Curran’s face turned into an expressionless mask. He squeezed my hand and leaned forward slightly, putting himself between me and Hugh.

Don’t attack him, Curran. Don’t. Do. Anything.

A djigit pulled Hugh’s chair out for him. Hugh smiled, a happy wolf confident in his lair, and picked up a glass. A server appeared as if by magic and poured red wine into it. Hugh raised the glass. “We have been truly fortunate to host the mighty Obluda of the Carpathians . . .”

He turned to Jarek Kral, who raised his fist with a self-indulgent smile. Behind him the four shapeshifters howled, and others echoed their howls at the tables.

“. . . the famous Volkodavi of Ukraine . . .”

Radomil and his family nodded. The members of the Volkodavi hooted and pounded their tables.

“. . . and the fearless Belve Ravennati.”

The Italian brothers nodded. Their pack members howled and slapped their table.

“Tonight we welcome honored guests to our humble abode.” Hugh turned to us. “The Beast Lord and his Consort join us to add their wisdom and expertise to the joyous occasion of welcoming new life into this world. You honor us with your presence.”

The silence was deafening. We would not be hooting or punching things.

Curran unlocked his jaws. “The honor is all ours.”

Hugh turned to the gathering. “Let us eat, drink, and celebrate.”

He sat, set down his glass, and turned to Curran. “I do so hate speeches.”

“I can imagine,” Curran said, the same calm expression on his face.

Hugh flashed him a quick smile. “I thought you might. You and I, we are men of action. At least once the speech is done, they’ll bring us food.”

A nod to The Princess Bride. It was my favorite book. Did he know or was this a coincidence? If he knew, how the hell did he know?

A string of servers came into the hall, followed by a cart pushed by another four. On the cart an enormous roasted boar lay on a huge platter lined with grape leaves.

“Ahh. Excellent.” Hugh picked up his fork. “I’m bloody starving.”

My heart was hammering at my chest as though I had just run a marathon. Voron’s ghostly voice whispered at me, “Run. You’re not ready.”

If I ran, Hugh would kill our people one by one until I came back. Not only had he trapped me, but he had trapped a handful of hostages with me as well. There would be no running.

The servers began distributing oversized platters heaped with meat and bread. The shapeshifters dug in. A plate was set in front of me: a thick cut of meat, cooked just enough not to be raw, bread, and a pomegranate split open, the red seeds glistening with the color of blood.

Barabas leaned over between Curran and me and cut a small piece from my meat.

Okay.