Page 21 of Saved By the Selkie

He nods again. “I hadn’t planned on making a stop, because it will delay us getting to port in Boston. We can’t stay long, or we might even get iced in.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. Humans speak in riddles most of the time, which I’ve come to accept.

He whirls a finger in the air, stomping away. “But we can take on some supplies there—I think we have enough money left, so it will be fine.”

“Oh.” I feel a bit embarrassed that Aramis is basically making an unscheduled stop because of me. Especially when I could fix the situation so easily. If he’d just let me have my pelt …

But he seems confident in this plan, and he knows more about the human world than I do. All I can do is trust him.

It still takes us a while to get to this Sint Jahns place, and the crew gets crabbier as the barrels get emptier. I can’t blame them; I’m pretty cranky myself, maybe because I feel like my stomach is always growling.

The crew has no pity for me in particular, scoffing when I try to sympathize with them about there not being enough food.

“You’re one to talk,” Johan says, glowering at me one night after we’ve finished the thin gruel the cook served for dinner. It’s all we’ve had for the last few days—the cook said it was the best way to make the remaining supplies last. Gruel and hardtack.

It’s definitely not enough for me, and I can practically feel my stomach gnawing on itself. I’ve been getting so hungry it hurts.

He thumps the table, making most of us jump as he points an accusing finger at me. “You’ve been stuffing yer face this whole time, and now the rest of us are goin’ hungry while you sit there fat and happy!”

I frown at him. I’m hardly happy, and I’m not fat—at least, not by selkie standards. Vati, Vati is gloriously fat, a very big, matronly selkie who commands the floes with his presence. Even alphas make way for Vati.

Me, I’m still skinny—scrawny. Vati’s told me having a pup will “fix” that, but I don’t necessarily think I need fixing.

Anna leans over and pinches my arm. I jerk away from her. “You’ve definitely gotten fatter,” she says, lifting a brow at me.

“Aye, while the rest of us have gotten thinner!” Johan cries, leaping up onto the table. “But the captain won’t do nothing, ’cause yer his prize pig!”

I have no idea what a pig is, but I can guess from Johan’s tone that it’s meant to be insulting. “The rest of us are wastin’ away, while you scarf all the vittles, and the cap’n does nothing ’cause he likes ramming his prick up yer fat ass!”

Porthos gets to his feet. “Easy now, mate,” he says, his voice low and rolling like thunder, imbued with all the threat of a storm. “Watch what yer sayin’ about the cap’n.”

“Why?” Johan snaps. “It’s true, ain’t it? Why should we all pussyfoot around the truth—the cap’n cares more for the pig he’s fuckin’ than what’s best for his crew!”

“Aye!” comes a resounding cheer from the rest of the hall, and I shrink back in my seat.

“That ain’t true and you know it,” Porthos says, but he’s drowned out by the rest of the crew.

Some of them are chanting “pig” now. Smitty shouts, “Maybe we should spit ’im and roast ’im!”

Raucous laughter follows that remark. “Oy, Porthos!” Giles barks. “Is that why yer defendin’ him? Does the cap’n let you—”

He doesn’t get to finish his remark; Porthos’s fist has connected with his face, and a gasp rises from the crowd.

Anna touches my arm. “We should go,” she says just as someone else throws a punch at Porthos and the mess devolves into a brawl.

“We should help Porthos,” I say, looking desperately at Anna, but she shakes her head and gestures me toward the door.

I glance back again, then duck out after her. The corridor is almost quiet.

“I’ll go get the guns,” she says.

“Guns? What for?”

She nods. “None of ’em have ’em. Might restore order.”

“And what should I do?” I ask.

She gives me a look. “Make yourself scarce,” she advises. Then she leans in and says, “Don’t go to the cap’n.”