The Shark sat alone by the night fire that did not serve to take the chill from his flesh. His flesh felt cold, but the blood that pounded through his veins was warm, it called for revenge, for destruction.

Zadick, his physician, and the team he had come with had done what they could for his crew, but they were going to heal slowly. His physician had been able to come up with the patent for the poison serum, but he had not come up with an antidote yet.

He was stuck now, with fifty of his men injured, seven dead, and his best friend unconscious. And his mate –...