Amy spun around, hackles raised. She knew that voice far too well. The dog's face contorted with anger, gripping the knife in her hand. She hated him, she truly did. For what he did to her, Amy wished to kill him. To show him the absolute humiliation of what he'd put her through. You. He was covered in dirt again, his tri-colored fur black. Even the scars that marked him were more difficult to see. You always look like you need a bath when I see you. She moved as he approached the water, measuring for a weakness she could take advantage of. She wasn't just going to let him push her around the same as he had last time.
The question was met with another snarl. There was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how many times she had dreamed about his body, broken at her feet. How many times she had thirsted for his blood, wishing she could take him down. The water began to darken, the dirt coming off his body. It wasn't the color she knew it to be yet, though she hadn't gotten a very clear look last time either. Half drowning tended to make seeing a person a lot more difficult than it normally was.
Amy moved towards him, hips swaying. Pretending interest in him Amy let her eyes wander over his body. He wasn't bad looking, if he didn't fit her tastes. He was more the kind she would kill than the kind she would sleep with. At the last minute she swung the hand holding the knife forwards, striking to drive it into his chest.
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