When Nikolas had recovered from his uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability, he ran his fingers through Radulf’s fur. Radulf stared up at him, one eye wide and unblinking, one milky and dead. They shared a bond now—a burden—memory of the pleasure of human blood and death. Nikolas chided softly, “You’re a bad dog.” Radulf banged his tail in agreement. Nikolas smiled as best he could. “We’ll be bad together, you and I."
Gaaaah. I love this damn dog.