Francine flung her head back against the chair, staring at Julian from under lowered eyelids. Her gaze was assessing, cold—and wary. “There are certain rules associated with the auction. Harper doesn’t want his potential customers killing each other off before the big day—dead men don’t drive up bids.” Her eyes glinted. “But for some people, that just makes the game more exciting. If I’m seen, if someone identifies me as a potential player, we’ll both be in danger.”
She sat completely still, her eyes like ice chips, and licked her lips. It was the only sign that she was nervous.
“Depending on who is there … I may be recognized.”
Julian nodded. “You’re from one of the most powerful lion prides in North America.”
He tested a smile, and she broke eye contact.
“I might be recognized, too,” he said. “If the people who know me from Harper’s organization, who knew I was at the safe house, are among our fellow travelers…”
“You know how to keep your head down, don’t you?” A smile slid knife-sharp across Francine’s face.
“The shadow world only works as a refuge if no one else is there,” he reminded her. “It was no use to us at the safe house. All the soldiers had … my scales. Or whatever has been made from them.”
The smile dropped from Francine’s lips at his mention of the scales. The thought disturbed him, as well. When Francine spoke, it was like she was echoing his own thoughts.
“All those pieces of you out there, with no way for you to control who uses them, or how…” Her eyes were shadowed. “It’s terrible.”
“There are a lot of things I have to live with.” Julian felt himself freezing, the words barely making it past ice-stiffened lips. “If it wasn’t for people like Lance MacInnis, who got me off the island—your brother and his mate … and now you, I wouldn’t have any way of repairing the damage I have done.” He rubbed his face, exhaustion creeping up at the corners of his eyes. “I suppose Lance has dealt with the situation at the safe house by now?”
“He’s extremely efficient.” Francine paused. “We won’t be seeing him or anyone else before we embark.”
“That’s the plan?”
“That’s the plan.”
Julian thought. It made sense: the more people on the ground, the greater the risk their mission would be discovered,and the greater the risk to his sister and her mate. “I’m glad he sent you with me.”
All the muscles in Francine’s body seemed to tense at once. She laughed shortly. “You’re joking.”
“Not at all.” Julian picked up his glass and saluted her. “We’re two broken shifters, on a mission to heal a broken family. It seems fitting.”
Francine opened her mouth. Closed it again. Julian couldn’t read the emotions that flashed over her face.
“Not so broken, I hope,” she said at last. “I need you flight-ready once we reach the Antarctic peninsula. Possibly earlier.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Julian lied. He stretched, testing his human body’s reaction to his dragon’s injuries, and the way Francine’s eyes followed the movement of his chest and shoulders made his dragon rumble happily.
The way she then flinched away, as though looking at him too long seared her eyes? His dragon was less pleased about that. But his human side clung to it like an ice-raft on wild seas. Cold and fragile, still open to attack—but not as dangerous as the alternative.
“How long from when we land until we embark?” he asked.
Francine didn’t look at him. “A few hours.”
“Long enough that we’ll need to keep our heads down,” he mused, echoing her earlier wording.
To his surprise, she laughed. “Absolutely not. There’s no way we’ll get through completely unnoticed, so we’ll be doing what any self-respecting heiress would do on her way to the end of the world.” Her smile stretched, brilliant and bitter. “Going shopping.”
6
Francine
The old Francine would never have set foot in a city like Ushuaia. It was too small. Tooquaint.It hosted a delightful array of outdoor pursuits, from hiking on glaciers to hiking on windswept coastlines. There was skiing. There was, apparently, a sweet little steam train. It was the most popular gateway to the Antarctic, and in another world, she never would have had the frozen continent in her sights.
She might have called Ushuaia adorable, from the safe distance of Paris, or Florence, or Shanghai, and would never admit the true reason the place made her hackles rise.
It wascold.
