“You sound very sure about that.”

“Listen, sweetheart, if I didn’t trust the Goddess every single day of my life, I’d be dead. Or too terrified to leave my house. I’d be living in a tiny cottage in the Shetlands, afraid to touch anyone, figuring the world would be better off if I just stay put. Walking around with the Goddess messing with me every day makes guiding a boat through the Graveyard a walk in the park.”

He hadn’t meant for his voice to grow so harsh, but Zander didn’t exaggerate. When he’d been younger, some days it had been all he could do to get out of bed. He’d known he’d have to heal some Shifter—because in the old, wild days, they could get into many violent situations—and he’d end up in deep, terrible pain, maybe dying for it. He’d spent a long time furious with the Goddess for doing this to him. Why did he have to draw the unlucky straw?

Rae had drawn one too. She was young, far too vulnerable for the bad shit that she’d get pulled into. Sailing around the Graveyard was the least of her worries.

To distract himself, Zander touched Jake’s cool head. “What do you think, my friend?”

Jake’s tongue flicked in and out, in and out, then he gave Zander a look from his steady black eyes.

“I agree,” Zander said. “Adjust the heading a little to the north, northwest.”

Rae was giving him her long-suffering look. “Snakes can’t talk.”

“Yes, they can. You just have to learn how to understand what they say. He didn’t really say go north, northwest, he just wants me to go that direction.” Zander pointed. “The smell is right.”

“We’re Shifter,” Rae said patiently. “And I can’t smell anything but stink. I can’t tell the difference.”

“But Jake can,” Zander said with perfect confidence. “He can also see in the infrared, did you know that? He’s got little organs that detect heat signatures so he can find a rat to eat on the darkest night. He can tell warmer water from cooler, or warmer air. And he says it’s that way.” Zander pointed again into the murk.

Rae gave a fed-up sigh and plopped down to the nearest seat. “If you can get us out of here, Zander, I’ll . . .”

She trailed off. Zander sent her an amused glance. “You’ll what? Kiss me?”

“Kick your ass.” Rae jammed her arms across her chest. “My dad brought me to you to train me and keep me safe from Shifters who aren’t happy with me being Guardian. So what do you do? Get me into a bar fight, have us run from the Coast Guard and then be captured by a bounty hunter, and lose us in a dangerous waterway in the densest fog I’ve ever seen. And now you say you don’t know the way out.”

“Most interesting night you’ve ever had,” Zander said, keeping his gaze forward.

He felt Rae’s glare for a while longer and then she dissolved into laughter that warmed the air. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Zander risked another glance at her. Her laughter changed her, softened her face, made her eyes dance. Her smile was wide, lips red, reminding Zander how warm they’d been when he’d kissed them.

He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, lay her on the bench, and slide his hands down her body. He’d lift her to him, kissing her like crazy, yanking away clothing until they could be skin-to-skin.

His blood was fiery hot, his cock, uncaring about danger, growing hard. He’d sail them out of here and then celebrate the best way he knew how.

Zander took his hand from the wheel long enough to brush back a lock of Rae’s dark hair. Rae’s laughter died and an answering spark lit her eyes.

No matter what, when they reached safety he and Rae were going to celebrate being alive the way Shifters did, with an all-night frenzy. It would be loud, rough, and if Zander read Rae correctly, amazingly loving. This woman had much to give, if only someone would let her give it.

Zander said to Jake, “All right, my friend. Which way now?”

* * *

The boat inched through the rain, which did nothing to slacken the fog. Rae slid into the copilot’s chair after a time, while Miles remained on the floor as his fox.

Rae watched Zander peering ahead to the ice walls, rock, fog, waves, and who knew what else, tension in every line of him. He was confident they’d get out, but not one hundred percent positive. Rae wanted to yell at him again for dragging her in here but she didn’t want to risk distracting him.

The view out the front window didn’t change. That is, it altered from moment to moment, but it didn’t clear and show them open water.

Lights on the stern of this boat directed Piotr, who was following close behind in Zander’s. If Zander ran into anything, Piotr would slam directly into them and they’d all go down. Comforting thought.

To take her mind off such things, Rae brought out the Sword of the Guardian and took both pieces out of the sheath. She laid them on the front windowsill, careful to keep them from sliding onto the controls.

Two pieces of dull silver, etched with runes, lay inert before them. Daragh had known what the runes meant but Rae hadn’t had time to look them up or even read any of his logs about it, which were on his computer back home. The computer was in the small house Daragh had used as his personal retreat but Rae hadn’t been let in there.

Rae studied the crack in the silver, which lined up perfectly when she slid the two pieces together. She half hoped to see a magic spark fuse the two together, but nothing happened.

“Sorry, Daragh,” she whispered.

Did Rae imagine the slight ripple that ran through the silver? She leaned forward eagerly but the sword simply lay there, flat and unwinking. Yes, she’d imagined it. Damn it.

“Still talking to a dead guy?” Zander asked her.

“Still talking to a friend who’s gone to the Summerland,” Rae said right back to him. “Friends . . . You know, those people who have your back?”

“Peace, Little Wolf, I was teasing you.”

“I know.” Rae did know it. Zander was easy to grow angry with, but it was hard to stay mad at him for long. He knew just the right thing to say to put Rae’s back up and then how to make her laugh.

“When did you know you had healing power?” Rae asked him, curious. “Did you have a Choosing, like for the Guardian?”

“Nah.” Zander made a minor adjustment to their course—Jake probably told him to. “I was a cub, minding my own business, when wham. Suddenly I’m thrown to the ground by nothing. When I get up, I’m putridly sick. I went back home to find out my dad had been shot. Not fatally,” he added quickly, “but a hunter mistook him for a real bear and shot him. Not that hunters were supposed to be targeting polar bears at all, but some people will open fire on any animal, just for the hell of it.