“Because he’s a good guy, underneath it all,” Zander said. “He’s got a mate now, and already expecting another cub. We’ll head that way. Piotr? You in or out?”

Piotr heaved a regretful sigh. “Out. I would love to go on adventures with you, my friend, but my wife would hunt me down. I have a boat to run, a family to feed . . .”

Zander looked amused. “You can’t wait to get home and warm yourself with your pretty wife, and you know it. You can admit it here. Shifters know exactly how wonderful it is to be with a female. We can go on and on about it.”

“And on,” Rae confided to Piotr. “And on.”

Piotr grinned at Rae and nodded. “You say the truth, bear. My wife is like no other. I will radio a friend to rendezvous with us and pick me up.”

He went into the pilot house to the radio, as they were out of cell range by now. Zander gathered up the sandwich wrappings and disappeared into the cabin belowdecks. Rae lifted the Sword of the Guardian that had sat next to her and followed him down.

“I need to talk to you,” she said.

Zander swung around from where he’d dumped the sandwich trash into the garbage. Under the low ceiling, his bulk seemed larger, filling Rae’s personal space. He put his hand on the ceiling, which tightened every sinew on his arm.

“About what?” he asked.

His voice was quiet, unlike the loud rumble he’d used outside. He and Rae had been utterly alone on this boat last night and this morning but for some reason she felt more alone with him now, inside the cabin with Piotr and Ezra on deck.

“Something happened to the sword,” Rae said in a rush. Her heart pounded as his gaze sharpened. “I think I broke it.”

Zander’s frown deepened. “You can’t break the Sword of the Guardian.”

“I’m pretty sure I did anyway.”

Rae gingerly pulled it from its sheath and laid the sword and sheath on the cushioned bench beside her. The crack was visible, a sharp serrated line across the silver blade.

“It’s stopped humming too,” Rae said, her nervousness growing. “I haven’t heard it singing—whatever it does—since it split.”

“Hmm.” Zander’s eyes narrowed as he leaned to study the sword. “Nope, I don’t hear it either.”

“What am I going to do?” Rae put her hands to her cheeks. “How do I go back and tell my dad that I broke the Sword of the Guardian?”

“It isn’t broken.” Zander reached a broad finger to touch the split. “Just cracked.” Slowly he closed his hand around the hilt and lifted the sword.

The sword shuddered, gave a sound like tink, and the bottom half of the blade dropped to the bench.

Both of them stared in horror at the silver pieces, the hilt and top half of the blade still in Zander’s hand.

“Okay, now it’s broken,” Zander said.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“What do we do?” Rae asked.

She was looking at Zander as though he knew everything about Swords of the Guardians and how to make them magically heal. Maybe she did think that—he was a healer, and the sword was almost alive.

Why had the sword jerked and broken apart when he touched it? Why had it broken at all? The things were supposed to be indestructible.

“Goddess, I hate magic,” he growled.

Rae’s fetching scowl returned. “You’re a healer full of magic from the Goddess.”

“I know. Don’t think that isn’t a bitch to live with.” Zander studied the sword again. “I might know a guy who can fix it.”

Rae’s expression turned to perplexity. “What do you mean you know a guy? It’s a Sword of the Guardian. Eight hundred years old. They don’t make them anymore.”

“I know that, but he works with metal. A frigging genius with it.”

Rae’s bafflement continued, then she looked morose. “Daragh would be so pissed off if he knew I broke his sword.”

Her unhappiness poured from her. Zander had noticed that whenever she mentioned this dead Guardian, Rae’s tone held respect, even a touch of awe. She’d had a high estimation of Daragh . . . maybe even infatuation, as he’d thought when she’d first come aboard.

“Were you in love with Daragh?” Zander asked abruptly.

Rae blinked, then she turned a brilliant red. “No!” she said in a near yell. “What the hell are you asking me that for?”

Zander shrugged, tightening inside. “You really admired the guy and you get mad whenever I bring him up . . .”

Rae’s eyes sparkled, her glumness gone. “He was a friend. When I was a cub, Daragh was one of the few besides my dad who accepted me. He helped me fit in with the rest of Shiftertown. Of course I get upset when I think about him. He was killed by humans—shot dead. It was horrible . . .” She trailed to a halt, her breath coming fast. “All right, when I was younger, I admit I had a big crush on him. I thought that maybe when I was old enough he’d mate-claim me. It never happened.” She shook her head. “But I can’t help thinking that maybe if I’d convinced him to mate-claim me, I’d have been with him when the humans caught him. I could have fought beside him. The two of us could have defeated a couple humans, even ones with guns . . .”

She broke off, her throat working. Her pain, guilt, and regret pushed at Zander, stirring the empathic part of his healing gift like static crackling a cat’s fur.

“It’s not your fault,” Zander said quickly. “How can humans shooting him be your fault?”

“I know I’m not to blame. I know that here.” Rae jammed her fingers to her temple. “But it doesn’t help. If I’d been with him . . .” She gave Zander a helpless look. “When the Goddess Chose me, I couldn’t help thinking it was a punishment for me not looking after him. Daragh was my best friend.” Tears trickled from her eyes and silently down her cheeks.

“Rae. Sweetheart.”

Zander put his arms around her and drew her close. Rae resisted at first, her fists on his chest, but gradually she stilled and leaned her cheek on his T-shirt.

Zander recalled how she’d gone into near frenzy when they’d fought at the bar, how she’d rushed at the guy with the shotgun when common sense should have told her to run the other way. She’d swung the sword at the gun, for the Goddess’s sake, trying to keep the man from shooting Zander.