Time and practice made her careful to stay quiet, even in heavy-duty steel-toed work boots and fatigue-style hunter pants, courtesy of last month’s run in with a nasty band of satyrs in a bargain resale shop. She hadn’t been able to break the spell on the satyrs’ crazy harem of humans, but getting away without being raped by goat people was good enough. The boots had been an addition after one of the dogs nipped her ankle, the pain dissolving the last of the satyrs’ lust spell. A bite from other things, not-so-friendly as her canine companions, could be worse than deadly. The idea of doing the nasty with half-goats still made her skin crawl. Merc whined softly; the scarred pit bull stayed right on her heels. She probably should have called him Ghost, for the dog’s almost albino coloring and tendency to stay on her ass at all times. Merc’s healed nip on her ankle hummed when he was close, reminding her to be careful. The scarred animal had good reason, and it was always good to have someone at your back when the monsters could be anywhere.
