Burn Me Once Burn With Me (Ruby Grayson) novel Chapter 117

Ruby froze in place, startled by the sudden chaos. A chilling gust seemed to rise from her heels, sending a cold shiver through her body.

Before she had time to react, a strong arm shot past her, muscles taut, and in one swift motion, yanked the dog away from where she and her daughter stood.

The golden retriever twisted in the air with a pitiful yelp before crashing onto the grass several yards away.

Ruby's chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath. Only then did she remember to stumble backward.

Sylas stepped up, shielding Ruby behind him. His gaze was sharp, almost predatory.

Just then, the dog's owner—an apologetic-looking man—came racing over. "I'm so sorry! I have no idea what got into Bailey. She's never acted like this before. Are you two alright?"

His eyes darted between Ruby and her daughter, avoiding direct contact.

"Why wasn't your dog on a leash? This is a residential neighborhood!" Sylas's tone sharpened, his presence suddenly intimidating.

The owner faltered, his face paling, but he forced a smile. "Really, I'm sorry. Bailey's a retired police dog—she's always obedient. Everyone around here knows her."

Sylas didn't let up. "I'm calling the police. You can explain yourself to them."

The man's jaw dropped. His voice rose, tinged with anger. "Nobody got hurt! Why would you call the police?"

He hurried over to his golden retriever, who lay whimpering on the lawn.

Sylas hadn't pulled his kick, and the retriever was still sprawled out, barely moving.

The owner ran his hand over the dog's fur, glaring at Sylas. "I've already apologized, and now Bailey's injured! I'm not even asking you for compensation. And you want to call the cops?!"

Unmoved, Sylas pulled out his phone and started dialing.

"Don't you dare!" the man shouted, lunging for the phone.

Sylas sidestepped him easily, shooting a glare so cold and dark it sent a chill down the man's spine.

Who was this guy? That look was terrifying—like staring into the eyes of someone who'd seen death.

The owner glanced nervously at the row of luxury townhouses behind him. He'd lived in this exclusive part of Quinborough for years and had never seen Sylas before. If this guy were anyone important, surely he'd have heard of him.

He straightened his back, trying to muster courage. "Is this about money? Just name your price. No need for the theatrics."

"Money?" Sylas scoffed, his eyes flashing. "You think I care about your money?"

The owner swallowed hard under Sylas's gaze, but tried to brush it off. "Look, Bailey didn't actually hurt anybody. If anyone's owed compensation, it's me—your friend kicked her! Most people wouldn't be so forgiving."

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