Thea's POV
"Russet, please just eat something!"
The dog—if he even is a dog—stares at me with those unsettling amber eyes and doesn't move. The gourmet dog food I spent half my paycheck on sits untouched in his bowl. Again.
Two weeks. It's been two weeks since that night when he opened his eyes and spoke. Or did he? I've convinced myself I imagined it. Stress hallucination. Too much caffeine. A brain malfunction caused by loneliness.
Because dogs don't talk. Obviously.
But Russet isn't acting like a normal dog either.
He won't eat unless I leave the room. He sits by the front door for hours like he's waiting for someone to rescue him from me. When I try to pet him, he moves away like my touch burns. And the way he looks at me—it's not how dogs look at their owners. It's how people look at strangers they don't trust.
"Fine. Starve." I throw my hands up and march to my kitchen corner. "See if I care."
I care so much it's pathetic. I've tried everything. Five different types of food. Squeaky toys that he ignores. A fluffy bed that he refuses to sleep in, preferring the cold floor by the door instead.
My coworker Marlowe thinks I'm losing my mind.
"Just take it to a shelter," he said yesterday, stealing chips from my lunch like always. "It clearly hates you."
But I can't. The thought of giving Russet away makes my chest hurt. He needed me that night in the rain. He still needs me, even if he doesn't know it.
I'm not giving up on him.
Even if he's the worst pet in existence.
I grab my laptop and collapse on my lumpy couch. My boss wants another logo revision by tomorrow. Of course he does. I open the file and immediately want to scream. What's wrong with version twenty-one? What magical change does he expect in version twenty-two?
Russet pads over silently and sits three feet away, staring at me.
"What?" I snap, too tired to be nice. "You want to judge my work too? Get in line."
His ears twitch. For a second, I swear his expression looks offended.
I rub my eyes. "I'm losing it. Talking to a dog like he understands me."
But the loneliness is suffocating tonight. Work is awful. My studio apartment feels smaller every day. And my only companion hates my guts.
"You know what the worst part is?" I ask Russet, who's still staring. "I actually thought having you would make things better. I thought I'd come home and you'd be happy to see me. I thought I'd have someone to talk to, even if you couldn't answer back."
Russet's tail flicks once. His eyes seem... sad? No. Dogs don't do sad. I'm projecting.
"But you just sit there judging me silently, which honestly, is everyone in my life right now." I laugh bitterly. "My boss thinks I'm incompetent. My mom thinks I'm a failure. And you—you look at me like I kidnapped you."
The word hangs in the air.
Kidnapped.
Russet's eyes flash with something I can't name.
"I saved you," I whisper, tears burning my eyes. "I found you dying and I brought you home and I've spent every dollar I have making sure you're okay, and you won't even let me touch you."
I'm crying now. Great. Crying in front of my dog. New low, even for me.
I close my laptop and curl up on the couch. I'm too exhausted to keep working. Too tired to keep trying with Russet. Too drained to care anymore.
"Do whatever you want," I mumble into the couch cushion. "I give up."
Sleep pulls me under fast and hard.
I wake up to warmth.
Something soft and heavy is pressed against my side. Breathing slowly. Rhythmically.
I crack one eye open.
Russet is curled against me on the couch, his head resting near my stomach. His copper fur rises and falls with each breath. He's finally sleeping peacefully instead of guarding the door.
My heart melts instantly. All the frustration evaporates.
He does trust me. He just needed time.
I very slowly, carefully, rest my hand on his fur. He doesn't move away. His fur is so soft, so warm. This is the first time he's let me touch him like this.
"See?" I whisper. "I'm not so bad."
Russet's eyes open.
And they're glowing. Actually glowing amber in the darkness of my apartment.
I freeze. My hand still on his fur.
Russet lifts his head and looks directly at me. His mouth doesn't move, but I hear words clear as day inside my head:
"You really have no idea what you've done, do you, human?"
I can't breathe. Can't move. Can't scream.
Russet stands up on the couch, and his body begins to shimmer with golden light. His form shifts, bones cracking and reforming with sounds that make my stomach turn.
The light gets brighter and brighter until I have to close my eyes.
When I open them again, there's a naked man standing in my living room.
A gorgeous, furious, completely human man with copper hair and those same amber eyes.
"Two weeks," he snarls, and his voice is rough like he hasn't used it in a while. "Two weeks I've been stuck in that form because you 'rescued' me before I could heal enough to shift back."
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
"Do you have any idea," he continues, stepping closer, "how humiliating it is being hand-fed like an actual pet? Having someone try to give me belly rubs? Being called a 'good boy'?!"
I'm hallucinating. I have to be. There's a naked man in my apartment who was definitely a dog thirty seconds ago.
"What..." I finally croak. "What are you?"
He crosses his arms, muscles flexing in ways that make my brain short-circuit even more. "Fox beastman. And you, Thea Vex, completely ruined my life."
"I... I saved you..."
"You kidnapped me!" His eyes flash with anger. "I was heading somewhere important. Meeting someone important. And you scooped me up like a stray and trapped me here for two weeks!"
My entire world is tilting sideways. "Beastman. Fox. You're saying you're not human."
"Obviously." He runs a hand through his copper hair, looking exhausted. "And now I've missed my chance to—"
He stops. His hand flies to his chest.
His eyes go wide with shock. Then horror.
"No," he breathes. "No, this is wrong."
"What? What's wrong?"
He stares at me like I just shot him. "You. You're—" He stumbles backward. "This can't be happening."
A loud CRASH echoes from my window.
We both spin around.
A massive wolf—bigger than any wolf should be—is perched on my fire escape, staring through the glass with glowing silver eyes.
It opens its mouth and speaks in a voice that shakes my bones:
"MINE."