Page 1 of Absinthe Dreams
Chapter One
Trystan
"You are one persistentlittle psychopath, aren't you?" I mutter, keeping one watchful eye on the fluffy white Chihuahua currently snarling like he'd like to eat my face off as I pass in front of the gate holding him back. And by snarling, I mean the little shit is screaming thatgodforsaken battle cry invented by Huskies and perfected by Chihuahuas. It's loud, shrill…full of drama.
The dog probably weighs five pounds soaking wet, but what he lacks in size, he makes up for with attitude. Specifically, one spawned in the pits of hell.
The PTSD-ridden Malinois at my side whines softly, butting up against my thigh as if seeking protection from the tiny demon screaming at us like a banshee from the opposite side of the neighbor's front gate.
"Easy, Thanos," I say softly, one hand on his back to keep him from bolting. He's sniffed out bombs in literal war zones. But that was before he retired to live a life of luxury on my best friend, Wyatt Walker's couch. Now? Well, Thanos draws a hard line at overdramatic Chihuahuas.
Can't say I blame him.
He's done his time. The dog deserves a peaceful, easy life. But every time we pass by Wyatt's neighbor's place, the old lady's Chihuahua loses his fucking mind.
"We're almost home," I mutter to Thanos.
Thanos whines again, rolling his eyes toward the Chihuahua as if to ask me what the fuck his problem is. I wish I knew. Chihuahuas were born full of fury and spite. Antagonistic and loud are their natural state of being.
The little dog stops screaming long enough to hike one leg.
"Really, man?" I narrow my eyes at him. "You're just going to make eye contact while you piss on the post?"
A growl is the only response I get…which I assume means fuck you very much, this is my house. Either that, or he has a bladder the size of a walnut. Who the hell knows?
I hurry my steps, keeping Thanos glued to my side until we're safely past. It doesn't stop the Chihuahua from screaming his tiny head off at us again as soon as he's done with his piss-of-intimidation. But I'm fairly confident he isn't going to slipthrough the gate and try to attack me or Thanos just to remind us that he runs this block.
I'm counting it as a win.
I need one of those today. A goddamn cat jumping out of the bushes nearly had Thanos shitting himself in the park. He ran halfway back home before I managed to catch up to him. And then there was the incident with the mailman.
Cats and Chihuahuas, Thanos will not do. But I guess even PTSD-ridden, highly trained Malinois have an ingrained hatred for mail carriers. I had to carry his big ass away while he howled and the mailman cowered.
We're both hot, tired, and irritable. And it's not even noon. Wyatt only shipped out on a mission two days ago. I don't know where the hell they sent him this time. Shit is always classified with him. But if the rest of the week with Thanos is this eventful, it's going to be a long one.
We're right outside Wyatt's gate when my phone rings. I sigh, pulling it from my pocket. And then I groan when I see my brother, Jax's name, lighting up the display.
"What?" I growl into the phone, juggling it between my ear and shoulder so I can open the gate. Why are my brothers always calling me? If it isn't Jax, it's Gabe, or Liam. And if Jace weren't currently in Syria, he'd be calling me all the goddamn time, too. The only one of my siblings who isn't constantly on my phone is my baby sister, Avery. She's busy living her best life at UCLA, pretending she doesn't have five pain-in-the-ass older brothers.
"Well, damn," Jax says, amusement lacing his voice. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."
"Did not," I mutter, latching the gate before unleashing Thanos. He immediately walks to the very center of the yard and flops down in a patch of sun with a loud grunt. "I've been dealing with Thanos."
"What'd he do?"
"Slipped his leash while fleeing from a cat, tried to eat a mailman, and just got bitched around by a Chihuahua." I scrub a hand through my hair. "Actually, I think we both got bitched around by a Chihuahua. He made eye contact while marking his territory."
Jax laughs abruptly. "When are you going to learn not to fuck with Chihuahuas, man? They lead Satan's army."
"It's not like it was on my list of shit to do today," I mutter defensively. "He belongs to Wyatt's neighbor. I swear to Christ, he stands in the window, just waiting for us to step outside Wyatt's gate. As soon as we do, he comes busting through that goddamn doggie door like the Kool-Aid Man."
Jax laughs again.
"Why are you calling me?" I narrow my eyes, suspicious. "If you want me to help convince Bastian of anything, you're shit outta luck until I get back next week."
Bastian Grayson, our cousin, was probably a Chihuahua in a different life. The man is a terrorist. He has no chill, especially when it comes to our family's vineyard. He stresses everyone out, all day, every day. But he is not my problem for the next week. It's someone else's turn to play mediator.
"Nah, he's actually been decent lately." There's a smile in Jax's voice. "Constance is good for him."
