Lycon was less than a hundred yards from the hedge, when the blue-scaled killer vaulted over the thorny barrier with an acrobat’s grace. It writhed through the air, and one needle-clawed hand slashed out—tearing the throat from the nearest Molossian before the dog was fully aware of its presence. The creature bounced to the earth like a cat, as the last two snarling hounds sprang for it together. Spinning and slashing as it ducked under and away, the thing was literally a blur of motion. Deadly motion. Neither hound completed its leap, as lethal talons tore and gutted—slew with nightmarish precision.

Lycon skidded to a stop on the muddy held. He did not need to glance behind him to know he was alone with the beast. Its eyes glowed in the sunset as it turned from the butchered dogs and stared at its pursuer.

The hunter advanced his spear, making no attempt to throw. As fast as it moved, the thing would easily dodge his cast. And Lycon knew that if the beast leaped, he was dead …