When I was a young girl, my father told me I’d be lucky someday to find a man – any man – who would have me.  I was too thin, too masculine in the shoulders, my fur was too coarse.  And that was to say nothing of my personality, far too much pride, too dreamy, always looking up instead of looking ahead.  I wanted too much, I spoke too much, I had no patience.  I was just too wild.  Too difficult.
	Well, my father never thought I’d be more than a village wife in our little valley.  If he’d known that nearly a decade later I’d be halfway across the world, fresh from war and avenging the slaughter of my tribe, a warrior in my own right and now a Privateer aboard an infamous vessel . . . well . . . .
	If I’d learned anything over the last few years, it was that life’s a winding path that branches more than the mightiest oak, and every choice you make can take you places you may never have even conceived of when you imagined your future long ago.  Or listened to someone else imagine it for you, as was my case.
	I think the reason I’ve adapted as well as I have is because I never really knew what I wanted, then or now.  There were always moments I found happiness, and pain when things didn’t work out the way I’d hoped they might, but some people have a grand plan for their lives, and when it falls apart, they have trouble finding the good in the new places they’ve been taken.  I flatter myself a bit here I suppose, but I think I’ve proven to be more resilient than that.  I’ve lost everything, many times over now, people and places that made up my entire world, but I’ve come to find that for every piece of my life I’ve lost, new pieces fall into place.  And that’s where I am now.  Putting the new pieces together into something that seems to fit.
	I had a point.  Right.  The wolf snoring beside me is very distracting.  I think what I was saying was . . . the man who was meant to dictate my romantic future, my father, once seemed to feel he’d have to sell me to the lowest bidder to find any man willing to deal with me.  And now, it seems, I have a surplus of would-be suitors.  And they’ve certainly surpassed me in being ‘difficult’ partners.  
	My father was wrong about everything.  Not only am I apparently not as hideous to the opposite gender as he seemed to think, I am also quite capable of drawing on endless reserves of patience.  Or I never would have gotten through this week.
	I’ve been digging my elbow into Grayson for about half an hour now, and slowly pushing.  The end goal is to wedge the far heavier wolf onto his half of the bed, as per our long-standing agreement.  I’d come to believe he only agreed to the rules I’d set forth because he fully intended to spend most of the time in our cabin = his really, but part of the agreement was that I could stay here so long as he got to tell his crew we were doing more than strictly sleeping next to one another – unconscious and thus not accountable for his actions.  And he was a snuggler in his sleep.  Gods, was he a snuggler.
	He was all limbs and dark, matted fur, dreadlocks and a big snuffling nose burying itself against my neck while his grubby paws snuck their way under the covers to fumble at me in the night.  More frustrating still, a swift kick or an elbow to his midsection always seemed to wake him enough that he’d grumble and flop away from me, but I’d never actually hurt him enough that he’d remember it in the morning.  Likely, that had to do with amount of rum he polished off each night before bed.  I wasn’t really one to call men on their vices, especially not someone like Grayson whose life could end on any given day thanks to an unfortunate condition he was born with, but at this point I was seriously beginning to doubt the wolf could ever fall asleep without his alcoholic crutch.  I felt like I should try somehow to help him with that?  But I’d not come from a culture with so much access to the drink, and I knew even less about helping men with addictions.
	A few years ago, I travelled with two men who were more interested in one another than me.  At least, in the way Grayson was interested in me.  Back then, there’d been a Marshall, a man I thought I could truly love, whom fate had taken away from me . . . and a husband . . . whom I had killed myself.  Richly deserved, I assure you.  But losing both of them had hurt me in different ways.
	Now, the men in my life were an equally varied lot, but for all their frustrations and oddities, they were all decent at heart.  And at least two of them that I knew of had admitted they yearned for me.  I probably shouldn’t complain, I know.  But I didn’t know how to handle this.  I’d never been prepared for anything remotely like a love triangle.  I was supposed to be the girl no one wanted, remember?
	It’s not that I felt I had to choose.  Men weren’t air, or water, I didn’t need one to live.  I wasn’t even looking to fall in love again.  I’d lost too many people I loved in the last few years, I knew myself well enough to realize that I needed more time.  I enjoyed having friends, and some of them were male.  That’s all it needed to be.
	Unfortunately, there was one thing I couldn’t get from mere friendship.  And the want for physical affection was hard to ignore sometimes.
	I’d managed to push Grayson far enough that I was able to escape from under his arm, and once I’d achieved that, I shimmied off the large four-poster bed that took up at least half the room in his quarters, and padded across the cluttered space as quietly as I could.  Which in this place, spoke to my skills at stalking.  Not only were the floor boards in this aging ship unbearably creaky and poorly-maintained, Grayson was something of a hoarder, and his. . . he would call them ‘treasures’, but I’m just going to call them what they are. . . garbage. . . was strewn everywhere.  
	I was nearly all the way to the cluttered table and my belongings, when a rum bottle (of course) became my undoing.  My toe must have clipped it when I stepped over it, and caught it just enough to send it rolling across the room, the hollow glass tinging on every uneven nail and floorboard.  	
	“Good morning, beautiful.”
	His voice was the only thing I liked about him in the morning.  Most any time of day, really.  Even husky with sleep and what I’m sure would become a hangover if he didn’t immediately start drinking again when he woke up, the depth and the low timber of it always made something in my belly flip-flop.  It was something about canines, I’d long since decided.  The shape of their mouths, of their muzzles, or perhaps something deeper in their chest, lent a gruff, growling tone to everything they said.  And for some reason, I couldn’t get enough of it.
	I didn’t turn to regard him, not wanting to bait him.  It was pointless, of course.  The wolf and I did this dance every single morning, and he never gave up.  The man was either the most incorrigible creature I knew, or he liked disappointment.  Likely, it was both.
	While I went about getting dressed for the day, pulling on my newly-acquired leather jacket and britches over my undergarments and the one threadbare shirt I’d managed to save from my time with Puck and Ransom (it still smelled like the coyote, no matter how many times I washed it, and I loved that), Grayson pushed himself up unsteadily in bed.  I heard the creak of his large body shifting, then the unmistakable sound of permanently extended claws on wood.  
	I still didn’t turn.  I knew he was nude, and while nudity in and of itself didn’t bother me, and never had from the time I’d started staying with him, I hadn’t allowed myself to look on him unless he was dressed for a while now.  Part of it had to do with the other man in my life, and a strange sense of obligation to him that really, considering how secretive he treated even the most casual friendly contact with me, was pretty undeserved.  But part of it had to do with respect for Grayson himself.  Not that the wolf gave a shit about me seeing his bits, or presumably he wouldn’t strut about like this in the mornings. 
	But, I expected him to honor our agreement – namely that we shared a room, platonically, because I needed a place to stay and it wasn’t really safe for a woman in the men’s barracks, and in exchange he got to confirm the rumors that we were in fact lovers.  Which, of course, we weren’t.  
And thusfar, he’d honored our agreement, been something of a gentleman in fact, even when I needed to change.  He never gaped or gawked, and save calling me ‘beautiful’ from time to time, refrained from cat-calls (trust me, I realize the irony there).    
	So when I started to feel, much to my chagrin, that I actually wanted to stare at him walking around in the buff, I stopped doing it.  Because it started to feel dirty, and dishonest.  I knew full well that the wolf wanted me in the same way I’d begun to realize I wanted him, he’d never exactly been subtle about that.  But the fact that we both wanted it now was just. . . dangerous.  Every single night that he crawled drunkenly into bed and pressed his chest to my back, wrapped his big paw around my hip, every single morning that I pretended I hated it and tried to escape before he woke up, every time we kept circling each other, we were getting closer to the inevitable.  And it would change things.  I knew it would.
	It wasn’t supposed to change things between me and the last man I’d been with.  But it had.  
	“Miles away, are we?”  The wolf’s voice broke through my reverie, snapping me back into the present.
	I shook my head, trying not to show how right he was.  “One of us needs to consider the day ahead,” I pulled my quiver strap over my shoulder.  “You have a meeting with the Admiral-“ I glanced out the window, at the sunlight streaming in through the salt-speckled glass, “-now.  He’s probably out there waiting for us as we speak.”
	The wolf snorted and I heard a bottle uncork, followed by what I’m sure was him emptying its remaining contents.  Then the clack of it settling on his bedside table, and heavy steps as he went to his footlocker.  “He’ll be late,” he assured me.
	“You sound pretty certain of that,” I arched an eyebrow.
	“He’s been seeing one of the local ‘talent’,” he chuckled.  “He went to see him late last night.  Again.”
	“How would you-“
	“Ariel.”
	I shook my head.  “Isn’t the Admiral your friend?  You’re having your bodyguard. . . essentially spy on him.”
	“Essentially,” I could hear the grin in his voice.  
	“Why?”
	“It’s for his own good,” he assured me, his voice somewhat muffled, which meant he was finally getting dressed.  “The dog’s an idiot.  If any of the men see what he’s up to in port, he’s likely to get himself a mutiny at best, a beating at worst.  Man like him should be a lot more discreet.  Ariel keeps an eye out for him, that’s all.”
	“I’ve seen the Admiral fight, he can defend himself just fine,” I rolled my eyes.
	“Ability and willingness to fight are two different things,” he stated, and it took me a few moments to realize I didn’t exactly know what he meant.
	I turned around, looking at him quizzically.  He had on a shirt and britches, which he was still buttoning up, and I caught a hint of his sheath before he tucked himself in.  I averted my eyes immediately.  But it had been innocent enough.  I hadn’t meant to see anything.
	“I don’t really understand your meaning,” I said, figuring this was another language issue he’d have to explain.  I spoke Amurescan around Grayson because his tribal tongue was rough at best, but it meant I was the one dealing with the language barrier and the frequent need for translation or explanation.
	“Luther’s emotional,” he answered.  “Even if it’s not always reciprocal, he looks on his men as his family.  He loves them.  He’s loyal to them, all of them. . . even the shitty ones.  He’s lost a lot of them already, which I’m sure he blames himself for, like a damned fool.  He won’t fight his own men.  Not even if they turn on him.”
	“Well. . . “ I paused, carefully.  “Spending that much time with someone. . . living together, sailing together, facing death together. . . one’s bound to get attached.  I don’t know about ‘love’.”
	He flashed a fang at me.  “That sounded almost like you were drawin’ parallels, beautiful.  You getting ‘attached’ to me?”
	I didn’t answer his question, only asked one of my own.  “Would you fight me?”
	“No,” he responded quickly enough that it made my heart clamp.  Was he saying he loved me?  “But Shivah,” he narrowed his blue eyes at me, still smiling, “that’s because I’m fuckin’ terrified of you.”
	Despite myself, I smiled back.  “Damn straight.”

	The morning sun on this humid island was offensive even to me, after emerging from the dark bowels of the Manoratha, Grayson’s warship.   I could hardly imagine how awful it would be for the wolf when he emerged a few moments later, but the pained groan that followed me was some indication.  He continued to whine the whole way down the rope ladder.
	The moaning and groaning was also part of our morning ritual, and I wasn’t even sure how much of it had to do with being hung over.  If there was anything that was truly paining Grayson right now, it was the condition of his beloved ship.  To be honest, we were lucky we’d made it to shore.
	There wasn’t any dock on this tiny island that could remotely accommodate a vessel the size of the Manoratha, but when we’d been forced to land here, we’d managed to find an inlet that would do in a pinch.  And by that I mean, we’d essentially grounded her.  She was stuck in a shallow sand bar with the tides slowly digging her deeper in with every passing day, and she’d begun to list slightly to the right.  We could pull her out with one of the other ships of course, but it hardly seemed worth the massive effort it would take until we knew whether she was salvageable at all.
	Even mentioning the idea of scuttling or abandoning her to Grayson would set him to bawling and cursing, so I’d learned to steer clear of talk like that for the mean time.
	The problem, for once, wasn’t even the hull.  The old warship was always leaking somewhere, but no worse than usual.  The men were constantly shoring the damaged areas up with braces in between repairs.  The pumps on the vessel were almost always in use. 
The real damage was all above-decks, and it was extensive.  One of the creatures from the Dark Continent, a winged Cathazra beast the Amurescans called a ‘drake’, had dropped something on us.  Some sort of shallow cauldron full of highly flammable embers of I knew not what, but whatever they were, they’d been damn hard to put out.  The wood of these big ships was apparently waterproofed with pitch and tar, so they burnt like kindling given any chance.  The ensuing fire had been bad enough, and the men had been working on repairing the rigging and scraping the char off the decks for weeks now, but ironically the worst of it had come simply from the cauldron itself hooking on the main sail, tearing down half of it, and ultimately cracking the mast.  We’d splinted it as best we could for the mean time, but it needed to be replaced if we were going back out to sea, and we didn’t have a spare.  In larger ports, it would simply be an expensive fix, but an easy one.  The ship didn’t even need to be put in dry dock to have it replaced.  The problem was, we were trapped on this speck of an island, continents away from the kind of trees we’d need to make a new mast.  And we couldn’t leave without being attacked by our enemies.  
Which, of course, would be a much harder fight without the Manoratha.  As it is, she took the damage she did because we’d been bringing up the rear of the fleet during the last attack, guarding the flanks of our allies.  Grayson would never say he regretted it, he considered his loyalty to his comrades and his nearly suicidal bravery at sea as paramount to who he was, as a Captain and a man.  But it had cost us dearly, and I was willing to be irritated and even a little bitter in his stead.  The Amurescans regarded him and his crew (and by that logic, me) as criminals, and while that might have been deserved in some cases, right now we were the criminals who’d saved their asses.  And I didn’t want that key fact forgotten when we discussed whether or not it was worth saving Grayson’s ship.
	I wasn’t exactly an expert on vessels of this size, or what it took to repair them, but it was rare I had ever seen Grayson genuinely worried, and that told me our situation was bad.  His prized ship was an aging behemoth who’d seen its fair share of battle and endured many war wounds over the years, and her Captain was much the same.  Normally, he’d just grin and bear it.  But now, every time we climbed down into the rowboat to head to shore, I watched a solemn sadness fall over his features as he looked back at his ship.  And it made my heart sink.
	I gripped the simple wooden bow I’d carried with me from my valley across the world, my thumb running over the carvings.  Things were things, but some possessions helped craft your identity.  I didn’t want to watch the wolf fall apart, losing something he loved so much, something that had defined him for so long.
	Moreover, that ship was where I currently lived.
	If we could find a way to fix her, we would.  That’s what the meeting today was about, and that’s why I was going.
	I let out a long breath, the lapping of the ores the only sound on our little boat as we approached the shoreline.  The sailor manning them gave me a brief look, but otherwise kept his thoughts to himself.  Most of Grayson’s crew knew at this point that I was far more than just their Captain’s ‘companion’, and I was for the most part respected.  Some of the more superstitious men still felt having a woman on board was bad luck, but they knew better than to make trouble about it.
	I knew the lone figure waiting for us on shore even before the sun’s glare faded enough that I could make out his features through his silhouette.  The wolfhound was tall and slim, with defined shoulders framed by the leather chest harness he wore across his upper torso.  He’d chosen to come today without his blue coat, likely because of the heat and because he didn’t feel the need to dress formally for a meeting with a Privateer.  Or me.
	“Of course,” Grayson made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, “the Preacher’s right on time.”
	“Let me handle him,” I gave him a glare.  “Just . . . go look for seashells until the Admiral arrives.  The last thing we need to do right now is antagonize the Amurescans.  If anyone’s going to pay to fix your ship-“
	“Gods, I know,” he muttered.  I smiled despite myself.  It was a small thing, but it always made me feel more comfortable to know that Grayson had hung on to one part of his tribal lineage.  One side of his merchant family were wolves from the tribal nations of Carvecia, my country.  My native people.  And unlike the Amurescans, we worshipped many gods and spirits, rather than just one almighty deity.  Grayson was literally the only other person on the ship, or in fact in my life right now, who knew anything about my beliefs and respected them.  It was an important bond to me.  I was very far from home and everything I’d ever known, and while on one hand I welcomed that, it was nice to have at least one other person around who understood that part of my life.
	“I need more Puka shells, anyway,” he grumbled, toying with one of his dreads, and the broken bit of what had once been a shell dangling from a bead clasp.  
	Yeah, I wasn’t kidding about the shell thing.  He collects them for his dreads, and as far as I can tell, to scatter around his room in hazardous places so that I jab my paws on them in the middle of the night.  I can’t even tell you how many dried starfish I’ve crushed.
	I jumped into the shallows before we hit the shore, my paws digging deep into the warm sand.  Being wet in this heat was actually pretty pleasant, so long as you didn’t get your leathers damp.  I’d taken to wearing leather spats like most of the other sailors on Grayson’s ship while we were at sea, they protected my shins from the rough nature of the work, but here on this island I’d given up on them, as well as most of my other heavy leathers from Carvecia.  I’d chosen garb more suitable to the climate and less obviously exotic, so I’d fit in at port.  I’d found one very surprising, and very welcome change in these lands was that I seemed be regarded the same whether I obscured my gender or not.  Grayson explained to me eventually that the people in this nation were partially ruled by hyena clans, which were matriarchal.  It was liberating to walk around so freely as a woman for once, without expecting that I’d be ignored or ridiculed for the way I dressed, or my chosen profession, or the mere fact that I carried a weapon.
	I waited until I heard Grayson’s heavier paws splash into the water, then head off down the shoreline, before I approached the tall figure on the shore.  He was standing with his arms crossed behind his back, straight-backed as ever, grey eyes following the wolf as he moped off in the opposite direction.  Only when I was a few feet from him did he turn his gaze back to me.  He was forcing himself to look cold, I could tell.  But his fur was bristling.
	It was strange to have him looking at me the way he was right now.  Strange, and a little infuriating.  The fact that I lived aboard the Manoratha, and indeed, stayed in Grayson’s quarters, was no secret.  He’d known about my arrangement with the wolf for some time now, and his attitude on the subject had only gotten worse as time had gone by.  And he had absolutely no right to give me grief.
	Johannes Cuthbert and I had met in Serwich, the colony we’d fled from – the reason we were stranded here now, trapped by our pursuers.  We’d bonded on a mission together when we’d been separated from the rest of our unit, and our relationship had grown from there.  I considered him an ally, a comrade even, and certainly a good friend.  But he was, like many an Amurescan soldier, a man deeply entrenched in his nation’s extremely specist religious beliefs, bound by his obligations to dense traditions and strict societal standards.  His wife had died years ago and he hadn’t even told his closest friend, the Admiral we were waiting to speak to.  I think to some extent, he couldn’t even admit it to himself.  It’s not that he was crazy – I’d known enough earnestly mad people to know the difference – I just think he wasn’t done grieving her yet.  And he certainly wasn’t ready to move on.
	Even if he was, he seemed confused by his attraction to me.  I liked spending time with him, he was certainly more of an intellectual than Grayson, and we could debate our religious beliefs late into the night and find common ground in many areas.  On a shallower note, he was also canine, which had become my preference of late.  Johannes was some sort of dog called a ‘wolfhound’, an ‘Otherwolf’ as my people would call them, but despite lacking the regal bearing of many wolves, he carried himself with so much poise and dignity, I still found him very attractive.  And he certainly seemed to find me so.
	All of that being said, he treated our connection like something he needed to hide, on the best days.  On the worst, he seemed ashamed.  I knew most of the shame was for himself, and I couldn’t exactly blame the man for wanting to be discreet, considering the culture he came from.  But I was growing weary of it.  I’d spent most of my life worrying I’d be an embarrassment to a man.  I didn’t need it confirmed.    
	“Johannes,” I greeted him as I shook some of the seawater from my ankles, striding up on shore.  I noticed he was watching the sailor who’d been rowing as he splashed into the shallows and began to turn the boat around.
	“Shivah,” he said at length, finally turning to regard me.  I would’ve preferred a warmer greeting, but he was never in a good mood when Grayson was around, and even less so when he saw the two of us together.
	To be fair, Grayson Reed was a Privateer, a scourge of the Amurescan Navy and as far as someone like Johannes Cuthbert was concerned, a notorious criminal.  The Admiral seemed to tolerate Reed, treated him like an old comrade much of the time, in fact.  But even according to the wolf himself, that was despite their checkered past.  Most of which I was left to imagine, because the men wouldn’t talk about it.  Not even Grayson, and he loved to talk.  All I knew is that at one point, the Cerberus Fleet had been Pirate hunters, patrolling a large strip of ocean looking for ne-er do-wells like Grayson and his crew, and at some point they’d actually caught him and tried to hang him.  That’s where things got spotty, because neither side would tell me exactly what went down.  But clearly, Grayson had never been hanged, the Admiral had decided to broker some kind of deal with him, and he’d called in the favor a few months ago when he’d needed extra firepower and supplies to get out of a tight spot – namely the colony they’d established on a hostile continent that they’d had to abandon after years of relentless assault from the natives.
	And that was another whole story in and of itself.  I guess I could see why they might not want to share some of the details of their past follies and secret deals.  It all sounded very cloak and dagger, and dreadfully illegal.
	Which is probably why Johannes hated the wolf so much to this day.  
	He made no secret of it, either.  I’m pretty sure he’d still hang Grayson, if he had the chance.  He’d certainly not be supportive of any agreement today to help us get our ship back in fighting shape.
	“She’s listing,” he pointed out, nodding his nose in the direction of the Manoratha.
	“We know,” I sighed.  “There’s a shallow sand bar.  There isn’t much we can do until we can get one of your ships out here to tow her.”
	He made a face at that, but didn’t shut me down immediately, at least.  “Is she even safe to live in?”  He asked.  
	I knew where he was going with this.  “It’s not a great place to play marbles right now,” I said, “but we’re hardly sliding across the floors.”  I narrowed my eyes at him.  “I’m touched by your concern, though.”
	“I’m only saying-“
	“The same thing you’ve been saying for months,” I snapped.  “I am not leaving the Manoratha.  She’s my ship, she brought me across the world and she carries a lot of good friends of mine in her belly.  I’m not abandoning her.”
	“We have a saying about ‘sinking ships’ in Amuresca-“
	“She couldn’t physically sink even if she was taking on water,” I pointed out.  “We’re nearly beached.”
	He gave a frustrated noise in his throat, and gestured at the warship floundering in the tides.  “First of all, it’s a metaphor.  Second of all, she could sink if she lists much more and we get hit with a storm, which we will inevitably.  Likely before we can find a replacement for the mast.”
	My eyes widened.  “Wait, you’re committing to that?”
	He shifted his paws in the sand and crossed his arms over his chest, looking distinctly uncomfortable.  “We . . . haven’t really any choice.”
	“Johannes!” My muzzle split into a grin and I punched his shoulder happily. 
	“To say we’re outnumbered here is putting it charitably,” he growled.
	“You have no idea how relieved I am!”  I exclaimed.  “I was worried we’d have to find some way to fix her alone-“
	“No one should be happy about this situation,” he snarled quietly.  “It’s only because we’re as desperate as we are for allies right now that we’d ever agree to actually repair that bastard’s warship.  Ugh,” he growled.  “Even saying it makes my stomach turn.  I want nothing more than to see that wreck pulled apart piece by piece and sunk to the depths where it can do no more harm.”
	“But you need us,” I was still smiling.  “So you have to help us.”
	“Stop crowing and let’s back-track to what we were discussing before,” he grated out.  
	“What, about storms?”  I pondered.  “How quick does the weather turn down here?  Should we move her further from shore?”
	“That goes without saying,” he muttered, “but no- Shivah, you knew what I meant.  Stop diverting.  I don’t want you on that ship anymore.”
	“Alas, you don’t get to make my decisions for me,” I dug out some soot from under a claw.  The stuff was everywhere since the fire.  “I thought we were here to talk about serious issues, and real solutions.”
	“You being subjected to that vile, murderous, drunken, letch of a wolf-“
	“You usually include ‘arrogant’ in that statement,” I pointed out.
	“-IS a serious issue, as far as I’m concerned.”  His nostrils flared as he finished.   He took a few moments to visibly collect himself, then continued in a calmer, more pleading tone.  “Shivah.  Please.  He tells every man who will listen that you’re his. . . plaything.  It’s degrading.  It’s unacceptable.  You’re a strong, competent young woman.  You deserve to be treated with respect.  I understand that when you made this agreement with him for room and board, you had few options.  But by. . . allowing this arrangement to continue the way it has. . . I fear you won’t respect yourself, in time.”
	“Excuse me?”  I bristled.
	“You’re making no effort to protect your honor,” he insisted.  “Your reputation.  A woman’s reputation is fragile-“
	“Nothing about me is fragile,” I snarled.  “And considering how little you think of every man on that ship, I would think you wouldn’t care what they think of me.  Or anyone, for that matter.”
	“My concern is for you, my feelings have nothing to do with it.”
	“Bullshit!”  I snapped, and he put his paws up in a manner that suggested he wanted me to lower my voice, which only made me want to raise it.  “You and I know full well that any ‘reputation’ a non-canine like me might have had with your men, or Grayson’s men, or nearly anyone else in the world that believes the things you believe was forfeit the second I decided to dress like a man and take on a man’s job.  What do you think it matters to a woman like me whether or not the men on that ship, or your ship, or any port we dock in, think I’m Grayson’s ‘plaything’?”
	“Shivah-“ he took on that pleading, soothing tone, but this time I was too irritated to care.
	“You just want me away from him!”  I protested.  “That’s all this has ever been about.”
	“What is so wrong with that?”  He insisted between grit teeth, gesturing down the coastline.  “The man is a murderer for hire, Shivah!  He’s sunk as many ships as he’s robbed, he’s not just some charming rogue.”
	“Let’s not compare death tolls, shall we?”  I curled my nose.  “I saw what your people did in Serwich, don’t forget.  War . . . colonization . . . Privateering?  What the hell is the difference in the end?  You’ve both got blood on your hands.”
	“Don’t compare his greed to my years of service,” he said with an edge of anger in his voice.
	“I can and I will,” I said defiantly.  “Your people march in and take land away from tribal folk – which I still consider myself, despite my tribe being wiped out, I’ll point out – and then you call it a ‘war’.  It’s no different than what Grayson does.  You both steal, and you kill people to do it.  You’re all thugs to me.  You just. . . “ I looked him up and down, “. . . dress. . . fancier.”
	He looked earnestly upset now, and not the kind of upset we’d work out over a few cups of tea later.  I may have finally done it this time.
	He surprised me by folding back his ears and speaking in a tone more hurt than angry.  “When did you start hating me, Shivah?”  He asked quietly.
	I blanched at that.  “I don’t hate you, Johannes.”  Before he could reply, I continued, “I’m actually very fond of you.  But you’ve put me in a terrible position here, and I just want you to see it.  My loyalty was first and foremost to the Manoratha, her crew, and her Captain.  You might not realize it, but that ship didn’t just take me away from my homeland, the journey. . . transformed me.  I’ve found meaning again since I joined her crew.  And you. . . .”
	He gave me time to respond, his grey gaze resting on me.  I sighed, at length just settling on the obvious.  “You hate everything about them.  Grayson, the crew.  Even the ship.  Hell, I’m probably angrier about it than Grayson is.  Your war in Serwich with the Cathazra was your people’s fault.  You must realize that.  You were taking their land with a smile and a wink, and when they fought back you could have left, but instead you stuck it out like some petulant child with a stolen toy.  For decades.  Is it any wonder they followed us halfway across the ocean to kill us all?”
	“I’ve never agreed with colonization,” he insisted.  “I’m a navy man.  I don’t have much choice over where I’m sent, Shivah.  I never wanted to go back to that colony.  I would have been happy to give it up to them.”
	“They don’t give a shit what your reasons were,” I tried to explain to him.  “All they know is that you were on their land, killing their people.  And Grayson bailed you out, protected your flank while you ran away, and now his ship’s badly damaged because of it.  Could you show a little respect?  And maybe stop pretending this is about my welfare?”
	“You two argue like people who’ve fucked,” the wolf’s voice greeted us from a few feet behind Cuthbert, off near where the dense foliage began.  He was crouching in the sand, plucking something free from it.  I was irritated that he’d somehow snuck up on us, but even more so that he’d overheard us, especially while I was defending him.  And Cuthbert looked livid.
	“Grayson, you shouldn’t have-“ I began.
	“It’s not my fault you forgot I was here.”  He snorted, standing with his newly-acquired shell.  He had a small collection of them in his big black paw.  “The Admiral’s on his way, incidentally, so you might want to lower your voice if you don’t want to be embarrassed a second time.  Thought I’d do you a favor.”
	He strode past us and I had to put my hand out to hold Cuthbert’s arm, his fingers dangerously close to his sword.  “Enough,” I hissed.  “I’m sorry I upset you-“
	“No, you aren’t,” he growled, his eyes moving down to mine.  “You meant every word you said.  That scum has won you over and whatever mutual respect we had for one another is clearly gone.” 
	“I have never stopped respecting you!”  I tried to keep my voice at a whisper with the wolf so close, even though I knew he’d still hear us.  “I just want you to respect the way I’m choosing to live.  You can dislike the people in my life, hell you can hate them if you want, but the Manoratha is my safe harbor, and it’s not-“ I noticed his frustration rising and knew what I was saying was going in one ear and out the other, so I tugged his arm to force him to look down at me.   “It’s not as if you ever offered me an alternative,” I said pointedly, still keeping my voice low.
	At that his anger seemed to boil away, and his ears drooped.  “I. . .” he stammered.  “I wish. . . that I could.  But I’m not in a position to take care of you in the way you deserve.”
	“I don’t need someone to take care of me,” I stated without hesitation.  “I just need somewhere to live.”	
	He went entirely silent at that, dropping his muzzle.
	“And Grayson has offered me that,” I said softly.  “I work for it, but that’s how I’d prefer it.  I get to pull my weight on his ship, I get to be a part of the crew, and I don’t have to hide my gender.  Very few women will ever get to travel the world the way you men seem to take for granted.  I like my life right now, and as it stands, I’m sharing it with him.”
	There were a few moments between us where all that seemed to exist was the lapping of the waves and our breathing.  I knew I was essentially giving him an ultimatum, and Grayson was mere feet away, pretending he wasn’t hearing everything we were saying.  But maybe this was how it should be.  Out in the open.
	“So,” I continued, “please don’t judge me.  I couldn’t ever be part of your crew, or even sail on your vessel, could I?”
	“I have very little control over that,” he said with a long breath out his nose.
	“I don’t want to be your secret, either,” I said, dropping my voice to such a quiet whisper, I had hoped that it would stay between us.  “It makes me feel like you’re ashamed of being seen with me.”
	He looked crestfallen at that.  Sad, but resigned.  I’m not sure what he would have said next however, because I’d been wrong about the wolf not overhearing us.
	“Shame’s Amuresca’s National pastime, sweetheart,” Grayson chirped from over my shoulder.  “I’m pretty sure it’s the old man’s kink.”
	“It’s not enough that you win?”  Johannes curled a lip at him, his eyes ice.  “You have to mock me, as well?”
	“H-what?”  The wolf huffed a laugh.  “What the hell have I ‘won’ now?  Pretty sure the lady here’s not a prize, and even if she were, she ain’t one I’ve claimed yet.”
	“Don’t play at chivalry, you misogynistic swine!”  Johannes snarled, shouldering past me regardless of my attempts to get between the two men.  “How many women have you abandoned in port cities across the world?  How many with child?!”
	“Stop!”  I raised my voice, wedging an arm between them, but to no avail.  Both of the men were about twice my size, I had little to no chance of muscling either of them around.
	“At least I treated ‘em all like people,” Grayson was unashamedly showing his canines at a full snarl, a habit the Amurescans found crass and uncultured, but the wolf came from a family that was half tribal, and he acted more like the wolves I knew back home.  “I’ve never gone around acting high and mighty like I’m God’s chosen jackass!  I ain’t ashamed to be a shit sometimes, and own it.  Or bed down with a feline and let the whole damn world know, instead of treatin’ her like she’s some half-person who don’t get into the right kind of afterlife.”
	“Now you’re mocking my faith?!”  Johannes bit out.
	“It’s ain’t my fault if you don’t like what your own holy books say,” the wolf growled.  
	I knew the second before it was going to happen that this was about to cross the line from a verbal to a physical fight.  This time, I didn’t put myself between them, because peacemaker or no, I had no desire to get smashed into by the two large canines.  Sometimes a woman’s got to look out for herself.
	Johannes threw the first punch, which under any other circumstance I never would’ve called.  I’d always thought if one of them sucker punched the other, it’d be Grayson.  But the wolf had attacked the wolfhound’s religion, and that was a hell of a sore spot.  Especially since I knew for a fact Johannes had been doubting a lot of the tenants of his faith for a long time now.  
	But Johannes was a gentleman to the end, and I know he pulled his punch.  He didn’t actually want to catch Grayson by surprise. . . he wanted a fair fight.  He barely caught him on the edge of the wolf’s chin, and the privateer was up and swinging again before I could blink.
	The wolf connected a good hit in the wolfhound’s gut, and he didn’t hold back.  If anything, the toothy grin he wore said he was enjoying the opportunity.  Johannes took it with a whuff of breath and a grimace, but otherwise twisted with the blow like a seasoned soldier, and jabbed Grayson far more precisely, in the kidney.  Precision was kind of his thing.
	And the fight carried on pretty much as pointlessly as you’d imagine from there on out.  I don’t honestly feel the need to recount the whole damn thing, but thankfully, it barely lasted half a minute before the sound of a shrill whistle from the edge of the woods snapped the two men out of it.
	By that point Grayson had a bloodied nose, and Johannes was probably nursing a few bad bruises, but I think the real damage was the humiliation at getting caught in the act by the man they both seemed to look up to as some kind of god.  Don’t ask me why, by the way.  To this day I’ve yet to be all that impressed by him.
	Luther fucking Denholme (I don’t usually curse casually, but if any man deserves it. . . ) was making his way out of the dense jungle, not on his horse for once but on foot.  He probably wanted to spare the poor mare the heat today, and for that I had to give him grudging respect.  The jungles here were no enjoyable hike.
	The two men stopped dead, mid-entanglement, and released each other with a shove, backpedaling away.  Grayson nearly stumbled over a piece of driftwood, but managed to gracelessly catch himself and avoid further embarrassment.
	“Of all the scuffles I’ve had to break up over the years,” Luther called out as he strode across the beach, dressed down in a loose, open-necked white shirt and leather britches, “I never expected you’d be a party to one, Johannes,” he shook his head, his expression split between bemusement and his almost ever-present, predatory grin.
	“Really?”  I cocked an eyebrow, crossing my arms.  “Because I’ve seen this one coming a long time now. Honestly surprised it took this long.”
	“I mean,” he gestured at nothing, pawing through the sand towards us and finally stopping a few paces away, “I thought. . . maybe I’d find a body, some day.  Or just be missing a hired privateer. . . thrown somewhere to the depths of the sea.  But a fist fight?”  He gave the wolfhound in particular a disappointed look.  “Johannes.  It doesn’t become you.”
	“But you’ll excuse yourself for the same behavior, sir?”  Johannes pointed out, trying to straighten his posture without making it obvious he was nursing a rib.
	“Well. . . yes,” the cattle dog responded bluntly.  “I’m rubbish.  I get to enjoy the benefits of lowered expectations.”
	Neither of the two men seemed to have a response for that, so Luther continued.  “Now, whatever this was about, I hope it’s something we can put aside so we can discuss more important matters.  Let me guess.  It’s one of three things amongst the crew, usually.  Either one of you owes the other money. . . and Johannes, I know you don’t gamble, so that’s out.  Someone insulted the other’s manhood, which I can see you being immature enough to do, Reed.”
	The wolf only gave a shrug and a nod, seeming unable to argue with him on that point.
	“. . . but Johannes isn’t that easily baited,” Luther sighed.  “So it was a woman.”  His eyes settled on me.  “Likely the one standing over there looking irritated.  Afternoon, Miss Shivah.”
	“It’s cute that you’ve bothered to remember my name,” I muttered.
	“I know the names of everyone who’s ever worked for me,” he winked at me, seeming to enjoy reminding me of that.  Then he tapped his forehead.  “Steel trap.  But then. . . it’s not even your real name, is it?”
	I tipped my ears back and resisted the urge to snarl.  It’s not even that it bothered me that he, or anyone at this point, knew my real name.  It bothered me because he’d somehow figured it out without my telling him.
	“Well I know you’re not sleeping with her,” he sighed, glancing back at Johannes.  The wolfhound managed, if barely, to conceal any response to the comment, which was good, because if he’d confirmed or denied it to the damn Admiral I’d have been the next one punching him.
	“So I can only assume this is some ‘defending the lady’s honor’ sort of deal,” Luther muttered in a weary tone.  “Johannes, honestly.  If the woman wants to keep company with Reed, don’t get on her or his case about it.  It isn’t your job to protect every young woman in the world from the dangers of associating with lusty pirates.”
	“Privateers,” Grayson corrected sharply.
	“At the moment, allies,” Luther added, looking pointedly to Johannes.  “So technically, I could legally demote you for this.”
	“I think the law would have a great deal to say about our ‘arrangement’ with this group of scoundrels,” Johannes snapped.  “And in any case sir, shouldn’t you consider your words more carefully before you start lecturing me about fighting in defense of women?”
	“No, I’ve seen that woman fight,” the cattle dog glanced warily at me, “I know she needs no defending.”
	“Thank you,” I said with emphasis, glaring at the two men.
	“And Reed, I don’t know what you did or said, but I’m sure I should be reprimanding you, as well,” Luther said.  “So shame on you, too.  For whatever it is you did.”
	“You’re just assuming I’m guilty of somethin’ without knowing the facts?” The wolf acted mock-hurt.  “Admiral, I’m the victim here.  Look at my nose.”  He pulled a paw away with blood on it.
	“You probably deserved it,” the cattle dog muttered.  “And anyway, you’re lucky that’s the worst you got.  You’re an idiot, Reed.  You do know if he meant to, he’d have killed you.  I know you think you’re the ‘Terror of the Tiraltic’, but I’ve seen Johannes end a lot more men up close and personal than you’ve ever managed with a cannon.”
	“Your church boy hasn’t got the guts,” the wolf snorted.  Johannes meanwhile was simmering visibly behind him, and I was afraid not even the Admiral’s presence would stop him if Grayson pushed any more buttons.
	“The church has killed more people than every plague in Amuresca combined,” Luther replied evenly.  “I wouldn’t gamble your life on that card.”
	The glare Johannes was leveling at Grayson could have melted iron, and the wolf finally seemed to catch on that he might have been in more danger than he thought.  He gave the wolfhound an uneasy shrug and smile.  “Look, the Admiral’s right,” he sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve, “we’re allies now.  Sorry for bein’ a jackass.  Peace?”
	Johannes’s response was deathly silence, and one long, final glare.  When he at last turned his eyes from the wolf, they rested but briefly on me . . . and the profound mixture of emotions I saw there made me feel all at once guilty for the part I’d played in this, even though I knew I’d done nothing wrong.  
	We’d talk later.  We’d talk, and maybe I’d apologize too.  Maybe he’d apologize.  But with the Admiral here, it was clear he wanted nothing more said.  Once again, he preferred his connection to me, and whatever feelings he had for me, stay unknown to his own people.
	That thought transformed the guilt to anger, and the anger emboldened me.  If he was going to hate me for being with Grayson, regardless whether or not I was in fact ‘disgracing’ myself with the privateer, what the hell was stopping me?  Hell, why had the thought bothered me to begin with?  It’s not, as I’d asserted, that I was at all concerned for my reputation, or that I owed the wolfhound any kind of loyalty. 
	Luther was talking, so I decided I should start listening again.  We were here for a purpose, after all.
	“-with that done, then,” the cattle dog sighed, “we should start discussing our options for replacing the mast.  If we get off this island alive, we’ll only do so together.  I won’t strand you here, Reed.  And we need your firepower.”
	“Aye,” the wolf grinned.  “If my beauty’s got anythin’ goin’ for her, it’s that.  All the guns are still operational, we didn’t lose a one.  Could use more powder, though.”
	“That won’t be hard to buy here,” Luther replied.  “The hyenas supply a lot of ships their powder along these trade routes.  I’m already brokering a few deals.”  He looked out towards the listing ship, sighing.  “I know what she means to you, Reed.”
	Grayson’s features fell solemn again, and he followed Luther’s gaze out to the Manoratha.
	“She’ll sail again,” Luther promised.  “I won’t stand by and watch you lose your vessel over one of my mistakes.  We’ll take care of her.”
	I’d come to the meeting thinking I’d have to fight for my ship and my Captain, but it had turned out I’d been the object of a fight, instead.  Like I said before, unexpected branches.  And now I was considering another . . . one that if I’m being honest, had seemed inevitable from the time I’d met him.  But it would be my choice, in the end.