Page 20 of Saved By the Selkie

S

pending my first heat with Aramis, my fated mate, is … fantastic. More than I ever dreamed of.

What happens after is … less great.

I’m not entirely sure how long it is before we emerge from the captain’s quarters, both of us reeking of sex, covered in bite marks and bruises, and, well, it’s not exactly a secret what happened.

Porthos lifts a brow at us; Anna scowls, then shoves soap and a bucket of water at us with the gruff direction to “scrub down.” Johan seems particularly surly, skulking in the shadows and glowering at us even more than he did before.

The other crew members are a mix of unsure—perhaps almost neutral—and angry. The anger simmers the further south we sail, and the crew goes from accepting to almost … hostile.

Things get worse as supplies dwindle. Aramis assures me it will be okay, but I’m not oblivious to the tension in his shoulders. I can see the worried look on his face as he peers into a barrel of pickled herring, noting how very near to empty it is.

“I could go fishing,” I tell him one day late in the afternoon. He, Johan, and Porthos have just finished rolling some empty barrels off the ship, into the water behind us. I don’t see the point, but they’re insistent that the barrels are “deadweight.”

Aramis glances at the other two, then leans close to me. “Absolutely not,” he hisses in my ear, and I have to suppress a shudder at the note of possessiveness in his voice. I’m not sure if he’s noticed, but ever since my heat, he’s been even more protective of me, which is adorable. My silly little human alpha, thinking he needs to keep me safe. Like I’m not the one with claws and fangs.

I could take anyone in the crew in a fight—even Porthos. They don’t worry me, even if I don’t exactly like how most of the crew is throwing me dirty looks. I’m pretty sure they’re blaming me for the supply shortage.

Which is why Aramis should let me go fishing. At the very least, I can gather my own meals directly from the ocean. I think that would help the situation.

After all, the crew isn’t wrong—I’m an extra mouth, one they didn’t anticipate having on this voyage at all. And from what I’ve seen, humans eat a lot less than selkies do. Granted, they seem a lot smaller too, for the most part, so I think it makes sense. Porthos is about the only one who keeps up with me at mealtime.

So, yes, their supplies have probably diminished faster than they thought they might, mostly on my account.

Worse, most of the time, I’m still wanting after meals. I’m trying to be mindful of the supply situation, but I can’t help that I’m hungry. Hungrier than I’ve ever been, if I’m honest, which really sucks.

“Seriously,” I hiss back at Aramis, “just give me my pelt and let me go.”

He stiffens, then shakes his head. “No way,” he huffs.

“Why not,” I growl back.

“Because!” He throws his hands in the air. “It’s too dangerous.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “How is it dangerous?”

He whirls about to face me, frowning. “You’ve never been this far south. You don’t know these waters.”

Okay, he has a point there.

“There could be—currents or riptides. What about predators? I bet there are more whales or maybe even sharks.”

“Mmhmm.” Like I’ve never seen a shark before. Some of the things that live in the frozen waters near Mythos would shock him, I’m sure.

He gives me a pleading look. “What if you got separated from the ship? Got lost? We’re moving, and you don’t know the way.”

“I could find my way south,” I argue. It’s not difficult to get oriented to the cardinal directions, even in the open ocean—not for a selkie, at least. Humans have all kinds of weird instruments—Aramis has shown me a few of them—but I’ve no need of them.

He shakes his head, then grabs my hand. “What if I never see you again?”

My heart melts. Tears sting my eyes suddenly, and I sniff. I never expected being mated would make me so weepy and emotional, but here we are. I’ve been crying at every little thing he does for the last two weeks, I swear. He’s so adorable, and it’s clear to me how much he loves me. He never wants me to leave him, ever. He worries about it so much.

I sigh, taking my hand out of his. “Okay,” I mutter, glancing away. I chew on my lip for a moment. “But promise you’ll let me hunt a bit, if the situation gets worse?”

He nods. “Of course,” he agrees. Then he puts his hands on his hips in that cocky way he has, smirking. “But I guarantee you, the situation isn’t going to get worse, because we’re going to put in at St. John’s.”

“Sint Jahns?” I ask, tilting my head.