Right now, they were focused on me. I took a breath, steadied my nerves, and tossed the shell over the railing. It fell slowly, the ribbons streaming behind it like the tail of a kite. Blue and green and pink and cream, twisting together and separating, dancing in the air before they hit the water. I leaned over the railing, gripping the worn wood until my knuckles went white, watching it descend.
The scarred one moved first.
He was fast, so much faster than I'd expected, a blur of bronze skin and crimson scales. One moment he was floating beside the others, the next he was surging through the water, his powerful tail propelling him forward with terrifying speed. He caught the shell before it could sink more than a few feet, snatching it out of the water with clawed fingers that glinted inthe fading light. He surfaced with my gift in his hands, water streaming from his wild auburn hair, his golden eyes fixed on the ribbons with an expression I couldn't read. The others crowded close immediately, drawn to the gift like sharks to blood, and I watched them examine what I'd given them.
The dark one reached out first, his pale fingers brushing against the blue ribbon. He lifted it, let it trail through his hand, the wet fabric clinging to his skin. Even from this distance, I could see something shift in his expression, recognition, maybe, or pleasure. He claimed the blue one, wrapping it around his wrist like a bracelet.
The beautiful one took the green ribbon next. He draped it over his palm, tilting his hand this way and that, watching how the color changed in the fading light. His lips curved in that sharp smile I was starting to know, and he wound the ribbon through his silver hair, tying it in a loose knot near his temple.
The warm one reached for the cream ribbon with both hands, cradling it like something precious. He pressed it briefly to his cheek, just for a moment, just a gentle touch and his amber eyes fluttered closed. When he opened them again, there was something soft and wondering in his expression, something that made my chest tight with an emotion I couldn't name.
The scarred one kept the pink one. He held it up against the sunset, letting the light shine through the delicate fabric. Pink for the merman with the blood-red tail and the golden predator's eyes. It should have looked ridiculous. Instead, it looked right somehow.
Then, almost absently, he pressed the ribbon to his face. I thought he was smelling the fabric. Checking the texture, maybe, or just examining it more closely. Creatures of the sea probably experienced the world differently than humans did. Maybe scent was more important to them, more informative.
Then he went completely, utterly still. I'd seen statues with more movement. His whole body locked up, frozen in place, every muscle rigid. The ribbon was still pressed to his face, covering his nose and mouth, and his golden eyes had gone wide, then narrow, then blazing with something I couldn't identify. His lips pulled back from his teeth. Those sharp, predatory teeth that could probably tear through flesh like paper. Not quite a snarl and not quite a smile, but something in between. Something primal. Something hungry.
The others noticed immediately.
The dark one's head snapped toward the scarred one, his expression sharpening into alertness. He said something I couldn't hear, a word, a command, I didn't know, and reached for the scarred one's arm. The beautiful one had gone very still, his sharp smile fading into something more serious. The warm one drifted closer, concern evident in every line of his body. Then they all moved at once. Suddenly they were all pressing the ribbons to their faces—to their necks, their wrists, anywhere the fabric could touch skin. I watched, confused and increasingly alarmed, as they inhaled deeply, as their chests expanded and their eyes went distant and their expressions shifted through a rapid series of changes I couldn't interpret.
They were scenting the ribbons, I realized. Not just smelling them casually, but breathing deep, pulling the scent into their lungs and holding it there. Like animals. Like predators catching a trail. Like alphas scenting an omega. The thought hit me like a bucket of cold water. My ribbons had been in my bag for eight months. I'd handled them countless times, running them through my fingers when I needed comfort, pressing them to my face when I missed my mother. They were saturated with my scent.
My real scent. The omega scent that the blockers couldn't quite hide.
Oh no.
The beautiful one's eyes had gone half-lidded, his perfect features flushed with something that looked almost like hunger. His chest was rising and falling faster than before, and he'd wrapped the green ribbon around his hand, clutching it tight. The warm one's gentle expression had been replaced by something more intense, more focused. He was still holding the cream ribbon to his cheek, but his amber eyes had darkened, and there was a tension in his body that hadn't been there before.
The dark one had gone so still he might have been carved from stone. His pale face was utterly expressionless, but his hand, the one holding the blue ribbon, was trembling. Just slightly. Just enough to notice.
The scarred one, the scarred one was looking at me like I was the most important thing in the world. His golden eyes blazed with something I couldn't identify. Hunger, yes, but not the kind that wanted to eat me. Not the cold, calculating hunger of a predator sizing up prey. This was something else. Something deeper. Something that made heat pool low in my belly even as fear prickled along my spine. His claws had extended, digging into the shell I'd given them. His massive body was rigid with tension, every muscle coiled tight. He looked like he was fighting something—fighting the urge to surge forward, to reach for me, to?—
The dark one's hand closed around his arm. Hard. I could see the grip from here, could see the way his pale fingers dug into bronze skin. He said something, low and urgent, and the scarred one snarled, actually snarled, a sound I could hear even at this distance, but he didn't move. All four of them were looking at me now. Their expressions had changed completely. The casual curiosity of the past few evenings, the easy watching, all of it was gone. Replaced by something more intense. More focused. More possessive.
They know, something whispered in the back of my mind.They know what you are.That seemed impossible. They were creatures of the sea. How could they know about omegas and alphas, about designations and hormones and the biological curse that had ruined my life?
Unless—
Unless they had something similar. Unless their kind had designations too, had alphas and omegas and all the complicated dynamics that came with them. Unless the scent that was slowly leaking through my failing blockers meant something to them.
Unless they were alphas.
The thought should have terrified me. Every alpha I'd ever known had been a threat, a danger to be avoided, a predator to be escaped. Even the decent ones, the ones who didn't actively try to claim or control me, looked at me with that same hungry calculation. Like I was a prize. Like I was property. Like my designation made me less than a person. These creatures, these beautiful impossible mermaids, they weren't looking at me like that. They were looking at me like I was precious. There was a difference and I was only beginning to understand how vast a difference it was. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I gripped the railing until my knuckles went white, staring down at the four creatures who were staring up at me with eyes that saw far too much.
The dark one moved first. He released his grip on the scarred one's arm and raised one hand from the water—slowly, carefully, like he was trying not to startle me. Like I was something fragile that might break or flee. He pressed his hand to his chest. Over his heart. Then he pointed at me. The gesture was unmistakable. I'd seen alphas do it before, the claiming gesture, the declaration of intent.
It meant mine.
It meant I want you.
It meant you belong to me.
When they did it, it had always felt like a threat. Like a promise of captivity, of control, of losing myself to someone else's desires.
When he did it, this strange, dark creature with his obsidian tail and his fathomless eyes—it felt like something else entirely. It felt like a promise of safety. The scarred one made a sound, low and rough and hungry, barely controlled and the dark one's hand shot out again, gripping his arm. They exchanged a look, something passing between them that I couldn't read. Communication, maybe. Warning. The scarred one's jaw tightened, but he stayed where he was.
Then, as one, they sank beneath the surface and disappeared.
