The Lathar were a contrary race. All war-like one moment, then the next they took a pleasant afternoon ride into the countryside like they were in some Regency novel.
“This is lovely, isn’t it? I love the colors of the flowers they have here,” Cat commented. The four women were safely tucked into a carriage rather than given mounts. Kenna had argued, as usual, saying she was a more than competent equestrian back on earth and that the horses had six legs rather than four was no problem.
Jane hadn’t argued. She’d never been the horsey type anyway, and the fact the monsters the Lathar rode had teeth like vampires’ and claws to boot, meant she wasn’t likely to change her mind soon. At all. Ever.
The trouble was, how the hell was she going to get any intel from a carriage?
“The flowers are
