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His was not the face of a man who had been surprised into reconsidering. It was the face of a man whose rage had just found a new temperature; hotter and less rational than before. The fury of ego injured added to everything else.

He roared. Then launched himself at me.

All I could think, as Viktor Volkov's full weight came across the deck toward me, was that Nell was behind that door and I needed to be on the other side of it.

I needed to get to her before Omondi took her somewhere I could not follow.

I pulled against the chains with everything I had.

The weld points groaned.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

NELL

Darius sat across from me on the narrow berth, his forearms on his knees, his hands loose. "Your father's name was Jabari Omondi. He was a prince of our clan. We are panthers — black panthers, melanistic leopards, from the highlands of Kenya. We have been there longer than the Western pack system has existed, longer than most of the wolf lines can trace their history. My father and Jabari were cousins. Which makes us family."

My head was spinning. Not from the blows to the head from the crash into the water, or the flying fists of the she wolf that left the cabin. I was already healing from both instances. If what Darius was saying was true — and something deep inside me knew it was—then that's why I never caught cold, healed quickly, and always landed on my feet even after I twisted my ankle or broke my fingers. There was a big cat living inside of me.

"Panther? My father was a panther?"

Darius nodded. "Panther prince. Which makes you a princess, Petronella."

Being part panther, I could believe. Having a long-lost family, I could get down with. But princess? There is where I drew my line.

"I was born in a witch colony in Ghana. My grandmother and my mother had been exiled there by my grandfather."

"You were born in the Kenyan highlands. Jabari found your mother, his fated mate, during one of his roams to the West Coast. Panthers are not like wolves. Wolves run in packs. Panthers run alone. We come together for family, for the clan, and then we disperse. We do not need proximity to maintain loyalty."

I knew what he was saying was true. I had dreamed of this. My father had carried me in the Kenyan highlands. Had picked me up by the scruff of my neck over the red earth and the morning mist with the smell of tea leaves growing on the hillside and run with me on his back while I giggled.

"Your mother wanted to go back. To convince your grandmother to leave the camp and come to Kenya with them. Jabari went with her. From what we gathered, on the visit back to Ghana, they were attacked. A small pack, but enough to overwhelm a lone panther protecting his cub and mate."

The rocking of the boat wasn't what was making me queasy. It was all of this coming to light.

"Your mother and grandmother disappeared after that. No trace. We searched." He looked at me directly. "Your grandmother had been content in the camp, from what we understood. The women there had autonomy — no men telling them what to do. Something made her finally accept the missionaries' offer and leave."

I thought about my grandmother's herbs. Her careful, quiet life in the apartment in Brooklyn. The way she had never used her full name with anyone outside the family. The way my mother had deflected every question about their origin with the vagueness of someone who had learned that specificity was dangerous.

They'd called my grandmother a witch. They'd claimed my mother had a demon in her. That demon was me. A panther shifter, like my father.

"I've never shifted," I admitted.

Darius shrugged. "Doesn't mean you're not kin."

I was a panther. Or I carried one. Or I was supposed to carry one. Or the panther was in there somewhere, dormant, waiting.

I looked down at my hands. My fingers. My nails; short, practical, in need of a manicure. I turned them over slowly. Was there something beneath them? Some latent architecture waiting to express itself in the curve of bone?

I pressed my thumbnail into my index finger. Nothing. Just skin.

"We came to the States for business," Darius said. "Three years ago. We started working with companies in New York — logistics, distribution. One of those companies was Sterling and Associates. Your name was in the documentation. Then I saw your necklace."

He indicated the claw at my throat. The one that matched his.

"There's also the trace of your father in your scent. Omondi blood. Jabari's blood."

I frowned. "I thought you were hitting on me in the bar."