He was a wiry alpha with mean eyes the color of mud and hands that were always reaching for things that didn't belong to him. His clothes were perpetually stained, his teeth yellowed from chewing tobacco, and he smelled like sweat and something sour underneath. He'd cornered me twice before, always when no one was watching, always with that smile that made my skin crawl.
"You've been avoiding me." His voice was a rasp, like he'd swallowed gravel and never quite coughed it back up. His nostrils flared as he breathed me in, and I watched confusion flicker across his weathered face—that same confusion I'd seen in the others. He couldn't identify what he was smelling, but it made him hesitate. Made his alpha instincts war with his baser urges.
"I've been working." I kept my voice flat, bored, refusing to show the fear that was clawing at my insides. I tried to step around him, but he moved to block me again, his boots thudding against the wet deck. He was taller than me, broader, and he used his body like a weapon, crowding into my space until I could smell the tobacco on his breath.
"You smell different." He leaned closer, and I watched his pupils dilate, the black swallowing the muddy brown. His tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips. "Wrong. Like something's?—"
"She said she's been working." Cort's voice cut through the air like a blade, deep and commanding, and I felt my stomach drop like a stone.
Trapped. Between two threats now instead of one.
But Cort wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Decker, and there was something in his expression I'd never seen before. His jaw was tight, his massive shoulders squared, and his dark eyes held a warning that made even Decker take notice. Something that almost looked like... protection.
"Back off." Cort's voice was flat, dangerous, carrying the kind of authority that came from being bigger and meaner than everyone else on this ship.
"Since when do you give orders?" Decker straightened, squaring up to the bigger alpha, but I could see the uncertainty in the set of his shoulders. Cort had six inches and fifty pounds on him, and everyone knew it. "Since when do you care what happens to the little beta?—"
"She's not your concern." Cort stepped closer, and I watched Decker's confidence waver like a candle in the wind. Cort's presence was overwhelming—the sheer size of him, the violence coiled in every muscle, the way he moved like a predator who had never once been prey. "Leave her alone."
Decker's jaw clenched, the muscle jumping beneath his stubbled skin. But he stepped back, his muddy eyes shooting me a look that promised this wasn't over before he stalked away across the deck, his boots leaving wet prints on the wood.
I stood frozen, my brush still clutched in my white-knuckled grip, waiting for Cort to turn on me. To demand something. To take what Decker had been denied. That was how this worked, wasn't it? One predator driving off another, only to claim the prey for himself?
But he just... looked at me. Those calculating dark eyes swept over my face, my throat, my wrists—lingering on the places where their scent would be strongest. His nostrils flared, and I saw his expression shift through confusion, frustration, and something that looked almost like reluctant respect.
"You smell like the ocean." His voice was quieter now, meant only for me, and it held none of the threatening edge I was used to. "Like something dangerous. Like something that would hurt me if I touched you." He shook his head slowly, a muscle ticking in his square jaw. "I can't figure out what it is, but my alpha..." He trailed off, his hands clenching into fists at his sides before deliberately relaxing. "Stay out of trouble."
His hand came up like he wanted to touch me—I flinched, couldn't help it—but he stopped himself. His fingers hovered in the air for a moment, trembling slightly, before dropping back to his side.
Then he walked away, his heavy footsteps fading across the deck.
I stood there for a long moment, my heart hammering against my ribs, trying to understand what had just happened. Cort—Cort, who had grabbed my wrist hard enough to bruise, who had cornered me and threatened me, who had made my life a constant exercise in fear for months—had just protected me.
Because of how I smelled.
Because of them.
Their scent was still there, I realized. Layered under the failing blocker like a secret whispered against my skin. Woven into my hair and my clothes and the very pores of my body. And whatever it was—whatever primal message it sent to every alpha who got close enough to smell it—it was working. It was making them hesitate. Making them step back. Making their instincts scream that I was claimed, protected, dangerous to touch.
But for how long?
I touched my throat, where Riven had pressed his wrist just last night, his skin hot against my pulse point as he marked me with his scent. The memory of it made my omega purr softly in my chest—but even I could tell the scent was fading. Anotherday, maybe two, and it would be gone entirely. And with my blocker nearly empty...
I forced the thought away and got back to work.
The sun climbed higher, beating down on the deck with merciless heat. Sweat trickled down my spine, soaking into my shirt, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. If I stopped, I would think. If I thought, I would panic. And if I panicked...
The rest of the day passed in a haze of exhaustion and hypervigilance. The crew gave me space, parting around me like water around a stone. Even the alphas who usually leered—Hendricks with his wandering hands, Morrison with his crude comments—kept their distance. Their nostrils flared whenever I walked past, confusion and unease written across their sun-weathered faces like words I couldn't quite read.
They could smell the claim. Even if they didn't know what it was, something ancient in their hindbrains recognized it. Recognized that touching me would be a mistake they wouldn't survive.
But it wouldn't last. The scent would fade. And with only two doses of blocker left...
When the sun finally began to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink and deepest purple, I made my way to the railing. My legs ached from hours of scrubbing. My arms felt like lead. But the moment I gripped the worn wood, still warm from the day's heat, something in my chest loosened.
Almost there. Almost to them.
I climbed down the ladder slowly, my tired muscles protesting each rung. The water was cool against my feet, then my calves, then my waist. I let go, slipping beneath the surface, and the silence of the underwater world wrapped around me like an embrace.
