She caught the odd statement. “Where are they native to, then?”

“Hell.”

“The place in Norway?”

He stared.

“Or is it Greenland?” She frowned. She knew it wasn’t in North America.

“Hellhounds are the top of the canine food chain. They are tough, loyal to their masters, and deadly, too. They require a firm hand at all times.”

“Or we’ll raise it in love and let it be the puppy it was meant to be,” she enthused.

There Marduke went staring at her again. “Are you for real?”

“I am. You?” She reached out and poked him. In the belly. Her finger met a hard slab.

Oh.

Wait, that came out of her mouth. Her startled gaze met his.

He frowned.

A little hand tugged, and she looked down. Miguel pulled her away from Marduke. Shoved her to the sofa then turned to glare at the big man.

“You’re a tad small yet to challenge me, little man. But tell you what, treat the hound right, and you won’t have anyone that will ever bother you, no matter what your size.” Marduke uttered a sharp whistle, and the puppy bolted for him and skidded to a stop by his feet.

Miguel’s eyes widened.

“Ready to learn what your dog can do?”

At Miguel’s rapid nod, Marduke showed them the basic commands using hand signals. Up. Down. Rollover. Attack. Menace. Protect.

Merry had no problem with any of them, and then added one of her own at the end. She jazzed her fingers and said, “Dance.”

“A hellhound doesn’t dance.”

“It just needs to be taught. I once knew this girl who had a dog that would dance on its hind legs for treats.” Cutest thing ever. Maybe she could find a tutu and make a video for Miguel.

“If a hellhound is hungry, it will just eat the nearest person. Which could be its master, so always have lots of food on hand. Raw meat being the best, although they do enjoy a nice beefsicle.”

“I guess it’s a good thing we’re not vegan, then.” Miguel functioned better on high protein. “You haven’t said if it’s a boy or girl.”

Marduke shrugged. “Because it hasn’t decided yet.”

She blinked. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“Now you do.”

“And when will it happen?”

“When it’s ready.” The man revealed as little as possible.

Miguel moved off and practiced the hand gestures. The dog obeyed without fail.

“How often does it eat?” she asked.

“As often as it likes.”

A non-answer. “And potty breaks?”

Marduke shrugged. “In the kennels, they go at will. Show it the exits and it should figure it out.”

She glanced at the doorknob then the dog shaking paws with Miguel. “I’ll need a collar and leash.”