Odin (Alien Adoption Agency #5) - Tasha Black Page 0,14

speed. Its legs were too much of a blur to count, but there were definitely more than four of them.

Liberty froze in place, too scared to breathe.

11

Odin

Odin grinned at the tree-hound. He had always loved the things with their floppy fur and enthusiastic outlook.

He was so busy anticipating his meeting with the furry creature that he didn’t see Liberty until it was too late.

She flew at him, elbow first as if to force him off the path, a look of pure terror on her face.

“What the—?” he began.

“It’s coming right for us,” she hissed, bouncing off him, but coming back instantly to wrap herself protectively around Colton’s little body, which was currently cradled in Odin’s arms.

“What is?” he asked.

“That - that thing,” she yelped, stealing a glance back at the path and apparently getting the scare of her life when she saw the tree-hound bouncing her way with a lopsided doggy grin.

“Liberty,” he said gently, “it’s just a tree-hound. He won’t hurt you.”

“That’s no hound,” she said, pummeling his chest with her little fists. “It has too many legs. Get the baby out of here.”

“Take the baby and hide behind that tree,” Odin told her, deciding to humor her. “But don’t go further. I want you to see what we’re up against.”

She nodded and snatched the baby so fast he almost regretted letting her take him.

But Colton didn’t make a squeak.

Liberty obligingly darted off into the trees, but stopped and peered out at him, eyes wide with fear, before she got out of sight.

The dragon hummed with satisfaction at this show of submission.

Odin nodded to her and turned back to the approaching beast.

As it got closer, he began to understand her trepidation. On most of the Terras the canines were more similar to what had been found on Old Earth. Not because any of those canids had come along to the stars, to his knowledge, but because the Terrans had domesticated the species that looked familiar to them.

Tree-hounds had six legs, and were closer in size to bears than dogs, in spite of their dog-like loyalty.

Liberty was much smaller than Odin. It would be easy for a tree-hound to knock her down with its enthusiastic greeting.

But surely she couldn’t look at that adorable face and think it meant her harm?

“Hey, buddy,” he crooned and bent to meet it.

The thing flung itself at his legs, sitting on his feet licking his whole face with its lolling tongue.

“Hi,” Odin said. “I see you.”

The tree-hound moaned back, making a sound like a claxhorn in a jazz band, then flung itself on its back and wagged its whole body back and forth, showing off all six dancing paws.

“Yes, you have a very fluffy belly,” Odin agreed, patting said belly. “Come on out, Liberty.”

She didn’t reply, but his dragon could sense her approaching cautiously. He could taste her fascination.

“He’s… domesticated,” she murmured.

“Actually, he’s a she,” Odin said. “And yes, she’s going to be your best friend. This little lady is going to guard your sheep.”

“There’s nothing little about her,” Liberty said.

“Well, come pat her belly anyway, so she knows you like her,” Odin said. “You wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings. She didn’t ask to be this big.”

Liberty handed him the baby and bent, extending her hand cautiously.

The tree-hound spotted her, yipped once in greeting, and promptly rolled back onto her belly, lying still, with her huge muzzle resting on her front paws, as if she sensed her mistress’s worries and wanted to reassure her that she was a good, calm tree-hound.

Odin figured Liberty had about thirty seconds to take advantage before the creature leapt up and bounded around her, crowing.

“Go on,” he said. “Pat her.”

Liberty’s hand barely touched the silky fur.

“She’s so soft,” she murmured.

He nodded.

She threaded her fingers through the fur, instinctively finding the spot right behind the ears that every creature needed scratched.

The tree-hound hummed in ecstasy.

“Good girl,” Liberty crooned, obviously enamored.

At the encouraging sound, the animal leaped to its feet and spun around in circles, stopping to lie down flat on its belly, ears pinned back, and bark joyfully after every few circles.

“Wow, she has a lot of energy,” Liberty said.

“She needs it with seventeen sheep to keep in line,” Odin pointed out. “Tell her to show you the sheep.”

Liberty looked at the dog in wonder. “Show me the sheep,” she said softly.

The creature snapped to attention, her clowning forgotten, and marched forward, chest held high.

“Wow,” Liberty said.

“This is her job,” Odin told her. “She likes goofing around as much as