"I know."
"Do you?" Gris's voice was gentle. "Because I've seen omegas die from heat fever. It's not a kind way to go. Their bodies burn themselves out, desperate for something they can't have."
Anatole's hands tightened on the cup. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that chaining yourself in the hold might kill her just as surely as the curse would." Gris met his eyes. "I'm saying you might have to make a choice, Captain. Between the certain danger of the curse and the certain danger of leaving her to burn alone."
"There is no choice." But even as he said it, Anatole knew he was lying. "If I bond with her..."
"Who said anything about bonding?" Gris shrugged. "A heat can be eased without a bond. You know that as well as I do. The question is whether you can control yourself enough to ease her without claiming her completely."
Anatole stared at the old cook. "You're suggesting I..."
"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm telling you what I've seen, and I'm trusting you to make the right call." Gris pushed off the rail. "She's a good omega, Captain." He paused at the stairs. "I'd hate to see her die because you were too stubborn to save her."
He disappeared below, leaving Anatole alone with the stars and the impossible choice in front of him.
Ease her heat without bonding her. Touch her, fill her, give her body what it needed to survive, but never bite her mating gland. Never form the bond that would seal her fate.
Could he do that? In the grip of rut, with his wolf screaming for her, could he hold back the one instinct that mattered most?
He didn't know.
But as the sun began to rise over the Crimson Sea, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold, he realized he might not have a choice.
Because Gris was right. Leaving her to burn alone might kill her.
Chapter Six
JEANNE
She woke to find herself clutching Anatole’s shirt. She threw the shirt across the room like it had burned her. This was getting worse. Everything felt sharper, more urgent. Her skin was too sensitive, every brush of the sheets making her shiver. Her nipples ached, stiff and swollen, pressing against the thin fabric of her nightgown. Between her thighs, she was already slick, her arousal soaking through her panties and dampening the sheets beneath her.
And the pull toward the door was stronger than ever.
She forced herself out of bed, her legs unsteady. When she stood, she felt wetness slide down her inner thigh, warm and shameful. Her body was preparing itself, opening itself, readying itself for an alpha it couldn't have.
She needed air. She needed to move.
She neededhim.
No. She didn't. That was biology talking, not her. She was not going to let her body make decisions for her.
She retrieved his shirt from where she'd thrown it, intending to stuff it back in the trunk. But her hands wouldn't cooperate. Instead of putting it away, she found herself pressing it to her face, breathing deep, letting his scent fill her lungs.
