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Dogs know everything. They can look at a man, take in the smallest amount of his scent and tell he's evil. "There's something wrong with that one," they'd say if a dog growled as a man passed with seemingly innocent intentions.

She'd known everything, too. She could look at a man, take in the smallest amount of his scent, and not know he'd beat her; burn her; slice into her; scar her; bruise her; and, leave her a sobbing mess in his wake. Her senses were too weak. She was too easily fooled by blue eyes and a wide smile.

Then she got Samson.

And when she ran into a friendly face filled with warmth, a voice that reached deep within and made something shudder with need, she brought him home to meet the dog.


Watch the one in the blue collar, he won't like you.






For ysardo.

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