Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
LILY
The bottle slipped from my fingers.
I watched it fall in slow motion, the amber glass catching the weak morning light that filtered through my tiny porthole.
It tumbled end over end, beautiful and terrible, before hitting the edge of my small wooden chest with a sharp crack.
The glass shattered on impact, sending glittering shards skittering across the worn floorboards like scattered stars.
The liquid inside—my scent blocker, my protection, my lifeline—splashed across the wood in a dark stain. I could smell it immediately: sharp and medicinal, almost burning in my nostrils. The scent that had kept me hidden for eight months. The scent that meant survival.
And now it was seeping into the cracks between the planks, disappearing forever.
"No, no, no—" The words tore out of me as I dropped to my knees, my nightshirt pooling around me on the cold floor.
My hands scrambled uselessly at the wet wood, trying to scoop up the precious liquid, but it was already gone.
Absorbed. Wasted. My fingers came away damp and smelling of chemicals, but there was nothing left to save.
I sat back on my heels, my chest heaving, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
The broken glass glittered around me like accusations.
Eight months of careful rationing. Eight months of making every single drop count, of applying it sparingly, of going without when I could manage it.
All of it destroyed by one clumsy moment.
One stupid, careless slip of my fingers.
My hands were shaking as I reached for the small backup vial I kept hidden in a tear in my mattress. The glass was cool against my palm, and I held it up to the faint light coming through the porthole. The liquid inside glowed faintly amber, thick and viscous.
Two doses. Maybe three if I stretched it thin enough to be nearly useless.
The swimming potion was almost as low. I felt for it in my pocket—the small vial Kaelan had given me, enchanted glass that never seemed to warm no matter how long I held it.
One dose left. After that, no more midnight swims. No more breathing underwater, no more feeling the cool embrace of the ocean, no more weightlessness. No more them.
I pressed my hand to my mouth, fighting the urge to scream. The sound built in my chest like a living thing, clawing at my ribs, demanding release. But I couldn't. Someone might hear. Someone might come asking questions I couldn't answer.
So I swallowed the scream and forced myself to breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The way Kaelan had taught me. The way that made my panic feel manageable instead of all-consuming.
Two doses. Maybe three days if I was careful. I could make it work. I had to make it work.
I cleaned up the broken glass with trembling hands, picking up each shard carefully, wrapping them in an old rag that I shoved deep into my pack. No evidence. No questions. The wet stain on the floor would dry. The smell would fade. No one would know.
No one except me.
The next hour was torture. I applied what little blocker I had left, dabbing it sparingly across my pulse points—the hollow of my throat, the insides of my wrists, behind my ears.
The familiar sharp scent filled my nostrils, but even I could tell it wasn't enough.
The coverage was too thin, too patchy. With each passing hour, my natural scent would start bleeding through.
The scent that marked me as omega. The scent that made me valuable.
The scent that would get me killed—or worse.
When I finally emerged onto the deck, the sun was already climbing toward noon, a pale yellow disc burning through the morning haze.
I'd missed half my shift, but the deck was chaos—ropes being hauled, sails being adjusted, men shouting orders across the spray-slicked wood.
No one seemed to have noticed my absence.
At least, that's what I thought at first.
But as I moved across the deck toward my usual duties, I noticed the looks.
Subtle at first—a glance held a moment too long, a head turning to track my movement.
Then less subtle. Nostrils flaring openly as I passed.
Brows furrowing in confusion. Eyes narrowing with something that looked almost like. .. recognition. Or fear.
The same response I'd seen yesterday, but more pronounced now. Like the siren scent on my skin was fading just enough to let something else peek through. Something that made every alpha on this ship sit up and take notice.
I scrubbed the deck with more force than necessary, the rough brush scraping against the salt-stained wood. My arms burned with the effort, but I welcomed the pain. It gave me something to focus on besides the fear coiling in my gut like a living thing. Keep my head down. Be invisible. Be nothing.
It almost worked.
Until Decker stepped into my path.
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?