Oh my god,” I breathe. “You’re precious.”

I drop to my knees like this isn’t enemy territory. I’m going to just pretend I didn’t almost shit myself two seconds ago.

It licks my face and I laugh. Actually laugh.

“You are so lucky I didn’t kick you across the room,” I whisper, ruffling its stupid, velvety ears. “What are you even doing here, huh? You guarding secrets or just here to emotionally disarm intruders?”

The massive dog leans into my hands like its waited all its life for this moment and my chest softens. Everything inside me softens. Because animals don’t lie. Animals also don’t touch youwithout permission or hold your wrists against trees or walk away like you’re not falling apart.

I scratch its neck and find a collar.

Bernadette.

“Well, B,” I whisper, forehead pressed against her stupidly soft head, “you have no idea how close you came to being traumatized by a girl who’s three mental breakdowns past stable.”

I scratch behind her ears and feel her whole body melt. Which is rich, considering I just tried to mentally file her under “bite risk” and “possible hellhound.”

Jesus. She’s a she. And here I thought she was a boy. Apparently I just assume anything dangerous and silent must be male. Sorry, B. My bad. Girl power. God, I really need to sleep—or scream into a void. I wrap my arms around her, sinking into fur. At least she doesn’t look at me like I’m a ticking time bomb.

I pull back just enough to cradle her face in my hands and in my best dog mom voice, I coo, “Does he treat you okay? Blink twice if you’re in a hostage situation.”

She licks my nose.

“Shit. He’s got you brainwashed already, huh?”

I scratch behind her ears, shaking my head. “It’s fine. I’ll steal you. I’ll file a custody suit. I’ll change my name to Luna and we’ll move to a tropical beach somewhere."

She huffs like she’s in on the joke, tail thudding once against the floor like a lazy stamp of approval. Of course she gets it. Honestly, if I were a giant shadow-beast living in a house with a part-time psychopath, I’d imprint on the first emotionally unstable woman who didn’t scream too.