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Slade stared at the thin-lipped sailor standing in front of him, at the distant orange-red light of a ship on fire, and back at the sailor.
The sailor fidgeted slightly, nose up and eyes narrowed, still officious despite the cuts in his uniform and the black eye he was sporting. He had on four scent blockers for some reason.
Slade looked back at the massive fire on the other side of the docks. The island was emptying quickly, with worried sailors fleeing and the docks a mess of panic.
“Well?” the sailor snapped. “Will you offer me passage or not? I can’t stand around all night and wait for your answer.”
Wintergreen passed him with a nod, the rest of his shore crew with him, which meant that they’d stocked up on everything they needed.
“It depends,” Slade said, eyeing the sailor again. If the alpha lost the aura of self-righteousness that hung around like a bad smell, he would be very attractive.
“Depends on what?” Grayson snarled.
“On whether you’re planning to set my ship on fire too.”
Grayson looked at him with the kind of seething condescension that only an officer in the Royal Navy could conjure. “Not unless you’re smuggling slaves.”
Slade arched an eyebrow. Grayson flushed.
“The slaves are off the ship and the fire was an accident,” he snapped. “Now will you offer me passage to Gotham or not?”
Slade turned to look at the flames again, suppressing the smirk. He’d never much liked Desmond anyway, and he was slightly fascinated by how thoroughly Grayson had wrecked his ship. “Sure, kid, I’ll take you to Gotham, but I won’t have idle hands on my ship. If you can’t work with my crew, tell me now.”
“Fine,” Grayson said tersely, and moved to shove past Slade. A heavy arm stopped him.
Slade didn’t mind a little alpha posturing, especially from a pup, but best to lay the ground rules at the start. “My crew addresses me as captain.”
Grayson’s eyes glittered furiously, but he held his tongue. “Yes, Captain,” he said, tone on the edge of impolite.
Slade let him pass and watched him walk up the gangplank. It was certainly going to be an interesting trip to Gotham.
“So,” Slade said, watching the flurry of activity over the deck, “how is our guest doing?”
They were making good time, though it would still take a little less than a week to reach Gotham. Slade wondered how Grayson had even made it this far down and out of Royal waters. Whatever happened, it left the sailor with no choice but to buy passage on a pirate ship, a choice that clearly left Grayson discomfited. He hadn’t stopped scowling since he boarded.
“He puts in the work, does his jobs properly and efficiently.” So the rumors of nepotism catapulting Lord Wayne’s son to an officer position so young were at least partially inaccurate. “But he’s made no effort to integrate with the pack.”
Slade frowned. Most long-term crews ran as packs and Slade’s was no different. It helped keep everyone from everyone’s throats and eased dynamic tension on board. Slade wasn’t expecting Grayson to ask for a claiming bite, but there were pack behaviors designed for temporary circumstances. “Not even scenting?” he asked.
“No. He keeps his scent blockers on at all times and avoids the communal nest.”
Slade narrowed his eye further, picking out Grayson scaling the rigging to unknot a tangle. The kid was half bird.
“Have there been any...issues?”
“No,” Wintergreen reported. “Angelica is keeping a close watch on the omegas and I’ve kept him to mainly all-alpha shifts. Should we be more careful?”
“Grayson’s reputation as the Navy’s golden boy is well known, so I doubt it,” Slade replied. “On the other hand, the Navy’s definition of good behavior doesn’t often match ours. Keep watching him.”
“Yes, captain. Are you going to order him to join in pack activities?”
“It’s only another week,” Slade shrugged off. “If Grayson doesn’t want to engage with a bunch of pirates, leave him to it.” Slade didn’t want him to choke on that stick up his ass.
“Yes, captain.”
The tension between Grayson and the crew stretched, watchful eyes devolving into outright wariness. The situation wasn’t tenable, but Slade was hoping that it would last the remaining three days it took to get to Gotham.
Unfortunately, it didn’t.
It was the late morning shift and Slade watched Grayson emerge onto the main deck looking haggard. Slade frowned, but Grayson hadn’t reported an injury, and Slade watched the kid cross the deck to head to his station.
He looked pale. Ill. Slade was about to motion Wintergreen to go check it out when Grayson stumbled, nearly unbalancing. A nearby alpha immediately moved to steady him, and Grayson jerked back, teeth bared and posture aggressive.
The alpha froze. Grayson didn’t untense, hackles raised, glaring at the other alpha with his hands clenched into fists. All across the ship, conversation died as attention darted their way.
Slade gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. Sweat. Haziness. Unprovoked aggression. Grayson was in rut.
He didn’t call over Wintergreen. He’d let this situation fester for too long and it was time to fix it. Slade made his way down the stairs and past his staring crew to get to Grayson.
His crew ducked their heads and stepped back as Slade approached. Grayson stood his ground, body coiled and ready to fight, watching him with hooded eyes.
“What the goddamn hell is wrong with you,” Slade snarled, low and furious, “that you think it’s acceptable to come on deck in this state? Are you trying to cause a riot?”
Grayson looked even angrier at that. “I wasn’t—”
But Slade didn’t want to hear any more of his self-righteousness.
“I don’t know how the Navy does it, kid,” Slade said, low and dangerous, “but I don’t tolerate disrespect on my ship. You ask me for safe passage and then spit in the face of my pack’s hospitality?”
A flicker of something in Grayson’s eyes. Maybe some goddamn sense. “I didn’t—”
Nope. Slade had no patience for excuses. “I’ve tolerated your defiance long enough. You’re no longer getting a choice in joining the pack.”
Grayson’s eyes went wide, but Slade turned away, uninterested in seeing his disgust. “Wait, Slade—Captain—”
“Get all the alphas on deck,” Slade shouted loud enough for the crowd to hear. People were already clearing out, whispering excitedly, a hum of anticipation brewing in the air. Grayson hadn’t endeared himself to anyone and soon the Navy sailor found himself in the middle of a circle of alphas. “Let’s settle this right now.”
All that aggression had to go out somewhere, and sometimes a good brawl was what was needed.
“You all know the rules,” Slade called out as he stepped out of the ring. He couldn’t suppress the smug satisfaction at Grayson’s confusion. Poor sheltered rich alpha. “And don’t mess up that pretty face,” Slade added with a smirk.
A growing ripple of laughter among the alphas. Slade ascended the stairs to see over the crowd. Grayson’s hands were curled into fists as he shifted on the balls of his feet.
“When you’re all done, bring him to me.”
Grayson looked up at him, eyes wide, expression taut with something Slade couldn’t recognize. He looked…betrayed. Like Slade had shoved a knife in his back when he wasn’t looking.
Then the first of the crew lunged and Grayson’s expression vanished from view as he spun to face the threat.
Unfortunately for the first few brave enough to attack, Grayson was not a half-bad fighter. He didn’t waste movements on posturing, but ended attacks as quickly and brutally as he could, bouncing back up, never letting his guard down. The kid was downright vicious on some of those takedowns.
Eventually, his crew realized that if they wanted to take him down, they’d need to work together. Three came at once, but they made the mistake of telegraphing their movements and Grayson managed to send two careening into each other as he took down the third.
The jeers and taunts were getting louder.
Grayson’s movements had started to get shaky, which was odd. Slade had never seen an alpha in rut maintain a defensive position this long either, and the rest of the crew came to the conclusion that if Grayson wasn’t going to come to them, they’d have to go to him.
Grayson fought rough, but he fought with desperation, movements frantic and jerky. The few glimpses Slade caught of the kid’s face didn’t show anger or aggression, but something that could be called fear. Slade ignored it—he’d promised the kid safe passage to Gotham, even if the kid didn’t know the rules of the fight, he should be able to extrapolate. And what did Grayson think was going to happen when he turned up in rut without even a scent mark to keep the pack calm?
Grayson nearly got pinned, two alphas catching his arms while one went for his legs, but he managed to twist free in an incredible display of flexibility. Slade was impressed that he lasted this long, but Grayson was cornered against the railing now, and the others were closing in.
That odd, twisted expression was back as Grayson pressed against the railing, panting hard, a sheen of sweat on his face. He appeared to be trembling.
Slade frowned.
Grayson darted a look up at him, gaze almost beseeching. Slade held it silently. Something in Grayson’s expression crumpled as he turned away, curling in on himself.
He glanced over the railing. For a half second, Slade was convinced that he was going to jump.
But Grayson looked back at his opponents, and to either side, and finally grabbed the nearest rigging line. Slade raised an eyebrow, wondering how he was going to use that, and watched as Grayson scaled up and up.
And up.
And up.
It wasn’t looking like he planned on coming back down.
“Enough!” Slade called out, loud and clear, though some of the alphas had already disengaged, watching with disquiet as Grayson disappeared up the mast.
Alphas in rut didn’t flee.
“Get back to work,” Slade ordered gruffly, and waited for the grumbling crowd to disperse before he headed to the mast.
There was no sight of Grayson up there. Slade blew out a sharp breath.
He could send someone else after Grayson, but Slade was getting the creeping feeling that he’d missed some very pertinent questions and he wasn’t going to like the answers.
Taking one last deep breath, Slade began to climb.
The kid was in the crow’s nest. Slade wasn’t surprised, it wasn’t like there was anywhere else for the kid to go, but despite everything, he wasn’t expecting to look over the edge of the small lookout to see Grayson curled up as small as he could be.
The air had a hint of honey. Slade tried not to focus on it.
“Grayson,” Slade said evenly, but the kid flinched like Slade had shot him, jerking upright and turning wide, watery eyes on Slade.
Terror. That was what Slade had refused to read in Grayson’s eyes before. Sheer, unadulterated terror.
Grayson made a muffled sound that may have been a whimper, and tried to push himself further away from Slade. It didn’t work, there was nowhere else to go, but Grayson looked too feverish to be rational.
Jumpy. Disoriented. Quick to aggression. All symptoms of a rut…unless the person wasn’t an alpha.
“Please,” Grayson whispered, voice cracking and hitched. Fresh tears dripped down his face as he stared pleadingly at Slade. “Please don’t make me.”
Slade grabbed the edge of the crow’s nest and swung himself inside, disinclined to stay clinging to the rigging. The nest was just barely large enough for two people.
An alpha, in rut or otherwise upset, would’ve instinctively lashed out at the threat in their space. Grayson curled up further, making a muffled whimper, teary blue eyes fixed on Slade.
“I’m—I’m sorry for trying to hide it,” Grayson hiccupped, “I—I didn’t mean any disrespect—please, alpha, Captain—”
“Take off your scent blockers,” Slade said, hard without meaning to.
Grayson squeezed his eyes shut but did as he was told, trembling fingers peeling off sweat-slick blockers, one by one, until the whole crow’s nest smelled like omega, honey and sweet in heat, acrid and sour in terror.
Slade had to close his own eyes under the scent onslaught.
Grayson was an omega. Grayson was an omega. All the behaviors Slade had taken as alpha aggression were actually omega defensiveness, and how had he not noticed it before?
“Please, C-Captain, I can’t take everyone, please, I’ve n-never,” a fresh wave of terror swelled up, “please, I’m s-sorry for hiding my heat.”
He’d left an in-heat omega in the middle of a crowd of aggressive alphas. Slade didn’t know how Grayson had managed to fight, the fear was so thick that he was choking in it.
“Please,” Grayson pulled himself up slightly to look Slade in the eyes, apparently emboldened by Slade’s silence. Slade was too busy reeling in horror to come with the right words. “Please, alpha,” his tone dropped to something breathier, “please, alpha, can it be—just you, C-Captain, please—”
“No,” Slade said automatically, mentally rearing back at the thought.
Grayson uncurled further, eyes begging, voice desperate, “Please, Captain I’ll do—I’ll do whatever you want, p-please, please not everyone, I can’t—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Slade cut him off, lowering into a crouch, trying to keep his movements as unthreatening as possible. “Look, Grayson, I didn’t know you were an omega—”
If he’d thought that was going to help, he was sorely mistaken. The rest of his words—I’m sorry, I thought you were in rut, I wasn’t trying to scare you—were cut off as Grayson blanched, terror twisting into panic.
“I—I’m sorry, I wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to t-trick you, I’m sorry, please, alpha, don’t give me to everyone, please, I c-can’t—I can’t do it, please just you—”
“I’m not going to give you to anyone,” Slade said as soothingly as he could manage. “Look, how about we get down from here and get you to a nest? I’m sure Angelica can help you—”
“No!” Before Slade could flinch back, he had a lapful of sobbing omega, clutching his shirt and weeping against his shoulder. “No, alpha, p-please, just you, please—”
All Slade could smell was terror-terror-terror, raising his hackles and threatening a growl. “Fine,” Slade said, clipped, abandoning his attempt to reason with the kid. “Just me. Can we go to my cabin?”
“Y-Yes, alpha.”
“Can you hold onto me on the climb down?”
“Yes, al-alpha.”
Slade blew out a sharp breath and moved to start climbing down with a terrified omega clinging to him. He exhaled a sigh of relief when they ended up back on the deck with no broken necks. Wintergreen was the closest of the gawkers and he started forward, “What was the issue—”
Wintergreen froze when the scent reached him. As did the others, a palpable hush falling over the crew. Grayson, clinging to Slade’s neck, legs wrapped around his waist, made a soft, scared sound, fingers biting in deeper like he was afraid Slade was going to tear him off.
Slade tightened his own grip. “Move,” he said flatly to Wintergreen. “I’m taking him to my cabin.”
Wintergreen moved out of the way, as did several other crew members, and Slade got halfway across the deck before he realized he was pumping out enough alpha rage-protect pheromones to give a horse a heart attack. The kid, who had his face practically shoved against Slade’s scent gland, hadn’t made a murmur of a protest.
But the scent didn’t ward off everyone, and Slade found the door to his cabin barred by a narrow-eyed Angelica. “Captain,” she said curtly, gaze fixed on Grayson. “Give him to me.” Someone, maybe even Wintergreen, had probably run off to let her know the moment they smelled Dick’s heat.
Ordinarily, Slade would’ve let her take him. Angelica took responsibility for all the omegas in the crew, even if it put her at odds with her captain. But Grayson had no reason to trust her, so that wasn’t going to work.
“No,” Grayson whispered, voice hoarse, “please don’t—”
“Get out of my way,” Slade said with a warning growl.
“He’s in heat,” Angelica hissed. “I can take care of him better than you.”
Grayson kept whispering please, over and over, voice dipping to dread like he thought Slade was going to ignore him.
“No. He won’t be joining the communal nest,” Slade said firmly. Grayson shuddered against him. “You’re frightening him, Angelica. Get out of the way.”
Angelica snarled back, but even she wasn’t going to go against a direct order from her alpha. She slunk out of the way, still glaring, and Slade managed to breathe when he got the door of his cabin shut behind him.
This was his personal den, the whole room smelled like him and nothing but him, and Slade felt Grayson gradually untense at the lack of other scents. When Slade crossed the room and placed Grayson on the bed, the omega went easily, detaching his grip from Slade and trembling as he leaned back against the pillows.
Those bright blue eyes were fixed on Slade.
He looked—not calmer exactly, his scent was still thick with fear and he was shivering, but there was resignation dulling the fear and the kid flinched only slightly when Slade reached out for him, eyes squeezing shut.
Slade kept his movements slow and steady, telegraphing his intent as he deliberately scented Grayson, covering the heat-terror-panic with a layer of alpha protectiveness. The kid was crying again and something inside Slade twisted at the sight.
“How do you usually spend your heats?” Slade asked. He knew enough to know that omegas had a thousand and one preferences. Some felt hot, some felt cold, some had boundless energy while others slept the whole day away—
“How-However you like, alpha,” Grayson answered.
Slade exhaled heavily and Grayson cringed. “Look at me, kid,” Slade said, using a grip on the chin to nudge Grayson’s head up. “I want you to listen carefully. I’m not going to fuck you.”
Grayson’s eyes widened with fresh terror. “No—please—I’ll do whatever you w-want, please don’t give me a-away—”
Slade growled, cutting off the pleading. “I am not giving you to anyone,” he explained in short, simple sentences. “You will stay in my cabin. No one is allowed in my cabin except me. I am not going to hurt you, Grayson. Do you understand?”
Grayson stared at him, frozen still. Clearly uncomprehending and unwilling to shake his head.
Slade breathed out sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose. Trying to reason with omegas in heat was rarely productive. “Fine. Just tell me how you usually spend your heats.”
“I—they—my packmates h-hold me,” Grayson managed, before he turned even greyer, “they don’t—I haven’t—” he broke off entirely, biting his lip and falling silent.
Holding, huh? Slade could manage that.
He shucked his boots and crawled into the bed with Grayson as the omega watched with wide eyes. It was a small bed and a tight fit, but Slade managed to squeeze between Grayson and the wall, pulling the omega into his arms, his back to Slade’s chest, and wrangling a blanket over them. A paltry nest, to be sure, but this was the best Slade could do.
Grayson was as stiff as a log in his arms.
“Is there something else that you do in your heats?” Slade asked, hoping for some coherency this time. Unfortunately, Grayson just jerked at the sound of his voice, clutching Slade’s arms where they wound around his chest. The scent of fear hadn’t abated in the slightest.
Slade huffed a breath out through his nose and gave up. Silence it was. At least the kid was no longer crying.
…Slade might’ve spoken too soon.
It started gradually—Grayson relaxed in inches, slowly melting back against Slade. The acrid note of fear dissipated, replaced by sour resignation. Slade was just starting to contemplate taking a nap when the kid’s breath hitched.
Oh no.
Grayson hiccupped, shuddering in Slade’s arms, before his breath cracked on a clear sob.
Slade had just enough time to uncharitably think what is it this time before Grayson twisted, startlingly fluid in his arms, and clung to Slade as he cried.
Slade continued to hold the kid, bewildered, as Grayson turned his shirt damp under his tears. His scent leaked sad-scared-alpha-protect-me? so Slade couldn’t even shove the kid off and demand to know why he was crying. Slade sorely regretted not dumping Grayson in Angelica’s lap when he had the chance.
Unfortunately, even he wasn’t heartless enough to leave an upset omega in heat, so Slade resigned himself to being cried upon while he patted Grayson’s back and made reassuring alpha rumbles.
He should’ve realized this kid was trouble when he first saw the fire.
Heat or not, Slade couldn’t spend the whole day in his cabin. Unfortunately, even using small words didn’t seem to get that through Grayson’s thick skull.
“Look,” Slade said, gently disentangling himself from the omega and getting up, “I’m needed on deck. You can come with me or you can stay here, your choice. Either way, no one is going to touch you.”
Grayson looked at him like Slade had told him that he intended to carve out his heart and eat it.
“I know you’re still in heat, but you’ll be fine,” Slade soothed. “I may be a pirate, but I run a clean ship.” Grayson still had a frightened expression. “Do you want to come with me or stay here?” Slade growled, at the end of his patience.
“With you.”
“Fine. Come on.”
Grayson stumbled after him, pressing close to Slade’s side as they exited the cabin. Slade didn’t bother to pause for all the stares that swung their way, gaze upon gaze snapping in their direction, and headed for the helm.
“All good?” Wintergreen asked, keen eyes scanning over Grayson and Slade.
“Fine,” Slade said shortly. “How’s our course?”
“Clear skies, no worries,” Wintergreen answered, already turning away from Slade. “Grayson.”
The kid jumped nearly a foot, clearly startled to be addressed. He backed up all the way against Slade when Wintergreen extended a hand, palm up.
“What?” Grayson looked at him, eyes wide, and back at Wintergreen. Slade knew that categorizing the kid as an alpha had been a mistake, but the kid was so twitchy it would’ve been hard not to.
“He’s offering a scent mark,” Slade explained. What was the Navy teaching its sailors? Probably how to drown their scent in four layers of blockers and ignore all their pack instincts.
“It can help, in heat, as a substitution for pack comfort,” Wintergreen explained calmly, not offended by Grayson’s clear hesitation. “You are under no obligation to accept.”
“I’m not part of your pack,” Grayson said warily.
Slade kept quiet. Wintergreen, who would have to be nose blind to be unable to smell Slade’s claiming scent all over the kid, politely didn’t refute him. “It’s temporary.”
Grayson squinted at him for a long moment before something in his face firmed and he reached out to complete the mark. Wintergreen smiled and turned back to the helm and Grayson exhaled, a little bit of tension seeping out of him at the visible confirmation that he wasn’t going to be jumped by everyone that smelled him.
A few more crew members exchanged scents with the kid, clearly taking the opportunity to make sure Slade hadn’t eaten him, and the mood on the ship was the most relaxed since Grayson had come on board.
Slade still winced when he caught sight of a particularly virulent glare headed his way.
“Angelica,” he said, resisting the urge to groan.
“Alpha,” Angelica replied, saccharine. “Finally decided to let him out, I see.” She stepped forward and Grayson took an automatic step behind Slade. “Are you going to let me do my job?”
“Grayson, this is Angelica,” Slade introduced wearily. “She’s in charge of the omegas in my crew.”
“Come on,” Angelica smiled at Grayson, sticking out a hand. “We have a cozy nest below deck, omegas only, you can spend the rest of your heat there.”
Grayson stared at her with wide eyes, before turning that bewildered expression towards Slade. “You have omegas in your crew?”
Angelica’s smile dimmed. Slade cursed inside his head. They’d deliberately kept him among the alphas, it was no wonder he thought that he was the only omega on the ship.
“Yes,” Slade said gruffly. “Quite a few.”
“Come on, you can meet them,” Angelica recovered, wiggling her fingers. “I’m sure you want a proper nest.”
Grayson took a step towards her and halted, turning uncertainly towards Slade.
“Go on,” Slade said. He was glad the kid was now someone else’s problem. Angelica would know what to do the next time the kid burst into tears. Slade was pleased and only pleased.
“You know,” Wintergreen mused as they watched Grayson follow after Angelica, “it’s probably a good thing that the Navy requires scent blockers. The kid won’t have to walk around for months smelling like pirate.”
Slade ignored him and got back to work. The pack claim was temporary. Soon Grayson would be back in Gotham and everything would go back to normal.
He had to resist the urge to tell Wintergreen to slow their pace. The thing was, the kid would make a damn good pirate.