9. Nadia
Nadia
Alow, steady thrum vibrates through the teakwood floorboards.
I blink my eyes open, squinting against the bright midday sun glaring through the sheer curtains of the main lounge.
My head rests against Mikkel's broad chest. His arm wraps tight around my waist, anchoring me to the deep leather cushions.
On my other side, Soren sits up, his pale blue eyes tracking the horizon through the open glass doors.
We knew rescue would come. A massive, stranded luxury yacht doesn't just disappear off the radar forever.
I shift my weight, trying to sit up. A deep, hollow ache radiates through my hips and down my thighs.
Day two of my heat means my core throbs with a constant, demanding burn, but the frantic edge vanished the second they marked me.
My muscles protest every tiny movement. Sticky slick coats my inner thighs, a lingering reminder of the intense, relentless pace we kept all morning.
I reach up, my fingers grazing the right side of my neck. I trace the raised, silver skin of the fresh mating scar. There isn't a single ounce of pain. Instead, a warm rush of euphoria floods my veins the second my fingertips brush the mark. I belong to them.
"Look." Soren points out toward the open water.
I follow his gaze. A white vessel with a slanted orange stripe cuts through the rolling blue waves. The Coast Guard cutter approaches at a steady speed.
"About damn time." I blow out a long breath, resting my head against the cushions. "I started to think my dad forgot about us."
Mikkel lets out a rough chuckle. He shifts his grip on my hips, steadying me as I pull myself up to sit against the backrest. He stands up, his tall, imposing frame blocking the sunlight.
He grabs his gray sweatpants from the floor and pulls the heavy cotton up his thick legs.
Soren does the exact same thing, snapping his waistband into place before heading straight for the stairwell.
"I need to grab our bags." Soren glances back over his shoulder. "Stay up here."
"You don't have to tell me twice." I stretch my legs out across the cushions. "I refuse to step foot down there."
Mikkel walks out onto the aft deck, crossing his thick arms over his bare chest. The industrial diesel engines of the rescue boat idle down, churning the water into a white froth. A tall officer with a clipboard steps to the edge of the cutter's deck.
"Motor yacht Nadia." The man's voice carries over the gap. "Confirm status. Anyone injured?"
"Three souls on board." Mikkel nos. "Zero injuries. We lost all propulsion yesterday morning. The biometric lockout engaged."
The officer nods, making a mark on his clipboard. "Copy that. We need to secure the tow lines and transfer you over to our vessel."
Men in dark blue uniforms step out onto the cutter's deck, tossing thick ropes over the metal railings.
Soren returns a few minutes later. Sweat coats his neck and chest from braving the suffocating temperature of the lower cabins. He carries two large, black duffel bags and my sleek overnight bag. He drops the luggage onto the floorboards.
I push myself off the sofa and drop to my knees next to my bag. Yanking the zipper open, I dig past my makeup pouch and pull out a pair of loose denim shorts and a clean white tank top.
Soren steps close, his knuckles brushing my cheekbone. "We have to transfer over to their boat. They plan to tow this massive thing back to the marina."
I pull the white tank top over my messy hair.
The fabric scrapes against my skin, but brushing over the fresh scar on the nape of my neck only sends another pleasant shiver down my spine.
I shove my legs into the denim shorts, pulling the zipper up with shaking fingers.
The heat fever simmering under my skin drains my energy.
Exhaustion sinks deep into my bones, making my arms tremble.
Outside, the Coast Guard crew moves fast. Metal clanks against metal as they secure thick tow lines to the steel cleats bolted to our bow.
Mikkel steps back inside, grabbing his black duffel bag.
"Ready?" Mikkel wraps his large hand around the back of my neck, his thumb resting right over the silver scar he put there.
"Yeah." I grab the edge of the leather sofa to steady myself. "Let's go home."
Stepping fully out onto the aft deck exposes me to the blinding midday sun.
I squint against the harsh glare, raising a hand to shield my eyes. The Coast Guard cutter sits lashed to the side of the yacht, the metal hull groaning as it grinds against the rubber fenders. Strangers in blue uniforms crowd the deck, shouting instructions and securing the rigging.
Day two of an Omega heat leaves my body drained and my senses dialed up to an exhausting ten. The chaotic noise, the industrial smell of diesel exhaust aggravate the deep ache in my core.
I rub my temples, fighting off a sudden wave of heat-induced dizziness.
Mikkel drops his duffel bag onto the teakwood floorboards.
He reaches inside, yanking out a dark, tailored suit jacket.
He steps close and drapes the expensive fabric over my shoulders.
He pulls the lapels across my chest, burying me in his scent.
The dark spiced rum and smoky vanilla drown out the diesel, acting like a soothing balm on my overtired nervous system.
Soren steps up on my left side. He wraps an arm around my waist, taking a good portion of my weight against his side to keep me steady.
A Coast Guard officer stands on the cutter, reaching a hand out to help me over the gap between the boats. Mikkel steps forward smoothly, blocking the offer without an ounce of aggression.
"I've got her." Mikkel hooks his arm around my waist, lifting me effortlessly over the metal railing.
The officer nods. He catches sight of the silver scars sitting stark against my deep brown skin and inhales the intense, bonded Alpha scent rolling off Mikkel and Soren. Understanding dawns on his face instantly. He steps back, giving us a wide, respectful berth. The mark does the talking for us.
Mikkel sets my bare feet on the metal deck of the cutter. Soren follows a second later. They guide me straight to a metal bench near the stern.
I sink onto the hard seat. Mikkel sits on my right, his thigh pressing flush against mine. Soren sits on my left, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. They don't box me in like a trapped animal, but they stay close, offering their solid heat to counteract the draining exhaustion of my fever.
The cutter revs its engines, churning the ocean water. The tow lines snap taut, groaning under the strain as they haul the massive dead weight of the two-hundred-foot yacht.
The boat ride back to land takes two agonizing hours. The constant vibration of the metal bench agitates the ache between my legs, making slick leak into my underwear. I squirm, crossing my legs tight to manage the deep, demanding burn of my heat.
The crew members cast sideways glances at us every time they walk past. Seeing two massive billionaires flanking a younger, newly mated Omega definitely sparks their curiosity, but no one dares to stare. The visual proof of the bonding marks keeps them strictly professional.
Mikkel rests his large, calloused hand on my bare thigh. His thumb draws slow circles into my skin.
"Just breathe, Nadia." Soren presses a kiss to the crown of my head, his voice dropping low so only I can hear. "Almost home."
I bury my nose in the collar of the suit jacket, inhaling their scents, and let their solid presence anchor me through the long, vibrating ride back to shore.
The deep blue ocean water shifts into a murky green.
The Manten marina comes into view, slicing the horizon with rows of towering concrete condos and sprawling luxury docks. The Coast Guard cutter throttles down, the engine pitch dropping as we hit still water.
My stomach twists into a tight, agonizing knot.
I grip the fabric of the suit jacket, my knuckles turning bone-white.
The reality of the situation crashes into my exhausted brain.
We spent the last twenty-four hours isolated from the real world.
We claimed each other, broke every corporate rule, and tied our lives together. Now, we face the consequences.
The cutter navigates the narrow channel, pulling the yacht toward an empty spot at the far edge of the marina. I scan the long wooden pier lined with massive rubber bumpers and thick wooden pylons.
My breath catches in my throat.
My dad stands at the far end of the dock. His charcoal suit sits wrinkled across his broad shoulders. He paces the wide wooden planks, running a hand through his graying hair. He just looks like a terrified father.
A wave of nausea hits my gut. My hands shake. He expects to greet his little girl. Instead, he gets an exhausted, mated Omega carrying the scents of his two closest business partners.
"Hey." Soren squeezes my shoulder. "Look at me."
I tear my eyes away from the dock and look up at him.
"We take the hit." Soren runs his thumb over the silver scar on my neck. "You don't apologize. You don't explain. Mikkel and I handle him."
"He's going to lose his mind." I swallow hard, my throat dry and scratching.
"Let him." Mikkel stands up as the boat drifts closer to the slip. He adjusts the cuffs of his shirt, wearing a ruthless mask. "He hits us, we take it. He yells, we listen. But we walk off this dock as a united front. Period."
The cutter bumps against the pier, the impact sending a jolt through the metal deck. The crew jumps onto the wooden planks, tossing the thick ropes around the metal cleats and tying the vessel off.
I stand up, my legs trembling. I lean hard into Soren's side, needing his solid weight to keep me upright.
Dad rushes the metal gangway the second the crew drops it into place. He closes the distance in three massive strides. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a crushing, desperate hug. He buries his face in my hair, letting out a breath.
"Thank God." He pulls back, keeping his large hands on my shoulders. His dark eyes scan my face, hunting for signs of distress. "Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?"
I step out of his grip, my bare feet hitting the wooden planks. Mikkel and Soren drop in right behind me, flanking my sides. I refuse to hide behind them.
"I'm fine, Dad." I grip the lapels of the suit jacket. "The biometric lockout killed the engines."
He nods, his hands hovering over my arms. He adjusts his grip to pull me in for another hug. His fingers brush the heavy fabric of the suit jacket draped over my shoulders. He pauses. He flares his nostrils, pulling in the air.
The thick, bonded Alpha scent of rum, vanilla, and toasted coconut hits his senses.
His eyes widen. He tracks the scent straight to the fresh silver scars marking my neck.
The relief drains from his face, replaced by a devastating wave of shock and betrayal. He looks over my shoulder, locking his furious gaze on the two men flanking my sides. He takes a hard step forward, closing the distance.
"I trusted you two with her." He balls his hands into fists. "You were supposed to protect her."
Mikkel steps up beside me, planting his boots on the planks.
"We did protect her, Marcus. She is our scent match.
" He meets my dad's furious gaze without flinching.
"We claim full responsibility for crossing the line, but walking away from her is impossible.
We stand by her choice, and we aren't backing down. "
Dad's chest heaves. He looks ready to throw a punch right past me.
"Dad, stop." I step forward, forcing him to look back at me. "I'm twenty-eight years old. I wanted this. I initiated this. But I spent the last two days burning through a Heat fever, and I'm dead on my feet. We can scream at each other in private. Right now, I need a bed."
Dad stares at me. He searches my face, hunting for regret or fear. He finds no hesitation. The tension radiating off his frame fractures. He recognizes the undeniable truth of a mated Omega standing in front of him. He lets out a defeated, harsh breath.
"My SUV is in the lot." Dad turns around, his posture rigid as he leads the way down the long pier.
Soren wraps a warm arm around my waist, supporting my tired muscles. Mikkel grabs my overnight bag from the deck and drops a heavy, reassuring hand onto my opposite shoulder. We follow my dad toward the parking lot. The isolation ends here, but we’ll face the storm together.