Serpent's Kiss

by Thea Harrison

  The dog hurtled up the path with a manic grin. He danced and twirled and jumped, and when Carling bent to pick him up, he leaped into her arms and tried frantically to lick her face. Rune greeted Rufio, asked him how their flight had been, and showed him to his room so he could settle in.

  When Rune returned, he found Carling and Rasputin in the kitchen. Rasputin was exploring the corners of the kitchen floor, his plumed tail wagging. Carling had pulled out a package of raw chicken breast tenders, muttering to herself as she sprayed some pam in a skillet. She glanced at Rune. “I’m going to cook Rasputin some chicken for supper. Would you like for me to cook some for you as well?”

  Rune pinched the bridge of his nose. He said, “Ah, I have to come clean about something.”

  “What’s that?” Carling asked. She turned on a burner, squinted at the flames, and adjusted the temperature down.

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” said Rune. “To me, you are perfection personified in so many ways. But darling, you are a terrible cook.”

  Carling narrowed her eyes on him. He gave her an apologetic shrug and a smile. He watched her gaze fall and her expression change. She covered her mouth with one hand.

  He looked down too. The dog had come over to him and lifted its leg. A tiny stream of urine sprinkled Rune’s shoe.

  Rune angled out his jaw. Both he and Carling squatted down to regard the Pomeranian thoughtfully. Rasputin sat and scratched energetically behind one ear.

  “What do you suppose he’s feeling right now?” Rune asked.

  “I don’t have any idea,” said Carling. Her face creased with laughter, her long almond-shaped eyes dancing. She looked completely alive, completely happy. “But from now on, you’re taking him out.”