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He chuckled. It was a warm, rich sound of delight. Totally at odds with our current situation.

Darius reached out and touched my cheek; the cheekbone where Katya had landed the first hit. His fingers were gentle and precise.

I felt no pain. I was already healed.

"Are you ready to get out of here, cousin?"

I was absolutely ready to get off this boat. I inhaled deeply, ready to breathe out my answer. That's when I caught his scent. Not just the smokey scent of cloves. There was a metallic tang to it. Blood.

"Where is Magnus?"

CHAPTER FORTY

MAGNUS

The fourth weld point gave on the third pull. Viktor was in mid-sentence. He did not finish his thought.

I rose; at the same time the chair flew across the deck. Hit the Volki Alpha with the full weight of my wolf's momentum; silver be damned. My body followed the chair's attack. We went down together, Viktor and I, and the remnants of the chair. The geometry of the battlefield changed its angles. The shifted wolves around us scattered to respond.

Viktor was strong. He had survived long enough to lead a pack without folding, which meant he was not a man who had gotten where he was on politics alone. He got hold of the chair's remnants and managed to hit me across the ear. But I'd been sparring with Gunnar my whole life. My ears rang, but my vision remained clear.

I drove my elbow into Viktor's throat. He gagged. I used the half-second of his distraction to get the chain from my right wrist between my hands. Viktor grabbed my hair. I let him. Let him pull my head back and use the leverage to slam me sideways. The sideways motion gave me the angle I needed. I took it.

The chain went around his forearm, locking. My weight went the other way. The joint bent in the direction joints were not meant to bend. Viktor roared.

His wolves moved toward me. Before now, it had been an alpha's challenge. Even the most disgraceful of wolves knew better than to step into an alpha's challenge. But I was choking out their meal ticket. Hungry wolves put honor aside.

I got my feet under me and stood up. Putting Viktor between me and his wolves, I locked the chain around his neck. My face was the flat expression of a man communicating a single piece of information: come closer and this gets worse for your Alpha before it gets worse for me.

They held.

Viktor was not done. He was in pain, but he was not giving up. I gave him credit for that, the stubborn animal refusal of a wolf who would not submit even when the odds had turned. He threw his head back and hit me in the nose. Just a graze. I saw the move coming from a mile away. He managed just enough leverage to duck out of the hold and came at me swinging. A fist caught me in the ribs with a crack. I ignored the pain and hit him twice in quick succession — jaw, then the jaw again, the same spot.

His head snapped back the second time. His knees gave. I went down with him, on top of him, the chain still in my hands. The amber of his wolf burned in his eyes. The blood from his nose darkened on his face.

I got the chain around his neck. Lying flat on his back, he had lost all leverage. His hand pawed at the chain, claws jabbing out of his fingertips. The move was useless. I took all his air, forcing suffocation.

I had not been raised to prolong things that needed to be finished. My father had taught me that the measure of an Alpha was not in how long he made an enemy suffer but in the clean certainty of the sentence when the decision was made. The snap of his neck was a satisfying end.

Viktor Volkov lay limp. The shifted wolves were frozen, uncertain what to do with this shift of power.

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

And then Katya screamed.

She hit the deck at a run, going for her brother. I stepped back. Let her reach him. There was nothing she could change. Stopping her would have been cruelty for its own sake. All thoughts of Viktor's sister and her grief fled when I smelled her.

Vanilla. Incense. The warm-dark note that I was prepared to turn the river red with wolf's blood for.

Nell stood in the cabin doorway. A bruise fading on her cheekbone. Behind her, one hand light on her shoulder, stood Darius Omondi. I was so focused on Darius’s hand that I missed her movement. Not Nell; Katya.

Katya got off her knees and crossed the deck. Claws extended, canines bared. I understood the logic of it in the half-second before she reached Nell. I was too strong to be hurt. Nell was the softer target, and Katya Volkov was going to make me watch.

I was already moving. Darius was faster.

He stepped in front of Nell. His hand came up. His eyes — his eyes changed. The professional ease of a human CEO was gone. What was there instead was the bronze-gold flash of color, quick like a cat.