We arrived in the port of Gagra at dusk. First we saw the mountains, triangular low peaks sheathed in vibrant emerald green, as if blanketed with dense moss. The sunset behind us shifted to the right as the ship turned in to a sheltered harbor. The deep, almost purple waters of the Black Sea lightened to blue.

All twelve of us were there, on the deck. The shapeshifters looked uneasy. Even George, who usually met everything with a smile, seemed grim. She stood next to her father, hugging herself, as the wind stirred the dark spirals of her hair.

“Are you alright, cookie?” Mahon said.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” she murmured. “That’s all.”

“Shall I hoist the flag?” Saiman asked.

“Yes,” Curran said.

The gray-and-black striped flag of the Pack with a black lion paw on it rose up the mast.

The shore grew closer. The mountains wove in and out of the sea in gentle curves, soaking their roots in the water. The beach was a narrow strip of pebbled ground. Stone piers stretched into the waves, as if beckoning to us, and behind them, buildings of white stone sat perched on the side of the mountains, their colonnades facing the sea. They looked Greek to me, but most of what I knew about Greece came from books.

The water turned turquoise. The Rush slowed, then came to a stop.

“What are we waiting for?” I asked.

“A signal from the port,” Saiman said. “I would suggest you gather your belongings.”

We had already packed. Everything I intended to take with me was in a backpack, which Barabas promptly confiscated. Apparently as an alpha, I wasn’t permitted to carry my own luggage.

Twenty minutes later a blue flare shot from the pier.

“We’re clear to land,” Saiman said. “Once you disembark, I will depart. I have business in Tuapse, Odessa, and Istanbul. I’ll return within a week or so.”

That suited me just fine. Saiman loved to amuse himself, and we’d have our hands full without trying to contain him.

Fifteen minutes later the crew was tying the Rush to the pier. I stood on the crowded deck, Curran next to me. George’s anxiety infected me. I wanted off the ship. I wanted to see Desandra and get to work. Unfortunately if I started pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, I’d be immediately told by nine people that it wasn’t proper.

“A welcoming committee,” Raphael announced.

I turned. Fourteen people hurried toward us along the pier. Six pairs of men in dark coats, cinched at the waist. Most were dark-haired, tan, and lean. A few had short beards. Each carried a rifle over his shoulder and a dagger on his belt. They looked like a flock of dark ravens flying in two lines.