She liked boats and cars and planes. A decade in this business and these were the things with which she was comfortable.

She set her foot in the stirrup, hopped twice, and swung into the saddle, the leather creaking as she settled. She took up the reins in her right hand (her first riding instructor would be so disappointed in her) and urged the horse forward.

Night had begun to fall, the shadows turned inky black. She rode out toward the chapel where she knew she’d find Valdyr and his companions. She’d not sent word of her journey, but he’d know, and he’d welcome her request for sanctuary.

The first of his sentries, a dog as large as her unnamed familiar, fell in beside her as she rode within sight of the chapel. She knew him, and he her.

The second was there at the gate to the chapel yard. She dismounted, and the two sentries flanked her as she approached the chapel steps.

Hand on her dagger, she smiled to herself. Ten years in and she’d still not gotten used to the werewolves.