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Boss Goat chuffed from the front. Two goats stopped at a junction, one watching each direction while the others passed. Then they fell in behind. Blythe glanced back. A smaller animal took up position beside her.

Holy shit. They were keeping her in the center. Not corralling her, but protecting her.

And the way they moved as a group… she’d seen soldiers move like this. Never livestock. And certainly never livestock that paused to rip a dangling cable out of a wall before carrying on with the job.

“Right,” she muttered. “Remind me not to piss you lot off.”

Ahead, two guards stepped through a doorway. One started laughing, nudging his friend as Blythe came into view in her torn dress, boots, and furry escort.

“Fucking hell, have you seen this? Hey, bitch, you think some mangy animals are gonna help you?”

Boss Goat stopped, an unholy light entering his eyes as he gave a short chuff. Then three of the meanest-looking goats she’d ever seen in her life stepped forward.

If they’d been human, they’d have been covered in prison tattoos. Probably with a gold tooth or seven and love and hate tattooed across their knuckles.

They lowered their horned heads, their shoulders bunching under coarse fur and the guards’ smiles crumpled.

Yeah, she didn’t blame them. Up close, those goats were big. With a shit-ton of muscles as well, and the one coming up behind the other two apparently didn’t believe in waiting his turn.

Instead, he leaped onto his companion’s back, launched sideways, and bounced off the wall.

His hooves left a deep print in the metal.

“What the fuck?” one guard murmured, then they realized that they were ground zero.

Both of them turned and ran. The goats went after them with glee, hooves hammering against the metal of the deck plating. Blythe whooped so hard her bruised ribs complained.

“Run faster, assholes! The ‘mangy animals’ are gaining!”

Boss Goat turned toward her as the screams receded. She dragged in a breath and pointed toward the passage on their left.

“There are other women locked up here. My friends. We need to get them out.”

His ears tipped toward her.

“This way.”

She led them up from the cargo deck, keeping one hand against the wall on the turns. The dress was riding up, everything hurt, and there was sweat running down her spine. But none of that mattered. She had to find the others.

The private quarters were just ahead.

So were more guards.

One managed to shout before the goats reached him. Blythe ducked behind a projecting bulkhead as a weapon cracked, then a furry body slammed the gun arm upward. The next shot punched through the ceiling and a second goat took the man’s legs out while his companion disappeared beneath a mess of horns and kicking feet.

Stepping over a dropped weapon, she checked the nearest door.

It was locked.

The keypad flashed a refusal at her. She tried the release again, then crouched to inspect the panel.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Some dickhead’s locked the keypads out.”

Something nudged her shoulder. She glanced sideways to find one of the bruiser goat’s beside her, looking at the door.

She moved aside quickly.

He was joined by a friend and the two of them reared up, bringing their hooves down against the door panel with a crash that rang through her teeth. The door bowed. Another blow tore one edge out of its housing, revealing part of the room beyond.