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T his far north, the summer sun set late. Marjani did a circuit of the blocks around the pub, but there was still no sign of Corban. By then, it was after eleven and she was dead-tired. With a yawn, she headed back to the hostel.

She slept lightly, waking twice when nightmares insinuated their chilly tendrils into her dreams. She was used to that. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the quiet sounds of the sleeping humans around her through the hostel’s thin walls. Waiting for morning.

Breakfast was croissants and yogurt. She washed it down with a cup of coffee and set out to find her cousin.

It was a shame she wasn’t really a tourist, because she would’ve enjoyed exploring the small, quirky city.

She loved that the stolid concrete buildings were painted in crayon-box colors—red, green, blue, yellow.

Even some of the corrugated steel roofs were brightly colored, and the streets were dotted with sculptures and murals.

She passed tiny boutiques, funky coffee shops, and cafés that just invited you to come in and sit for a while.

But she didn’t catch even a whiff of her cousin.

And yet, the back of her neck itched. She could’ve sworn someone was following her.

She leaned against the wall of a combination bookstore/record store and looked casually around her. All she saw were locals going about their business. She rubbed her nape and told herself not to be so edgy.

Lunchtime came and went. When her growling stomach became impossible to ignore, she bought bread and cheese and sat on a bench in the Old Harbor to eat.

The ocean was a deep, still blue with small boats bustling to and fro.

Across the harbor, she could see Mount Esja, its snow-capped flanks covered in plush green moss.

She’d covered most of the center city. Could Corban be in one of the suburbs that spread out to the east and south? If so, she might spend days looking for him.

She was a strategist, a Gift common in cats. Her strat talent had been humming along in the background, fitting facts together along with a heavy dose of intuition—and now she just knew .

Corban wasn’t in Reykjavik.

She knew her cousin, knew how he thought. After the death of their parents, she and Adric had been taken in by their uncle Leron, Corban’s father. It hadn’t been a kindness. The man had been one mean SOB.

No one had mourned when Adric had stuck a knife in Leron Savonett one dark night.

His three sons had taken the worst of his abuse, with the eldest, Corban, coming in for more than his share. At times, the five of them had formed an alliance against Leron, covering for each other, helping each other with chores.

But Corban had enjoyed exerting power over his younger cousins. It was as if he had to prove he wasn’t the weakling his father said he was.

Adric had protected Marjani as much as he could, but survival had meant predicting what Corban would do next. She could write a whole book on her eldest cousin—his moods, his likes and dislikes, when to approach him and when to stay far, far away…

If Corban was in Reykjavik, she’d know it. Maybe he wouldn’t approach her straight on—more likely, he’d jump her in a dark alley—but he would approach her. If nothing else, he’d want to know why Marjani had come and not Adric.

Just before sunset, a chilly rain began to fall. Cold and hungry, she pulled up the hood of her jacket. The rain seemed to find its way between the cracks. She walked down to the Ellieaá River, found a quiet corner to shift to her cougar, and caught herself a fat salmon for dinner.

Corban had to be at the ice fae court. She and Adric had suspected for a while now that he was working with the fae—the night fae, for sure, and possibly the ice fae as well.

Adric had managed to get the ice fae court’s coordinates, just as he had the coordinates of most of the other fae courts and fada clans around the world.

Her brother was scary-good at things like that.

That night, she got another few hours of sleep before checking out of the hostel. Her only luggage was her backpack. It was a simple matter to shower and shrug on the pack. By four a.m., she was on a bus to the outskirts of Reykjavik.

At the last stop, she got out to walk until she reached a deserted stretch of road. The rain had stopped, but above, more heavy gray clouds had moved in.

She set her backpack on the side of the road and stilled. Her nape was itching again.

She raised a hand to the back of her neck and cast a look around. Nothing stirred in the scrubby tundra except for a few intrepid rats.

That didn’t mean no one was out there. Iceland was a land of magical creatures, its sparse human population meaning the supernatural world had settled here in large numbers. The ice fae were at the top of the food chain, but the island was also home to goblins and elves.

She shoved her clothes and shoes into her backpack, cinched the pack around her shoulders and waist with special straps designed to stretch with her, and shifted to her cougar.

Her quartz heated, lending its energy. Colorful sparks of gold, silver and blue danced over her skin. Warmth filled her chest, spreading throughout her body, and then she disappeared , for a time neither woman nor cougar, until the change was complete.

Her cougar snarled and scraped its claws in the hard-packed earth next to the pavement, pissed off at being forced to remain a human for most of the last twenty-four hours.

The cat was increasingly bold. Demanding.

Adric feared she was going feral. She’d overheard him discussing it with Suha, Marjani’s best friend and the clan’s head healer.

They all knew what that meant—as alpha, Adric would have to kill her. You couldn’t have a cougar with a human’s cunning and an animal’s bloodlust roaming around Baltimore.

Just let me do this one last job. For Adric and the clan.

At least if she died, she’d go out with honor.

She loped north toward the ice fae court, using her quartz as a compass so that she could run through the tundra, avoiding the road. The sun rose, a weak, pale thing, and the sense of being watched eased.

By noon, she’d covered twenty miles, passing like a shadow by tiny fishing villages and farms with shaggy Icelandic sheep and the smallest horses she’d ever seen.

She swerved west, coming out on a deserted cliff above the North Atlantic, and made her way down to the beach, where she shifted back to human.

Shedding her backpack, she found her fishing knife and strode naked into the icy surf.

Within minutes, she had two fish, which she filleted and roasted on a tiny camp stove.

The taste was fresh and wild. Perfect.

She was licking her fingers when a movement on the cliff above made her bolt to her feet.

It was Fane, looking like a freaking model for Iceland Magazine in a silver shirt and worn jeans, long legs braced apart and his golden hair secured with a leather tie. His gaze traveled down her naked body, and his sexy mouth curved.

She ignored the smile to zero in on his ears. A diamond stud glittered in one earlobe, but what made her growl were the pointed tops, obvious now his hair was pulled back. He had more fae in him than she’d guessed.

Without taking her gaze from him, she picked up the fishing knife, flipping it from hand to hand with the ease of long practice. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Easy.” He raised a hand, palm out, in a placating gesture she didn’t trust for a second. “I can explain.”

“Yeah, right.”

She closed the still-warm camp stove and shoved it into her backpack along with the knife. She strapped the pack on, aware of him watching the entire time. Let him look his fill. One false move and she’d slit his throat.

But he remained on the cliff.

She shifted to cougar and bounded up the cliff, where she snarled right in his pretty face, making sure to show plenty of teeth.

The man was either stupid—or brave. He stood his ground, hands loose at his sides. Not aggressive, but not giving an inch.

She stalked around him, growling lowly.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, which earned him another snarl.

She reached his front and paused, tail twitching in confusion. Her cougar didn’t know what to make of him, but it didn’t scent a threat. In fact, to her cat, Fane smelled somehow right , just as he had last night to the human Marjani.

A smile curled over his lips. “By the gods,” he said in his smoky voice, “you’re beautiful. And you’d rip out my throat in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you?”

Her response was a snarl, but inside, the cougar preened itself at the compliment.

He lifted a brow. “Are you ready to listen?”

She gave one last growl and sat on her haunches.

“Good.” He expelled a breath. “I don’t have much time—I’m supposed to be somewhere else right now.”

She stared back unblinkingly.

“Right,” he muttered. “You know, I’m risking my bloody neck to help you. And you couldn’t give a fuck, could you?”

Another twitch of her tail. Because he was right, she didn’t give a fuck.

His hands curled into fists, a crack in his calm facade.

“I can’t tell you much, or they’ll—” He set his jaw. “It’s not important. But the ice fae king knows you’re here. Get out of Iceland, Jani. Today. While you still can.”