“Hi, Tchaikovsky.” I offer him my hand.
He comes over and puts his paw on my palm, and we shake. That done, he sniffs, then licks me, his tongue warm, damp and quick.
“He’s really sweet,” I say, petting him gently.
“He is. He’s also the most vicious of the trio.” Tolyan gestures at the darkest of the three. “That is Mussorgsky. Slightly lazy, and bossy with Stravinsky, who is the youngest. He likes to chase after small animals, but I’ve trained that out of him, so he only does it when he’s been given permission.”
“Hi,” I say.
“Mussorgsky, say hello to Angelika.”
The dog whines and places his head on my lap. I scratch him behind his ears. “I thought it was a thing not to clip Doberman’s ears.”
“Some also don’t dock their tails, either. Or offer them a protective collar,” Tolyan says. “People are welcome to do whatever they want with their animals. I prefer not to leave my pets with an unnecessary vulnerability.”
Vulnerability? “I don’t think the word ‘vulnerable’ can apply to your dogs.”
He smiles. “Because I don’t let them be vulnerable. Many think dogs have the upper hand because they have teeth, but that isn’t the case. People can grab them by their ears or their tails in a fight. Or try to choke the animal. Mine? Nobody can hurt them like that.” He leans forward and cradles Tchaikovsky’s face between his hands. “Isn’t that right, my little angel?”
Tchaikovsky whines happily and licks Tolyan like he’s made of candy. Tolyan’s eyes narrow, and he gives a small hum of pleasure. He murmurs something in Russian and pats the dog on the back a few times.
Finally, he pulls back and gestures at the smallest of the group. “Smallest” being a relative term. He’s gotta weigh a good seventy to eighty pounds of pure muscle. “That’s Stravinsky. He likes to show off, and he likes to scare you. He thinks it’s funny. Don’t let him do that, because if he thinks he can get you, he’ll try over and over again.”
I look at the dog with a small, slightly red spot under his left eye. His name seems familiar, then I remember he’s the dog whose name Tolyan called when the flasher incident happened. The one that snapped at the man’s dick and made him pee.
I say hello. Stravinsky mock-snaps at my hand, and Tolyan whistles sharply. “Stravinsky, no.”
He whines a little, then licks my hand, as though apologizing.
“It’s okay.” I pet him. “You were awesome when you scared that creep.”
“Anyway, they won’t attack you, since they know you belong here now. If, for whatever reason, I’m not around but the dogs are, you point at the intruder and command them to attack.”
“Got it.” I continue to pet the Dobermans because they keep demanding my attention. “By the way, do you have nicknames for them? Their names are a mouthful.”
“No.” He looks at me like I just said the sun orbits the moon. “They’re named after three of the greatest Russian composers. Butchering the names would be disrespectful.”
“Okay.” No disrespecting Tolyan’s favorite composers. Or his dogs.
“Go shower.” He tilts his chin in the direction of the room I came out of. “The en-suite bathroom has your clothes.”
Whaaat? All this time I’ve been wondering about my clothes, and they?
?ve been just sitting in the bathroom? Why didn’t he just say that instead of being difficult about it?
“It’s amusing to watch your reaction, little fawn.” He smiles.
“Well, I’m glad I’m so entertaining.”
“Why else do you think I’ve decided to do something about your stepbrother?”
Right. Tolyan promised to keep me safe. I can’t forget that. “You want me to put on clown makeup? I could do that, too.”
He smiles. “I don’t like clowns. And you’re too pretty to cover up with white paint and a cherry nose.”
Heat flames my face. From the unguarded way he tossed the compliment out, I don’t know if he meant to say that out loud. I remember the way he dissed the redhead at the hotel. She was fully made-up and decked out in gorgeous designer clothes.
For some reason, I feel like giggling like a silly teen. I press my lips together to maintain my dignity. “No weird makeup, then.”