Page 6 of The Satyr's Guilt
When Denim turned the scumbag over to them,they perp-walked him out to their car, handcuffed, yelling andscreaming about how she’d assaulted him. Fortunately, she knew bothguys.And happy day. One of them was Marta’sboyfriend.Carl couldn’t catch a break. Chances were goodhe’d arrive at the station with two black eyes, busted ribs, andextra bruises.
Yay for New Orleans’ finest.
Denim knocked the all-clear on the basementdoor as her cell rang out with the Dead Kennedys’ “I Fought theLaw.”
“Galena, hey.” She checked her watch. “I’mnot late. … Yeah. … Just finishing here. On my way.” Shedisconnected. “Yo, Marta, gotta head to work. See ya when I’m off.Call if you need me before then.”
“Stay safe.”
Safe may not be possible.
She snagged a scrunchy from her pocket,pulling her hair into a high, tight ponytail. Her scar was visible.Vanity on the job was too dangerous.
Chapter Two
Darque, PresentDay
Ramirez yelled over his shoulder at thethree Spriggans hauling ass behind him. “Beat feet. Put some airunder those wide fuckers.” A pack of hellhounds chuffed at theirheels, chasing them across the Narobi Flats at the base of thefoothills.
Earlier in the morning, the Spriggans’ chiefhad requested assistance from the Scion Firebrands. A five-year-oldkid was missing. Since he was one of his commander’s best trackers,Ram drew the short straw and was dispatched to find the brat.
He portaled near the Spriggan Enclave on therealm of Darque, picked up the two males and the female racing athis six, and traced the kid’s scent to the foothills. When theirfoursome started to ascend, following the trail, the hounds chargedout of a canyon. Bounding, snarling, fur flying, eager to kill.He’d had worse days. He just couldn’t remember one at themoment.
“Move your asses or be dinner,” heshouted.
The red-eyed bearers of death were as tallas Ram’s shoulder and pawing the ground at a speed nearly matchinghis own. That was saying something since he was a satyr withenhanced Scion Firebrand muscle and power. The Spriggans behind himwere slower, making them potential dog meat.
“Those trees.” Ram punched a finger in theair toward a cluster of oaks in the distance. With his armspumping, his knees kicking high, he sprinted ahead. He leaped agully, veering left, jumping low brambles and side-stepping largershrubs. Brushing aside scraggly branches, he stumbled but caughthimself before he fell. The terrain was rougher than imagined.Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw the struggling Spriggansfalling farther behind.
Ram considered shadowflashing. A single tapon his D-chip would leave his companions alone to fend off the packwhile he darted from shadow to shadow, moving ahead quickly. At theend of a long self-debate, he decided against that route. Now hewas reevaluating the choice.
When did I become a damn Boy Scout?
More underbrush. Saplings. Rocks. Thickets.Finally his destination, the stand of trees. Near the exposed rootsof an oak, he paused, waited, and motioned for his panting,oxygen-sucking companions to climb three nearby large trunks.
Once they had hand-over-footed it to safety,he selected his own tree, clutched a low branch with both hands,pulled himself onto it, and swung a leg over the sturdy limb. Herepeated the action until he was well out of the hellhounds’reach.
The final limb bowed under his six-foot-fivesolidly muscled frame. Praying it didn’t snap and tumble him to theground into the jaws of his hungry attackers, he wrapped himself inhis satyr camouflage, cloaking himself in an invisible fog.
The beasts arrived in a savage fury,growling, leaping, snapping. The pack divided, some picking onetree, some another. Ram was fairly sure the biggest hounds stuckwith him.
Lucky.
Their heads butted the thick trunk, drooldripping down their matted fur. Their nostrils worked overtime,sniffing, pinpointing his location. Obviously, they didn’t fall forhis camouflage.
“Give it a rest,” he shouted, dropping hisuseless defense in order to avoid wasting energy he might needlater.
The tree shook hard when the biggest of thepack, probably the leader, threw his whole body at it. Despite asolid grip, Ram slipped off the bough but snagged a lower limb. Hescrambled back up before their pearly whites neutered him.
“And take a bath.”
Think. Think.
He patted the dagger handles sticking out ofhis chest harness. They and the two short tactical swords at hisspine were useless unless he wanted to fight the whole pack upclose and personal. He didn’t. Only one choice left. Natch, he hadnever tried it on non-sentient beings.
He checked out his companions before heshouted above the yelps and howls of his attackers. “Are the rumorstrue? If you stare into a hellhound’s flaming red eyes, youdie?”
The Spriggans shrugged. At least it lookedthat way from this distance.Well, hell. He had to lock ontothe mangy critters’ peepers to work his satyr hoo-doo. Guess he wasabout to see if the old canard was truth or myth.
