I walked into our room.

Empty. A stack of my books had disappeared. Curran’s clothes, thrown on the chair, had vanished. The bed was made.

No way.

The sound of running water came from the bathroom and Curran emerged, wiping his hands with a towel. He wore trademark Pack sweats. Gray and thin, they fell apart when a shapeshifter shifted form.

Behind me Derek stepped into the hallway and shut the door.

“You’re here,” I said.

“Where else would I be?”

“Hugh owns the panacea.” He’s also a complete fucking bastard.

“He sent a note.” Curran crossed the floor and hugged me to him. My bones groaned.

I put my face into the bend of his neck. The world suddenly calmed. The fractured pieces snapped into place.

“Did you think I’d leave?” Curran whispered into my ear.

“No.” I hugged him back. “What happened to all our stuff?”

“Anything nonessential is packed and loaded. I kept your belt with all your stuff out. Got any messages for me?”

“If we go to that dinner, we’ll have a fight. Also, he hopes you will be a challenge.”

Curran smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.

We looked at each other. We both knew Hugh would make his move tonight, and after that, everything would be over. We could try to fight our way to the ship now, except we had promised to guard Desandra. Abandoning her wasn’t an option. We had given our word.

“Are you hungry, baby?” Curran asked.

“Starving.”

“I think we should go to dinner.”

“Great idea.”

“What are you going to wear?”

“My badass face.”

“Good choice,” he said.

“Let me just get my knives and powdered silver.”

* * *

We walked into the great hall to find a new seating arrangement indicated by small name cards: The Italians were sitting at the head table on the right side of Hugh, all the way around the right side of the horseshoe table. The rest of us were seated on the left of Hugh: I was first, then Curran, then Desandra, then the rest of our party. Without saying a word, Curran and I switched seats. If Hugh wanted me to sit next to him, I would sit as far away as possible.

I surveyed the hall. Everyone on our side of the table was dressed to impress: loose sweatpants and T-shirts. Andrea saw me looking and grinned. Raphael winked at me. Mahon was right. I was Pack. At least everyone in gray sweatpants thought so. If I had to fight, I wouldn’t fight alone.

The walls of the great hall had gained new decorations: swords and axes hung in hooks within reach. The door to the side exit on the left was shut. That left us with the right exit and the front entrance.