“The Trans-Siberian Railway. We can get on at Novosibirsk and ride it to the coast. From there, we’ll need to cross the Sea of Okhotsk.

For that, we’ll need permission from the Kueeng of Dagons, but if granted, it’ll cut weeks off our travel as well as save us from the awful weather that far north.

If we’re forced to go around the Kamchatka Peninsula, we might not reach the islands until it’s nearly spring.”

Zhuliya’s mouth flaps open. “I can’t just travel all the way across Russia for days on end! I have a home, kinda, and a job, kinda, and—”

She stumbles over her Russian, reverting back to English. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down. My English is terrible, I’m sorry. What do you mean ‘kinda’?”

Her shoulders slump. “It’s actually ‘kind of’ slurred together.”

“How do you ‘kind of’ have a house and a job?” I click my claw against the spike jutting from my jaw, my foot bouncing with the same agitation.

My mate is homeless—unacceptable!

“Well, I live in an apartment with my roommate, Sakura, but she’s gone a lot visiting her family in Japan. As for our jobs, she and I are both like freelancers.

We only get paid if we actively scout out people who need our help. If we stopped putting ourselves out there, then no one would think to utilize our services.”

“What do you do?”

“We reunite families.”

Even though I don’t understand how she does this, her words send a pang through me. “That sounds like important work.”

“It is! So many families that immigrate to the States get separated. Sakura and I network to bring everyone back together, especially children with their loved ones.”

“How did you come into this job?”

Zhuliya glances away. “My parents lost touch for a while when my ima—mother—moved away from Russia.

My ata—father—couldn’t get a visa, and his family shunned him for choosing my ima. It was nearly four years before he could leave.

By some miracle, my ima managed to remain in contact—very difficult as cell phones and the internet were not big yet, especially where my ata was in Russia.

I didn’t meet my ata until I was three, but I’ll never forget what it was like seeing my parents reunited. It’s a memory that will forever live in my heart.”

My chest constricts. “I can see why you do such noble work. It’s very personal to you.”

She nods. “Very. How about you—how did you become a tattoo artist?”

Now it’s my turn to look away. “Like you, I was separated from my family at a young age, but it was my whole clan…and I never was reunited.

Ithaqua are nomads and rarely stay in the same place. We prefer to roam the northernmost part of the Siberian tundra.

My kind generally isn’t welcomed like other monsters. We’re known for our…beastly manners, you could say. We’re not really meant for polite society.”

Zhuliya frowns. “I’m sure that’s not true—you’re an absolute gentleman!”

I laugh. “No, I’m not. I imprinted upon you without permission and broke this couch—polite people do not do that.”

“Both were an accident.”

“Regardless, I’m living proof of why monsters and humans shouldn’t mix.” Before she can argue, I continue. “A tribe of Mulen took me in and raised me, but I didn’t really fit in.”

“Mulen?”

“Another monster that lives in northern Siberia. I was lucky they came across me as I was too young to know how to fend for myself.”

“How old were you?”

“I’m not sure. Ithaqua don’t keep time like humans.”

“So you’ve never found your real family?”

“No, and I’ve tried. You asked why I became a tattoo artist. An Ithaquan custom is for a priestess of Aisyth to tattoo the mating bonds onto the horns of males.

My only memory of my family is of my mother, who I remember was a priestess. It’s like her skill and passion were passed down to me, and I’ve used it to make a living in the human world.

It’s surprisingly one of the few places I do feel like I fit in. Funny when you consider most humans run at the sight of my kind.”

Zhuliya doesn’t even crack a smile. Her gaze is large and solemn. “Ilian, do you still want to find them?”

“You mean my family?”

“Yes.”

“I…yeah, I do.”

“Then I’ll help you.”

She places a hand on my arm, and the conviction in her voice fills my body with warmth. I give her a tender smile, hoping my heart isn’t in my eyes.

Because when I look at her, I’ve found my family.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Zhuliya

The rhythmic clatter of the wheels on tracks signals the arrival of the Transsib. I inhale as the old railcars stop in front of Ilian and me.

Is this really happening?

A day ago, I was fulfilling one of my dreams of getting a tattoo by Ilian Yaniqu, and the next, I’m mated to the man, going on the journey of a lifetime to undo it.

Ilian, ever the gentleman, helps me up the steps and down the narrow hall to our cabin. How the man can even fit is a mystery.