"So this demon was, what?" Buffy asked the assembled Scoobies. "Munching on little dogs and cats? Cause. . . that's just wrong." She tossed her hair, before crossing her arms and pouting like a little girl. "Giles, we have to stop this. It's hurting puppies!"

"And kitties," Willow added with the same kind of abhorrence, although she kept glancing to her left at the shy blonde girl beside her. That one wasn't going 'ewww' the way the first two girls were; if anything, she looked calmly expectant-under the ever-present hesitancy, anyway.

Spike wondered when the rest of them were going to twig the fact that this girl was dealing far too well with Slayers, and vampires, and other things that went bump in the night. He didn't care, precisely, but secrets were useful and he was trying to ferret out hers.

Secrets. . .

***Spike held his boy tightly, wishing that he could be what this dark-haired beauty needed him to be. Knowing he wasn't, whatever it was. Because that smell, that horrible, horrible smell of fear and desperation and pain and worry was still there, after shagging, after working him hard in their new gym, and then shagging some more. That smell was still there. And when did I stop wanting that smell? When did it stop being delicious? But he knew. He knew the moment his boy came down those stairs, smelling like that, and he'd been powerless. Totally powerless to do what needed to be done.***

Over a month later and he was still powerless.

He glanced over to his left, to the bar stool chairs by the kitchen Xander was half-leaning on. Leaning, not sitting, under two layers of long sleeves and thick protective corduroys-despite the unseasonable warmth of early December.

The growl started low in his throat, but it was fighting the rise of his demon that made him aware of the rumble before it was more than just a menacing vibration. He forced himself to stop both. Well, mostly. He caught Buffy giving him an appraising look-fuck, she sensed it-but when she didn't say anything he guessed that she hadn't understood it for what it was.

Stupid chit. Didn't the Watcher ever teach her these things? Bloody Slayer, she is. There was no real derision to the words, even inside his own head. Mostly, there was relief and a small amount of thankfulness. He knew her slayer-senses were picking up on various things before he could control them. She seemed, however, to write them off as 'normal behavior' for a vampire.

Which was partially true.

It was normal behavior, for an un-ensouled, un-chipped vampire that was three hairs away from going on a killing spree that would make Columbine look like a genteel outing to the country.

Blood spatter on the walls always makes such pretty pictures, it does. Guts and organs like modern art, cocking up the Rarschach blots and giving it just a touch of class. Some teeth for contrast, scattered about like little pearls. Hair and eyes to frame it all.

Fuck. Xander was looking at him, confused and a little wary. He understood the emotions seething below the faint actions, even though he obviously didn't understand the why of it, or who it was directed at. Thank god the boy was so adorably clueless sometimes. . .

If he did know, Spike was damned sure what would happen. Spike wasn't an idiot. If Xander had even the smallest inkling that Spike was onto him. . . which is why I work so damned hard to keep him clueless. Won't have him runnin' from me. Not from me. I'm the one he should run to.

The strength of his reaction was what bothered him, when he wasn't lost in the red mass of hatred and rage. Part of it he readily understood-he was well aware of how frighteningly possessive he could be of his things. The lengths he would go to for their protection. So when his initial desire to maim, destroy, and kill ripped through him, he had reveled in it.

But it wasn't just about protecting what was his. Not really. Not anymore.

Mother fucking pieces of shit. How could. . . He knew how. It was a depressingly common story that he'd lived out in his own life, at least twice. Possibly three times-Dru was fickle like that. He knew, but knowing didn't make it any better.

None of the others know. That was obvious, had been the instant he'd finally twigged it. For one moment, he'd been blind in his rage, ready to rip and tear and break the ones who called him friend. Except. . . he didn't want them to. Hid it, best he could, an' he was good at it. I lived with him for two weeks an' I didn't know. Hell, if he hadn't come down, smelling the way he did. . . How could they, who only saw the face he wanted 'em to? Not like he ever got their full attention, and him so good at shiftin' it when he did. No surprise that he got away with it-except from Spike.

It had taken all of his acting ability to gloss over it, to pretend he was still asleep and let the events play out naturally. A kind of self-control he never knew he possessed had kept his statement unknowing, his words unshaded. When all he wanted to do-listen to the pretty screams as I tear their tongues out. Break the knuckles, one by one, let the bones shatter under the skin so nothin' can be done with 'em, even if they heal up, smell the fear and pain as the sons of bitches piss themselves and beg for mercy that they never gave. . .

He felt a kind of rage towards his erstwhile Sire he'd never felt before. It was because of him that these people who his boy called friend based so much upon a soul-a soul meant 'good guy', someone who could never hurt people.

It made Spike furious. Don't these chits see the real world? Or are they so lost to the magic that they can't see the pain an' suffering normal people have, without ever meetin' a demon? Yeah, s'true most humans don't drain their victims with their teeth, or rip their hearts out with their own clawed hands, but that don't stop 'em from grabbin' a knife or a gun and doin' the deed that way. Normal, soulful humans. Human who've made even demons take note with the tortures they devise. Who the hell cares about a soul when their actions are so. . . evil?

But these humans were curiously blind when it came to the normal every day hell that most people lived in. It served as a coping mechanism, he knew that-it wasn't like they didn't know it happened. It was just that when presented with the evidence, they looked to the supernatural first. The more mundane explanations never really crossed their minds.

Boy counted on that. Had to've. Used it so bloody naturally that he'd had practice, an' lots of it. The anger came back, white hot and burning along dead nerves. Through it all, the thought wasn't 'they hurt what's mine', the way it had been when Angelus and his bloody great arse had flounced its way to Drusilla's bed. That had been comprised of possession, humiliation, jealousy and a deep self-loathing at his powerlessness. This was far, far more simple.

They hurt him.

"Bleachy! Oh, Fangless. . ." Spike snarled, pushed out of his thoughts by the dulcet whine of the Slayer. Glaring at her, he raised one eyebrow. "Haven't you been paying attention? You're supposed to patrol with me."

"What, tonight?" Fuck, no, not tonight! Dammit, Slayer! Pick another night-any other night! "Sorry, can't do it. Have to wash my hair."

"This is not a request, Spike." Giles, the great leader of their ragtag band had apparently put his foot down, and that was that. "This demon may only target the ah, more domesticated members of human households. . ." I am going to rip your lungs out for that, you toff. ". . .but what Riley described warrants the additional support. You are our next strongest fighter, therefore, you will accompany Buffy on tonight's patrol."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. I can't do it tonight, don't you see that, you soddin' wanker? Open your bloody eyes! Look at the way he moves, the way he talks, the way he's fucking terrified!

Spike shifted, trying hard to think of an argument that wouldn't include little boys and the need to protect them from the Big Bad World. Did I remember to put more money in his account? Thank god the boy's too clueless to really pay attention to his bank statements.

It had been ridiculously easy to create a separate account to funnel money into the boy's. Xander hadn't really noticed yet, despite the few offhand comments about the bank crediting him several hundred dollars. So long as the balance didn't look too distorted, he apparently was going to ignore it. Idiot, Spike thought fondly.

"Why, Spike! Got a hot date tonight?"

Xander choked, although only Spike noticed. Cause I'm the only psychotic vampire that listens obsessively to the boy's breathing an' heartbeat. Wanker.

What the hell am I gonna-wait, that's it. Good. He tried hard to ignore the relief he felt now that he had a viable plan to work with. Though why I'm feelin' relief leaves somethin' t' be desired. . . I am utterly pathetic. "Yeah, matter o' fact, I do. Boy's comin' with, too."

Please just trust me, pet. You have to play along for this to work. He met chocolate brown eyes out of the corner of his, reading the confusion-and the willingness to babble his way into whatever Spike wanted.

Along with the ever-present terror.

He forced another growl down. Don't worry, boy. Told you I take care of what's mine. He cursed the chip with a string of words he hadn't used since those first horrible weeks he realized what, exactly, his new situation entailed. The little piece of plastic and wires in his skull preventing him from doing what all his instincts were screaming for: kill the ones who hurt his boy. Then he'd grab him and take him so far away that nothing would remind him of home.

Won't work, though. Even without the chip, it wouldn't work. Like him stubborn, I do, an' he'd get all guilty and weepy over his dearly departed. An' he'd miss his friends. So, can't just take him an' run. Gotta do this subtle. Careful. Patient. Damn, I suck at this part.

He had a plan, although how long he could stick to it he wasn't sure. Waiting was never his strong suit, he remembered gleefully telling Angelus, and this was the worst kind of waiting. Because it could go horribly wrong at any moment.

An' that wasn't foreboding, was it? Lovely. I just buggered m'self.

"Spike. Where exactly are you going with Xander?" Giles folded his arms, looking like a stern parent glaring at his daughter's prospective date. Which actually isn't too far off, innit? The Scoobies had reluctantly accepted Spike into their sanctum, grudging of the Felix-and-Oscar routine he and the boy had created. Oh, they kept it true to their personalities-he was surly and rude to everyone, Xander trailing behind cleaning up the mess when he wasn't helping to cause it-but after a month no one commented too closely on the oddness of it.

He'd overheard Willow saying to the blonde chit that she was glad that Xander finally had a guy-friend to do all those guy-things with-insert air-quotes and baffled statement where appropriate-even if it was Spike who was the new friend. And wasn't it odd that Spike was acting more like a real person lately? "Oh, he's still his snarky bad-ass self," Willow had said earnestly. "But he's not actively trying to kill us, and he could. So, I guess, it's kind of like he likes us-right?" The blonde had nodded, and Spike had been very grateful that he couldn't actually see her statement at the moment. He was terrified of what he might read in those fathomless eyes.

Don't need anyone else seeing how pathetic I am. Thanks, doin' that just fine on my own. An' when the hell did Xander-babble become contagious! He'd seen the boy space out for moments at a time, lost in his own whirling thoughts-just like he had done. For longer than just a few moments, if the startled, confused, and annoyed glares meant anything.

"Look. Boy's got what, four jobs? Five? Can't keep 'em longer'n a week, neither. So, I think since I'm stuck with him, an' if I want cable or the good stuff with m'blood, gonna have to do my part, right? Got a friend who's hiring, said I'd bring droopy boy here over and have a look-see." See, selfish, greedy Spike. Pay off some debts to old friends, get all the fixin's to make a biteless vamp happy, an' there's no confusion as to why I'm doing this. Okay?

The room split: Buffy continued to glare at him, Riley echoing because he always glared at Spike, while Willow and Giles turned their attention to Xander. "Is this true?" Giles just managed to get out before Willowbabble filled the room.

"Xander! I know you're unhappy with your job, but you can't possibly be thinking of working for someone Spikeknows. . . are you? That unhappy, I mean? I know those jobs are bad, and they pay so little, but I didn't think you were that desperate. I could, um, I could lend you some money, maybe?"

She looked so earnest and concerned that Spike would forgive her that one-she was too worried to notice Xander wince and try to shrink in on himself.

"Or maybe I could check out campus jobs? They might be better than the ones you're at. Or is this because you want to move out? I know how much you hate that basement, but you keep saying you won't move and . . . Oh, Xander, are you sure this is safe?"

There was silence while various people tried to figure out if she was done or not. "Yes, Wills, I'm sure it's safe," Xander said eventually. Spike didn't know whether to be happy or upset at the smooth, casual tone of voice. He trusts me enough to follow my lead. . . but he's bloody practiced enough that he can, an' be convincin'. "And no, I'm not that unhappy, but Spike knows this guy and . . . well, Spike won't let them hurt me, if it goes wrong. Right?"

"Right?" Buffy repeated, balancing her weight to add a more menacing posture to her glare. "If Xander wants this, that's fine. But you are not going to let him work somewhere dangerous, and you are not going to let him get hurt. Get it?"

"The bloke's human," he sneered. "Runs that old antique store on Halket, an' a lot of the non-human types frequent the place. He needs someone who ain't gonna freak when the customer has horns an' he's willin' to pay for it. An' it ain't like I'm makin' the boy take the job. Figured I'd just make some introductions, like."

Xander nodded, the goofy cluelessness that he'd perfected so well ably distracting the ire of the room. "Really, Buffy, it's okay. I'm just meeting him. And Spike'll keep me safe."

Damn straight I will, boy. You're mine.

"Well, I suppose it can't hurt and if it's what you want, Xander. . ." Willow didn't look convinced, but Spike knew she wouldn't be a problem. The little redhead was as stubborn as the rest of the lot, but-there it is, the Xander-pout. Most dangerous weapon to man an' demon. Willow relented instantly, even the Slayer wavering at the sight of those crushed eyes.

"So, let me get this straight." Riley strode from his corner, where he'd been effectively ignored after delivering his report, glaring at everyone. "There's a demon out there that you, Giles, think Buffy shouldn't handle alone. So you take Spike. Okay, fine. He's strong." The soldier visibly stopped himself from saying anything more on that particular subject. "Instead, however, of him helping you, all of you accept his excuse and will instead allow him to help Xander find employment?"

Spike and Xander exchanged looks, both visibly bewildered. "Well, yeah, pretty much, Rye." Xander turned back to the humans, grinning meekly. "I figured we'd help patrol a bit first, though."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Can we just go? This thing is killing little fuzzy animals. And I don't want to know what the two of you are doing. The thought of you and Spike doing the guy-friendship thing is the stuff of nightmares. So lets go before I have to see more of it."

Spike hung back while Xander threw his arm around Buffy's shoulders as he escorted her out into the night. Riley, it seemed, was not going to accompany them, instead stomping back to his dorm room or military base or whatever. Huh. Have t' see about tailin' him, one night. See if I can find me some. . . blueprints. Enough people-demon and otherwise-owed him that if he could figure out how, someone else could actually do it. Maybe.

Worth a try-fuck. He's fucking limping! That was not there last night!

He sped up until he could scent the boy easily in the clear night air. Nervous, wary, cautious, relaxed-good lad, just like I taught you-afraid, oh bollocks. After a month of nearly daily visits to the gym, Spike could accurately determine how many injuries the boy had and what kind, just with his nose. He didn't tell Xander this, of course, but he could do it. Came in handy when he was using Song Li's healing oil, knowing exactly which spots to concentrate on.

Spike catalogued the injuries with a professional detachment, forcing his anger down the further they walked in the cemetery. Not because Spike felt the need to hide from the two demons not-so-quietly following them, but because Xander would pick up on it.

You aren't makin' me angry, precious. They are.

He knew how much Xander feared his anger-that was the scent that had woken him from a sound sleep over a month before. Not the nervousness, not the pain, not even the arousal. Just the deep, frantic desire to keep him not mad. Like if Spike wasn't mad, than Xander wouldn't get into trouble. . .

This time he did growl, although yanking one of the demons out into the open was an effective cover. His body moved in its familiar patterns, systematically destroying the demon while his mind was on a different topic all together.

Spike knew how much it cost Xander to initiate sex on his own that first time. It was only the fear of greater punishment that had driven him to do something he viewed as something he, Xander, shouldn't ever do. It wasn't until he'd seen Spike, awake and very much enjoying what he was doing before the fear had lessened. And the fear hadn't gone away until Spike had taken that broad-shouldered body and cuddled it in tacit approval.

That eased some of it, Spike thought as he threw down the body of one dead demon and ran to help Buffy take on the remaining one. Not that he wanted to help her-he just wanted something to pound on. Made it better when he came home two nights later. . .

Shaking like a leaf, Xander had frantically searched the basement for any spare cash that may have been lying around. Spike had watched, amused, until he'd finally scented the blood trickling down the boy's arm. Scented it, and the efforts made to stop it. That's when it had finally clicked.

Furious, Spike had spat out some nonsense about Willy not having any blood on hand and dumped the leftover money on the sofa before storming out in a rage. Then he'd snuck around back, and watched.

It had been over quickly. That was probably the only consolation Spike could offer himself. The boy knew enough to minimize the damage-when he could. What had disturbed Spike even more was that the boy just took it. There was no anger or bitterness towards those who hurt him-only acceptance, and fear.

It was that strange, calm acceptance that had warned him two weeks later that another 'check' was about to be delivered. He couldn't force himself to watch, but he'd been waiting when Xander again came down. Like before, serious effort had been put into hiding the results of the hour-long visit, although Spike wasn't going to tell the boy that vampires could smell makeup just as easily as blood. Instead, he'd been incredibly gentle with the boy, foregoing their normal trip to the gym and convincing him that they could just watch movies that night. The boy had fallen asleep with Spike's hand buried in his hair.

He was not limping when we came back last night. Know he wasn't, and I bloody well checked him over this mornin' in the shower. He was fine. Which meant at some point during the day, Xander had come home.

Fuck. I never shoulda left today, not when I damned well knew what was comin'. Except if he hadn't left. . . re-establishing himself as a dominant demon in Sunnydale had been ridiculously easy. The rest of it, however, was proving more troublesome. Dammit, boy, we need to have a bit of a talk, you'n me. About how you don't stay in abusive relationships. An' how I know that, since I've been in an' out o'one my whole soddin' existence.

In fact, this was the only relationship Spike had ever been in that wasn't abusive. Not even because of the chip-abuse didn't have to be physical, and from the way Xander had initially reacted, he'd excepted Spike to hurt him, one way or another.

Except as much as Spike admittedly loved pain and violence, that wasn't all he was. Dru an' me, we had it nice. She liked the hurt, but she liked the sweet, too. She liked. . . being us, together. If Spike wanted to wreck havoc, he had plenty of options waiting for him. But when he came home after the damage was done, he liked to know that home was for him-not the pain that kept the occupants here, or the fear that made them obedient. And most importantly, he didn't like smelling fear in his bed. Or numb defeat.

That's what was there last night, sodding hell I never should've gone out today!

He knew the demon he was pounding on was barely alive, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop, suddenly consumed with the memory of Xander's reaction to what 'domestic discipline' the boy might like. Their nights at the gym had shown that so long as Spike wasn't intending on causing pain, he was able to do a bit more. Not much, and the chip sent out reminders, but he could function. It made their sparring sessions easier, and Spike had felt comfortable enough to start mentioning the kinks he and Drusilla had grown to love. Like bondage. Or spanking.

The first one Xander had expressed definite interest in, although his face and mouth had shown neither. The second. . . the second had evoked pure terror. Which meant that sometime in the boy's life, he'd had an experience with it that had mentally scarred him and. . .

Argh! He's still a bloody baby and already he's got an eighty year old's list of neurosis's! But don't you worry, puppy. Spike's gonna get you over the pain. Gonna make you feel so nice, pet. My hand on you, making white-pink turn deep red, feel you jiggle with ever it, feelin' me inside you ever time my palm comes down-fuck, I'm horny.

"Hey, Fangless!" He turned up with a snarl worthy of a vampire in his prime, glaring at Buffy in the way he knew made her slayer-senses go haywire.

"I am not a pet," he said clearly, directly in her face. Xander hovered around the edge, kicking the dropped demon corpse out of the way, worried but silent. "I am not your friend. I am not one of your damned Scoobies, I do not support you in your bloody 'good fight', I do this to get my rocks off. You will not give me pet names like I was your bloody pet dog. You had that with Angelus. Don't try it with me."

"I-I was just wondering if you were going to stop any time soon. It's dead." But her wide eyes told Spike that she'd heard his words and understood the implicit threat. Good. Stupid brat.

"I do what I want, Slayer. Remember that."

She started nodding before she realized it, and forced her movements to still. Licking her lips, she swallowed-and allowed that unbeatable confidence to take over, the way he'd known it would. Didn't mean the lesson would be forgotten. "Xan, are you sure you want to do this? What I said at Giles' aside," she gave Spike a quick glance, "it might not be safe."

"I trust Spike," were the shocking words that the boy answered with. Totally confident. "He won't let anything hurt me. Might let them hurt you," he added with a nasty looking glare, "but he'd protect me."

"Right, Xander, because you and he are such good pals. Like Riley said-Spike is a demon, and what he wants is not what we want. He doesn't have to lay a finger on you to hurt you." Spike heard the confusion through the normal Buffy-knows-best condescension. She was shaken by the boy's last comment. You an' me havin' a long talk, m'boy. Not that you aren't right, pet, but I don't think throwin' that in the Slayer's face is smart.

"Buffy, all he'd have to do was invite a demon or a vamp into my home, while I'm out. He hasn't. I trust him. He won't hurt me. Look, Buff, it's my life, and I'll live it the way I want to. So if you don't mind, Spike and I have an appointment I'd rather not miss."

Spike smirked to himself as he and the boy both turned their backs to the stunned Slayer and began walking towards the docks. He could hear her Buffitude calling out to them, but neither reacted to her words. Eventually, muttering to herself, Buffy finally walked away.

Perfect. He silently steered the boy toward a nicely private copse of trees, hand burrowing in his duster pocket towards the buttons of his jeans. Fuck was he horny. Listening to his boy tell off the Slayer like that, using that sweet, pretty mouth to make his friends hurt and squirm better than Spike ever could. . .

"Um, Spike?" the boy asked hesitantly when they finally entered the small area. "Where exactly are we-ohhhhh!"

"Gonna talk more?" he asked, continuing to rub the boy's growing hard-on. Thick hair flapped from the strength of the boy's frantically shaking head. "Good boy," he purred, as Xander willingly sank to his knees.

Quickly freeing Spike's erection, the boy sucked it deep within his mouth. "Ah ah," Spike cautioned-once he could inhale enough air for speech, anyway. Make me breathless, you do, pet. "Slowly. Wanna be in that pretty pussy of yours. Wanna stretch you full of me, pound into you, luv. My pretty little bitch, squealin' as I ride you so hard. . ."

The suction on his cock grew hotter and wetter, the boy making that humming-purr as he sucked and licked. Never figured him for the dirty talk, but damn does he get off on it. Which Spike was not complaining about.

Warm hands cupped his balls, palming them and then tugging lightly. "Harder," he hissed, his own hands buried in the boy's hair. More tugs, much harder this time. "Yes, right there, boy, so good. Good puppy. Very good." A few more minutes and Spike was pushing him off, yanking down jeans and getting Xander on all fours.

Fumbling for the little tube of lube they always kept with them now, he coated two fingers and pushing inside his lovely boy while the other hand slicked himself. He was always careful to stretch and prepare Xander every time they did this-even when he wasn't sure either of them could wait.

"Please, Spike, please, please, please, please," Xander panted, pushing eagerly back.

"Tell me," he ordered.

"Want you in me, please, Spike, need it. Want to be yours, Spike, only yours. Only yours."

"Mine," he snarled, the violence in his voice totally contradicting the gentleness as he slowly pushed his way inside. There were times for the rough play Spike still enjoyed, but-but the boy doesn't need that, now. Only needs me an' what I give him.

Fully sheathed in the boy, Spike pressed his chest to that broad back for a few moments, just panting. "You feel so good," he whispered. "So hot, and so tight, pet. So right. You're mine, puppy. My little fuck toy." My good boy.

"Spike!" The boy was too hoarse to say anything but his owner's name. Pleased, Spike began to move, rolling his hips in a dreamy rhythm, barely leaving that tight heat before pressing back in. He sucked on the boy's neck, holding onto both hips as he fucked his boy.

"Like this, huh?" he asked, smirking. It drove Xander wild to have to split his attention between the words in his ear and the cock in his arse. "Like feelin' me, so deep inside you? Your pretty arse so open for me, always ready whenever I want. Isn't it?"

"Yes. . . more, please. . ."

"Love your hole, I do." One hand slid down to caress the rounded flesh there, dipping to run along the edges that sucked so hungrily at his cock, down to the perineum, tickling it. "So sweet, like candy. My candy bitch. Sweet and juicy and always so ready for me." He sucked at the boy's neck again, bring his hand up and around and then back down the straining flesh he found. "Good boy, you are. Such a good boy."

He stroked in a counter to his thrusts, enjoying the boy's deep groan. It rumbled through his body down to his groin, mixing with the inferno of heat there. God, so close. Too soon, but . . . oh, god, so good. . .

"Gonna come with me, boy? Gonna please me?" Those were the last words he got out before he clamped blunt teeth at the juncture of neck and shoulder. His body shook and jerked wildly as he emptied himself deep into the howling boy.

Gasping for air he didn't need, he had a split second to notice Xander's elbows give out. Twisting them, he cushioned the boy's collapse to the ground against his own body. "Easy now, puppy. Can't have you sleepin' yet." He cuddled the boy close, unconcerned how that clashed with his Big Bad image. I like it, sod what any other wanker thinks, had always been his motto, about anything. Including cuddling.

"Got a job interview, right?" was the sleepy reply.

He chuckled. The worry and fear was seeping back in, now that his need for sex had been taken care of. "Yeah. Gonna actually have to look up old Albert. Wasn't lyin' about him, an' it would make a good job for you. I'll ring him tomorrow, how's that, pet?"

"Yeah. Sleep now?" Could he have honestly forgotten? Spike pressed his nose against the boy's head, fighting past the scent of sex and some kind of fruity shampoo. No. He's hidin' it. Soddin' hell. He's hopin' I've forgotten about it. Gonna wait till I'm off doin' whatever an'. . . not a chance, boy. Not a chance.

"Sure, pet. C'mon, let's go home." He got the sleepy, sated human to his feet, trying hard not to curse at how good an actor the boy was. If he didn't trust his nose so much, he'd swear the boy was totally relaxed. Fine. We'll play your game for a bit, puppy. But I'll be watchin' you, pet. An' if they do what I think they're gonna do. . . then it's over.

*****