“But . . .” Keira began.

  Curran glanced at her.

  “Oh, fine.” She stretched out on the deck. “I’m listening.”

  “You’ve all heard about Desandra and the twins by now,” Barabas began. “However, this fight isn’t really about the babies. It’s about territory. The Carpathians form a mountain range in the shape of a backward C that runs through many different countries, including Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Romania, Ukraine, and Serbia. These mountains constitute Europe’s largest forested area and contain over a third of all European plant species.”

  Keira yawned.

  Barabas rolled his eyes. “Here is the deal. It’s shapeshifter paradise. Miles and miles of wooded mountains, lakes, rivers, and a good supply of fresh water and game. The terrain is harsh and the human population is light. You could dump a battalion of Army Rangers into the Carpathians, and they would wander around for years, shooting at shadows.”

  “Sounds good,” Mahon boomed.

  “It is. Prime country. So this guy, Jarek Kral, figured this out early on. He clawed his way to the top of a small wolf pack and spent the next twenty years murdering, bargaining, and scheming to get more land. Now he controls a big chunk in the northeast. He’s a powerful sonovabitch, and he’s got serious anger management issues. Holds grudges and never forgets an insult. There was this werebear who said something Jarek didn’t like. Three years later Jarek sees him at a dinner, walks over, stabs him with a knife, rips the guy’s heart out of his body, throws it on the ground, and stomps it into mush. And then goes back to finish his food. He’s famous for it.”

  “Sounds like a lovely man,” George said.

  “Here, I’ve got a picture.” Barabas passed a photograph to Eduardo on his left. “Jarek is a powerful guy, but he has a problem. In thirty years he managed eleven children. Seven went loup, two were killed with their mother when a rival pack ambushed them, one challenged Jarek and lost, and that leaves him with Desandra. Jarek is like our Mahon. He’s all about dynasties and alliances. It’s killing him that he doesn’t have a son.”

  Mahon sighed. “Wait until you live as long as I have. And I have a son. I just wasn’t his first father, that’s all.”

  Curran grinned.

  The photograph of Jarek finally made its way to me. A man in his late forties stared to the side with an expression of derision and disbelief on his face, as if he had just stepped on a worm and was flabbergasted that the creature had managed to get itself plastered to the bottom of his shoe. His brown wavy hair fell around his face, reaching to his broad shoulders, but did nothing to soften the impact of the face. Jarek’s features were made with broad strokes: large eyes under bushy slanted eyebrows, large nose, wide mouth, firm chin and a square jaw. It was a powerful face, male and strong, but lacking refinement. He didn’t look like a thug, but rather like a man without conscience, who killed because it was convenient.

  Not the type of man I’d want to cross.

  Curran looked over my shoulder. “Yes. That’s him.”

  I leaned against him and passed the picture to Raphael.

  “So back to Desandra,” Barabas said. “Nobody wanted to ally themselves with Jarek, because he isn’t exactly a man of his word. So he bargained with his daughter. By herself, Desandra is penniless. However, her first son will inherit Prislop Pass. It’s a pass in northern Romania, on the edge of his territory, and it has a ley line running through it. If you’re going from Russia, Ukraine, or Moldova to Hungary or Romania, you’re going to take that pass. Which brings us to the other two packs.”

  He held up a picture. A family sat around the table. Three younger men, one elderly, and three women. “Volkodavi. A mixed pack, part Polish, part Ukrainian, part whatever. They’re rubbing up against the Carpathians from the east, in Ukraine, and they control the eastern hills. Here is Radomil, Desandra’s first husband.”

  Barabas handed the photograph to Eduardo, who passed it to George. George blinked and sat up straighter. “Whoa.”

  “I know, right?” Barabas grinned.

  Andrea leaned over. “Let me see. Not my type.” She leaned over to show Aunt B. Aunt B raised her eyebrows.

  The picture went from hand to hand until I finally got it. Radomil was pretty. There was no other word for it. His hair, a rich golden blond, lay in waves on his head, framing a perfectly symmetrical face. A generous mouth stretched in a happy smile showing white teeth, a touch of stubble on the chin, high cheekbones, and glass-bottle-green eyes, framed in dense, dark blond eyelashes.

  Curran looked over my shoulder and studied it with a perfectly neutral expression.

  “Radomil’s older brother and sister pretty much run the pack,” Barabas said. “We don’t know very much about them. Look here.” He lifted another photo. Two parents and two grown sons, both handsome, dark-haired, hazel-eyed, with narrow faces, short haircuts, and clean-shaven square jaws.

  “Gerardo and Ignazio Lovari, sons of Isabella and Cosimo Lovari. We’re interested in Gerardo.”

  “No, dear,” Aunt B said. “We’re interested in Isabella. I’ve met her before. That woman rules Belve Ravennati. All of the Wild Beasts of Ravenna answer to her including her two sons. They’re a very disciplined pack. Mostly lupine and very acquisition-minded.”

  “Try to remember their faces. All these people will be there,” Barabas said. “And that brings us to our lovely destination. We’re actually going to Abkhazia. It’s a disputed territory on the border between Russia and Georgia, and it’s directly across the Black Sea for everyone involved. Once every fifty or sixty years, Russia and Georgia have a war over it and it changes hands. The local pack is a werejackal pack, not large, but enough people to slaughter the lot of us. We don’t know anything about it. But we do know several things.” Barabas held up a finger. “One, the alpha couple will be the most likely target.”

  Everyone looked in our direction. Curran smiled.

  “That’s how I would do it,” Mahon said. “Split the alphas and you split the pack. If you do it right, the pack will turn on itself.”

  Being a target didn’t thrill me, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

  Barabas held up two fingers. “Two, they’ll try to reduce our numbers.”

  “Buddy system,” Curran said. “Nobody goes anywhere without someone with them. Pick your buddy and stick with them.”

  “Three.” Barabas raised three fingers. “Trust no one. I don’t know where they’ll put us, but we’ll have no privacy. Even if your rooms are empty, you can be sure that someone is listening to you breathe. Don’t discuss anything important unless you’re outside and you can see a mile around you.”

  “And four,” Curran said. “We will be provoked on every turn. Collectively the three packs want us there. Individually, they don’t. The only reason they want an arbitration is that none of the packs is strong enough to take the other two. If two clans fight, the third will destroy the victor.”

  “So even if you win, you lose,” Andrea said.

  Curran nodded. “To them, we are collateral damage. The packs have made plans, and some of them hinge on provoking us to violence. No matter what is said to you, do not let yourself be goaded into throwing the first punch. Our behavior must be beyond reproach.”

  “This is going to be so much fun,” George murmured in a voice usually reserved for lamenting extra work piled on your desk on the last minute of Friday.

  “You said it.” Raphael grinned. “This will be the best vacation ever.”

  “Boudas.” George wrinkled her nose.

  * * *

  As long as the big tech turbines propelled the Rush forward, the ocean remained lifeless, but as soon as the noise disappeared, life gathered around the ship. Dolphins dashed in the water, launching themselves in the air. Often larger, rainbow-hued fishes joined them, spinning above the water as they leaped. Once an enormous, fish-shaped shadow, as long as the ship, slid quietly under us and went on its way. Glittering schools of fish zipped back and forth next to the vessel.

  A week into the trip we saw a sea serpent as we were getting our use out of the helipad. The ocean was smooth as glass and suddenly a dragonlike head the size of a car rose above the water on a graceful neck. The silver scales sparkled in the sun. The serpent looked at us with turquoise eyes, as big as a tire, and dove underwater. Saiman said it was only a baby, or things would’ve been considerably more difficult.

  On the morning of the seventeenth day, we passed through the Strait of Gibraltar. It was less impressive than expected. A green shore stretched on one side for a while and then receded into the blue. The lack of drama was thoroughly disappointing.

  We pressed on. Three days later, I climbed onto the deck to a beautiful day. Crystalline blue water spread as far as the eye could see. Here and there faint outlines of cliffs, the hints of distant islands, interrupted the blue. Gauzy veils of feathered clouds crossed the sky like thin spears of frost across a winter window. The magic was up, and the Rush slid across the water, a nimble steel bird.

  I sat down with my coffee. Wind stirred my hair. Saiman came to stand near me.

  “I never figured you for a sailor,” I said.

  “I never did either. I was seventeen when I happened to get on a crab fishing boat for reasons completely unrelated to fishing. I smelled the wet salt in the wind, felt the deck move, and didn’t leave for three years. I was truly happy there. I do prefer cold seas. I like ice. It’s the call of the blood, I suppose. Aesir or Jotun, take your pick.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  Saiman shook his head. “It’s not something I wish to share. Suffice to say, there are times when I think I should’ve stayed.”

  He leaned forward, scanning the horizon, and for the first time since we left port, his face was grim.

  “Problems?”

  Saiman nodded at the endless water. “We’ve crossed into the Aegean.”

  “Are you worried senior citizens will start diving off the cliffs because our ship is flying the wrong sails?”

  Barabas wandered out onto the deck and came to stand by us.

  “I never understood the legend of Theseus,” Saiman said. “Or rather, I understand his motivation for killing the minotaur in an effort to establish himself as a leader. I can’t fathom the rationale behind Aegeus throwing himself into the sea.”

  “He thought his son failed to kill the minotaur and died,” I said.

  “So he decided to destabilize the country already paying tribute to a foreign power even further by killing himself and destroying the established royal dynasty?” Saiman shook his head. “I think it’s clear what really occurred. Theseus led the invasion of Crete, destroyed their superweapon in the form of the minotaur, returned home, and made his bid for power by pushing his dear old father off a cliff. Everyone pretended it was a suicide, and Theseus went on to found Athens and unify Attica under its banner.”

  Barabas barked a short laugh. “He’s probably right.”

  “I prefer the other version,” I said.

  Saiman shrugged. “Romanticism will be your undoing, Kate. To answer your question, I’m not worried about suicidal Greeks, but about their more violent countrymen. The Aegean is a haven for pirates.”

  Romanticism will be your undoing, blah blah. “Isn’t that why you have that gun mounted on the front? Or is it for other reasons, because I would’ve thought that a man with your powers would be past the urge to compensate.”

  Barabas grinned.

  “I had forgotten that talking to you is like trying to pet a cactus,” Saiman said dryly. “Thank you for reminding me.”

  “Always happy to oblige.”

  “I’m compensating for nothing. Pirates come in two types. Most of them are opportunistic, situationally homicidal, and driven by profit. They kill as means to an end. They evaluate a vessel of this size and realize that a sea battle would be too costly and their chances of winning it are slim. Unfortunately, there is the second type: the rash, the stupid, and the insane. The Rush wouldn’t prove a deterrent; on the contrary, they would view it as a great prize. Capturing it would at once give them a flagship of decent firepower and allow them to make a name for themselves. They can’t be reasoned with—”

  A small cutter swung around the western edge of the nearest island. Saiman looked at it. Another boat joined the first, then a third, a fourth . . .

  Saiman gave out a long-suffering sigh. “Right. Please go and get your brute, Kate. We’re about to get boarded.”

  “I’ll go.” Barabas jogged away.

  Over a dozen cutters now sped toward us. With magic up, the giant gun was useless.

  A bell rang: three rings, pause, three rings, pause. A woman barked, her voice deep, “General quarters! All hands to battle stations! General quarters!”

  “Shouldn’t you be on the bridge?” I asked.

  “The ship must have only one captain,” Saiman said. “Russell is perfectly competent to handle any emergency, and I don’t want to undermine him with my presence.”

  The shapeshifters spilled out onto the deck, Curran in the lead. Andrea brandished a crossbow. Raphael strode next to her, carrying knives. The boats headed straight for us. The Beast Lord braked next to me. “Are you planning to ram them?”

  “That would be futile. Their boats are more maneuverable. They would simply scatter.”

  A person dived into the ocean off the lead boat. That must’ve been a cue, because the pirates began dropping overboard like their boats were on fire.

  “What the hell?” Eduardo muttered.

  “As I said, we’re about to be boarded,” Saiman said with afflicted patience.

  Above us on top of the brig, two sailors manned a polybolos, a siege engine that looked like a crossbow on steroids. An antipersonnel weapon, a polybolos fired large crossbow bolts with deadly accuracy, and just for fun, it was self-loading and repeating, like a machine gun.

  Sleek shapes dashed through the water toward us.

  “Do they have trained dolphins?” George asked.

  “Not exactly,” Saiman backed away, toward the center of the deck.

  The dolphins shot toward the Rush all but flying beneath the waves.

  I pulled Slayer out.

  “Form a perimeter,” Curran called. “Let them get on the deck, where it’s nice and dry. Don’t let them pull you into the water.”

  We made a ring in the center of the deck.

  “This is utterly ridiculous,” Aunt B said.

  Keira stretched. “Fun, fun, fun . . .”

  Something smashed into the side of the hull. A deformed gray hand clutched the top edge of the deck and a creature leaped over the railing and landed, dripping water. Nude except for a leather harness, it stood on short muscular legs, hunched over but upright, the sun glistening on its thick, shiny hide. Its body was all chest with a smooth, wide trunk of a waist. Broad shoulders supported two massive arms with surprisingly small hands. Its neck, disproportionately thick, with a hump on the back, anchored a head armed with long, narrow dolphin jaws filled with razor-sharp teeth. Two human eyes stared at us from the thickly fleshed face. A big bastard. At least four hundred pounds.

  A weredolphin. Pinch me, somebody.

  Greek legends spoke of some pirates who’d captured the god Dionysus. They were planning to rape him and sell him into slavery. Furious, he transformed them into dolphins. Apparently, their descendants were alive and well and still in the family business.

  The pirate glared at us. Hell of a neck. Strikes to the throat were right out.

  Other pirates leaped over the railing. One, two . . . seven . . . thirteen. A baker’s dozen. Wait, fifteen. Eighteen . . . Twenty-one. The odds weren’t in our favor.

  “Maybe they just came over to borrow a cup of sugar,” I said.

  Andrea barked a short laugh. Curran put his hand on my shoulder. “That’s a lot of sugar. Must be a big cake.”

  The lead weredolphin opened his jaws, displaying teeth designed to pierce struggling prey and not let go. English words spilled out, sotto voce, accented and mangled. “Give us your ship and your cargo and you can go.”

  “He lies,” Saiman said. “I lost two vessels to them in the last six months. They will butcher us like cattle for the sake of the cargo.”

  “Do you speak Greek?” Curran asked.

  Saiman shrugged. “Naturally.”

  “Ask him if he thought this through.”

  A melodious language spilled from Saiman.

  The weredolphin stared at Saiman like he had grown a second head.

  “Leave this ship,” Curran said, his voice deepening. He was about to explode. “And you will survive. This is your only warning.”

  Saiman translated.

  The dolphin drew back and pointed at Curran. “First, I kill you. Then I rape your woman.”

  Gold drowned Curran’s eyes. I’ve seen people put their foot in their mouth. This was the first time I saw a fin jammed into one.

  Curran’s body exploded. The change was so fast, it was almost instantaneous. One second a man stood next to me, the next a monster towered over me, fully seven and a half feet tall. Gray fur covered his muscular limbs, dark ghostly stripes crisscrossing it like the marks of a whip. The colossal leonine mouth gaped open, flashing scimitar fangs, and a huge sound burst forth, dangerous, rough, grating, primal in its fury and sheer power, like a battle challenge delivered by a tornado. It hit you straight in the gut, bypassing logic and thought, into the bundle of nerves that made you freeze. I’ve heard it dozens of times and it still shook me.

  The weredolphins had never heard it before, and so they did exactly what most people would do when faced with an enraged lion. They cringed, paralyzed.

  I lunged forward, drawing as I struck. The head pirate saw me coming and raised his arm to ward off the strike. Slayer’s blade cut through the flesh and bone of the narrow wrist like a knife through warm butter. The hand fell to the deck. The pirate clutched the stump of his arm and screamed, a high-pitched, ear-piercing shriek. I buried my sword in his gut and disemboweled him with a single rip.