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Rose coughs and sputters, choking on the overpowering taste of salt and iron, and clings to the rope with all the strength she has. The fibers slice into her palm, stinging from seawater, but Rose doesn’t let go. She’s shuddering, the wind like daggers against her sodden form, but still she doesn’t let go.
“Heave!” comes the bellow, less distant now, and her grip spasms as she rocks in the wind. “Heave!”
The wood of the ship knocks against her hip with every tug, jostling her this way and that.
“Heave!”
Rose dares to part her eyes, squinting through salt-crusted lashes. It’s too bright, the sun glinting viciously off a glittering sea, gleaming in all directions.
“Heave!”
The voices are much closer now, louder, uniform, no mish-match of accents and brogues. “Heave,” the voice commands clearly, and with one large tug, Rose is on level with the deck.
Hands grab her, tight on her shoulders, under her arms, yanking her over the side of the ship. The hands jostle her, some dropping to her chest, and Rose kicks out on instinct, jerking and twisting and writing with the abrupt fury of panic.
The hands let go, accompanied by yelps and groans and curses, until she’s free. Rose struggles upright—a herculean task in her sodden clothes—and nearly unbalances at the swaying of the ship. She manages to stay on her feet, teeth bared, hissing loud enough to warn off any assailants.
She is the daughter of the most infamous pirate on the seven seas and no one touches her without her permission.
Rose’s gaze clears finally, enough to see her predicament. She’s surrounded by sailors in neatly pressed uniforms while she’s in her underthings and barefoot to boot. This is no merchant vessel or passenger ship—the colors of the Royal Navy fly proudly at the mast.
Something in her heart sinks, drowning with the rest of her things in the waves.
She’s attacked before she can finish processing, a heavy net dragging her down and wrapping around her so tightly all the wriggling in the world can’t win her free. She hisses again, lunging forward when fingers come close to her face, but their owner retreats with a shocked curse and her energy wanes, sapped by the sea and running perilously low.
When Rose finally settles, she realizes that the net is actually a blanket, coarse but warm, tucked around her shivering, half-naked frame. It’s a perplexing kindness, but Rose loses track of the thread when amongst the mutterings she hears ‘omega’.
The Royal Navy isn’t near as egalitarian as pirates can be. Rose swallows against a scraped dry throat—they cannot know who she is. The daughter of a pirate is bad enough. The omega pup of the captain of the Deathstroke?
A ransom is the least of her worries.
“Miss? Miss, you’re safe here,” a female sailor says calmly. First officer, by the buttons on her jacket. “This is the Nightwing, part of the Royal Navy.” Rose huddles further into her blanket and glares—the two statements are not mutually inclusive. “I’m Chief Officer Rohrbach.”
Chief Officer Rohrbach waits, but Rose is disinclined to answer the courtesy.
“Can you tell me what happened, miss?” the sailor asks kindly, though the looks being exchanged amongst the crew are decidedly not. “How did you come to be in the water?”
The crew are muttering about ghosts and sirens and mermaids. Rose would be flattered to be called a mermaid when she is bedraggled and near unconscious, but sailors are a superstitious lot, and she doesn’t want to find out what they’ll do to assuage their suspicions.
“Ill luck to have an omega on board,” someone grumbles loud enough to be heard. Chief Officer Rohrbach turns in their direction with a scowl and several people elbow the speaker, but Rose isn’t blind to the considering looks.
“What is going on here?” a mild voice interjects, cutting through the muttering like a knife. Instantly, everyone snaps to attention.
“Captain on deck!” someone shouts and Chief Officer Rohrbach snaps off a salute as she clears a gap.
The captain is younger than Rose is expecting, closer to Grant’s age than her father’s. His face is impassive as they scan over the gathering, his blue eyes sharp and watchful, and he carries an authority that has silenced all the muttering.
“Captain Grayson, we found a castaway,” Chief Officer Rohrbach reports. “We threw down a line for her to come aboard. She is a young omega female.”
“And does this young omega female have a name?” Captain Grayson asks with the hint of a smile as he observes Rose. Rose glares more fiercely.
“Uncertain, sir. She hasn’t talked.”
Captain Grayson nods at his first officer’s report, and turns his gaze to the lingering crew. “If your curiosity has been satisfied,” he says, voice still even, but his crew jumps to with an alacrity that surprises her. Everyone but the first officer returns to their duties and soon Rose hears the familiar shouts and calls of a well-manned ship at sea.
“Well, miss, can you talk?” Captain Grayson takes up a crouched position, so he isn’t looming over her. It makes his stupid face and his stupid smile look kind and Rose has to blink furiously to forestall the tears.
She wants to go home. She wants her Papa. But he isn’t here and he doesn’t know where she is and Rose can hardly find him on a Navy ship.
“Rose,” she admits finally. “My name is Rose.”
Captain Grayson’s face brightens. “That’s a lovely name,” he says without a hint of irony. “How did you come to be in the water, Rose? Is your ship nearby?”
No, it isn’t. It’s far away, because Papa left her on another ship to keep her safe, only they were a bunch of self-serving scum and Rose had to abandon ship to get free.
“There was a storm,” she says, with the hint of a sniffle to sell her story. Captain Grayson casts an incredulous look at the clear, cloud-free skies above them. “There was a storm,” Rose repeats with steel in her tone and Captain Grayson raises his hands in surrender.
“How unfortunate,” he says, not pressing further. “I don’t know where your ship was heading, Miss Rose, but we’re currently returning to our dock in Bludhaven. I can offer you passage there, as well as the means to contact someone from port if you’d like?”
Bludhaven. It’s far from the free ports that the Deathstroke frequents, but it’s a large city. She can borrow coin to book passage on a different ship, or head up the coast to New York and try to find her brother. It’s a damn sight better than clinging desperately to a stray plank of wood in the middle of the ocean, drowning over hours and hours.
Rose takes a discreet sniff, but she can’t tell the captain’s designation. Navy, she reminds herself. Uniformed sailors all wear scent blockers.
“Alright,” Rose agrees. She consoles herself that she can always escape this ship the same way she escaped the last—though perhaps after a meal and a nap.
“Wonderful!” Captain Grayson straightens and offers her a hand. Rose reluctantly extricates a hand from her blanket to take it. “I have a place for you to dry off and get into some new clothes while we wait for the cook to send up a hot meal. We’re on the tail end of our voyage, so it’ll be nothing fancy, but a fair sight better than being seagull fodder, I wager.”
“Mhm,” Ros manages, stumbling after the captain. Her legs feel like leaden weights, her whole body indescribably heavy, and the brief moment of sitting down has turned her exhaustion into shackles. Every time she blinks, it takes ages to open her eyes again.
“And a bed,” Captain Grayson laughs, though not unkindly, wrapping an arm around her to help her stagger along. “I do hope you weren’t in the water for very long.”
Half the night and the whole morning. Rose slumped upon the plank, dehydrating and miserable, long before the Nightwing happened upon her. If they hadn’t called to her, she wouldn’t have even noticed they were there.
She thought it was a dream for those first few seconds—that Papa had found her, that she was safe—before reality reasserted itself.
Rose yawns jaw-creakingly wide, slumping further against the captain as he pulls her along. She doesn’t bother to open her eyes, trusting in her support as she’s led across deck and down a short flight of stairs. She briefly opens her eyes at the scrape of metal on wood, but closes it again when she realizes it’s a locked door.
“Just a moment,” the captain murmurs.
She’s maneuvered, practically carried into the room, and realization doesn’t spark until the door swings shut behind her. The slide of the bolt wakes her all the way up.
The room is big for a ship’s quarters, with a desk and a wardrobe and only one bed. There’s even a window at the back, thick and translucent, and Rose backs up against she’s against the door.
“Miss Rose?” Captain Grayson pauses from where he’s rummaging through the wardrobe. “Are you alright?”
Rummaging through his wardrobe, because this is the captain’s stateroom. The captain brought her to his cabin.
Rose hisses as he steps towards her, hunching in on herself and baring her teeth. “I’ll bite,” she threatens, frantically searching for a weapon and unable to find one. “You can try and force me, but I’ll make it as bloody miserable as I possibly can.” Her vision’s getting blurry and she tries to tell herself that the tears are from exhaustion and nothing more. “It won’t be worth it.”
She can’t help that she thought—that for a handful of minutes, she’d been stupid enough to—she just learned a lesson on trust, and here she is, repeating her failure—
“Oh, Miss Rose, no,” Captain Grayson says, taken aback. “I didn’t bring you here for—any impropriety.”
“This is your private cabin,” Rose snarls back, too tired to eviscerate his argument. “Do captains make a habit of sharing with omega castaways?”
“I didn’t—I brought you here because I figured that you would be more comfortable with another omega,” Captain Grayson says softly, and—and she doesn’t understand but there’s a faint ripping noise and an omega scent tickles her nose.
She squints. Captain Grayson’s collar is bared and he has a scent blocker in his hand. The scent unfurls around her, protective and comforting, and Rose sways so hard she falls over.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Captain Grayson soothes, helping her up as she shakes with hitched sobs. “It’s alright, no one will hurt you here. You’re safe.”
There wasn’t—she wasn’t—she had to flee from pirates intent on selling her like she was nothing more than property, a sickening callback to the life she fought so hard to outrun—
“You’re safe,” Captain Grayson murmurs, holding her firmly and kindly ignoring her tears soaking his jacket. “I swear it on my honor.”
Later, Rose will snarl and snap and viciously defend her independence. Later, Rose will reassert her defiance, confidence and aggressiveness and all her other shields. Later, Rose will stand tall and proud as the daughter of the deadliest pirate on the high seas.
Now, there’s an omega clucking over her and promising she’ll be safe and Rose leans into the security and cries.
Thankfully, Captain Grayson makes no comment about her breakdown when he gets her washed up and into new clothes. She drinks a whole jug of water and she’s out like a light the moment her head hits the cot. The promised meal is waiting on the desk in the empty room when she wakes, groggy and confused, and it’s no longer hot but she’s starving so it doesn’t matter. She only pauses for more water before she sinks back into sleep.
She registers when Captain Grayson comes in at night—it may be a captain’s cot, but it’s still small—and shifts to curl up against his warmth before drifting out again.
Rose wakes truly, properly, long after the sun has risen. The cabin is empty again, but with breakfast waiting on the desk, and Rose rises blearily. Once she’s fed and watered, she dares to brave the rest of the ship.
Captain Grayson is busy with the navigation charts, scent blockers back on and collar buttoned up, but he spares a moment to ask how she’s doing. She takes a peek at the charts herself and from her limited understanding, he seems to be telling the truth. They are heading to Bludhaven.
“When will we reach?” she asks.
“The end of the week, if the winds hold,” the captain responds.
A week. A full week away from the Deathstroke, away from Papa who is probably going frantic—at least, Rose hopes he is. She joined Papa just a year ago, and it’s hard to shake the itching feeling that he wishes she was one of her older brothers.
To distract herself, Rose goes poking over the rest of the ship. For a military vessel, the layout is pretty straightforward. She isn’t allowed into the magazine—Rose manages to filch a pocketknife anyway, she lost the last one in the ocean and she feels better armed—but no one tries to stop her from going anywhere else. The brig, she discreetly checks, is empty, the storerooms are filled with vittles, and the ship is in good condition.
The crew is easygoing and light-hearted, and even the ones who grumble about an omega on board tolerate her. Captain Grayson runs his ship with a firm, if light hand, and they respond well to it. The only difficulty Rose runs into is that, for lack of other options, she’s dressed in a small-size Navy uniform and everyone seems to want to pinch her cheeks and coo at her in it, no matter how fiercely she glares or snarls.
She’s not a pup goddammit! The pirates had more respect for her—though that might’ve only been because of her father.
Either way, Rose is growing irritable and belligerent and after the glowering cook drags her out of the galley—she wasn’t stealing anything, just double-checking that the honey really is all gone—Captain Grayson eyes her with restrained amusement.
“What,” she growls at him.
“You must be getting restless,” Captain Grayson says evenly, though his eyes are laughing. “Haven’t found anything to occupy yourself?”
Rose opens her mouth to protest.
“That isn’t irritating the cook?” Captain Grayson interjects. “Never get on the bad side of Cookie, or your food will never be hot again.”
Rose glares. Something flickers across Captain Grayson’s face—a glimmer of recognition?—but it vanishes quickly. “Perhaps a lesson, to divert your attention,” he suggests.
“A lesson?” Rose asks, suspicious. “What kind of lesson?”
“Have you had any swordsmanship tutoring?”
Rose isn’t a fool, she knows most well-bred omega girls don’t get swordsmanship lessons, and ill-bred omega girls never, that her skills are a marker to her identity—but she can’t help leaning forward.
“I’m a fast learner,” she promises, eyes alight.
Three days from shore and six lessons in, Rose finally dares to ask the question that’s been dancing around her head. They’re taking a break, her on the deck, him in some contorted stretch, and she stares at the high collar as she composes the right words.
“I didn’t know that the Royal Navy hires omegas,” Rose says. Much less makes them captains. Captain Grayson is young, too young to get a commission without being nobility, and from what she understands of noble omegas, they are more likely to be married off than enter the military.
Captain Grayson touches his collar, a brief brush like he’s reassuring himself it’s still there. “It’s not something that the Navy likes to advertise,” he says wryly. “It’s dangerous to be an omega on the high seas.”
It’s easier to hide, Rose imagines, when they spend their entire voyage with scent blockers on. The officers must know, or the captain wouldn’t have revealed himself to her without an oath of secrecy, but the crew either don’t know or do a good job feigning ignorance.
“Speaking of,” the captain says, pinning her with a solemn, serious gaze. “We haven’t discussed the matter of how you came to be a castaway.”
“I told you,” Rose immediately glowers, “it was a—”
“I know what you told us,” Captain Grayson cuts her off calmly. “But the Royal Navy has quite a few resources at its disposal. If you are fleeing someone—if someone harmed you—the Nightwing has brought its fair share of slavers and pirates to justice.”
His gaze is not heavy, but it is hard to break. His voice is simple authority, not pushing or pressing.
“There was a storm,” Rose says, looking away.
“Of course,” the captain agrees after a long moment, still even. “If you remember anything that came before the storm, I am here to listen.” He gets to his feet and picks up the training sword. “Shall we continue?”
Rose stands up and tightens her grip. She—she can’t tell him. Not when it runs so close to her own identity. But maybe—maybe when she reaches Bludhaven. Papa won’t be happy at her selling out pirates, but they sold her out first.
She wishes she could trust Captain Grayson, and maybe she could with anything else, but not this.
Trouble arrives on the morrow.
“Ship to port!” comes the call and a collection of curious sailors jostle portside to peer across the expanse of open water. Someone has gone scaling up the crow’s nest to get a better look as Captain Grayson squints through a telescope from the stern. Rose can’t see anything but the sun, waves glittering like a field of diamonds. But she can see the purse to Captain Grayson’s lips as he lowers the telescope.
“Captain?” Chief Officer Rohrbach asks. He passes her the telescope.
She is still looking through it when the shout comes from the mainmast. “Black sails!”
Rose jolts. The crew jerks away from the rail, devolving into increasing muttering. Rose’s heart is stuck in her throat and she can’t dislodge it. There’s only one ship in these waters that has black sails.
“Aye,” Chief Officer Rohrbach lowers the telescope, her expression grim. “That’s the Deathstroke.”
“Ready about!” Captain Grayson commands, heading to the helm, and the crew erupts into movement. “Helm to starboard, close haul!” The wheel spins, turning them away from the pirate ship pursuing them. “Hard-a-starboard!”
The sails snap over Rose’s head as the crew tacks the ship against the oncoming wind. They’re swift and organized, following the captain’s orders without delay or fear.
But the black sails keep getting closer.
“Captain,” Chief Officer Rohrbach says softly, “the Nightwing is the fastest ship in these waters. If we have the wind.”
Captain Grayson’s jaw goes hard. Rose chews on her bottom lip, tasting blood. If she gets to the railing—if she jumps—the Deathstroke is gaining—
“Well,” Captain Grayson says, low and firm, “we’ll just have to give him a good chase.”
And they do. But the Deathstroke is soon close enough for the naked eye to make out the flag they’re flying, skull-and-crossbones as orange-on-black, and Rose knows what that means. The Deathstroke is intent on a fight.
Captain Grayson knows it too. She sees it in the set to his jaw, in the angry resignation in his shoulders, in the way he compulsively looks at his crew, like he’s determined to memorize their faces.
Rose looks too. She should be thrilled. She is thrilled—Papa came for her, he came—but she stares at the people that have fed her and housed her out of the kindness of their hearts, and she doesn’t want them to die.
They will. The Deathstroke is the deadliest pirate ship on the high seas. This ship will sink with everyone on it.
“Chief Officer Rohrbach,” the captain says, voice tight. “You have the helm.”
Chief Officer Rohrbach is taken aback, but she springs forward when Captain Grayson lets go. “Yes, captain! But, what—”
“The Deathstroke isn’t going to stop chasing us,” Captain Grayson says heavily. “They know we’re a Navy ship, they know we don’t carry valuable cargo. But they’re hunting us down anyway, so we must have something they want.”
He turns to look at her, solemn. “Isn’t that right, Miss Rose?”
Rose swallows. She glances around, but only the chief officer is close enough to hear. She grabs the knife in her pocket and wonders, half-panicked, if she can jump overboard before the captain grabs her.
“I’m going to need that answer now,” he says, still quiet, still firm. “Are you running from these pirates?” Rose firms her lips and does not answer. “Because if you are, I will turn this ship around and give them the fight they’re looking for,” Captain Grayson clarifies. “I swore on my honor and I will uphold that promise.”
“You’ll die.” The words burst from Rose’s mouth without permission. “No one takes on the Deathstroke and lives. You’ll all die.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Captain Grayson says with a touch of hollow humor.
She wants to shake him, to get him to understand the magnitude of the situation. She wants to cling to him and cry. She wants to apologize, to beg to him that this isn’t what she wanted. She never wanted them to be hurt.
“No,” Rose says, voice small. “I’m not running from the Deathstroke.”
“He’s your father, isn’t he,” Captain Grayson says quietly. So that was a spark of recognition in his gaze. Rose wonders when and where Captain Grayson tangled with Papa and how he managed to get out alive.
She shouldn’t answer. They’re still Navy. She shouldn’t trust them. Trust him. All she has to do is wait, and Papa will come for her. She shouldn’t.
But Captain Grayson is looking at her, expression open and trusting, and she can’t bring herself to lie.
“Yes,” Rose whispers.
Captain Grayson takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Rose waits—will he put her in the brig or keep her on deck to use as a bargaining chip? Maybe, if he negotiates prettily enough, the Deathstroke will agree to leave them alone if she is returned. Or maybe Papa will blow the whole ship to smithereens the moment she’s off of it.
Papa doesn’t react well when any one of his children are in danger. She heard Villain muttering to Wintergreen about it once. He once savaged an entire merchant fleet because Grant went missing—at the time, the story delighted her. Now, she feels sick.
“Ready the dinghy!” Captain Grayson calls out to the crew.
Chief Officer Rohrbach finally recovers from her slack-jawed shock, staring at both Rose and Captain Grayson. “Wait, Captain, what—where are you going?”
“I will be delivering Miss Rose back to her father,” Captain Grayson replies, cool and crisp. “Chief Officer Rohrbach, you have the command.”
Chief Officer Rohrbach splutters as Rose blinks, unsure of what he’s saying. “But Captain—that’s the Deathstroke—they’re pirates—”
“Aye, but they’re not after the ship. They will have to slow for the dinghy, which should give the Nightwing time to catch the wind and make its escape.” He’s striding towards the steps and Rose follows when he crooks a finger. “They outnumber us. Better to avoid the fight and the lives lost.”
“But,” Chief Officer Rohrbach is choking on her words, “but you don’t have to go, you can—” she stutters to a stop when Captain Grayson pauses at the top of the stairs and affixes her with an inscrutable look.
“You have the command, Rohrbach,” he says, quiet and even. “Treat her well.”
The Chief Officer’s “yes, captain,” is low and miserable.
Rose finally understands that yes, he does mean what he just said when he puts a hand on the dinghy and turns to face the crew. “Keep sailing the moment we push off. The moment the Deathstroke slows, steer to catch the wind. Don’t stop till you reach port.”
“Wait,” Rose grabs his arm before he can swing inside the boat. “You don’t need to come with me. I—I can row by myself.” The Nightwing can flee and Papa can save her and no one has to get hurt. “You can stay.”
Captain Grayson gives her a flash of a smile. “I gave you my word,” he reminds her, and jumps inside. He holds out a hand and Rose wants to keep protesting, but the Deathstroke is getting closer and the crew are giving her hard looks.
She swallows and grabs his hand.
The dinghy is lowered rather roughly in the rush, but they’re soon safely in the water and Captain Grayson pulls out the oars. In the dinghy, the Deathstroke looks far bigger, a towering dark behemoth heading unrelentingly for them.
“I’m sorry,” Rose says, voice small.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Captain Grayson refutes, rowing hard.
“I—I lied to you, I didn’t tell you who I was—”
The captain looks up and gives her a rueful smile. “It wouldn’t have changed my decision if you did. I still would’ve given you safe passage.”
“To the daughter of a pirate?” Rose sneers.
“To someone that needed help,” Captain Grayson corrects gently. Rose looks away and crosses her arms.
The Deathstroke draws alongside them smoothly, slowing to stay side by side. A rope is hurled down first and Captain Grayson calmly winds it in place, tethering them to the ship. Rose looks up, squinting against the sun, and her breath catches at all the familiar faces.
“Rose,” the captain of the Deathstroke calls out, deep and warm.
“Papa,” she grins, joy and hope and relief bubbling up from where she kept it restrained for days.
“Grayson,” Papa growls, voice significantly less warm.
“Captain Wilson,” Captain Grayson responds politely. “I have come to return her daughter. I gave my word she would have safe passage.”
She can see Papa’s face darken at that, but he sends down the ladder anyway. “In that case,” he says, low and mean, “welcome aboard the Deathstroke.”
Rose clambers up first, desperate to be home after so long away. Papa is waiting for her and she’s scarcely over the railing before she’s plowing into him, wrapping as close as possible and clinging tight.
“I missed you,” she mumbles, not mentioning how scared she was, how alone, how she felt like she was abandoned all over again. Her fingers are trembling where they’re fisted in Papa’s shirt and her eyes are wet but she doesn’t care.
“I missed you too,” Papa rumbles, his scent wrapping around her in safe-relief. She breathes it in, drowning in the visible indicator of his worry and concern. “I’m sorry for leaving you with those weasel bastards.”
She sniffs. They don’t matter now. They’re probably all dead. “It’s okay. I escaped.”
“Ah, yes,” Papa’s voice goes low and dark and she finally disentangles from him. “About that.” He’s glaring over her shoulder and when she turns to look, she finds Captain Grayson surrounded and held tightly in place. Everyone looks pissed and Captain Grayson’s expression is wearily resigned.
“No, he helped!” Rose tugs at Papa when he makes to advance. “They rescued me from the ocean and—and everyone was kind!” Papa doesn’t look like he cares. Papa looks like he’s calculating how best to remove Captain Grayson’s head from his shoulders. “Papa, no! They gave me food and water and new clothes and I even got to sleep in the captain’s cabin—”
She only realizes her mistake when Papa turns towards her, eye narrowed, rage bleeding through his scent. “He what,” Papa says, low and dark, and Rose doesn’t backtrack fast enough.
There’s an explosion of fury around them—Angelica breaks from the crowd with an angry hiss and sucker punches Captain Grayson, who hunches over with a low groan, face pulled into a wince and unable to dodge. No one seems at all inclined to stop her.
That was a stupid, stupid thing to say. She knows what it sounds like—what it sounded like to her before the captain clarified, but the crewmembers are whipped up into a frenzy and she cannot explain fast enough to save Captain Grayson from a vicious beating. Papa doesn’t look like he’ll stop them from tearing the man apart, and Rose’s throat goes tight with panic.
“He’s an omega!” she blurts out, high and shrill.
That halts Angelica’s next punch. Behind her, Captain Grayson’s eyes go wide with a shocked inhale, his gaze landing on her with a mix of emotions she can’t name.
“He’s an omega,” she repeats, unable to look away. “He kept me safe.”
Angelica’s gaze narrows and she reaches for the collar of Captain Grayson’s jacket, ripping it open with no fanfare. She peels the scent blockers off with the same callousness, rubbing at the captain’s neck and sniffing her hand. She turns back to Papa, her expression set in belligerent acquiescence, “It’s true, Captain.”
Papa makes a low sound, an arm still wrapped around Rose. “I didn’t know they let omegas be captains nowadays,” he sneers.
“It’s a new world,” Captain Grayson rasps, voice faintly hoarse but still even. “You’d be surprised what we’re capable of.” He doesn’t look at Rose.
She turns back to Papa and tugs on his shirt. Silently pleading with him.
Papa lets out a slow, controlled breath. “Throw him in the brig. We’ll decide what to do with him later.”
It is the best possible outcome—everyone’s tempers are a little too close to the surface right now, and with some time, Papa will calm down and Rose can get him to listen—but Rose is watching Captain Grayson, which means she can see him go tense, the scent of wary omega just reaching her nose, and she can see the half-glance he darts at the ocean before he closes his eyes in something more scared than resignation.
She knows that look.
Rose doesn’t think. She reacts. She ducks underneath Papa’s arm, pushes out from the woman next to her, dodges around Angelica, until she can throw herself full tilt at Captain Grayson, grabbing him around the waist and digging her feet in.
“No,” she snarls, low and vicious, refusing to let them move him. Mutters erupt all around her, but Papa’s voice booms above it all.
“Rose. Let him go.”
She turns around, keeping herself between Papa, now looming above her and looking very, very upset, and Captain Grayson. This close, she can tell the omega captain is trembling. This close, she can smell not just the wariness but the fear.
“He protected me,” she snaps up at her father, holding her ground. “He protected me and offered me safe passage and kept his word. It would be a piss-poor repayment if we cannot provide the same.”
Papa’s face goes taut and narrow, like he’s about to yell, but he doesn’t. “This is different,” he growls.
“Yes,” she juts out her jaw. “Because I wasn’t trying to end up with the Navy, but Captain Grayson rowed himself over to pirates.”
“For what reasons or ends we have yet to determine—”
“So now we’re to interrogate and torture someone for the high price of rescuing me?” Rose hisses back. Papa dons a look of consternation. Angelica looks almost entertained.
“Rose,” her father growls, but it’s the answering echo behind her that makes her turn.
“It’s alright,” Captain Grayson says, ashen and trembling and clearly not alright. He attempts a smile. “It’s alright, Rose.”
“No,” Rose growls at him, resisting the urge to stomp her foot. “I give you my word that you will not be harmed onboard this ship and you will be given safe passage to Bludhaven.” Captain Grayson’s eyes widen as she turns to her father, daring him to prove her a liar.
Papa inhales deeply and holds it. “She’s your daughter, alright,” Wintergreen mutters next to him, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Papa’s exhale comes out a growl. “Very well,” he snaps, giving Rose the stink-eye. Rose beams back. “Escort Grayson to a bunk. And post a guard. For his safety.” He pauses and Captain Grayson exhales raggedly behind her. “Unless, of course,” Papa’s eye glints, “you would prefer to share the captain’s cabin.”
Rose goes right back to scowling.
“A bunk is fine, thank you,” Captain Grayson responds quickly, slightly strangled.
Papa huffs and waves off the crewmembers holding the omega captain in place. Rose teeters on her feet, eyeing everyone suspiciously as Captain Grayson straightens—she doesn’t quite trust anyone not to go looking for trouble, regardless of her father’s orders—but Angelica comes up to ruffle her hair, correctly guessing her worries.
“Don’t worry, Rosie, he’ll be in the omega bunks and I’ll keep an eye on him,” she says, coupled with a smirk at Captain Grayson that appears to unsettle him more than the hostility did. “To repay his generous hospitality,” she rolls the last word, making it sound obscene.
Rose shoves her. “He helped me,” she says, remembering that first night when she collapsed weeping into his arms. “Be nice.”
“Of course, pup.” Angelica’s smile shifts to something a shade more sincere and she waves at Captain Grayson. “Come on, Grayson, I’ll show you to your bunk.”
While she leads the man off, Rose darts a glance up at her father, trying to figure out how mad he is that she disobeyed him and challenged his authority in front of his entire crew. The scowling countenance is not encouraging.
But Papa reaches out and engulfs her in another hug, squeezing her tight, and she relaxes. He can’t be that mad, then.
“I was so worried about you,” Papa says hoarsely, voice muffled in her hair. “When they told me they lost you at sea—”
“The Nightwing rescued me,” Rose responds, curling closer. Papa hmphs. “Captain Grayson protected me,” she says, more insisting. “He kept me safe.”
Papa growls automatically, but doesn’t try to refute it. He just keeps holding her, breathing her scent in deep, and she does the same.
“We won’t be sailing into Bludhaven Harbor,” Papa says finally, “but I’ll drop him off somewhere nearby.”
“You’re not marooning him on an island,” Rose says immediately.
Papa huffs at that, but this time it’s amused. “Oh no, you caught my dastardly plan,” he chuckles, tightening his grip and yanking her up over one shoulder as she shrieks and clutches his shirt. “But how are you going to stop me when you’re my prisoner?”
“Papa,” Rose groans, beating on his back to keep up the pretense of a fight. “I’m not a pup anymore, let me go!”
“No, you’re a little Navy sailor now, all dressed up and everything.” She can hear the grin in Papa’s voice. “I didn’t know they even made uniforms in your size.”
“Papa!”
No one attacks Captain Grayson that night, or the next morning, not that this stops the man from looking vaguely hunted as he skulks about the ship. Rose decides to rescue him and spirits him away to the upper deck to continue their swordsmanship lessons.
“Are you sure we’re allowed?” Captain Grayson asks warily, turning the training sword over in his hands. “This seems like something Captain Wilson would disapprove of.”
“Of course,” Rose lies through her teeth. What Papa doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and he’s currently in a meeting with Wintergreen, going over the charts to find somewhere to dock near Bludhaven. “Come on—I already know all the stuff you were teaching me before!”
Captain Grayson rolls his eyes but settles in his stance. “I did notice how quickly you picked it up, yes,” he teases. “So you want me to stop going easy on you?”
Rose scoffs, “If you’re even capable of it.”
He matches her ferocity—and he definitely is still going easy on her, because he has time to tweak her nose and crack jokes, but Captain Grayson looks infinitely calmer at the end of it, grinning at where she’s lying panting on the floor, so she counts it as a win anyway.
“Is that enough to prove my capability?” he asks, blue eyes glittering as he taps the wooden sword against her sternum. “Or should we go another round, just to make sure?”
Rose swears roundly, abusing his parents, his pack, and his ship. Captain Grayson only laughs.
“Perhaps a different opponent,” a deep, smooth voice interjects. Captain Grayson’s smile dies immediately and Rose raises herself on an elbow to discover that they’ve gained quite the audience. “I’m quite interested in seeing your capability for myself,” Papa says lowly.
“Papa,” Rose says warningly, pushing all the way up. Captain Grayson’s expression has shuttered, and she doesn’t need his scent to recognize his alarm. “This is a private lesson.”
That was the wrong thing to say—Papa’s eye flashes dangerously. “Is that so? Well, Grayson, do you only give private lessons to omega pups?”
Rose growls at the insinuation, but Captain Grayson finally speaks, voice even and controlled. “I accept your offer to spar, Captain Wilson. It’s the least I can do in return for your hospitality.”
Papa’s eye narrows, but he doesn’t retort. Rose huffs when he holds out a hand for her training sword, but she gives it up so he doesn’t decide to spar with steel.
Captain Grayson stands his ground as Papa stalks closer, settling into a ready stance. For a long moment, the two of them merely stare at each other. Rose drags her way to the railing and perches next to Angelica, whose expression is intent and slightly bloodthirsty. Bets are hastily murmured around the growing crowd.
“Begin,” Captain Grayson calls out clearly.
Rose winces and resists the urge to cover her face and peer through her fingers. Papa is the best swordsman she’s ever met, no contest. Even Grant cannot match him, and he trained Grant personally. Captain Grayson is good, but Papa is better and she grits her teeth as she watches the omega’s defense get battered with every blow.
Papa is strong and Papa is fast, faster than many expect him to be, and Rose can’t stifle the shout when Captain Grayson’s grip buckles under Papa’s attack, the sword flying from his fingers. Papa’s next strike goes cracking across his face and Captain Grayson hits the deck with a low groan.
The crowd is silent. Papa’s expression is dark where he looms over the fallen omega. Rose tenses, ready to rush over and throw herself between the two of them again—but Angelica stops her with a hand on her arm.
“Wait,” she whispers, her eyes dancing with excitement. She looks like she’s stumbled on unexpected treasure.
“Get up,” Papa snarls. He kicks Captain Grayson’s sword back over to him. “And this time, give me a serious fight.”
Captain Grayson looks up. His expression isn’t pleading or scared, but controlled and sharp. He massages the shadow of a bruise on his jaw, picks up the sword, and rises fluidly to his feet. “Very well,” he says simply. “Begin.”
This time, it’s made very clear just how much he was holding back sparring Rose. Rose stares, mouth agape, as Captain Grayson matches Papa, turning rather than ceding ground, footwork impeccable. He’s defending, but he doesn’t look it, he looks like he’s leading Papa around in circles, and there are growing murmurs of interest around Rose.
Papa’s gaze goes focused and intent, the way it does whenever he’s hunting his target, but Captain Grayson doesn’t falter. He answers ferocity with flexibility, ducking and twisting and turning instead of attempting to meet the attack head-on, and it’s working. She can see it when Papa’s lip curls, can smell the frustration he’s throwing out, can imagine how infuriating it is for an alpha to try and fight an opponent, an enemy, an omega who refuses to stay still.
Rose barely recognizes the opening when it appears, but Captain Grayson has clearly been waiting—he reacts the moment Papa overextends. Captain Grayson whirls inside his guard, blocks the grasping hand, and shoves straight into him. Rose doesn’t catch how he tripped Papa, but Papa is falling, landing hard on the deck.
He managed to catch Captain Grayson and yank him down too, but Captain Grayson rolls with the movement, not so much falling as tackling. He braces a hand on Papa’s chest, straddling his lap, and keeps Papa flat on the ground with the wooden sword at his throat.
The expression on Captain Grayson’s face isn’t quite a smile, but it’s exhilaration all the same.
A long, high whistle erupts from the crowd. Captain Grayson looks up, startled, like he forgot they were all there, and then flushes deeply, nearly stumbling as he gets off of Papa. Papa is watching him, gaze almost hungry, as Captain Grayson offers Papa a wary hand.
Papa pulls himself up, yanking Captain Grayson forward a step and holding tight until he’s all but looming over the younger omega captain. “You’re good,” he growls. Rose squints—she doesn’t think she’s ever heard that tone from him before. “Rose might not be the only one looking for private lessons.”
Captain Grayson flushes harder, freeing his hand with a hard yank and backing up a step. Papa doesn’t step forward to try and intimidate him some more, he merely gives Captain Grayson a short, almost polite nod, before sweeping off to return to the main deck.
“What,” Rose says blankly, “was that.”
“The easiest money I’ve ever made,” Angelica snickers. A disgruntled Drakon tosses a pouch of coins at her. “You better keep a close eye on your Captain Grayson,” Angelica warns, nodding to where no few crewmembers are eyeing him with speculation. “Don’t let Slade catch him sparring like that with anyone else.”
“Sparring like what?” Rose asks, but Angelica is off into the crowd to collect the rest of her winnings. She looks at Drakon, but he only mutters something about alphas always thinking with their knots before he heads off. No one else meets her eyes.
Ugh. She is sick and tired of being treated like a stupid little pup.
Rose stomps up to Captain Grayson and tugs on his elbow until he stops casting wary glances at the crew and focuses on her. “I want you teach me how to do that,” she says firmly.
One day, she won’t need to jump off ships and run from her enemies. One day, she’ll be strong enough to defeat them, even surrounded, even alone. One day, she’ll be as good as Captain Grayson.