CHAPTER 44

Dexter stares at me, unblinking. Snaggletooth gleaming like a warning.

I stop scratching, drop my hand, and inhale.

He yips, nosing the grocery bag like I’ve forgotten the real crisis.

“Right. Okay. Mr. Picky Pants. Let’s see if you’ll eat tonight.”

I line up three overpriced, artisanal, vet-rec...

Login and Continue Reading