Chapter Twenty-Six

Alexios protested when Demetrius tried to step past and leave without him.

With three indignant yaps, he threw himself under his feet and rolled onto his back, gazing up with eyes that spoke of unwavering loyalty, a bond that couldn't be resisted.

'Or perhaps,' Demetrius thought ruefully, 'it's a subtle warning that my clothes will need washing even more when I return. Wine is one thing; urine is another.'

He smiled wearily, feeling the bag beneath his eyes pull heavily at the thin skin and knelt beside the small, prone dog. The small tail wagged furiously. Unlike his paws and girth, that part of him hadn't grown and looked like a pimple on his rear.