Chapter One #2
He crouched in front of her, bringing them eye to eye. This close, she could see the pulse beating fast in his throat. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling beneath his black coat.
"Your scent." The words came out rough, scraped raw. "What is your name?"
"Jeanne." She made herself hold his gaze. "Though I suppose you'd prefer to call me property."
His lip curled. Not quite a smile. "Your father sold you to me to clear his debts. What I call you is irrelevant."
"My brother is dead because of you." Her voice cracked. She hated it for cracking. Marc's face swam in her vision, his mouth moving, trying to say her name. "The debt collectors killed him on the road. He was trying to protect me."
The captain’s nostrils flared again. He would be able to smell her grief, she realized. Wolves could smell everything. Her sorrow and her rage and her shameful, unwanted arousal, all of it laid bare for him to read.
"I did not order his death," he said.
"But you ordered mine. You just haven't carried it out yet." She leaned forward, chains rattling. "I know what you are. I know what happens to your brides. If you're going to kill me, at least have the courage to tell me why omegas die for you."
For a long moment, he simply looked at her. The silence stretched between them, filled with the creak of the ship and the distant call of gulls. Then he reached out and caught her chin in his hand, tilting her face toward the light.
His touch burned. Not painfully, not physically, but her omega instincts surged toward him like a wave, craving more contact, more of his scent, more of him. She wanted to lean into his palm. She wanted to bare her throat. She wanted to beg.
She did none of those things. But it cost her. God, it cost her.
"You will stay in my quarters," he said.
"You will not leave without permission. You will not ask the crew about the omegas who came before you or about the curse.
And you will never, under any circumstances, open the door at the end of the lowest corridor.
" His grip tightened fractionally. "Do you understand? "
"A locked door and forbidden questions." She forced a laugh. It came out broken, jagged with grief. "Let me guess. That's where you keep the bodies."
His pupils blew wide. His eyes flashed gold, his wolf rising to the surface, and a growl rumbled in his chest, low and resonant enough that she could feel it in her bones. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to something barely human.
"I have buried six brides. I hope you won’t be the seventh.
" He released her chin and stood in one sharp motion, putting distance between them.
He turned away from her and motioned to an older man, dressed like a cook who was standing just out of earshot.
When the man approached, the captain said, “Kill the debt collectors.”
Jeanne gave a choking gasp. He was going to avenge her brother? Why?
"Have one of the maids get her cleaned up and brought her to my quarters. And remove those chains. She's not a prisoner."
"Then what am I?" The question escaped before she could stop it.
When he looked back at her, his eyes were still gold, still wolf. His scent had shifted, grown thicker, darker. The smell of an alpha on the edge of rut.
"Mine," he said. "My bride for now. For however long you survive."
Then he was gone.
Jeanne stayed on her knees, breathing hard, trying to force her body back under her control.
Between her thighs, her slick was still flowing, her omega nature betraying her in the most humiliating way possible.
She could still smell him, pine, salt and gunpowder, and could still feel the ghost of his fingers on her chin.
He was a monster. He had bought her like cattle. He would probably kill her the way he'd killed the others.
And her stupid, traitorous body wanted him anyway.
Marc would have been ashamed of her. The thought cut through the haze of unwanted arousal, sharp and cold. Her brother had died trying to save her from this man, and here she was, wet and wanting on his deck, her body already eager to submit.
No. She would not dishonor Marc's sacrifice by surrendering to biology.
The cook, a grandfatherly beta with kind eyes and calloused hands, helped her to her feet. "Come along, omega," he said gently. "Let's get you settled."
"Does he always treat his brides like this?" The bitterness in her voice could have curdled milk.
The cook's face creased with old grief. "The captain is not what the stories say. But he's not safe either." He guided her toward the lower decks.
She would remember that. She would remember everything. Her brother's blood on the road. Her father's refusal to meet her eyes. The way the captain’s scent had made her weak and wanting.
And she would survive. Whatever it took. Whatever it cost her.
Because Marc had died for her. And she would not waste that sacrifice.
IN THE CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS, the bed dominated one wall, massive and draped in dark fabric.
Navigation charts covered a heavy wooden desk.
Weapons hung from hooks: swords, pistols, a wicked-looking knife.
Portholes looked out over the sea, and through them she could see Roquemort growing smaller as the ship pulled away from shore.
Her home. Her dead brother. Her worthless father. All of it disappearing into the sunset.
Marc, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
"You may use the bed." The captain’s voice came from behind her. She hadn't heard him enter. Wolves moved too quietly. "I will sleep elsewhere until..." A pause. "Until arrangements are made."
She didn't turn around. She couldn't. His scent was filling the cabin, making her light-headed, and if she looked at him right now, she might do something she would regret.
"I hate you.”
He moved closer. She could feel the heat of him at her back, could feel her body leaning toward him like a compass needle finding north. "The other brides didn't speak to me this way."
"The others are dead." She forced herself to turn and face him. He was closer than she'd realized, barely an arm's length away, and his eyes were doing that gold-flicker thing again, his wolf pushing at the surface. "Forgive me if I don't take them as role models."
"Sharp tongue," he repeated. "And brave. Foolishly so." He reached out and touched a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. "Your heat is coming. I can smell it on you. Three days, perhaps less."
Her face burned. "That's none of your concern."
"You are an omega on a ship full of wolves.
Your heat is everyone's concern." His voice dropped lower, taking on a rough edge that made her belly clench.
"When it comes, I will chain myself in the hold.
You will lock this door and not open it for anyone.
Not for the crew. Not for me. Do you understand? "
She stared at him. "You're not going to..." She couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't name what she'd expected.
"Force you?" His lip curled in disgust. "I am many things.
I have done things that would give you nightmares.
But I have never taken an unwilling omega, and I never will.
" He released her hair, stepping back. "When your heat comes, you will want me.
Your body will scream for me. But want born of biology is not consent, and I will not touch you until you choose it with a clear mind. "
She should have been relieved. She was relieved. But there was another feeling underneath it, coiling hot and shameful in her belly.
Disappointment.
She wanted to slap herself.
"Why?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "If you bought me, if I'm yours, why does it matter whether I choose?"
His expression shuttered. "Because it’s necessary to break the curse."
"How do I do that?"
He stopped with his hand on the door’s latch. When he looked back at her, his eyes were fully gold, his wolf staring out at her from behind the man's face. “You must fall in love with me.” He opened the door and left.
Her mouth gaped open. Love? Love an evil beast like him? He was crazy and cursed if he thought that would ever happen. And yet, her body still hummed with unwanted arousal.
Through the windows, she could no longer see Roquemort. There was only the endless blue of the Crimson Sea, and the gentle rock of the ship beneath her feet, and the knowledge that there was a door at the end of the lowest corridor that she could never open. Why did he even mention it then?
She thought of her brother's blood on the road. She thought of her father's cowardice. She thought of the curse mark on the captain’s face and the hunger in his eyes and the way her omega nature had reached for him against every instinct she possessed.
"My body may respond to you," she told the empty room, told the lingering ghost of his scent. "That doesn't mean I will ever love you."