"Saint, I hope I am," he agreed tersely. "I'd like nothing more to have gone completely off my nut. But if I'm not, you deserve to know."
Cathair shook his head. "Remote island, mysterious kidnappings, skin samples, and suddenly you've got better hearing than a wolfhound," he pointed out. "One of ours disappears in the night and our bloody mad jailer gloats about her contribution. It's like we're living in a bad sequel to the bloody Island of Dr. Moreau."