A key hung from it, swinging between them. It was exactly as she'd seen it in her dream. Long shaft, ornate teeth, a bow shaped like a wolf's head with tiny sapphire eyes. Old metal, dark with age, humming with a frequency she recognized in her bones.
"This is the only key," he said. "It opens the door to the forbidden room. I've tried to destroy it. Melting, grinding, throwing it into the sea. It always comes back to me."
She looked at the key but didn't touch it. The pull in her chest flared at its proximity, a sharp tug that made her breath catch, and she took a deliberate step backward.
"Good," he said, watching her retreat. "That's good. You feel it pulling and you move away. The others moved toward it."
He put the key back in his pocket.
"There's something else I should tell the crew. Something I've been considering since Pleisse's ships turned tail." He straightened, and she watched the captain reassemble himself over the man, authority settling across his shoulders like a coat. "I declared you mine in front of a rival pack. In pack law, that's a mate claim. But I haven't made it formal with our own wolves. They've been treating you as captain's mate out of respect, but there's been no ceremony, no pack acknowledgment."
"Does that matter?"
"Without formal acknowledgment, you're an unprotected human who happens to be an omega." He met her eyes. "I want to introduce you to the crew as my mate. Publicly. With the weight of pack tradition behind it."
"We're not bonded."
"A mate claim doesn't require a bond. It requires a public declaration before the pack, witnessed and accepted. The bond can come later." A flicker in his eyes. "Or not at all, if that's what keeps you protected from the curse."
“But I’m human.”
“It doesn’t matter. You would be part of the Barbe-Bleue’s pack.”
Pack. The word resonated with something her omega instincts recognized even though she carried no wolf. The longing for belonging. For a place that was hers.
"When?" she asked.
"Tonight. The crew gathers after the evening meal. It's as close to a pack meeting as we hold at sea." He paused. "You should know what this means to wolves. A mate claim before the pack is binding. You would not be able to leave us. You would belong to me and this ship."
"Yes," she said. "I want that.”
ANATOLE
THE CREW GATHERED ONthe main deck after the evening meal, twenty wolves arranged in the loose circle that served as their equivalent of a pack meeting hall. Oil lanterns swung from the rigging, casting shifting light across weathered faces. The sea was calm, the sky clear, stars emerging one by one overhead.
Anatole stood at the center of the circle with Jeanne beside him. She wore one of Celeste’s dresses that one of the maids had altered to fit her. Her hair was braided back, and the bruises from his mouth on her neck were visible above the collar.
His wolf was almost incoherent with satisfaction.
Mate. Our mate. Before the pack. Where she belongs. Where she has always belonged.
"You know why I've gathered you," Anatole said. His voice carried the way it always did when he addressed the crew, the alpha's authority woven through every syllable. "Two days ago, three ships from the Bone Harbors came to take what is mine. They left because I told them what you already know, and what I am now making formal."
He took Jeanne's hand. She let him. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was sure.
"Jeanne is my mate. Not by purchase, though that is how she came to this ship. Not by force, though she arrived in chains. She is my mate because she has chosen to stand beside me, knowing what I am, knowing what I've done, knowing the curse that haunts this ship." He looked at his crew, these wolves who had followed him through the years of darkness. "I claim her before this pack, and I ask you to witness it and accept her as our own."
Silence. Then Luc stepped forward from the circle.
"Witnessed," his first mate said. The word was a brick laid in the foundation of something larger. "I witness the captain's claim on the omega Jeanne, and I accept her as captain's mate. Her safety is the pack's charge. Her word carries the captain's authority in his absence."
Gris stepped forward next. "Seconded." His voice cracked on the word, and Jeanne's hand tightened in Anatole's. "Gladly."
"Third." Sébastien rose. "The omega mended my face when she didn't have to. She's earned her place."
One by one, the crew stepped forward. Every seawolf added their voice to the claim, building a wall of pack loyalty around Jeanne.
When the last wolf had spoken, Anatole turned to his mate.
