"If you put a curse on my dogs, you're out the door," Ares said, straightening his jacket. "No tragic fate for them. Just for you."
He ran his hand across Sparta's head, and the dog licked his wrist in response. He got more loyalty from these animals than he did from a lot of people. He remembered Sparta's last match. "The last time Sparta fought, he nearly died," he said suddenly, running his thumb along the scar almost hidden in the dog's fur below his ear. "The other dog had latched on to his neck and was going to rip his throat out. All the work that went into training him, all his victories, almost wiped out. I jumped in the pit and tore that bastard's jaw open myself." He remembered how much blood there had been all over his hands after killing that other dog, and how angry that dog's trainer had been- how much blood there had been after punching the other trainer in the face until he had to be dragged away by his attendants. But Sparta had lived, and a more devoted, loyal animal you would never find.