Garen, Rubicon International Book One

Garen punched him in the arm. "Maybe not."

"Remind me why you dragged us across the Atlantic."

Garen frowned. "Why? You already know."

"Humor me, old friend."

"Simple enough. The chaotic political environment in Europe and—" Garen switched to telepathy "—that lucrative job offer spying for the newly formed American Colonies."

"Thank you for indulging me. I needed to hear the lucrative part again. It does not exactly make up for how miserable I was, but—" Lars broke off abruptly when the shaggy, smelly man Garen had hired to transport their luggage trotted into view.

"These things?" He pointed at the collection of bags and raised rheumy, brown eyes to peer at Lars. "Rough for you, eh? Some folk, they never get sea legs."

Garen cleared his throat. "Sooner you get our things moved to the carriage, sooner you'll get paid."

"Yeah, yeah. You hired my back, not my tongue." The man blew out onion-saturated breath and loaded Lars' items onto a wheeled cart he dragged behind him. Greasy, dark hair hung around his face, and his clothing had more patches than original fabric. Despite the chill weather, he was barefoot.

Once he left, whistling a tuneless song, Lars leaned closer to Garen. "Apparently the New World has not treated everyone well."

"Neither did the one we left." Garen cast an appraising glance his way. "You weren't planning to stay on this side of the Atlantic. Did the ocean crossing change your mind?"

A ghost of a smile lightened Lars' even features, but didn't quite make it to his eyes. "I came along for the adventure aspect—and got a bit more than I bargained for."

"Will you go back to Germany?" Garen led the way around the ship's deck to a rickety gangplank.

"Ja. Not for many months, though."

"Maybe by then, they'll have invented a more stable ship."

"Ha! Very funny."

Garen extended an arm. "The black carriage is ours."

"If town is not far, we should walk for many reasons. It will give us information and allow us—or me—to recover faster."

"Good idea. Annoyed I didn't think of it first." Garen trotted to the carriage. He paid the lackey and gave more money to the driver with instructions to leave their things at Newport House.

Lars had already started off at a reasonably brisk pace, considering how beaten down he'd looked in his cabin. Garen ran to catch up. He eyed thick timber on both sides of the deeply rutted dirt track leading into Boston. His wolf was close to the surface. Anxious to run free after the claustrophobic ship.

"What would you think about—?"

"Not a good idea." Lars cut in, casting a sidelong glance his way. "It is an obvious suggestion. I would love to take my other form, but for that we need night and a location farther from human habitation."

"No one looks twice at us throughout Europe," Garen pointed out.

"True enough, but until we understand the lay of things here, it pays to be careful. Our kind are hunted through the Ottoman Empire."

Breath puffed through Garen's teeth, making clouds in the chill air. Of the two of them, Lars was the cautious one, and the more levelheaded.

"We were late arriving," Lars continued. "You missed your assignation by at least three days."