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until morning, she leaned over to haul his arms over the side of the bath, making sure he wouldn’t drown. It wouldn’t do to add his murder to her long list of crimes. He was too heavy to move much further than the edge of the tub, so she just left him there.
    Striding across the fur-covered ground, Olena didn’t bother to dry her wet body. She dripped a long trail, as she went to the table laden with food. She grabbed the earthen jug in the middle and took a long pull off of it to try and calm her nerves. Emptying half the jug, she set it down with a gasp. Then, seeing a knife left on a tray of sliced fruit, she picked it up.
    She glanced at Yusef. Crossing over to him, her face hard, her heart harder, she clutched the knife in her steady hand. As she reached the bathtub, she stopped directly above him. Her fist turned white around the blade as she studied his chest lifting with shallow breaths of sleep.
    "You almost bested me," she said softly, pointing the knife at him, ire pouring from her expression as she glared at him. Her eyes narrowed, as she swore vehemently, "Never again."
    Olena turned the knife in her hand and held it steady. She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and drew the blade through her upper arm with a stiff jerk. A whimper left her lips at the pain and she instantly dropped the blade to the ground. Blood ran crimson trails down her arm. She fell to the floor, clutching the injured appendage and refusing to cry out.
    For a moment she just rocked, naked and frozen on the ground, waiting for the worst of the initial pain to pass. As the agony of her self-infliction started to dull, she grabbed a nearby bath linen and wound it around the cut to stop the bleeding.
    Staring at Yusef, she nodded her head at the prone man and professed, "To the Pirate’s Code, Yusef. You won’t best me again."
    * * * *
    After cleaning up her mess and washing the knife, Olena spent the entire night dozing on the bed. Occasionally a loud, passionate cry from a nearby tent would jolt her awake. Sleep never claimed her completely as she watched Yusef’s chest rising and falling in the torchlight. The ache he stirred in her gave way after about an hour to leave a pain much worse than the one in her injured arm.
    Yusef didn’t move. Olena knew he was going to be sore when he woke up from being in the same awkward position all night--not to mention livid. She couldn’t really blame him. She’d be livid too if he had done it to her.
    As dawn crept into the tent, the torches had all but burnt out. Olena had memorized every line of his face and shoulders. The more she looked, the more handsome she thought him. It didn’t matter. The throbbing in her arm served to remind her that she couldn’t let him affect her.
    Hearing a shuffle outside the tent flap, Olena yawned, pushing her tired body out of bed. Taking the fur coverlet, she pulled it around her shoulders and stumbled to see who was there. As she pulled the flap aside, the waiting manservant seemed surprised to see a half-naked woman answering him. Blinking, he tried to see over her shoulder.
    "He’s taking a bath." Olena smiled naturally for the man, letting a blush she didn’t feel fall over her features. The lie came a little too easily to her, as she continued, "He should be along in a moment."
    "Very good, my lady," the servant mumbled. His kind brown eyes drew down, politely refusing to stare at the beautiful but married woman. He was dressed in a simple tunic and brown breeches, his hair pulled back from his face in a queue. Lifting his hands laden with garments, he said, "Your clothes, my lady. The council bid me to tell you they are ready to see you as soon as you are dressed."
    "Me?" Olena squeaked, mistaking his meaning. How could they have known what she did? Were these shifters telepathic too? That hadn’t occurred to her.
    "Yes, my lady," the servant said. "You and his lordship."
    "Lordship?" Olena asked, looking over her shoulder. She took the black