"Mmm." He planted one hand on the wall beside my head, the muscles in his forearm flexing, his body forming a cage around me. Not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him, could smell the alpha musk rolling off his skin in thick, suffocating waves. "You smell different lately. Did you know that?"
My blood went cold.
"I don't know what you mean." I kept my voice steady through sheer force of will, kept my eyes fixed on a point past his shoulder and refused to look at his face.
"Something sweet." His nostrils flared, his eyes going slightly unfocused the way alphas' eyes did when they were scenting, chasing a trail only they could perceive. His chest expanded as he breathed deep. "Under all that fish and sweat and whatever chemicals you're using. Something sweet. Something..." He trailed off, frowning, a furrow appearing between his brows like he was trying to place a half-remembered taste. "Familiar."
He didn't know. He couldn't know—not yet, not with the blockers still working, at least partially. But he suspected. He could smell that something was off, even if he couldn't identify what.
If my blockers failed completely?—
"I need to get back to work." I ducked under his arm, moving fast, not quite running but close, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Brennan will be looking for me."
His hand caught my wrist. Not hard. Not painful. But firm, unyielding, his thick fingers wrapping all the way around, the grip of an alpha who wasn't used to being denied. I froze, every instinct screaming, fight, flee, submit, and none of them useful, none of them safe.
"We're going to talk." Cort's voice was still gentle, but there was steel beneath it now, a promise that was also a threat. His thumb stroked across my pulse point, feeling how fast my heart was racing. "Soon. You and me. I'm going to figure out what you're hiding." He released my wrist slowly, deliberately, and his lips curved in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Then we're going to come to an understanding."
He walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving me pressed against the wall, my heart pounding so hard I could taste it in my throat. He knew something was wrong. He didn't know what—not yet—but he knew. And he was hunting me now, actively hunting, circling closer every day like a shark scenting blood in the water.
How long did I have? Days? Hours? How long until he figured out the truth and everything fell apart? I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the pouch of gifts beneath my shirt, and thought of sunset. Thought of four faces in the water, four pairs of eyes watching me with wonder instead of hunger.
They'd said they were mine. Or at least, the dark one had made that gesture—hand to heart, pointing at me. Claiming me. What did that mean? What could it mean? They lived in the sea, and I lived on this ship, and we couldn't even speak to each other. How could they help me? How could they protect me from Cort, from discovery, from everything that was closing in?
They couldn't. They were mermaids, not miracle workers. I was still alone. Still hiding. Still running out of time. The rest of the day dragged by like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. I worked. I hid. I avoided Cort's gaze whenever I felt it on me, which was often. I counted the hours, then the minutes, then the heartbeats until sunset.
When the light finally began to fade, I slipped away to my spot at the stern. The water was calm tonight, gilded with the last rays of sun, beautiful in a way that made my chest ache. I pulled off my cap and let my hair fall loose, feeling the weight of it settle against my back. Let myself breathe for the first time all day.
They would come. They always came. What would happen when they did? Would they look at me the same way? Would they still want me, now that they knew what I was? Or had the revelation changed something, broken some spell, made them realize that I wasn't worth the attention?
The water rippled.
My breath caught.
And they rose. Four shapes breaking the surface, water streaming from their hair and shoulders and the scales of their tails. The dark one in front, obsidian catching the fading light. The scarred one at his shoulder, massive and bronze and beautiful. The silver-haired one slightly apart, his sharp smile already curving his lips. The warm one hanging back, amber eyes soft with something that looked like relief.
They were all wearing the ribbons. I hadn't expected that. Hadn't dared to hope for it. But there they were—the blue one wrapped around the dark one's wrist, the green one woven through the silver one's hair, the cream one tied at the warm one's throat, the pink one... the pink one was pressed against the scarred one's chest, held there by a massive bronze hand like something precious.
Like something he couldn't bear to let go of. Something cracked open in my chest. Something warm and terrifying and too big to contain. They'd kept my ribbons. They were wearing them, displaying them, treating them like treasures.
The dark one raised his hand, and for a moment I thought he was going to make that gesture again—the hand to heart, the pointing. The claim.
Instead, he beckoned.
Come, the gesture said. Come to us.
I gripped the railing, staring down at him, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. He wanted me to go to them. To leave the ship, to enter the water, to trust them completely.
I thought of Cort's hand on my wrist. The promise in his voice. The threat. I thought of my failing scent blockers. The days I had left, if that. I thought of everything I was running from, and everything I had to lose.
Then I looked at the dark one's outstretched hand, and the warm one's gentle eyes, and the scarred one clutching my ribbon like a lifeline, and I made a decision.
"Wait for me." The words came out as barely a whisper, carried away by the evening breeze, my fingers white-knuckled on the railing. I leaned forward, as if I could close the distance between us through will alone. "I'll find a way."
The dark one's hand moved, pressing to his heart, his pale fingers splayed across his chest, then extending toward me in that now-familiar gesture. His dark eyes never left mine, bottomless and certain.
Mine.
This time, it didn't feel like a threat. It felt like a promise. I stayed at the railing until the stars came out, watching them watch me, and for the first time in eight months, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to run anymore.
