| “Go plague someone else,” you snarl, and shove him out of the way as you walk past. You don’t have time for beggars. “Watch it, rich girl,” he growls from behind you. His tone raises a few hairs on the back of your neck, but you’re not really scared. What can a cotton-collared mutt do to you? That night, when you go out to do your business, four dark shapes surround you. You tremble and start to bark for your owner, but a paw slaps your muzzle shut. “Shut it, rich girl,” a familiar voice growls. “My name’s Deneb,” you say haughtily. “Yeah, and my name’s Blade,” he says coolly, “But you don’t care about that, do you? So I don’t care about your name. To me you’ll always be that rich girl, the dog who didn’t help me out when she the only one who could. I need that money, rich girl.” |