Sometimes the simple pleasures in life are best. Like a hot shower after a sweaty, bloody fight. A dull, heavy numbness crept into my arms. Hugh hit like a battering ram. I would really pay for blocking him in the morning, but the pain had already started. I felt tender all over. With luck, I'd still be able to move tomorrow.

I stood under the water, trying not to think, and concentrated purely on shampooing my hair and then dragging a soapy sponge against my cuts. It hurt and I welcomed it.

Andrea once told me that I had a problem processing emotional pain. I couldn't handle it, so I replaced it with physical pain instead: either I inflicted it on others or I suffered through it myself. Well, I had physical pain aplenty. If she was right, I should be floating on a cloud of bliss right about now.

Finally the water ran clear. I stepped out and looked at myself in the mirror. The gashes on my thigh and stomach had come open. Demet was really, really good at medmagic, but I was still human and now I was all cut up to hell. In the past, Doolittle had spent so much effort on healing me that some of my old scars had faded. Clearly, this created an imbalance and the Universe had decided to compensate.

Half a dozen shallow cuts crossed my arms and torso. Hugh's handiwork. I shouldn't have let him goad me. Voron always told me that he'd trained Hugh to fight, but also to command and plan. But he had trained me to kill. Hugh would be directing an army, leading it into battle, while I was a lonely assassin on the sidelines, cutting my way through the mass of people to my target. In a simple one-on-one sword fight, I had an edge.

Neither of us had used magic. I still didn't know the full extent of his, and he still didn't know much about mine. At least I hadn't given myself away completely.

Someone had left bandages on the night table. Probably a gift from Doolittle. I bandaged the worst of it, sat on the chair very carefully-my thighs hurt-and slumped forward. My body hurt all over. I closed my eyes. It was just pain. It would pass. I just needed a minute. I still had three hours before my shift with Desandra started.

Someone knocked. I stared at the door, hoping to burn through it with my gaze and explode whoever was on the other side.

Knock-knock.

"Yes?"

"Can I please talk to you?"

I didn't recognize the voice. Okay. I pulled on a clean T-shirt and a new pair of jeans, picked up Slayer, and opened the door. A young man stood in the hallway, dressed in a djigit outfit. Young, barely eighteen. Dark blond hair, brown eyes. He stood, rocking forward on his toes, as if expecting to be jumped any second.

"What is it?"

"You're looking for the orange creatures," he whispered in a heavily accented English.

"Yes."

"I will take you where they nest. If you pay me. But we have to go fast and be very quiet."

Aha. "What's your name?"

"Volodja."

A Russian name, short for Vladimir. "How far is it?"

"Two hours. On the mountain. I want three." He held up three fingers. "Three thousand dollars."

"Sounds like a good deal to me."

"I'll wait in town by the statue." He took off down the stairs.

My howling in the dark had paid off. Someone got upset over the blood test and now they had decided to make me disappear. The only other party interested in getting rid of me would be Lorelei, and she had no reason to fight with me. She was winning.

They really thought I was stupid. At least he didn't offer to sell me a nice beachfront property in Nebraska.

I pulled off my T-shirt-it hurt-and strapped myself into a bra. It also hurt. I put the T-shirt back on, found my boots, and headed to Doolittle's room. I'd finally found the end of a thread in this messy knot. If I pulled on it the right way, it would lead me to the guilty party. But I'd need backup.

The door stood wide open and I heard Aunt B's voice from down the hall. "And then I told him that beads were just fine, but a woman had to have certain standards . . . Come on in, dear."

How did she know? I was pretty quiet. I stepped through the door. The debris was gone. A clean, tidy room greeted me, furnished with new bedding, chairs, and desks. Doolittle sat in a wheelchair. I did my best not to wince. Eduardo stretched out on the bed to the right. George sat on the other bed. Keira sat on the windowsill, while Aunt B occupied a chair. Derek lay on the floor, reading a book.

Everybody, except Doolittle and Aunt B, studiously pretended not to look at me. We'd been attacked, we were still under siege, and the shapeshifters had turned grim. My fight with Hugh must've made things worse somehow. Either that, or all of them also knew that Curran had found himself a new main squeeze. Awkward.

"A young djigit stopped by my room," I said. "His name is Volodja and for three thousand dollars he will walk me deep into the mountains and show me where the bad shapeshifters live."

"How fortunate." Aunt B's eyes lit up. "Would you like some company for this wonderful trap, I mean, adventure?"

"I would."

"I'll come," Derek said.

"No. I get you into enough trouble as is." Derek and I were close. If Curran did decide to pull the plug on our relationship, I didn't want to divide the boy wonder's loyalty. That was how the packs split, and both Derek and Barabas were just idealistic enough to dramatically exit with me. It was best to start distancing myself now.

"I'll come, too," Eduardo said.

"Why don't you let me go instead," Keira said. "You can barely stand."

"I don't know, all he has to do is come with us and loom," Aunt B said.

Eduardo crossed his arms on his chest, making his giant biceps bulge. "What do you mean, loom?"

"We need you to stand there with your arms crossed and scowl," I translated.

Eduardo scowled. "I don't do that."

"Just like that," Derek said.

Eduardo realized his arms were crossed and dropped them. "Screw you guys."

"That settles it. I'm going." Keira hopped off the windowsill. "Besides, I owe you, bison boy."

"For what?" I asked.

"He got hurt trying to save me," Keira said. "When the thing pinned me down, he picked it up and slammed it on the floor. It was very heroic."

Eduardo shook his head.

Perfect. Between Jim's sister and Aunt B, my back would be covered. "I'll need to check on Christopher and we're good to go."

Three minutes later I was knocking on Barabas's door, with Aunt B and Keira looking over my shoulder. Barabas opened the door.

"How is he?"

Barabas's face took on a pained expression. "So far he threw up and tried to dive in the bathtub."

"At the same time?"

"Thankfully, no. He's soaking. The dirt is embedded in his skin. Are you going somewhere?"

I explained what was going on. "If we play along, we can get to the bottom of who hired him. Unless it's a one-in-a-million chance that he actually is telling the truth."

"Be careful," Barabas said.

We left the castle and took the winding road down the mountain. The sea sparkled like an enormous sapphire. The sun shone bright and the air smelled of salt water and the light scent of apricots. The beauty of it was so startling, I stopped and looked.

"We should go swimming," Keira said.

We all knew that a relaxing day at the beach wouldn't be happening, but it was nice to dream. "There are no frogs in the sea."

"Why would I be interested in frogs?"

"Jim told me one time that he didn't swim unless there were frogs involved. I assumed he ate them."

"That's disgusting," Keira said. "You really should stop listening to my brother. And he swims like a fish, by the way. The Cat House has an Olympic-sized pool and he swims a couple of miles every time he stays over. Frogs. That man has never eaten a frog in his entire life."

Aunt B laughed.

We started down the winding road. The gravel path smelled of rock dust. Dense blackberry bushes formed a solid wall of green on the sides. I suddenly realized I was starving. I pulled a handful of berries off the bush and stuffed them in my mouth. Mmmm. Sweet.

"Berries are always best off the branch," Aunt B said. She wore a bright yellow dress with a white paisley design on it, sunglasses, and a straw hat. Keira wore a sundress with a light brown bodice and a wide skirt made of strips of light turquoise, white, and brown fabric. It came up to her knees and made her look five years younger. The two of them appeared to be on vacation, while I, with my sexy bruised face, big boots, jeans, and a sword, looked like I had a camp of bandits to destroy.

"What's the connection between you and our handsome host?" Aunt B asked.

Blackberries taste much worse when they try to come back up your throat. "Uhhhh . . ."

"Uhhh is not an answer," Keira informed me.

Andrea must not have told her about Hugh, and I had no desire to explain who my dad was. "We never met but we were trained by the same person. Now he works for a very powerful man who will kill me if he finds me."

"Why?" Keira asked.

"It's a family thing."

"That explains the attraction," Aunt B said.

"Attraction?"

"You're that thing he can't have. It's called forbidden fruit."

"I'm not his fruit!"

"He thinks you are. The word you're looking for is 'smitten,' my dear." Aunt B smiled. "I'm sure the way Megobari looked at you made Curran positively giddy."

Hearing his name was like being burned. "Will you stop meddling in my love life?" I growled.

"I'm not meddling. I'm offering commentary."

Ugh. "I just want to go home."

"Not until we get all of the panacea we've been promised." Aunt B adjusted her hat. "You have no idea what it's like to lose a child to loupism. True, you've endured Julie's tragedy, but I had given birth to my babies. I nursed them, I nurtured them from the time they were tiny and helpless, I fanned the tiny flames of their potential. I had so many dreams for them. Children think you are a god. You are the center of their universe, you can fix anything, you can shield them and protect them, and then one day they find out you can't. I remember the look in my sons' eyes before I killed them. They thought they were abandoned. That I had betrayed them. Raphael will not go through this. Not if I can help it."

Her voice told me that the wound was still there. It had formed a scab over the years, but Aunt B still mourned her dead children. When she told me that she came on this trip to keep an eye on me, it was a white lie. She had come here for panacea and she would do anything to get it. The one bag she'd earned wouldn't be enough. I thought of Maddie in the glass coffin. I couldn't blame Aunt B. I would do anything to spare my child this kind of pain.

If I didn't have children with Curran, I wouldn't have to worry about it.

Wow. I wasn't even sure where that came from.

"I'm glad this Volodja came to you," Aunt B said.

"Why?" My fight must've made a bigger impression than I thought.

"Because some Abkhazians speak Russian. They're neighbors. You're the only one in our group who can translate in a pinch."

And here I thought she was awed by my incredible martial skills. One deflated ego? Check.

We went through the streets. Abandoned houses stared at us with empty windows, shells of their former selves. On the wall of an empty apartment building, little more than a gutted carcass of concrete and steel, someone had drawn a pair of angel wings. Hope for a better future, or a memory of someone who died. We would never know.

"That must be the statue." Keira pointed to a bronze djigit on a horse. It rose in the middle of a small plaza. Behind it sat a small cafe.

Aunt B inhaled. "We should go this way." She made a beeline for the cafe. "He is a werejackal. He'll find our scent."

The cafe sat in the shade of a huge walnut tree, a turquoise-blue building that had seen better days.

"Bakery," Keira announced.

You don't say. I grinned. Back home Aunt B preferred to conduct her business over a platter of cupcakes or a slice of pie.

"Is something funny?" Aunt B asked.

"We crossed half the planet and you found a bakery."

"I don't see the humor in that."

Keira laughed under her breath.

"You're supposed to look menacing," Aunt B told her. "You're Eduardo's stand-in."

"Yes," I agreed. "Less laughing, more looming."

Keira crossed her arms and pretended to scowl.

"We should've brought the werebuffalo," Aunt B said.

We walked into the cafe. An older woman with gray hair smiled at us from behind the long counter and called out in a lilting language. Aunt B pointed to some things, money was exchanged, and suddenly we were sitting at a table with some pastries filled with apricots. We had been sitting still for about fifteen minutes when the kid walked through the door. He carried a rifle. A backpack hung off his shoulder. He saw Aunt B and Keira and halted.

"You have friends."

"Yes."

"It's okay. Did you bring the money?"

"We did," Aunt B assured him.

"Are you ready?" Volodja asked.

"Ready if you are," Aunt B said.

* * *

The steep trail curved south, away from the castle. Blackberry bushes flanked the path, stretching thorny branches across the gravel and dirt. Our guide hadn't said a word since we left the city behind about an hour ago. I did my best to turn my brain off and concentrate on memorizing the way back. Thinking about anything inevitably led back to Curran. I wanted to stab something. Failing that, I wanted to pace around. None of that would be helpful. Emotional raging just tired you out.

"How do you know where the orange shapeshifters nest?" I asked. Any distraction in a pinch . . .

"I've seen them." Volodja shrugged, adjusting the rifle on his shoulder. "It's not far now."

I couldn't wait to find out who pulled his strings.

"Come on, dear," Aunt B said. "Where is your spirit of adventure?"

Midway up the trail, the magic wave drowned us. We paused, adjusting, and moved on.

One hour later the trail brought us up onto the crest of the mountain. Straight ahead the sea sparkled. Behind us, low in the valley, lay the city. A tall cliff rose to the left and within it gaped a dark hole.

"Cave," Volodja explained. "We go in."

"You first."

Volodja took a step forward. The bushes on our right rustled. A dark-haired man stepped in the open. Around thirty, with a short beard, he carried a rifle and a dagger and wore a beat-up version of a djigit outfit. A bundle lay across his shoulder with mountain goat legs sticking out of it. A big gray-and-white dog trotted out and sat next to him. Broad and muscular, she had a dense shaggy coat. She might have been some type of Molosser-she looked like someone took a Saint Bernard and gave it a German shepherd's muzzle and coat.

The hunter squinted at Volodja and said something. The kid answered.

The hunter waved his free arm. I wished I had a universal translator.

"What is he saying?" I asked.

"He is . . . crazy." Volodja put his index finger to his temple and turned his hand back and forth.

The hunter barked something. The dog at his feet woofed quietly. I missed Grendel. I wished I could've brought him. Maybe he'd bite Hugh and Curran for me.

Volodja waved at him, like you would at a mosquito, and started to the cave. "We go."

"Plokhoe mesto," the hunter yelled.

Accented Russian. That I understood. "He says this is a bad place."

Volodja pivoted on his foot, his gaze sharp. "You speak Russian?"

"I do. I also get very angry when people try to trick me."

He raised his hands. "No trick. You want orange things or not?"

"We do," Aunt B said. "Lead the way."

"Agulshap," the hunter said. "Don't go into the cave."

Agulshap didn't sound like a Russian word. "What does agulshap mean?"

"I don't know," Volodja said. "I talked to you: he is crazy."

Keira shook her head. "I don't like it."

I didn't like it either.

"Come along," Aunt B said. Her face still had that pleasant, sweet-as-sugar smile, but her eyes were hard. Suddenly I felt sorry for Volodja.

He pulled a torch out of his pack and lit it.

The mouth of the cave grew closer with every step. A few more seconds and it swallowed us whole.

* * *

The cave stretched on and on, tall, giant, vast. Stone steps carved into the living rock of the mountain led down below, and my steps sent tiny echoes bouncing up and down from the smooth walls.

"Little far," Volodja explained over his shoulder.

"Clear as mud," Keira muttered.

The stone steps ended. The only light came from the torch in our guide's hand. We crossed the cavern floor to a rough arch chiseled in the rock. Volodja stepped through. Aunt B followed, and then I did, with Keira bringing up the rear. We stood in a round chamber, about thirty feet wide. Another exit, a dark hole, yawned to the right.

"We wait," Volodja said.

We stood in darkness. This wasn't filling me with oodles of confidence.

Keira touched my shoulder. Something was coming.

The kid dove forward, through the second opening. I lunged after him and ran into a metal grate that slammed shut in my face. The second clang announced another grate slamming into place over our only exit.

I pressed against the wall, between the two exits.

"I thought so," Keira said.

Aunt B sighed.

We just had to figure out if this was a straight robbery or if someone had hired them to do it.

Someone shone a light through the grate. "I have crossbow," a deep male voice said. "Silver bolts. Give money."

"I don't understand," Aunt B said. "Where are the orange shapeshifters? Volodja?"

"No shapeshifters." Volodja laughed, a little nervous giggle. "You give money and you can go. Human girl stays."

"Don't I feel special."

"You trapped with us. Give money!"

"You have it wrong, dear," Aunt B said. "We are not trapped here with you." Her eyes sparked into a hot ruby glow. "You are trapped in here with us."

The happy dress burst. Her body erupted, as if someone had triggered the detonator, but the explosion of flesh swirled, controlled, snapping into a new form. A monster rose in Aunt B's place. She stood on powerful legs, her flanks and back sheathed in reddish fur spotted with blotches of black. Her back curved slightly, hunched over. She raised her arms, her four-inch claws held erect, like talons ready to rend, and great muscles rolled under her dark skin, promising devastating power. The monster snapped her hyena muzzle, the distorted, grotesquely large jaws opening and closing, like a bear trap.

Keira's dress flew. A werejaguar rammed the grate. The crossbow twanged; the shot went wide. The metal screeched and the grate flew past me and crashed into the wall. Men screamed. A body flew, like a rag doll hurled by an angry child.

I kept my place, staying clear. There was room for only one of them in the passage and I would only get in the way.

Aunt B dashed after Keira, yanked a struggling man, and slammed him against the wall next to me. Volodja's glassy eyes stared at me in sheer panic. He hadn't turned, which meant he likely couldn't hold the warrior form.

Aunt B's hand with fork-sized claws squeezed his throat. She snapped her teeth half an inch from his carotid. A deep ragged growl spilled from her throat. "Who hired you?"

"Nobody," he squeezed out.

"Who hired you?" Aunt B pulled him from the wall and slammed his head back against the stone.

"Kral! Jarek Kral!"

Aunt B squeezed. Her claws drew a bright red line on the kid's chin. "What were you supposed to do?"

"He wants human killed," Volodja struggled in her grip.

"Why?"

"I don't know! I didn't ask!"

Aunt B hurled him across the room and ducked into the opening. I moved to follow. Something clanged. The floor dropped from under my feet and I fell into the darkness below.

* * *

A second doesn't seem like much time, but the human mind is an amazing thing. It can pack not one but two short thoughts into the space of a second, thoughts like Oh shit and I'm about to die.

Rock flashed before me and I plunged into vast empty darkness, crouching in midair, trying to brace for impact.

The air whistled past me.

My ears caught a hum. My instincts screamed, Water!

I hit the sea. Like smashing at full speed into concrete. The impact slapped me and all went dark.

* * *

No air.

My eyes snapped open. I was suspended in salty water.

My lungs burned. I jerked upward. My head broke the surface and I gulped the air with a hoarse moan. It tasted sweet and for a few moments I could do nothing except breathe.

I survived. The impact must've knocked me out for a few seconds. My cuts hurt. Kate Daniels, extra-salt-in-the-wounds edition.

I tried kicking. Legs still okay. Arms moving. Body check complete, all systems go. I turned around. Weak green luminescence came from the moss growing in the rougher spots on the walls, doing little to combat the darkness. Still, it was good enough to see. During tech, this place would've been pitch-black. Thank you, Universe, for small favors.

I floated on my back, trying to look around. A huge cavern rose around me, its floor flooded with seawater. You could fit half a football field into it.

I turned and swam along the wall. I had a pretty good breaststroke but my boots weren't doing me any favors. They sat on my feet like two bricks.

No way up. The nearly sheer walls rose straight up. A small stone ledge protruded on one side, barely four inches wide. Even if I could somehow climb onto it, I couldn't stay on. Far above, a black hole punctured the ceiling. I must've fallen through it. A few feet to the left and I would've splattered against the stone wall on the way down.

When I got out of this, I'd have to track down Volodja and his friends and thank them for this fun excursion. Assuming there was anything left after Aunt B and Keira were done with them.

How the hell was I going to get out of here?

Something bobbed in the water in front of me, a dark bundle. I sped up. A canvas sack, watertight. Hmm.

The sack moved.

I put six feet of water between me and the sack with a single kick. Clearly I'd had too much excitement for one day.

The sack twisted. A bulge stretched the fabric on one side.

Maybe someone had stuffed a cat into a bag and thrown it down here. Of course, if my experience was anything to go by, the sack would contain a giant brain-sucking leech that would immediately try to devour me. Then again, considering the current mess, the leech might not view me as a tasty treat. Nope, no brains here.

The sack twisted.

No guts, no glory. I swam to the bag, pulled my throwing knife out, and sliced at the cord wrapped around its top. Here goes nothing. I pulled the sack open and looked into it.

A human face peered at me with bright eyes. It belonged to a man in his forties or fifties, with a short gray beard, a hawkish nose, and bushy eyebrows. There was nothing exceptionally extraordinary about it except for the fact that it was about the size of a cat's head.

I'd seen some freaky shit, but this took the cake. For a second my brain stalled, trying to process what my eyes saw.

The owner of the face lunged out of the bag into the water and sank like a stone.

He sank. Crap.

I dove down and grasped the flailing body. He couldn't have been more than eighteen inches tall. Deadweight hit my hands. At least thirty pounds. I almost dropped him. I kicked, dragging him up.

We broke the surface.

I gasped for breath. A small fist rocketed toward me. Pain exploded in my jaw. Good punch. I shook my head, dragged the struggling man to the stone ledge, and heaved him onto it. He scrambled up.

We glared at each other. He wore a bronze-colored tunic with an embroidered collar, dark brown pants, and small, perfectly made leather riding boots.

What in the world would he be riding? A Pomeranian?

The man blinked, studying me.

I'd managed to find a hobbit in the Caucasus Mountains. I wondered what he would do if I asked him about second breakfast.

The man opened his mouth. A string of words spilled out.

"I don't understand," I said in English.

He shook his head.

"Ne ponimayu."

Another shake. Russian didn't work either.

The man pointed to his left, waving his arms, frantic. I turned.

Something slid through the water at the far wall. Something long and sinuous that left ripples in its wake.

I flipped the knife in my hand and pressed against the wall, as close to the stone as I could.

The creature slid downward, into the water. The surface smoothed out.

Another ripple, closer. Smooth water again.

The opening bars of the theme from Jaws rolled through my head. Thanks. Just what I needed.

If I were something long and serpentine with big teeth and I was hunting for some lunch, I'd swim up from underneath my victim.

I took a deep breath and dove.

A silvery-green beast sped toward me through the clear water. Fourteen feet long, as thick as my thigh, with the body of an eel armed with a crest of long spikes, it swam straight for me, its eyes big and empty, like two yellow coins against the silver scales.

The serpent opened its mouth, a big deep hole studded with a forest of needle-thin teeth.

I pressed against the wall, my feet against the rock.

The serpent reared and struck. I launched myself from the wall, grabbed its neck, hugged it to me with every drop of strength I had, and jammed my knife into its gills. The sharp spikes sliced my fingers. The serpent coiled around me, its body a single, powerful muscle. I dragged the blade down, ripping through the fragile membranes of its gills.

The serpent contorted, churning the water. I clung to it. To let go was to die.

My lungs begged for air. I stabbed it again and again, trying to cause enough damage.

The serpent writhed, impossibly strong.

Black dots swam before my eyes. Air. Now.

I let go and kicked myself up.

The serpent lunged at my feet. The teeth clamped my boot but didn't penetrate the thick sole. I jerked, trying to kick myself free. I could see the shiny ceiling where the air met water right above me. Another foot. Come on. I rammed my other foot into the serpent's head.

The teeth let go. I shot up and gulped air.

The tiny man on the ledge screamed.

The silver spine broke the surface next to me. I slashed at it, trying to cut it in half. The serpent clenched my foot again. Teeth bit my ankle and yanked me down.

I kicked as hard as I could, trying to swim back up. If it dragged me down, it would be over. Magic was my only chance. I pulled it to me. Not much there-a weak magic wave.

The serpent pulled, drawing me deeper and deeper under the water. I kicked its head. One. Two . . .

The serpent let go, turned, and swept at me. I swam up like I'd never swum before in my life. My muscles threatened to tear off my bones.

I broke the water. I needed a power word. I could command it to die, but Ud, the killing word, usually failed, and when it didn't work, the backlash crippled me with pain. The stronger the magic, the less pain, but this magic wave was weaker than most. The killing word would hurt like a sonovabitch.

I couldn't afford to be crippled right this second or I'd end the day as fish food. The only other attack word I had was kneel. The serpent had no legs.

The serpent reared, rising from the sea, its mouth gaping. A moment and it would slam into me, like a battering ram.

The small man spat a single harsh word. "Aarh!"

A torrent of magic smashed into the serpent. It froze, completely still.

I lunged at it and thrust the knife into its spine. The serpent shuddered. I sawed through its flesh, nearly cutting it in two.

The serpent jerked and crashed backward. I kicked free.

The creature convulsed, whipping the sea into froth. I swam away from it, to the ledge, gasping for breath. The small man slumped against the stone. A small dribble of bloody spit slid from his mouth.

He'd used a power word and it worked. Thank you. Thank you, whoever you are upstairs.

I held on to the ledge. The small man leaned over and held my hand, helping me hold on.

The serpent flailed and thrashed, until finally a full minute later, it hung motionless in the water.

The man petted my hand, wiped the blood from his lips, and pointed up. Above us, about seven feet above the stone shelf, a narrow hole split the wall, a little less than a foot across. Not nearly wide enough for both of us.

The man held his hands together, as if praying, and looked at me.

"Okay," I told him. No reason for both of us to be trapped.

I moved along the ledge to its widest point. A whole six inches of space to work with. Oh boy. It took me four tries to crawl up onto it-my feet kept slipping-but I finally managed and hugged the wall.

The man grabbed my shirt and pulled himself up. Feet stomped on my shoulders. Forget thirty pounds, he was more like fifty. He should've weighed one third of that at his size. Maybe he was made of rocks.

The man stood on my shoulders. I locked my hands and raised my arms flat against the wall. He stepped on my palms and kicked off.

I slipped and fell backward into the water. I broke the surface just in time to see him scramble into the hole and vanish.

I was all alone. Just me and fourteen feet of fresh sushi bopping on the waves. I was so tired. My arms felt like wet cotton.

Maybe I'd hallucinated the whole hobbit episode. I'd hit the water hard, ended up with a concussion, and started seeing small magic men in riding boots.

I forced myself to swim. Hanging in the water didn't accomplish anything, and I was too exhausted to keep it up for long. Another trip around the cavern confirmed what I already knew-no escape. Sitting here waiting to be rescued was a losing proposition. Even if Aunt B and Keira did somehow manage to find me, I'd spend hours waiting for them to get a rope long enough get me out. The chances of the small man returning with a detachment of Pomeranian cavalry to liberate me were even slimmer.

The serpent had to have come from somewhere. There simply weren't enough fish in this small cavern to keep it alive, and unless they fed it a steady diet of Abkhazian hobbits, it had to move freely between the cavern and the sea.

I swam to the wall where I'd first seen it and dove deep down through the crystal-clear water. Fifteen feet down, the mountain ended and a ten-foot-wide tunnel stretched before me, leading out. I had no idea how long it was.

To dive into an underwater tunnel of unknown length, possibly drowning, or to stay in the cavern until I wore myself out, possibly drowning? Sometimes life just didn't offer good choices.

I breathed deep, trying to saturate my lungs with oxygen, and dove under. The tunnel rolled out in front of me, narrowing until it was barely four feet wide. I kept going, kicking off the walls. I once heard it was a good idea to not think about holding my breath while holding it. Yeah. That's like not looking down while crossing over a cliff. Once someone says, "Don't look down," you're going to look.

The walls were closing in on me.

What if I swam out into the nest of sea serpents?

My heart hammered in my chest. I'd run out of air. I swam, frantic, desperate, fighting the water for my life.

The ocean was turning dark. I was drowning.

The tunnel's walls opened abruptly, and above me translucent blue spread. I flailed, heading straight up.

My face broke the surface. A bright beautiful sky stretched overhead. I gulped in the air. Oh wow. I lay on my back for a long second, breathing. I wasn't ready to kick the bucket. Not just yet.

Hanging in the water was lovely and all, but if more sea serpents were floating about, I had to get the hell out of the water. I straightened up. I was in the open sea. The shore-a solid vertical cliff-towered before me. The mountain was nearly sheer. Climbing it right now was beyond me.

I turned in the water. A vast indigo sea stretched around me, a constant field of blue except for a tiny island about twenty-five yards away. Only twenty feet across, it was more like a rock than an island, but right now even the runt of the island litter would do.

I swam to it. The warm water, crystal clear, slid against my skin, caressing me gently. I was so happy to be alive.

I reached the rock, climbed up its mussel-studded side, and landed on my ass. Solid ground. Beautiful, wonderful, immobile solid ground. I love you.

I lay on my back. I could probably find my way to the city once I'd rested. I'd just have to move along the shore until I reached civilization, but right now moving wasn't an option. Hanging out on this rock sounded like a really good idea. I could sit right here on this little island and think about the choices that resulted in my ending up in this place, half-drowned, exhausted, with my ankle bleeding, and a possible concussion causing hobbit hallucinations.

The warm sun heated my skin. I flipped over on my stomach, rested my forehead on my arm to keep my face from being cooked, and closed my eyes. My imagination painted a scaled monster crawling out of the sea to chew on me. I shoved the thought aside. I was safe enough here, and I was too tired to move.

* * *

"Aaaay!"

I sat straight up. In the west, the sun was rolling toward the sea, the sky gaining a pale orange tint. I'd slept until evening. All my fingers and toes seemed to be still there. No monsters had come out of the sea and nibbled away any digits. My face didn't hurt either. My skin looked tan even in winter and didn't burn easily, but I had managed it a couple of times in my life and I didn't care for the experience.

"Aaay!" a man called.

I turned. A boat drifted toward me. The hunter I'd met earlier sat at the oars, his shaggy dog waiting next to him. At the nose of the boat, the small man waved his arms at me.

"We have come to save you," the hunter called out in accented Russian.

"Thank you!"

"It looks like you have saved yourself." The hunter slowed the boat and it bumped gently against the rock. I climbed aboard.

The small man smiled at me.

"Hello," the hunter said.

"Hello."

"We have an important decision to make," the hunter said. "The city is that way." He pointed north. "Two and a half hours. My house and dinner, that way." He pointed northeast. "One hour. I will take you either way, but I'll be honest: night is coming. Not good to travel in the dark while magic is in charge. Mountains are not safe."

Two and a half hours to the castle meant he would have to make a return trip in the dark by himself or stay somewhere in the city. His tone of voice told me he didn't care much for cities. If some strange mountain beast ate him on the way back, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. The castle and everyone inside would just have to survive without me for another twelve hours.

"Your house and dinner, please."

"Good choice."

* * *

The hunter's name was Astamur. His dog, which turned out to be a Caucasian shepherd, was named Gunda, after a mythical princess with many magical hero brothers. According to Astamur, the small man wouldn't give us his name because he was afraid it would grant us power over him, but his kind was called atsany, and he didn't mind being called that.

"They live in the mountains," Astamur explained, as the boat glided along the shore. "They don't like to be seen, but I rescued one of their young once. They don't mind me as much. They are very old people. Been here thousands of years. Left their houses all over the place. Now they are coming back."

"How did they survive?" I offered my hand to Gunda. She sniffed my fingers, regarded me with a very serious expression, and nudged my hand with her nose for a stroke. I obliged. I really missed my attack poodle.

Astamur shrugged. "The atsany slept. Some say they turned into rocks and came back to life when magic returned. They won't say."

"How did he end up in the sack?"

Astamur asked Atsany in his language. The small man crossed his arms on his chest and mumbled something.

"He says gyzmals caught him."

"Gyzmals?"

Astamur bared his teeth at me. "Men-jackals. It's bad luck to kill an atsany, so they put him in a bag and threw him into the water."

Volodja and his fellow shapeshifters. "Not the brightest lot. They tried to rob us."

"When magic first came, some people turned into gyzmals. Stories said they were evil. People were scared. When people get scared, bad things happen. Many gyzmals were killed. Then Megobari came. Now the gyzmals run the town, do whatever they want. Nobody can say anything. But robbing people, that's going too far. The boy that led you into the cave has a mother in town. I'll tell her about it. She'll take care of him." Astamur shook his head at me. "I tried to tell you: bad place. That's where Agulshap lives. The water dragon."

A lot of their words started with A. "Not anymore."

Astamur's eyebrows crept together. He said something to Atsany. The small man nodded.

Astamur laughed, his deep chuckle carrying above the water. "I thought I was saving a pretty girl. I was saving a warrior! We should have a feast. We'll celebrate."

He landed the boat and I helped him drag it ashore. We climbed up the mountain for about an hour, until the trail brought us to a valley. Mountains rolled into the distance and between them lay an emerald-green pasture. A small sturdy stone house crouched on the grass, and a few yards away, a flock of sheep with gray curly wool baaed in the wide enclosure.

"I thought you were a hunter."

"Me? No. I'm just a shepherd. There is a bathroom inside. You are welcome to it. My house is your house."

I stepped through the door. Inside the cottage was open and neat, with beautiful stone walls and a wood floor. Colorful Turkish rugs hung on the walls. A small kitchen sat to the right with an old electric range. There must be a generator somewhere. I walked through the living room, past a comfortable sofa covered by a soft white blanket, to the back, where I found a small bathroom with a toilet, shower, and sink. I tried the faucet. Water splashed into the metal basin. Running water all the way out here. Astamur was doing well for himself.

I used the bathroom inside and washed my face and my hands. When I came out, Astamur built a fire in a big stone pit behind the house.

"We're going to cook over fire," Astamur announced. "Traditional mountain dinner."

Atsany ducked into the house and returned with a stack of blankets. I helped spread them on the ground.

Astamur brought out a large pan filled with chunks of onion, meat, and pomegranate seeds in some sauce and started threading them onto big skewers.

I caught the aroma of the sauce, a touch of vinegar and heat. My mouth watered. Suddenly I realized I was starving.

Astamur set the skewers above the fire and went to wash up. The aroma of smoking wood mixed with the smell of meat sizzling over the fire. The sky slowly turned orange and deeper red in the west, while in the east, above the mountains, it was almost crystalline purple, the color of an amethyst.

Astamur offered me a skewer. I bit into the meat. The tender meat practically melted in my mouth. This was heaven.

"Good?" Astamur asked with concern.

"Mm-hm," I told him, trying to chew and talk at the same time. "Delicioush. Besht shting I ever ate."

Atsany leaned back and laughed.

The shepherd smiled into his mustache and handed me a bottle of wine. "Homemade."

I took a swallow. The wine was sweet, refreshing, and surprisingly delicate.

"So you live here all alone?" I asked.

Astamur nodded. "I like it here. I have my flock. I have my dog. I have a fire pit, a clear mountain stream, and the mountains. I live like a king."

Atsany said something. Astamur shrugged. "Castles are for rulers. Kings come and go. Someone has to be the shepherd."

"Do you miss being with other people down in town? Must get lonely up here." I wouldn't miss them. I would totally hitch up a house in the mountain and live all by myself. No shapeshifters. No brokenhearted mothers. No, "Yes, Consort," "Please, Consort," "Help us, Consort." Right now that sounded like pure happiness.

Astamur smiled. "Down in the cities people fight. I fought too for a while until I got tired of it." Astamur pulled up his pant leg. An ugly scar punctured his calf. Looked like a knife or a sword thrust. "Russians."

He wagged his eyebrows at me and pulled his shirt off his shoulder, exposing an old bullet wound in his chest. "Georgians." He laughed.

Atsany rolled his eyes.

"Does he understand what you say?" I asked.

"He does. It's his own kind of magic," Astamur answered. "If it weren't for supplies, I'd never go back down to town. But a man has to do what a man has to do. Hard to live like a king without toilet paper."

We finished eating. Atsany pulled out a pipe and said something with a solemn expression.

"He says he owes you a debt. He wants to know what you want."

"Tell him no debt. He doesn't owe me anything."

Atsany's bushy eyebrows came together. He took out his pipe and lectured me in a serious voice, punctuating his words by pointing the pipe at me. I was clearly on the receiving end of a very serious talking-to. Unfortunately for him, he was barely a foot and a half tall. I bit my bottom lip trying not to laugh.

"Do you want a short version or a long one?" Astamur said.

"Short one."

"You saved his life, he owes you, and you should let him pay it back. That last part is advice from me. It will make him very unhappy to know that he owes someone. So what do you want? Do you want him to show you where there are riches? Do you want a man to fall in love with you?"

If only love were that easy. I sighed. "No, I don't want riches and I have a man, thank you. He isn't exactly a man. And I don't exactly have him anymore, but that's neither here nor there."

Astamur translated. "Then what do you want?"

"Nothing."

"There has to be something."

Fine. "Ask him if he would share the magic word with me."

Astamur translated.

Atsany froze and said something, the words coming fast like rocks falling down the mountain.

"He says it might kill you."

"Tell him I already have some magic words, so I probably won't die."

"Probably?" Astamur raised his eyebrows.

"A very small chance."

Atsany sighed.

"He says he will, but I can't look. I'll check on the sheep." Astamur got up and went toward the pasture. "Try not to die."

"I'll do my best."

Atsany leaned forward, picked up a skewer, and wrote something in the dirt. I looked.

An avalanche of agony drowned me, exploding into a twisting maelstrom of glowing lines. I rolled inside, each turn hurting more and more, as if my mind were being picked apart, shaved off with some phantom razor blade one tiny, excruciating layer at a time. I turned inside the cascade of pain, faster and faster, trying desperately to hold on to my mind.

A word surfaced from the glow. I had to make it mine, or it would kill me.

"Aarh." Stop.

The pain vanished. Slowly, the world returned bit by bit: the green grass, the smell of smoke, the distant noises of sheep, and Atsany wiping the dirt with his foot. I'd made it. Once again, I'd made it.

"You didn't die," Astamur said, coming closer. "We are both very glad."

Atsany smiled and said something.

"He wants me to tell you that you are kind. He is glad that you have the word. It will help you in the castle with all those lamassu. He doesn't know why you have them up there anyway. Don't you know they eat people?"

* * *

My brain screeched to a halt.

"He thinks we have lamassu at the castle?"

"He says you do. He says he saw one of them carry off a body and then eat it."

"Something is killing people at the castle," I said. "But I've seen pictures of the lamassu statues. They have fur and human faces."

Atsany waved his pipe around.

"He says it's a, what's the word . . . allegory. There are no animals with human heads, that's ridiculous."

Look who's talking. An eighteen-inch-tall magic man in riding boots, werejackals, and sea dragons are all fine, but animals with human faces are ridiculous. Okay, then. Glad we cleared that up.

Atsany stood up, walked a few feet out into the grass, and started walking, putting one foot in front of the other, as if he were walking a tightrope. He turned sharply, walked five steps, turned again, drawing a complex pattern with his steps.

"The atsany have long memories. Watch," Astamur said. "This is a rare gift. Not many people will ever see it in their lifetime."

The small man kept going. A shiver ran through the grass as if it were fanned by invisible wings. The grass blades stood straight up in Atsany's wake. A faint image formed above the grass, semitranslucent, shifting like a mirage. A vast city stood, encircled by tall textured walls. Two enormous lamassu statues stretched along the city wall, facing an arched gate, and two others, smaller, guarded its sides. Just inside the gates a tall narrow tower rose, so high I had to raise my head to see the top. It was early morning. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the heat had already begun its advance. I smelled a hint of turmeric, smoke, and moisture in the air-there must've been a river nearby. Somewhere a dog barked. It was like a window through time had been opened just a crack.

This was my father's world.

A column of smoke rose from one of the towers. A man in a long orange robe walked out of the gates, followed by two others. All three had long textured beards and conical hats, and each carried a gold ewer with a wide spout.

A distant howl rolled through the morning. The image turned and I saw a pack of wolves running hard across the plain. Light gray, with long legs and large ears, they were too large to be natural.

The pack closed in on the gates and stopped. The wolves shook, their bodies twisted, and men rose in their place. The leader, an older bald man, stepped forward. The bearded man said something and handed him the ewer. The werewolf drank straight from the spout and passed it on. The ewers made the rounds until every shapeshifter had drunk, and the pack returned the ewers to the bearded men.

The robed men stepped aside and two soldiers emerged from the gate, wearing lamellar armor shirts over kilts. They dragged a man bound by his hands and ankles, dropped him on the ground, and stepped back.

The man curled into a ball, babbling in sheer terror.

The shapeshifters went furry. Lupine lips bared fangs and the pack ripped into the man. He screamed, howling, and they tore him to pieces, snarling and flinging blood into the dirt. Acid rose in my stomach. I looked away. I could kill a man or a woman in a fight. This made me sick.

Finally he stopped screaming. I looked up and saw Astamur watching me. He nodded at the mirage. "You'll miss it."

I looked. The bloody shredded ruin of the man's body lay by the gates. The wolves sat, as if waiting for something.

A minute passed. Another.

The alpha's body split open. He grew, the flesh and bone spiraling up. Wings thrust from his shoulders. Scarlet scales sheathed his body. The bones of his skull shifted, supporting massive leonine jaws. The alpha roared.

Holy shit. Doolittle was right.

One by one the werewolves turned. The leader dashed through the gates and into the tower. The rest followed single file. A moment and the alpha leaped from the top of the tower, spreading his massive wings. He swooped down and soared and his pack glided behind him.

Atsany stopped. The mirage faded.

The small man began to speak, pausing for Astamur's translation. "Long ago there was a kingdom of Assur past the mountains to the south. The kingdom had many wizards and their armies were often gone to conquer, so the wizards made lamassu. They used tribes of gyzmals and changed them with magic. That's why there are many different kinds of lamassu: some have bull bodies, some have lion, some have wolf. They chose bulls and lions for their statues, because they were the largest.

"When not needed, the lamassu were just like normal gyzmals, but when a city was in danger, the wizards would feed lamassu human meat, and then they would grow strong and vicious. They would gain wings and terrible teeth, and then they would fall on the enemy from above and devour them."

I'd never heard or read anything remotely like this, but just because I'd never heard of it didn't make it impossible.

"The statues are a warning. They mean 'This is a city protected by lamassu.' The human heads to show that they are both human and beast, and the five legs to show that they are not always what they appear. We have known of lamassu for a long time and we stay clear of them. Not all lamassu are evil, but those who choose to eat human flesh are."

If he was right, then any of the packs in the castle could be lamassu. "So how can you tell if a shapeshifter is a lamassu?"

Atsany shrugged. "Feed it human meat," the shepherd translated.

Duh. Ask a dumb question . . . "Is there any other way?"

"No."

"Do they have any kind of weakness? Anything special?"

Astamur sighed. "He says they don't like silver."

I must've looked desperate, because Atsany came over and petted my hand. It will be alright.

I sighed. "Can I have more wine?"

* * *

The sky turned dark. I lay on the blanket watching the stars sparkling like diamonds. The moon shone bright, spilling veils of ethereal light onto the mountains. Maybe it was my imagination, but the night seemed brighter here. Perhaps the mountains brought us closer to the moon.

A soothing calm came over me. The castle and the strain of being there had worn me down, and right now I couldn't care less about Curran, Hugh, or Roland. The pressurized walls that had ground on me while I was there fell away. I just wanted to stay here, lie on my blanket, and be free.

Maybe if I was extra lucky, Hugh and Curran would elope together and take Lorelei with them while I was gone.

I would probably go back in the morning. But right now I just didn't want to, and the thought of running away tasted so sweet, I was afraid to turn it over in my mind. I could disappear into these mountains and live a simple life: hunt, fish, grow fruit trees, and not have to worry about anything.

Atsany told us great stories of his people, of fighting giants and dragons, of great heroes-narty-and winged horses. Astamur translated quietly, sitting propped against a pillow.

". . . the great Giant-adau saw the strange herd of horses in his pasture. He crossed his huge arms and bellowed. 'Whose horses are these? They look like the narty's horses, but the narty wouldn't dare-'"

Astamur fell silent. Atsany blinked and poked the shepherd's boot with his pipe. I leaned over. Astamur was staring at the mountain, his jaw slack.

I turned.

A massive beast dashed along the mountain apex. Huge, at least six hundred pounds, the creature covered the distance in great leaps. The moonlight traced his gray mane and slid off the thick cords of his muscles. He was neither beast nor man, but a strange four-legged meld of the two, built to run despite his bulk.

How the hell did he even find me?

Atsany jumped up and down, waving his pipe. Without taking his gaze from the beast, Astamur reached for his rifle. "A demon?"

"No, not a demon." I might have preferred one. "That's my boyfriend."

Atsany and the shepherd turned to look at me.

"Boyfriend?" Astamur said.

Curran saw us. He paused on a stone crag and roared. The raw declaration of strength cracked through the mountains, rolling down the cliffs like a rockslide.

"Yep. Don't worry. He's harmless."

Curran charged down the mountain. Most nonlamassu shapeshifters had two forms, human and animal. The more skilled of them could hold a third one, a warrior form, an upright, monstrous hybrid of the two designed for inflicting maximum damage. Curran had a fourth, a hybrid closer to the lion than to a human. I'd seen it only once before, when Saiman pissed him off out of his mind and Curran chased him and me through the city. It was the night we made love for the first time.

If he thought this would win him any favors, he would be seriously disappointed.

The giant leonine beast galloped down the mountain and across the grass, heading straight for us. The moonlight spilling from the sky set his back aglow, highlighting the dark stripes crossing the gray fur.

Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten.

Atsany and Astamur froze, rigid.

Five.

The colossal lion jumped and landed a foot away from me, the dark mane streaming. The impact of his leap sent sparks flying from the fire. His eyes burned with molten gold. The powerful feline maw gaped open, showing terrifying fangs as big as my hand. Curran snarled.

I swatted him on the nose. "Stop it! You're scaring the people who rescued me."

The gray lion snapped into a human form. Curran jerked his hands up as if crushing an invisible boulder. "Aaaaaa!"

Okay.

He grabbed the edge of a big rock sticking out of the grass. Muscles flexed on his naked frame. He wrenched the boulder out of the ground. The four-foot-long rock had to weigh several thousand pounds-his feet sank into the grass. Curran snarled and hurled the rock against the mountain. The boulder flew, hit like a cannon ball, and rolled back down. Curran chased it, pulled another smaller rock out of the dirt, and smashed it against the first one.

Wow. He was really pissed.

Astamur's eyes were as big as plates.

"I can get him to put those back after he's done," I told him.

"No," Astamur said slowly. "It's fine."

Curran picked up the smaller rock with both hands and threw it onto the larger boulder. The boulder cracked and fell apart. Oops.

"Sorry we broke your rock."

Atsany took the pipe out of his mouth and said something.

"Mrrrhhhm," Astamur said.

"What did he say?"

"He said that the man must be your husband, because only someone we love very much can make us this crazy."

Curran kicked the remains of the boulder, spun, and marched toward me.

I crossed my arms.

"I thought you were dead! And you're here, sitting around the fire, eating and . . ."

"Listening to fairy tales." Helpful, that's me. "We're about to have s'mores and you're not invited."

Curran opened his mouth. His gaze paused on Atsany. He blinked. "What the fuck?"

"Don't stare. You'll hurt his feelings."

Atsany nodded at Curran in a solemn way.

Curran shook his head and pivoted toward me. "I almost killed B. The only reason she's alive right now is because she had to show me where you fell."

"Oh, so Princess Wilson let you out of the castle? Did she have to sign your permission slip? You got a hall pass, woo-hoo!"

"So this is what it's about? This is your mature response-to go off into the mountains rather than talking about it and have s'mores with a gnome and a mountain man."

"Yep."

"What's your plan for tomorrow? Brunch with a unicorn?"

"As long as it doesn't involve you, it's fine with me."

"So really? That's it, just like that." Curran turned around. "Wait a minute. Where is Hugh? Shouldn't he be flexing for you?"

"I'm surprised you noticed."

He squeezed his hands into fists. I picked up a grapefruit-sized rock and handed it to him. It went flying. Home run, Beast Lord style.

"I noticed. I just can't do anything about it."

"You know what the difference is? Hugh can stand there and flex all he wants. I can't control what he does. I can control what I do and I don't encourage him. You let her parade in front of you naked. You told me you had no interest in her and then you invited her to sit at the table in my chair. You went on a little rendezvous with her where you explained how you were lonely and cried about all the sacrifices you made by being with me."

His eyes sparked with gold. "You. That was you on the balcony."

"You spend every waking moment with her, while I get told endlessly that nobody has to answer any of my questions, because I'm clearly on my way out and she's on her way in and since we're not married, I'm easy to replace."

"You want to get married? I'll marry you right now. Is the gnome a preacher, because I'll do it."

"That's a hell of a proposal."

"What did he say?" Astamur asked.

"He wants me to marry him."

Astamur relayed it. Atsany waved his pipe and Astamur translated back. Ha!

"What?" Curran snarled.

"Atsany says you're not ready for marriage. You don't have the right temperament for it."

Curran struggled with that for a second.

"Let me know if your head's going to explode, so I can duck."

"We're not married because every time I bring up marriage or children, you freak the hell out."

"I don't!"

"Three weeks ago I asked you if you wanted to have kids. You looked like you were ready to bolt."

"I had just come from watching a child go loup for hours while trying to comfort her mother." I waved my arms. "You know what, you're right. Let's have kids. Let's have a brood of them. And when my asshole father comes through Atlanta burning it to the ground, we'll both cry together as they die. Or worse, maybe our kids will be human." I put my hand on my chest. "Heaven forbid."

"Really? Human? What am I?" he snarled.

Ouch. "You're a special snowflake, that's what you are." I mimicked Lorelei. "But they can never join you on a hunt. What torture . . ."

He stepped forward. "We've been together a year. How many times have you seen me hunt?"

Umm.

"How many times, Kate?"

"None."

"That's because I don't hunt. I'm a male lion. I weigh six hundred pounds. Do you really expect me to scamper through the brush after deer? When I want a steak, I want a damn steak. I don't want to chase it around the woods for two hours and then eat it raw. I have food brought to me, and the only time I get off my ass is when something threatens the Pack. I've been on exactly one hunt in the last three years. I went because I had to go, and once they ran off, I found a nice warm rock and had myself a nap in the sun. Do you know when the last time I really had to hunt to survive was? After my parents died. Until Mahon found me half-starved."

I stared at him.

"Hunting together is something young werewolves do when they're trying to learn how to work in a team. Most shapeshifters don't cavort around in the woods, unless the urge to kill something strikes them. Do you have any idea how hard it is to actually catch a deer on foot? There is a reason why humans are the most successful predators on the damn planet. Lorelei doesn't know this, because she's young and naive and she has never been outside her uncle's wolf pack. She never had to survive weeks in the forest, eating worms, mice, grasshoppers, and whatever other shit she could catch because she's starving and desperate. She thinks every pack in the world follows the same pattern, but you know me. You know better. Or you should."

I opened my mouth.

"I'm not done. Hugh understands this. He made that farce of a hunt because he gets off on making us run through the woods, fetching meat for him like we're subhuman, like we're his dogs, and then when we bring it back, he gives the one who debases himself the most a treat. If I didn't have to keep Desandra breathing, I wouldn't have gone. I just want to know, is that what you think of me? Am I a fucking dog to you?"

"No, you're the man I love and who is supposed to love me back. Instead, you spend all your time with another woman. Apparently you pulled the plug on us and forgot to forward me the memo."

"Am I with her now?"

"Where were you this morning when I went to speak with the packs?"

His eyes told me I'd hit home. It hurt. "Don't bother to answer. I always thought that if you decided we weren't working out, at the very least you would have the decency to tell me up front."

"I'm thirty-two years old," he said. "Women have thrown themselves at me since I was fifteen. Do you honestly think that Lorelei has anything I haven't seen before?"

"She has the Wilson name."

"And she can stick it up her ass for all the good it will do her. I don't need to ally myself with Ice Fury. They're four thousand miles away. What the hell would I do with them?"

He did have a point, but I was too mad to admit it. "Whatever."

"Not only that, but if I wanted that pack, I would go to Alaska and take it from Wilson, and I would take everything in between me and him. I don't need Lorelei. And even if I did, what does she have, Kate? She isn't an alpha; she has no concept of leadership or obligations. She isn't her father, and she doesn't get to claim his accomplishments as her own because he happens to be her dad."

I was suddenly so tired. "So let's review: she didn't impress you with her personality and brain, she has no strategic value, and you don't really want to get into her pants."

"Yes."

"So why are you spending all of your time with her? What you are doing looks like a betrayal. A public, obvious betrayal. I know you understand all of this."

He looked at me, his jaw set.

I sat on a rock. "Anytime."

Curran sighed. "There is a contract on your life."

I slumped forward, resting my face on my hands. No, he wouldn't . . .

"The pirate attack was targeted-someone hired them specifically to kill you. They had your description: dark hair, sword, and so on. The pirate described a man who looks a lot like that asshole who hangs out with Kral, Renok. He said the man had a Romanian accent. They were paid in euros. Thirty thousand, which is a lot of money. Jarek isn't about to drop thirty grand on getting you killed. He likes to do that sort of work himself."

Why me . . . ?

"The euro notes are numbered. The first letter of the serial number on the money denotes the country. After we disembarked, Saiman took the pirate back to his people in exchange for looking at the money. It was printed in Belgium. That meant that Lorelei and Jarek Kral made some sort of deal."

I just looked at him.

"Lorelei arrived here with three of her uncle's people for an escort. I bribed one of them-they don't like her all that much-and she said that Lorelei and Jarek Kral had signed a contract. She didn't know the exact terms, but it involves Lorelei becoming alpha of the Pack and spells out your death. Lorelei did this because she's a naive child and she actually thinks things in the real world work like that. Jarek Kral did it because he's likely planning to either blackmail her with it or use it to his advantage in some other way. Either case, if I can get my hands on the contract, it will bite him in the ass, because it will give me proof that he plotted to murder my wife. I can legitimately kill him."

You've got to be kidding me. "I'm not your wife."

"I couldn't fight the war on two fronts," Curran said. "Something was attacking Desandra, and with everything concentrated on keeping her safe, I couldn't gamble with your life. I didn't want someone to shoot you or a giant rock to fall on your head. I couldn't be there with you because they kept me busy. I was locked into choosing between getting panacea for the Pack or keeping you alive. So I became interested in Lorelei, because if they thought I was nibbling their bait, there was no reason to kill you and risk turning you into a martyr. I've been taking her on long walks where nobody would see us, while Saiman's been walking around the castle pretending to be her, trying to find the contract and find someone who knows something about it."

"Saiman's in the castle?"

"He's been in castle the entire time except for the first night. I walked him in as Mahon the morning after the first dinner."

I knew the answer, but I asked anyway. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you can't lie, Kate. Everything you think is right there on your face. I've met kindergarteners who are better actors than you. I needed you to look jealous and worried, and I needed it to be genuine, so they would dismiss you as a possible target. The entire plan hinged on it."

Aha. "That's some plan."

"It was a good plan. I thought of it and I executed it, and it was going along fine until you decided to go off into the mountains."

I hid my face in my hands.

"Kate?" he asked.

I should have been angry and screaming, but I just felt tired and hollow.

"Kate?" he repeated. "Are you okay?"

I looked at him. "No."

He waited.

"You put me through hell because you think I'm a bad liar." My voice was completely flat. I couldn't scrape together enough feelings for anything else.

"That's not what it is."

"Yes, it is," I said quietly. "Curran, think about it for a minute. My life is in danger and you don't trust me enough to tell me about it. You have no idea how bad you made me feel."

"I was trying to keep you alive. Even if it meant we couldn't be together. Even if it meant watching Hugh making circles around you like a fucking shark. You don't trust me either, Kate. All the shit we've been through should've bought me some time, but you believed I lost my head over some girl after three days."

I didn't even hurt anymore. I just felt this empty dry sadness. "And that's exactly the problem."

"Kate?" He crouched by me, one knee on the ground, and leaned forward to look at my face. "Baby? Punch me or something."

I struggled to sort everything into words. It didn't work. I just shut down like an overloaded circuit.

"Talk to me."

Some sort of words finally came out. "Where can we even go from here . . ."

"I don't want to go anywhere. I love you. You love me. We're together. We're a team."

Suddenly my emotions sorted themselves out and anger finally ran to the front of the pack. "No, we're not a team. You made me a patsy in your scheme. You treated me like I'm an idiot. I thought about hurting her. I thought about hurting you."

"You wouldn't hurt her. She's weaker than you."

"You're an arrogant bastard."

"Fair enough," he said. "You got more?"

"Yes. You're a smug asshole."

"Yes, I am." He motioned at me. "Don't hold back. Tell me how you really feel."

I punched him in the jaw. It was a good solid hook.

Curran shook his head. "I deserved that. Are we okay?"

"No."

"Why?"

"You still don't get it. Hugh is playing me. He thinks I'm gullible and naive, and he thinks he can run circles around me. And you, you did the exact same thing. I trusted you and you used it against me. You led me around like I was blind. We're not okay."

"What are you saying?" He was looking up at me. I saw something odd in his gray eyes and realized it was desperation.

"I'm really mad at you, Curran. This isn't one of those fights where we both lose our temper, spar, talk, and we're okay. This is my line in the sand. I don't know if I can roll with this punch."

"So this is it?"

"I'm trying to decide."

I trusted him and he broke that trust, and while I could think around it, I couldn't feel my way past it. It felt like he came up to give me a hug and slid a knife between my ribs.

Curran unlocked his teeth. "I did the only thing I could do. Everything I've done and everything I've said was to keep you alive. I'm sorry I made you go through it, but if I had to do it over, I would do it again. Even if that means you'll leave with Hugh tomorrow. You being safe is more important to me than having you. I love you."

I loved him, too. Inside me a small voice told me that in his place I would've done the same thing, no matter the fallout I had to endure at the end. Having him alive and mad at me was infinitely better than having him dead. But loving someone and being with him were two different things.

"If your father walked out of the darkness right now and said, 'Come with me, or everyone here will die,' you would go with him," Curran said. "Knowing that I would fight for you with everything I've got, you would walk away. You would leave me a note that said I shouldn't look for you, because you would want to protect me."

There was no point in lying. "Yes."

"That's my line in the sand," he said. "Would you still walk away?"

"Yes." If his life were on the line, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

"Even if I leave you because of it?"

"Yes."

He spread his arms.

"I can't change who I am," I told him. "Neither can you. I get it."

"I love you and you love me, and we're both too fucked up for anyone else. Who else would have us?"

I sighed. "Well, clearly we're both crazy and this relationship is doomed."

"I love you so much," he said. "Please don't leave me."

He leaned forward. I knew he would kiss me a moment before he did, and I realized I wanted it. I remembered him holding me. I remembered him risking himself against impossible odds for me. I made him laugh, I told him things that would make most normal men run screaming, things I spent all my life keeping secret, and I drove him to the point of near-blinding rage. In my darkest moments, when everything was crashing down around me, he told me everything would be okay. The taste of him, the feel of his lips as his mouth covered mine, the way he made the world fade, as if kissing me were the only thing that existed in his life, pulled me right back through time, before the castle, before Hugh, and before Lorelei. Curran was mine. If my life were on the line, he would do it again, and I would be mad at him again. And if the reverse ever happened, he would rage and roar, and I would tell him that I loved him and that I would fight to the death to keep him breathing.

He was right. We loved each other and nobody else would put up with us.

"I'm still mad at you," I whispered, and put my arms around him.

"I'm an ass," he told me, pulling me closer. "I'm sorry. You should make my life hell for the next hundred years."

"Do we need to give you some privacy for the makeup sex?" Astamur asked.