The thing no one had ever told Annie about summons was their musk.

Yeah, they went on and on about how angry they could be when first summoned—how they often turned on their summoners. (Annie herself had a sizable trio of scars on her belly—leftovers from when her own summon, Lustre, had nearly gutted her during his initial calling.) There were warnings on the effects of being merged with them too long, on the corruptive effects that their touch—normal or, ahem, intimate—could have on the human body.

But man. Nobody ever mentioned the scent.

It probably changed from summon to summon, Annie admitted. Not everyone had a six-and-a-half foot bipedal mustelid living in their home. But Lustre’s musk—a heavy, almost humid sort of scent that permeated their abode—was impossible to ignore. It was earthy and pleasing, and bespoke the primal lusts of a beast in rut. To be frank, Annie herself was more than a little affected by it.

She wouldn’t be the first. There were monsterborn in the world—a part-bestial, part-human race caused by the union of summon and man. To the best of her knowledge, it took special potions and herbs to make such unions compatible.

So you might as well try, part of her mind teased her. There’s no chance of getting knocked up without those potions.