Page 2 of Saved By the Selkie

Panic. That’s the absolute worst thing you can do in this kind of situation, but it’s instinctual. I’m going to die, and my body thrashes without my permission, like I can hold out against death and all the ocean’s fury.

The world dims around the edges; color bursts across my vision like fireworks. I’m breathing water now, and the next time I’m dunked under, I’m certain it’s the last time I’ll ever see the surface.

two

Lir

H

ey! Lir, catch!” Finnegan barks at me, just before he whips a crab at my head. I barely duck into the water, letting the crustacean sail by, flailing before it plops back into the ocean. I bob up and stick my tongue out at my brother, who proceeds to lob another crab at me, all while Kipper, our youngest brother, giggles hysterically.

“Boys!” Vati barks at us. “Stop playing with your food!”

“Nngh,” Finn says, settling back down in the water, so low only his eyes are visible.

Vati huffs, shaking his head. “Honestly,” he mutters, “you’re all old enough to know better than that. What am I going to do with the three of you?” He sighs a long-suffering sigh, like having three omega sons is such a burden.

Finn bobs up beside me, then tries to dunk me under. I flail, hoping to get my claws into him, smacking him. If only I had my pelt, I’d shift back and drown him, the jerk.

I manage to toss him off, coming up spluttering. Kip is rolling around on the beach, clutching his belly. I roll my eyes, then spit more seawater. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. We’ll just see who bails you out when he turns on you.”

I kick at Kip as I pass, and he sits up, glowering at me. “I don’t need saving,” he says, sniffing and sticking his nose in the air.

“Sure.” I grin at him, because we both know that’s not true. Kip’s the baby, so he often turns to me—the eldest brother—to protect him when Finn decides it will be easier to pick on someone smaller than him.

Not that we’re all that different in size at this point in our lives; it was worse when we were still beaters and bedlamers, but now that we’re grown up, Finn’s actually a bit taller than me. Probably why he keeps trying to pick fights with me lately—trying to prove himself or something weird like that.

“You don’t have to be a bitch,” Kip mutters, earning a glower from Vati, who doesn’t like to hear such uncouth language from his omega sons. Our alpha brothers are another story, but they’re generally not around for Vati to hear them cursing.

“Yeah,” Finn agrees, looping an arm about my neck, nearly toppling me over backward, “just ’cause you’re on the edge of heat doesn’t mean you get to be a moody prick.”

I can’t fight the blush on my cheeks. “I’m not being moody!” I snap. “And I’m not going into heat either!”

Finn leers at me. “Sure you’re not.”

I shove him off. “I’m not.”

Despite being thirty-three seasons old now, I’ve never actually gone into heat properly. Most selkie omegas have their first heat around thirty seasons, which means I’m a bit of a late bloomer.

I don’t mind; I don’t really have any interest in going up to the North Beach haul-out and ogling alphas, not like some of my friends. And I definitely don’t want to get pupped. I know what happens when that starts—I’ll be like Vati, tied down for seasons on end with pups, an endless cycle of mating and giving birth until I’m too old, like Vati is now in his seventies.

I can’t think of anything less appealing.

Vati sighs again, leaning his chin on his hand. “Lir, you’re going to go into heat sometime.”

“Maybe I’m not!” I protest.

Vati rolls his eyes. “You’ve had warmups. It’s going to happen, whether you like it or not.”

I scowl, turning my head away from my parent, looking out to sea. The endless, rolling deep extends in all directions, melding with the sky at the horizon. Seabirds wheel and call, their cries sharp in my ears.

“In fact,” Vati says, “I want you to come with me to North Beach.”

I twist my head to look at him in surprise. “But,” I protest, “I’m not even—”

“You’re thirty-three, going on thirty-four, Lir.” Vati gives me The Look, his big, dark eyes wide, like that somehow drives home the importance of his statement. “It’s high time you showed some interest in picking a mate.”

“Maybe I don’t want a mate!” I bark back.