"Because north leads to pack territories, and I don't need them to scent you on board." His voice was flat. "South keeps us away from complications."
"I'm a complication?"
"Of course you are. You're an omega." He didn't look at her. "These symbols here mark currents. See how they flow? You can use them to speed your journey or avoid being pulled off course."
She leaned closer, trying to make sense of the markings. His scent washed over her, and her body responded instantly, her nipples hardening against the borrowed shirt.
Three days of heat hadn't been enough. Her omega nature still craved him.
If he noticed, he didn't show it. Just kept pointing out features on the chart, his voice steady and patient, like she was any student and he was any teacher.
"The stars match the charts." He pulled out a different map, this one marked with constellations. "If you know where the stars should be, you can calculate your position even without instruments."
"Show me." The words came out softer than she intended.
He did.
For the next hour, Anatole walked her through the basics of celestial navigation. How to identify key stars. How to measure angles using nothing but your hand against the sky. How sailors had crossed oceans long before modern instruments, using only the patterns overhead.
His hands moved over the charts, and she watched his fingers more than the maps. These were the same hands that had gripped her hips while he thrust into her. The same hands that had stroked her hair while they lay knotted together. The same hands that had nearly marked her as his mate before he'd chosen her life instead.
"You're not listening." His voice cut through her thoughts.
"I am."
"Then tell me what constellation marks true north?"
She had no idea. She'd been thinking about the way his hands had felt on her skin, not stars.
"I don't know."
"The Wolf's Eye." He tapped the chart. "Remember that. If you're ever lost at sea, that's what you look for first."
"I'm not planning to be lost at sea."
"Plans change." Finally, he looked at her. His eyes were tired, shadows beneath them like he hadn't slept. "You should know how to survive if something happens to me."
"Nothing's going to happen to you."
"You don't know that." He turned back to the charts. "The seawolves are pirates. We pillage and loot. Sometimes the battles go our way. Sometimes they don’t.”
"I don’t want to think about that."
"Why not?" His hands stilled on the charts. "If I die, the curse might let you go. I've killed six women. Six omegas who trusted me to keep them safe. My death would be justice."
She grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. "That witch cursed you for loving her daughter. You didn't ask for this. You didn't deserve this."
"Didn't I?" His laugh was bitter. "I married Marguerite in secret, knowing her mother would be furious. I was arrogant. Thought love would be enough to protect us." His eyes met hers, and the pain in them made her chest ache. "I was wrong. Love wasn't enough. And Marguerite paid the price for my arrogance."
"That's not—"
"Captain!" Luc's shout cut through her protest. "Another storm is coming in from the west. Fast-moving."
Anatole's expression shifted instantly, all personal grief locked away behind the mask of command. "All hands. Secure the rigging. Bring in the outer sails." He glanced at Jeanne. "Get below. Now."
"But—"
"Now." His voice left no room for argument. "This isn't a request."
