I opened my eyes. The magic was down and Curran was gone. The clock said ten past seven. Plenty of time to get dressed and make it to Doolittle's quarters in time for the meeting.
A plate waited for me on the table, covered with a piece of paper. The paper said in Curran's rough scrawl, Went to talk to Mahon. Packs want to meet to "discuss issues." Don't forget to eat.
Under the paper, the plate contained two eggs and a lion-sized piece of ham. I ate a third of it, brushed my teeth, put on my jeans, and strapped on my sword. New day, new battle.
Our bags had been brought in from the ship. I dug through them and pulled out my beat-up copy of the Almanac of Mythological Creatures. I'd read it cover to cover so many times that I had memorized entire pages, but sometimes looking at it helped me connect the dots.
I've never heard of shapeshifters turning into winged cats, but since Lyc-V was present in the blood, most likely the mechanism of the transformation was the same: the virus infected some creature and then infected a human. The first step was to figure out what the creature was.
Winged cats weren't the most common motif in mythology, but they did occur. Freja, a Norse goddess, had a chariot that was pulled across the sky by two giant cats, Brygun and Trejgun, who probably had wings. They were blue and not orange and didn't change shape. The Sphinx was a feline with wings and a serpent's tail, but also a female face. It had the power of speech, and again, no scales. Griffins had eagle heads, so I could rule them out. I've seen a manticore, and that was not one.
I dug through the bags, looking for more books. The Heraldic Bestiary informed me that a winged lion was a symbol of Saint Mark and Venice. That didn't exactly help, unless Lorelei was from Venice and had brought over a posse of winged predatory cats to kill all of us and kidnap Curran.
Boy, she really managed to get under my skin.
No, most likely Saint Mark's lion was a reference to the four prophets from Ezekiel. Matthew was portrayed as a human, Mark as a lion, Luke as a bull, and John as an eagle. I could check Revelation; it was always good for all sorts of strange beasts . . .
Something nagged at me. I concentrated on it. Revelation. To really understand Revelation, one had to read the book of Daniel. At some point I must've come across something in the book of Daniel that was relevant to this, because my brain was telling me to go and look at it.
Let's see: Qur'an, Mythology of Caucasus People . . . I had to have packed a Bible. I know I did.
I flipped the bag upside down. Books scattered on the floor. A small green edition of the Bible flopped down. Got you.
I sat down on the floor and flipped the pages. I was concentrating so hard that when I finally found it, I just stared at it for a few seconds to make sure it was really there. It was in chapter seven, where Daniel described seeing magic beasts in one of his prophetic dreams.
The first was like a lion, and had eagle's wings: I beheld till the wings thereof were plucked, and it was lifted up from the earth, and made stand upon the feet as a man, and a man's heart was given to it.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
A shapeshifter. A feline shapeshifter with wings, who had the ability to transform into a man.
I racked my brain, trying to recall what I knew about Daniel. He was a Jewish noble who, together with three others, had been taken to Babylon around 600 BC to serve as an advisor at the court of the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II, whose chief claim to historical fame was the construction of the Hanging Gardens for his main squeeze. Daniel had many prophetic and apocalyptic dreams and by all accounts lived to a ripe old age, managing to survive the toxic Babylonian politics.
What could Daniel have possibly encountered in Babylon to have this vision? The only remotely similar creatures were the Assyrian lamassu, but there were no records of them being shapeshifters. The Assyrian Empire lay in a region I knew well. The ancient Assyria, Babylon, and Nineveh all were around long before recorded history. They were the cemetery flowers that grew from the dead body of my father's once-mighty empire.
The clock said it was almost time for the meeting. I'd have to come back to it later. I stacked my books in the corner of the room, grabbed the Bible and the Almanac, made a beeline for Doolittle's room, and rapped my knuckles on his door.
"Come in!" Eduardo called.
I opened the door. A large room stretched before me, easily as big as Desandra's suite. Two doors stood open, one on the left leading to a bedroom, the other on the right opening into a bathroom. To the left two tables had been set in the shape of an L. Glass vials and beakers lined the surface. Doolittle sat in the corner of the L looking through a microscope. To the right, two oversized plush couches flanked a coffee table. Derek sat on the closest one, holding cards in his hand. He'd pushed them together into a single stack. Across from him Eduardo lounged, taking an entire couch by himself. He held his cards in a wide fan.
"What do you mean, come in? You don't even know who I am."
"Of course we know who you are," Derek said.
"He smelled you coming," Eduardo said.
Life with werewolves. Why me?
I dropped into a chair by Doolittle's table.
He looked at me. A pair of glasses perched on his nose.
"Why do you wear glasses? Doesn't Lyc-V give you twenty-ten vision?" I asked.
Doolittle tapped his glasses. "Yes, but these give me twenty-two."
His voice with its coastal Georgia overtones made me so homesick, I almost hugged him.
"How's the head?"
"Fragrant." Doolittle opened a cooler that sat next to him. Inside the severed head rested, wrapped in plastic and half submerged in ice.
"Anything?"
Doolittle leaned back. "It's a shapeshifter. The blood reacts to silver and shows the presence of Lyc-V."
"Aha! So I'm not crazy."
"You are most definitely crazy," Derek said. "But in a deranged, endearing way."
Eduardo snorted.
"Don't make me come over there." I looked at Doolittle.
"They are rambunctious this morning," he told me. "Unfortunately my resources here are limited. I don't have access to any of the genetic sequencing methods I have at home."
There was more to it, I could sense it. "But?"
"But there is the Bravinski-Dhoni test."
"I've never heard of it."
Doolittle nodded with a small smile. "That's because it's not very useful under ordinary circumstances. It's not precise. It is, however, very reliable."
He pushed a wooden rack of test tubes toward me. Each was half filled with blood. A small label identified each test tube: Bear, Wolf, Bison, Hyena, Mongoose, Jackal, Lynx, Badger, Lion, and Rat.
Most of these probably came from our team. "Where did you get the jackal, lynx, and rat?"
"The locals," Eduardo said.
"Hibla got upset," Derek elaborated. "When you fought, someone deployed a gate that sealed the hallway. The gate mechanism was guarded."
"Let me guess, the local guard was murdered in a horrible way."
"Probably," Derek said. "The body is missing but there was a lot of blood. Hibla wants to know what's going on."
Doolittle picked a pipette and dipped it into the Wolf test tube. "The essence of the test is based on the assimilation properties of Lyc-V. When faced with new DNA, it seeks to incorporate it."
He uncorked the Bear test tube and let two drops from the pipette fall inside. The blood turned black, swirled, and dissolved.
"Assimilated," I guessed. The Lyc-V had chomped on the foreign DNA.
"Precisely." Doolittle picked up a test tube marked Bear II. "The blood in this test tube is from Georgetta, but the blood in front of you is from her father."
He sucked a couple of drops from George's test tube and let them fall into Mahon's blood. Nothing happened.
"Same species."
"But wouldn't the difference in human DNA affect it?"
"It does, but you won't see a dramatic reaction." Doolittle leaned forward. "We've tested the blood from the man you killed against all of these. Every single one gave a reaction."
"Even the lynx and lion?"
Doolittle nodded. "Whatever it is, it may look feline, but it's not. If it is, its DNA is significantly different from that of a lynx or a lion."
"So where do we go from here?"
"We try to get more samples," Doolittle said.
That would be problematic, to say the least. I tried imagining walking over to the Volkodavi or Belve Ravennati and telling them, "Hi, we suspect that one of your people might be a terrible monster; can we have your blood?"
Yeah. They would just fall over themselves to donate a sample.
"I could pick a fight," Derek said. "Get some blood that way."
"No fights. We start nothing. We only react."
"That's exactly what I said." Doolittle fixed Derek with his stare. "Also, Kate, if you do run across another specimen, do try to keep him or her alive until I get there."
Ha-ha. "Will do, Doc. My turn." I opened the Bible and showed him the verse from Daniel.
Doolittle read it, raised his glasses onto his forehead, and read it again. "I've read the Bible hundreds of times. I don't remember reading this."
"You weren't looking for it."
Derek came over and read the verse.
I brought them up on Daniel's brief history. "The beasts in Daniel's dream are usually interpreted to mean kingdoms, in this case Babylon, that will eventually fall from glory. But if taken literally, it could mean a shapeshifter."
"Were there winged cats in Babylon?" Doolittle asked.
"The only thing close were the lamassu," I told him. "Lamassu served as the guardians of ancient Assyria. Assyria spanned four modern countries: southern Turkey, western Iran, and the north of Iraq and Syria. Assyrians liked to do war, and they fought with Babylon, Egypt, and pretty much everyone they could reasonably conquer in ancient Mesopotamia for about two thousand years. Around six hundred BC, Babylonians, Cimmerians, and Scyths, all the nations who had once paid Assyria tribute, finally banded together and sacked it. We don't have many records of the Assyrians. They left behind some ruined cities and stone reliefs depicting fun things like impaling entire villages of subjugated people and riding around in chariots hunting lions."
"Amusing people, the ancient Assyrians," Derek said. "They hunt, they sing, they dance, they impale people."
A joke. Finally. "Pretty much. They also built lamassu, massive stone statues that guarded the city gates and the entrances to Assyrian palaces."
I opened the Almanac and showed them the picture of the colossal statues. "Bearded human face, body of a lion or a bull, and wings."
"Why five legs?" Doolittle asked.
"It's conceptual: from the front the lamassu seem to be standing still, but from the side they appear to walk. Here is an interesting thing: Assyria wasn't that far from here, about a thousand miles southwest as the crow flies. It's a thousand miles of mountains and terrible roads, but in country terms, ancient Assyria and ancient Colchis were practically neighbors."
Derek frowned at the picture.
"But they have human faces," Eduardo said. "And no scales."
I nodded. "And that's a problem. Also there are dozens of theories as to who or what the lamassu represent, but not one of them says they were evil or that they ate people. They are viewed as benevolent guardians. People have found amulets with lamassu and protective spells on them, and modern Assyrians still have their images in their houses."
Doolittle studied the picture. "To show a creature with five legs demonstrates understanding rather than observation."
"What do you mean, understanding?"
"They didn't simply follow nature's blueprint and make exactly what they observed," Doolittle said. "They understood the difference between perception and reality, and they portrayed a concept rather than the exact copy of what they could see."
Doolittle took a piece of paper and a pen and began to draw. "When we are born, we start out with concrete thinking. We perceive only what we see and hear." He showed us the piece of paper. On it a dove soared above a crushed birdcage.
"What do you see?"
"A bird flying away from a broken cage," Derek said.
"What does it symbolize?"
"Freedom," I said.
"What else?"
"Escape," Eduardo said.
Doolittle turned to Derek.
"Leaving what is safe so you can be more," Derek said. "The cage is what the bird knows; the sky is all the things he still wants to do, even if it's a risk."
"Ah!" Doolittle raised his index finger. "All those are examples of abstract thinking. Our entire culture is based on the idea that a single concept can have many different interpretations. We actively encourage the development of this skill, because it helps us solve our problems in new ways. So did the ancient Assyrians, apparently. When looking at the lamassu, we have to consider not only what it is but what it may represent. We can't simply take it at face value."
The million-dollar question was, what could a scaled bull with a human face and wings symbolize?
A knock sounded and Andrea and Raphael came into the room. Keira stalked in behind them and winked at Eduardo.
"Stop that," Eduardo told her.
I leaned over to Doolittle. "What do you think it represents?"
"Let me think about it," he said.
Barabas was the last to arrive. We were missing Curran and Mahon, and Aunt B and George, who were guarding Desandra. It would have to do.
"Desandra doesn't do well with men," I said. "We need to have a woman with her at all times. I'm thinking three shifts, two people per shift. Midnight to eight, eight to four, and four to midnight. Volunteers?"
Raphael raised his hand. "We'll take eight to four."
"I can take four to midnight," I said. "I need a partner."
Derek raised his hand. Perfect.
"I'll take midnight to eight," Keira said. "I don't mind sleeping in the room and I talked to George last night. We'll work well together."
"What about me?" Eduardo asked.
"You and our good doctor are joined at the hip for the rest of our stay here," I said. "I have a feeling that Curran will be busy."
"He will be," Barabas confirmed. "I have several requests for meetings with him. He's an arbiter, so the packs will likely want him there any time they decide to talk."
"That leaves us with you, Mahon, and Aunt B," I said. "I'll talk to both of them and see if they would mind acting as standbys in case we need extra support: twelve hours on, twelve hours off. Same instructions as last night until further notice: we do not go anywhere alone, we do not take risks, and above all we do not permit ourselves to be provoked. One last thing: the most dangerous person in this castle isn't Jarek Kral or any of the other pack alphas. It's Megobari."
Keira raised her eyebrows.
"You've seen me fight," I said. "I can't explain to you why now, because it's complicated and we're being listened to, but I say this with every ounce of credibility I have: he is extremely dangerous. He has the means and ability to murder every person in this room and he will do it without any hesitation. Do not underestimate him."
If these creatures we fought were indeed lamassu, Roland would know about them. He could even have used them, which meant Hugh could use them as well. I had no idea to what end. But I would find out.
The meeting done, Raphael, Andrea, and I walked to Desandra's room. They would start their shift and I wanted to check in on Desandra.
"I was thinking," Andrea said.
"That's a dangerous habit."
"I keep telling her that," Raphael said.
"Oh, you two are a riot. Anyway, I was thinking we should squeeze Desandra dry. She knows both clans. She has to have some idea what's going on."
"Think she can handle it?" Desandra seemed about as stable as the Hawaiian Islands to me-she looked pretty, but if you searched hard enough, you'd find a volcano. Last thing I wanted was for her to self-destruct on me.
"Sure. You saw her. She doesn't have anyone to talk to. As long as we go easy and wear kid gloves, she'll be happy to chat. We'll girl-talk her."
Girl talk, right.
"I'll stay in the hallway," Raphael told us.
A minute later Andrea and I walked into Desandra's room. George was sitting on the bed by Desandra, who looked as sullen as you could get without actually crossing your arms and sticking your bottom lip all the way out. Aunt B smiled in a benign way, while George carefully braided Desandra's hair.
Shreds of bright silver wrapping paper and pieces of cardboard littered the rug. Next to them lay a broken toilet bowl brush with a ribbon bow and a card hanging from it.
Long strands of blond hair lay on the carpet, over the wrapping paper. Their ends were bloody.
I pointed at the brush. "What is this?"
"Her father sent her a present," George said through clenched teeth. "The card says, So you'll have something to defend yourself next time."
That bloody bastard.
I nodded at the hair. "And that?"
"After we received the gift, we got a little emotional and pulled some hair out," Aunt B said. "But then we decided that our hair was pretty, and we shouldn't disfigure ourselves, especially because it won't hurt our dear father. Not even a little bit."
"It will grow back," Desandra said.
"No worries," George told her. "I've hidden all of the bald spots."
"Why didn't you just leave a long time ago?" Andrea said. "Just walk out and keep walking until you ended up somewhere where nobody has heard of Jarek Kral."
Desandra shrugged her shoulders. "And do what? Be what? I am someone here. This is all I know. Besides, where could I go that he or one of those morons he married me to wouldn't find me?"
George finished the hair and got off the bed.
"She's all yours, ladies," Aunt B said. "We're off to freshen up."
Andrea parked herself in the doorway. She carried two SIG-Sauers in hip holsters, a military-issue assault shotgun on her back, and probably a few more guns in places I couldn't see.
"How are you feeling today?" I asked. Kate Daniels, master of girl talk.
"Like shit. Have you ever been pregnant?"
"No."
"Let me summarize for you: your feet hurt, your back hurts, your hips hurt. None of your clothes fit, because your maternica is stretched out from the size of an apple to a basketball. The small creatures inside you keep kicking you and turning. You can't eat things you normally eat-they make you sick. Instead you eat strange things like marinated cucumbers and you can't stop until they also make you sick. Worst of all, you're not a person anymore. You're a container. Everybody is looking at you waiting for you to pop your baby out."
I bit my tongue before I said something that would make her shut down. "Forget I asked."
Desandra shrugged.
"How about the guys?" Andrea called out. "Do any of them come to see you?"
"Radomil came twice. Gerardo did too, but he's . . ." Desandra moved her hands about as if she were dog-paddling.
"Awkward?" I guessed.
"Yeah. Radomil doesn't care. He just likes babies. But I offered to let Gerardo feel them kick, and he told me he wouldn't know if it was his or Radomil's son kicking." Desandra sighed. "He thinks I'm a whore because I slept with Radomil."
Andrea made big eyes at me and nodded. Keep going.
Okay, keep going. I could do that. "Why did you sleep with Radomil?"
Andrea put her hand over her face. I scowled at her. You know what, hotshot, you do it and I'll stand by the door.
Desandra sat up straighter. "I'm not a whore, if that's what you're asking."
"I didn't say you were. I'm just trying to make sense of things. I think it's clear that someone is trying to kill you. The more I know, the better I can anticipate new threats."
Desandra sighed again. "Fine. When I was seventeen, that hajzel, my father, married me off to Radomil. Radomil was in his twenties. I thought my life was over, but then I figured out it couldn't be worse than what I had at home."
"How was it?" Andrea asked.
"It wasn't bad, actually. They live in this place on the hill in Ukraine. There were orchards and woods everywhere. Villages. We'd go to town every Saturday and go through the market. Radomil would always buy me something. He is a nice guy." Desandra leaned forward. "Really good in bed. I mean really, really good. I didn't go out much. We were busy. You know."
Yes, yes, we got it. You had lots of nookie. "And his family?"
"They are okay. His sister, Ivanna, is nice, and she and his brother are pretty much the brains. Radomil . . . He isn't stupid. He's just . . . He thinks in simple ways. He doesn't worry himself about politics. I pretty much knew after a month that he would never be in charge."
"What's his beast?" I asked.
"He's a lynx. Their whole family is."
"What happened to their parents?" Andrea asked.
"Dead." Desandra shrugged. "Killed a few years ago when they were fighting for their territory. It's Radomil, his two brothers, and two sisters. Oh and their grandfather. He's really old. He walks with a cane and half of the time doesn't know where he is. I liked living there. They didn't really involve me much, but I was so young, I didn't care."
"So why did you break up?" I prompted.
"My father canceled my marriage. I only lived with Radomil for five months. Kral came and got me."
"Didn't Radomil fight for you?" Andrea asked. I could see it in her face. If someone tried to take Raphael away from her, she would kill anything that stood in her way to keep him.
Desandra shook her head. "He didn't want me to leave, but his brother talked him out of it. Three years later I married Gerardo. I was with him for two years."
"Did you like him?"
Desandra was looking at her hands, her face tired. "Yes. I liked him. But it doesn't matter now."
"I know it sucks, but if you tell me, it might help me understand what's going on better."
Another sigh. "Isabella and her husband rule the Belve Ravennati. Gerardo and Ignazio have some power but not really enough to do anything major without their parents signing off on a dotted line. Isabella never liked me. With Radomil's family it was laid-back, but with the Belve Ravennati it's always very serious. Everything is important and it's all about duty and looking after the family's interests."
Desandra stuck a finger in her mouth and imitated retching. Charming.
"I was a beta's mate. I was supposed to have responsibilities. They wouldn't let me do anything. I was trying to learn some Italian and I walked in on their meeting once, and his mother told Gerardo that I was just a temporary arrangement. So Isabella, Gerardo, and I were at the trade summit in Budapest. They had their big meeting. I could've gone in but I sat outside with the betas."
"Why?" Andrea asked.
"Because they don't know how to keep their mouths shut," Desandra said. "They get bored and blab. If you listen carefully, you can find things out."
Okay. She wasn't nearly as dumb as she pretended to be.
"After the meeting, my father found me and told me to pack. I told him I wouldn't do it. I went to find Gerardo. He was mad out of his mind. Those four guys that follow my father around? They are killers. Two wolves, a rat, and a bear. They do whatever he tells them to. They have no . . . consciousness."
"Conscience?" I guessed.
"Yes. That. They'd been by and told him they would be taking me. Gerardo said the only way we could win this would be to fight my father." Desandra looked at me. "You have no idea how bad my father is. I've seen . . ." She bit her lip. "I've seen people die in ways you can't even imagine."
Her nostrils flared. She hunched over slightly, hugging herself. Green rolled over her irises, emerald against the black of dilated pupils. She seemed to unconsciously shrink away from me, putting more space around herself. I'd seen this emotion enough to recognize it. Desandra was scared. She was remembering something and the memory petrified her.
"I used to like this cute computer guy. He had glasses. He worked for our pack. He did something-I don't even know what-and my father stuck his head on a pike. I could see it from my bedroom window. I had to move my bed so the dead head of the cute guy I'd kissed wouldn't be staring at me in my sleep."
If I had a chance to kill Jarek Kral, I would take it. I didn't even need proof to know she was telling the truth. One could fake fear, but not the body's involuntary responses to it.
"I told Gerardo it was suicide. He wasn't good enough to take on my father with me or without me. He said I was weak and if I wasn't willing to fight with him, I should just go back. And then he picked up my clothes and threw them in the hallway."
Everyone this woman knew treated her like garbage. She made no effort to fight or to take off. She simply accepted it and tortured herself and others in revenge.
Desandra shrugged. "I couldn't believe it. We'd just had sex that morning. I thought he loved me, but instead he threw me out. I had to get out of there. We were staying in this huge hotel, so I hid on a balcony. I just wanted to cry. Radomil found me. I felt really alone and he was nice to me. He held me and he told me that it would all work out. I wanted to stick it to Gerardo, too, so we did it right there on that balcony. There you have it. The whole ugly story."
Raphael walked through the door.
Desandra sat up straighter and put one leg over another. "Hey there, handsome."
Every time I managed to scrape up a shred of sympathy for her, she did something to set it on fire.
Raphael glanced at her. "Not interested."
"It's the stomach, isn't it?"
"No," Andrea said. "It's me. What's up, honey?"
"We're going on a hunt."
"What?" I asked.
"A hunt," he said. "On horses."
What the hell . . . ? "Are we going to joust next? Maybe arrange our tables in a circle?"
Raphael shrugged. "If we do, I'm not wearing armor. We're all invited to the hunt and I'm pretty sure it's mandatory."
"Great!" Desandra jumped off the bed. "Anything to get out of here."
I pointed my finger at her. "Hush. The entire castle is going?"
Raphael nodded. "Everybody is going."
If we stayed behind, we could be ambushed, and with the castle empty, nobody would know or care. Hugh was up to something. "They do know that she's eight months pregnant?"
"It seems so. Apparently there is a prize if you win."
Going hunting in the middle of the mountains or staying in an abandoned castle with a hysterical Desandra and no assistance in case of an imminent attack? Choices, choices. "Hunt it is."
The road curved in front of me, following a shore of a sea-foam-green lake to our left. It lay placid, licking gently at the bottom of the mountain protruding into it. Tall Mediterranean cypresses lined the road, each perfectly straight, like a conical candle, and between them laurel trees spread their branches. On the right, grapevines lined the slope of the mountain in long, gently curving rows.
My horse was a bay, sturdy and wide-bodied, with short shoulders and a clean head. She stepped with calm surety, picking her way up the old paved road, untroubled by smells of shapeshifters on all sides. I had a feeling I could ride her straight into the lake and she wouldn't twitch an ear.
Shapeshifters walked and rode all around me. Desandra had her own horse. At first she wanted to walk, so I argued against her walking, and then I argued against the horse, but she dug her heels in at any suggestion of a cart. She would not be riding in a cart, and she was the daughter of an alpha, and if she didn't get her way, she would rip out some throats. I ended up going through all of the horses available to us and picking the oldest, most docile creature I could find. Now I had a heavily pregnant woman on a horse that kept flaring her nostrils. Clearly the mare had a serious suspicion that the human riding her was really a wolf and was considering bolting for her life. Werewolf wombs had to be made of steel, because not only did Desandra not show any signs of distress, but she looked fresh as a daisy.
Andrea had chosen to ride a horse as well. Being in a saddle gave us a good field of vision, and in a pinch we could use the horses to block an incoming threat. Derek had decided to walk and some others did as well, including Curran, who was convinced that all horses secretly plotted against him. Since Andrea and I kept Desandra between us, he ended up walking on my left and slightly in front, and Lorelei chose to walk next to him.
I still couldn't figure out how she was involved in this entire affair. As far as I could tell, she didn't appear to have any ties to the three packs involved.
Lorelei wore a light blue blouse and jeans that hugged her butt. Her hair was down, blowing in the wind. If we were back home, someone would be nudging me by this point, because by Pack standards they were walking too close and I would be required to snarl, but we weren't at home, and Barabas, riding on a white horse directly behind me, was quiet.
Lorelei chatted on, something about squishing grapes and making candy out of wine. Curran nodded. I caught a glimpse of his face. He was smiling. He seemed to be enjoying himself. They were walking together and I was stuck here. On my horse.
It should've taken more than a pretty twenty-one-year-old to unsettle me. This was a new and unwelcome development. It had to be this place. Everyone was waiting to stab us in the back, so I was probably making too much out of this. Lorelei was a kid. Legally she might have been twenty-one, but when he'd met her, he was twenty-two and she was twelve. That alone should've guaranteed that nothing was happening.
She was the daughter of a man Curran knew, stuck out here likely against her will, and he was being nice to her, because few people were. He and I had been through so much shit together. He loved me, I loved him, and I needed to stop measuring the distance between them and pay attention to my environment. I had a job to do.
Nobody demanded that I wear a dress for the hunt, so I wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a green men's shirt, which I left unbuttoned and rolled up at the sleeves. I wore my belt with an array of herbs in small pouches, my leather wrist guards were full of silver needles, and I had taken both Slayer, which was on my back, and my second saber, which I wore on my hip. Anybody who had a problem with my extra hardware was welcome to make my day.
Hugh dropped back through the procession. He was riding a monster of a horse, a massive stallion, a darker bay than mine, with a white blaze on his forehead and white feathered stockings. There were shades of Shire horse there, and Clydesdale, but the lines were cleaner and the chest was more developed. It was the kind of stallion a knight would ride into war.
Hugh drew even with us. He wore a long black coat, the same as Hibla's werejackals. Belted and tapered at the sides, with bandoliers filled with bullets across the chest, the coat made his shoulders wider, his waist slimmer, and his body taller. He seemed to loom rather than ride. Since he pretended to be the lord of the castle, he'd probably decided to dress the part. No dagger, though. Instead he had a full-length sword in a scabbard. I could only see the hilt, simple functional leather with a cross-guard.
Andrea moved aside to let him ride next to Desandra.
Hugh bent forward, concern on his face. "How are you feeling today?"
Desandra sat straighter. It was like she couldn't help herself. Anything male instantly made her come to attention. And Hugh was handsome, in an aggressive masculine way: blue eyes, dark hair, and a clean-shaven square jaw so solid that thinking about punching it made me wince. He was surrounded by people who turned into nature's best equivalent of intelligent spree killers, but he was completely undisturbed by it, as if he knew with one hundred percent certainty that if all of us ganged up on him, he could handle it.
Curran had a feral edge. You sensed instinctively that he was never too far from violence. It simmered under his skin, and when he wanted to intimidate you, he looked at you like you were prey. But Hugh was steady as a rock. He would laugh, in a good-natured easy way, and lop your head off.
"I'm fine," Desandra said. "Thank you for asking."
"Let me know if the ride gets too rough. One word and I'll turn this parade around." He winked at her.
Desandra giggled.
What are you planning, Hugh? What's the deal?
"I'm very sorry about yesterday," Hugh said. "My people are investigating the matter. We will find whoever sent that sonovabitch."
"I'm sure you will." Desandra smiled.
I'm sure he won't.
"We'll do our best to guarantee your safety."
I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. "According to the pack contract, we are the ones guaranteeing her safety. You are"-dragging-"encouraging her to exert herself on this hunt."
"I love hunts," Desandra squeezed through her teeth, and gave me a pointed look.
"There is very little risk," Hugh said. "Nobody would try anything with all of us out here."
"She's eight months pregnant." What the hell was the rationale behind pulling her out of the castle anyway?
Hugh grinned at me, displaying even, white teeth. "You have to stop measuring a shapeshifter by human standards."
"I'm perfectly fine," Desandra said.
Oh, you idiot. "If the mare throws you . . ."
"That's why you've brought a medmage," Hugh said, nodding toward the back, where Doolittle rode on a chestnut. "He seems very capable."
Curran turned and was looking at us with that stonewall Beast Lord expression of his.
"Well, I shall leave you to the skilled hands of your guards," Hugh said. "Someone has to lead this expedition, or we may end up in some wilderness and have to steal sheep for dinner."
Desandra giggled again.
Hugh clicked his tongue, and the stallion smoothly carried him to the front of our parade.
"What's your problem?" Desandra stared at me.
I leaned to her and kept my voice quiet. "That man is dangerous." And if someone had asked me six months ago what would happen if the two of us met, I would've said that Hugh would attack me on sight. Instead we were now riding on a hunt, exchanging barbed pleasantries.
"He's a human," Desandra sneered. "I can rip out his throat with one bite."
And we were back to ripping throats. I thought of telling her that I was a human and in a throat-ripping contest between us, she'd come in dead last, but people were listening to us. Besides, threatening the body you were guarding was never a good idea. She would resent me, and without her cooperation keeping her breathing would be much harder.
"Not all humans are the same," Andrea said.
If Desandra thought she could fight off the preceptor of the Iron Dogs, she would be in for a rude awakening. Hugh would end her with one cut, carve his way through all of her relatives and husbands, and then celebrate with a nice bottle of local wine.
The road climbed higher and higher until we finally came to a clearing lined with huge slabs of gray stone. Tucked against the sheer cliff of a mountain, the clearing fanned out in a rough trapezoid shape, with the narrow side facing the mountain. A corral built with rough timbers was set directly against the mountain. Below us woods stretched, green and lush, climbing up and down mountain curves as far as we could see.
Three stone thrones stood at the edge of the clearing, chiseled from rock with rough strokes smoothed by centuries of rains. The middle throne towered, huge, as if made for a giant, and the other two were smaller. They felt ancient, just like the stone slabs under our feet. This was an old place, permeated with age. Centuries ago some kind of king must've sat here, on the stone throne, surveying the mountains.
Hibla's djigits dismounted and came for our horses. They led them to the enclosure by the mountain and tethered their feet.
Hugh sat on the throne. Oh, spare me . . .
"Ladies and gentlemen. The forests you see before you are rich with game. They're teeming with red deer, tur-the king of mountain antelopes-gazelles, mouflon or wild sheep, and wild goats."
He clearly had experience with public speaking. His voice resonated through the clearing, loud enough to be heard by everyone but still friendly and perfectly understandable. He must've given speeches to his troops. "Tonight we rape, kill, and plunder . . ."
"In these mountains we have a fine tradition of the summer hunt. The rules are simple: Teams of hunters depart in the morning and return by the end of the day. Their game is examined and judged. Only mature animals may be hunted. Those who kill juveniles or females with young will find themselves and their team disqualified. The team that wins the hunt wins the prize from the lord of the castle."
Oh boy, oh boy.
Two djigits brought out a rectangular frame covered with indigo fabric.
"We are standing within the boundaries of ancient Colchis," Hugh continued. "This is the cradle of Georgia itself. Long before the Common Era, a kingdom of warriors and poets flourished here. While inhabitants of Europe still struggled with crude implements of bronze, the sorcerer-smiths of Colchis mastered iron and gold. Today we pay tribute to their past glory."
Hibla stepped to the fabric and pulled it off with a flick of her hand.
Gold shone, glowing in the bright sunlight. People around me sucked in a breath. The pelt of a ram was stretched on the frame. Each individual six-inch-long hair of its dense wool shimmered with radiant yellow gold. Wow.
"I give you the Golden Fleece!" Hugh proclaimed.
Applause rippled through the clearing. Someone howled, excited.
"Like Jason's Argonauts, who came here seeking Colchis riches, all of you traveled here. But the riches you sought are of a different kind, the riches of wisdom and friendship. This is our gift to you. It is twelve o'clock now. You have three hours. Prove that you are the superior hunters. Prove your bravery and your skill. Hunt now and the pack that brings the best game for our feast tonight will earn bragging rights and the Golden Fleece."
The clearing shook as a hundred people cheered in unison. Excitement charged the air. They were a hair away from going furry. The prospect of a hunt after being cooped up in the castle pushed the shapeshifters into overdrive.
"And there is a second, more humble, but perhaps more useful prize."
Hibla raised a glass container. It held a plastic bag with a quart of the brownish paste in it. Panacea.
"It will be awarded to the shapeshifter who brings in the best kill."
Andrea's eyes lit up. She elbowed Raphael.
"Before I forget!" Hugh boomed. "Look to your left. You see that narrow pass between two mountains. Stay away from the pass. The creatures who live there do not welcome intruders. My people will go with yours as observers to ensure that you obey the rules of the hunt. Good luck to all!"
"The Golden Fleece will belong to Obluda!" Jarek Kral roared.
Desandra yanked her dress over her head.
"No!" I barked.
"I'm hunting," Desandra said.
"What will happen to the children when you change shape?"
"They will change shape as well," Lorelei told me with a small smile. "It's very common for shapeshifter women to change shape while pregnant. It relieves the stress on the spine. I'm surprised you don't know this."
I turned, looking for Doolittle. "Is this true?"
Doolittle nodded. "As long as she doesn't stay in the animal shape longer than a few hours and doesn't attempt a half-form, she shouldn't have an issue."
There was no way in hell I could keep up with a wolf. I turned to Curran.
"It will be fine," he said. "We'll take care of her."
What? "I thought you'd have my back on this."
"I do."
"The human is too scared to stay behind alone." Renok, Jarek Kral's second-in-command, grinned at me. "Do you want some company?"
Curran turned and looked at him. I had to give Renok credit. He didn't flinch. Either very brave or very stupid. Possibly both.
"Surely the Beast Lord won't stay behind," Hugh said. "The alphas of all other packs are participating."
And now if he stayed behind, it would be a giant insult. The pieces clicked together in my head. Hugh was eager to chat, and he really wanted to have me all to himself. He couldn't segregate me in the castle, so he'd taken everyone out of it.
Curran looked back at me. "I know you're concerned for Desandra. That's why we'll all go and make sure nothing will happen to her." He paused, making sure our stares connected. His gray eyes were clear and calm. "We'll be back before you know it."
I was still looking at Curran's eyes when the face around them grew and changed. Gray fur sheathed him. An enormous gray lion stood in his place.
People froze. Some stared, slack-jawed. Some blinked. Curran in lion form was shocking.
"Consort?" he said, human words coming out perfectly from a lion's maw.
I had to say something. "Good luck."
He raised his head and roared, the sound of his voice scattering through the mountain. Shapeshifters cringed.
Hugh shook his head, stuck his finger in his ear, and wiggled it.
Lorelei shed her dress and stepped forward, completely nude, shoulders back, head held high. The nakedness lasted only a moment before her body boiled and a lean gray wolf dropped on all fours, but a moment was enough. Curran had seen her.
She was going to hunt with him, while I was stuck here. Damn it all to hell.
Our group surrounded Desandra. Her body swirled, stretching, the transformation so fast it was almost instant, and she became a huge black wolf.
All around me people shifted. Mahon, a hulking dark mountain of a Kodiak, snarled next to George, who wasn't much smaller. Keira roared, a lithe dark jaguar. Wolves, lynxes, and jackals filled the clearing. Was I the only nonshapeshifter here?
Curran charged down the slope. Our people and Desandra followed. Barabas halted, still human.
"Go," I told him. Having him with me wouldn't make that much difference, and Hugh would find some pretext to send him off.
Barabas's body jerked. A Rottweiler-sized weremongoose dashed down the slope after them.
Curran was off hunting with Lorelei. The thought stung me, refusing to go away. It shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. I didn't want him to go.
A pack of gray wolves ran left-Belve Ravennati leaving. Jarek's crew-wolves, bears, and a couple of rats-headed southeast, while the Volkodavi, sand-colored lynxes, shot to the right. In a breath the clearing was empty. Discarded clothes littered the ancient stones. Horses snorted in their enclosure. Everyone was gone.
"So," Hugh said. "You never told me. Did you like the flowers I sent?"