Grave Peril (The Dresden Files, #3)

by Jim Butcher

“Holy shit,” I breathed. “Hellhounds.” “Harry,” Michael said sternly. “You know I hate it when you swear.” “You’re right. Sorry. Holy shit,” I breathed, “heckhounds.

I didn’t point the gun at the door, yet. Never point a gun at anything you aren’t sure you want dead.