She let out a long breath. Most breeds of scent hounds won't track a werewolf, or any wereanimal for that matter. Besides, the wererats are still there, and most of them are ex-mercenaries, or something in that ballpark. But what I had to feed every twelve hours didn't have much to do with my stomach.
I was what Marianne, my psychic teacher, called head blind. Whatever indefinable quality she had possessed as a world-renowned mannequin, she stillretained, even as a slightly haggard, still lovely, blind-eyed woman of indeterminate age. I could hear, and I could feel. I plowed on.
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