The boar shifter himself was nowhere to be seen.
Julian was invisible, of course. So were the other guards arrayed along the walls, like decorations placed at regular intervals.
His skin crawled as scales tried to press through. The boar shifter’s friend wasn’t the only one who felt the trap closing around them.
No,he told his dragon. It relented, subsiding back into his soul.
He had tested its strength while Francine was out that morning. Not shifting—that would have been foolish. They were surrounded by enemies. He couldn’t risk being seen or recorded by hidden surveillance, the same way—he assumed—Francine had not contacted Lance lest her message be intercepted.
Instead of shifting, he had fallen into a meditation, allowing his human mind to drift closer to where his dragon existed deep within his soul. Neither of them could know the full extent of the dragon’s injuries while he was in human form, but he’d watched the flow of energy within his body and soul.
His dragon was draining everything from him. That was good, he told himself. It meant it was taking energy to heal itself.
It also meant he had to remember to feed himself.
Another distraction he didn’t need.
His eyes found Francine again, lingering too long on her graceful form.
Her dress was another whisper of fabric so delicate it looked as though it would disappear in sunlight. This one was dark, which only made it worse. He wanted to fall through it the same way he fell into the shadows and found what they were hiding.
It clung tight, outlining every curve that he had to forcefully stop himself from thinking about. A row of tiny gemstone buttons ran from where the back of the dress started between her shoulder blades, down to—he wasn’t looking.
He wasnotlooking.
Perhaps, he thought bitterly, he should have taken Francine up on her offer to dictate her wardrobe. He could havepointed her towards clothes he didn’t want to tear off with his teeth.
“By tomorrow morning, we’ll be in sight of the ice. Perhaps we can do a little excursion. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Eloise laughed.
“The weather’s meant to turn,” Mrs. Smith said.
“All the more reason to stretch our legs while we can. Who knows what might happen if we stay cooped up on board? I don’t want anyone to get cabin fever.” Eloise grinned, and Julian’s attention narrowed as Francine’s shoulder blades tensed slightly. “Frankie and I hadsucha good time today, but we can’t do that every day. We have to find another way to get our energy out, right, Frankie?”
A chill washed over Julian’s skin. Eloise was implicating Francine in the missing guest’s sudden disappearance. *Francine—*
*I know.*Francine delicately dabbed a napkin to her lips. “We did have fun, didn’t we?”
“Somuch fun.”
*You’re making it sound as though you were a part of whatever happened to the missing guest,*Julian growled.
*Better than admitting I’m out of the loop,*Francine shot back. *And—she might not mean it, anyway.*
What? Did she actually believe Eloise was innocent of whatever had happened to Mr. Panshaw?
*Why are you so sure she’s guilty?*
He hadn’t meant her to hear that. *She’s our hostess. She invited you onto this ship.*
*That doesn’t mean—*Francine broke off to laugh at a joke. *We don’t even know he’s dead.*
*Why are you insisting there must be some explanation other than the obvious?*
She didn’t reply immediately. The conversation at the table took her attention, and the next course was brought out. Glass clinked as drinks were refilled.
And nobody mentioned the missing guest. Not even his friend.
At last Francine’s voice threaded into his mind again. *You said before that we were lucky I blend in so well here. That’s what I’m doing. Blending.*
