#fated

Fake it ‘til you fucking make it, he thought, and raised his bet by another $100, courtesy of the Lewis & Clark Sheriff’s Department. He’d been supplied with a wad of discreetly marked cash in order to sell his Texan tourist persona. That was the big blind.

He tipped up his black Stetson and whistled lowly at his cards‑to‑betting‑chip ratio, versus what was on the table. The row of community cards in between them was flanked by a greasy stack of plates that had once been steaks, fries, and buffalo wings, along with a near empty bottle of Angel's Envy—the silver label that got upsold at a place like this for $300. Beau's father would've called it piss water. He and his war buddies swore by Horse Soldier, naturally.

“Gotta admit, I’m a little rusty,” Beau said, reorganizing the cards in his hands.

The two men sitting across from him at the table didn’t seem pressed. One had his third glass of bourbon in hand, while the other had just finished his fourth sloppy shot of tequila. He now had a joint perched between two boney fingers, blowing languid smoke. The Omega sitting in his lap turned her head, closing her eyes so she didn’t get so much secondhand in her face.

“Take your time,” said the one who preferred bourbon. He smirked. “I’m taking your money either way.”

Beau put on a good‑natured laugh, but there was steel in his blood.

“Oh, I’m not gonna make it that easy,” he said.

The family resemblance between the Alphas was subtle, but it was there. Both were lean and tall, but the older one had a split in his brow from a thin scar and darker brown hair. He was wearing an open‑collared dress shirt, a bold silver watch, and a matching chain around his neck; it all claimed a new money vibe and probably came with a douchey muscle car valet‑parked out back.

Beau was guessing this was Jack, the eldest.

The other one, Mr. Crossfaded, was maybe early 30s. He might be Ezra, the youngest of the three Stooges. He had what Beau’s daughter would have called a millennial‑grunge look to him—ripped jeans, a tight shirt under his jacket, and a lot of leather bracelets and brass rings. Beau thought he saw the mark of one of them hiding underneath his Omega’s makeup, near the corner of her left eye.

She looked the same as the one he had seen last night on surveillance, when it had been Jenny’s turn to scope things out: early 20s, light brown hair, thin, and quiet. She never looked the Alphas in the eyes, not even when Ezra thought her attention was wandering.

He grabbed her thigh under the table and whispered something in her ear. She smiled like it was welcome, but the small flinch that ran through her body told another story.

Beau could tell that it wasn’t affection. It was control.

His inner Alpha rumbled in agitation. Beau swallowed it down and pretended to be focused on his hand of cards.

The other Omega, you, were new. You were older, slightly less timid. Unclaimed, even though Jack had an arm wrapped securely around your waist.

Your scent was strong in Beau’s nose, likely because of that last bit. Beau tried to tune it out while he focused on the game and any other information he could pull out of the Dalton brothers.

“So, what, you guys locals?” Beau said as he picked up another card and shuffled the others in his hand to see if he at least got a pair.

Jack nodded, drinking down what he had left in his glass. “You’re an out-of-towner.”

“Guilty," Beau quirked his head. "I’m on a little business vacation. Transporting some horses over to Helena Valley."

“Damn, bro,” Ezra laughed. “You’re a for-real fucking cowboy.”

“Guilty as charged,” Beau said. The bit of charm he injected into his smile was a monumental effort. “So, what do y’all do?”

The question didn’t incur any strong reactions. The men stayed relaxed, but the women’s faces were carefully guarded.

“Our family owns a farm,” Jack said.

“Hmm. Family business, huh?” Beau nodded, then chuckled. “Gotta say, you two don’t look like farmers.”

Ezra smiled and finished off his joint, blotting it out on the ashtray near the table’s edge. A server came to collect his shot glasses. He reached for his waiting tumbler of bourbon next, tossing it back, looking more than a little absent in the eyes. Beau almost winced. Mixing white and dark liquors like that was a sure-fire way to earn yourself a nasty hangover.

“We’re not doing the planting,” Jack replied. He was pacing himself a little better, had more awareness in his eyes, even as he drank until he reached the end of his glass.

Beau inclined his head, but before he could keep the conversation going, Ezra’s haphazard hand knocked over the ashtray. His glass escaped too, rolling across the table and spilling the rest of his future hangover. Beau managed to catch the glass before it shattered on the ground.

“Fuck,” Ezra groused, almost slipping out of his chair. His Omega all but fell off his lap in his attempt to survey the damage. Her heels skidded a bit on the slippery ground, but his grip on her wrist was more likely to make her stumble than help her. He looked up at Beau with raised brows. “Good catch.”

Beau nodded and set the glass back on the table. He couldn’t help but frown as he watched the Omega dutifully pick up the ashtray and set it on the table.

"Here, let me help," he said.

"She's got it," Ezra slurred.

Beau helped her anyway. He noticed a ring of bruises around her upper thigh, peeking out from under her clinging dress. Her leg trembled when she stood back up, her hand leaning against the table.

“I believe we need another drink. Right, baby?” Ezra said. His thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist, a pressure point.

“I’ll get it,” you said, drawing Beau’s attention.

You had already been mopping up the spill on the table with a wad of napkins. You glanced down at Jack’s empty glass.

“You need a refill too, don’t you?” you asked.

Jack’s lips flickered at a smile, and in his gaze, a hint of surprise—until it shifted into something more calculating as it slid over you. A test.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he agreed. He tapped the side of his glass. “Woodford Reserve. Ask for the bottle. Actually, make it two.”

Beau raised a brow. “Well, okay. I see you, Top Shelf. Business must really be booming in, uh…what kind of farm did you say you had?”

Jack glanced over at him. “Wheat and barley.”

Beau hummed in feigned interest, but he already knew from Poppernak’s detailed report that Jack actually wasn’t lying about that. Aside from cattle ranches, wheat was Montana's agricultural bread and butter, and Dalton Farms was responsible for a large chunk of it.

Before you left the table, Jack grasped your chin between two fingers and leaned in to whisper something in your ear. Sweet nothings, or a warning? It was hard to tell. Your face was a careful mask.

So was Beau’s while he sipped his beer. His lips pressed together afterward, when Jack scented your neck, his teeth grazing your mating gland. You flinched. This time, Beau instinctively knew it wasn’t from pleasure. You disguised it with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

Definitely a warning, Beau thought. A don’t stray too far kind of warning.

The Alpha released you and let you walk away from him on those platform heels over to the bar.

“Okay, Beau,” came the voice he’d been waiting on.

Again, he adjusted his Stetson to hide the fact that he had Jenny in his ear, as well as a small camera impersonating a button on his black dress shirt.

“Confirmed, both girls match one of our missing persons reports,” she explained.

The younger one was Lucy Hernandez, from Billings. She’d been missing for over a year, while you were a Helena native. Your best friend reported you missing almost two months ago. Beau thought it strange that your family didn’t report it, but regardless, he knew what he needed to do.

Once the poker game started up again, he set down his cards when it got to his turn.

“All right, gentlemen. I fold. Gotta quit while I ain’t ahead,” he said. “You got my money tonight, but I’ll be back tomorrow to swindle you back.”

“You sure?” Jack said, trying to keep an opponent he thought he could beat. “We were just getting a good roll going.”

Ezra didn’t seem to care. He was more preoccupied with getting his lighter to work on another joint, beside the way he was blinking hard to focus on his swaying hands.

“Yeah, gotta check myself before I bite off more than I can chew. Goodnight, guys,” Beau said, offering a good‑natured, lazy salute. He played up stumbling a little, as if he had had one too many beers, and made a show of looking for a direction to aim his sorry life in the casino.

He ambled his way to the bar, but didn’t take the empty chair next to where you were standing. Not yet. He wanted to wait until Jack got distracted from watching you so damn closely. It was obvious you were his special interest.

Beau noticed the bartender heading toward you, down the U‑shaped bar table. The sheriff aimed a quick look back…

And back to the game, he noted, satisfied at seeing Jack’s attention get pulled toward a newcomer to their table. He seemed like a regular too—another Alpha who exuded the same edge as Jack and Ezra. Maybe it was the missing Dalton brother, or maybe it was just one of their friends. Either way, it allowed Beau the cover he needed to make his move.

He sidled down the bar and stopped next to you under the pretense of flagging down the bartender for himself. He leaned his elbows on the counter and shot you a smile.

“Hey, there,” he said, injecting some Texan charm. “You drinking whiskey too?”

You took him in, a polite, if reserved smile barely raising your lips.

“I don’t really drink,” you replied, curling a strand of hair behind your ear. You were nervous; the subtle glance behind you at the Alphas, your gaze lingering on Lucy, still trapped with Ezra—it all told Beau a thousand things without you having to say them in words.

“Hmm, so only the guys get to party, huh?” he said, both a tease and a gentle test. “How long you been with your boyfriend over there?”

Your gaze flicked up to his. You didn’t seem sure of him, but your eyes were perceptive enough to size him up with a measure of suspicion.

“I’m not looking for a new one,” you said. And you looked away from him to take the bottles and fresh glasses from Isaac, the bartender.

“I can take this over to the table for you,” said Isaac.

You shook your head. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

“Like I said. My hands work just fine.”

The bartender glanced down at your five‑inch platform heels and smirked.

“In those heels,” he said playfully, giving you a practiced wink.

Your face didn’t change though. “Wait ‘til you see me walk away in them.”

Beau and Isaac shared a slightly raised brow, but the latter shrugged and gave you what you ordered.

You grabbed one bottle and the glasses, but you were already mentally calculating how to carry the second bottle under your arm. Beau did what he thought was the gentlemanly thing by helping you with the glasses, but he also saw it as his opening.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“I said I’m good, Tex—”

Before you could finish telling him to fuck off, Beau leaned in closer and said your name quietly.

Your real name.

In that moment, your eyes met his, but your sharp gasp came from the fact that his hand had just brushed yours, sparking an inexplicable rush of warmth in your chest, and a shudder down both your spines. That same warmth was tight in Beau’s throat; it soon settled deep in his gut.

His face fell, his body jolting just like yours. The glasses fell on the bar counter, but this time, when they rolled off the edge there was no stopping them from shattering at your feet. You gasped for a different reason, and your instinct to flinch away had him reaching for you, protectively, not wanting you to fall or drop the $5,000 bottle of whiskey that was about to slip out of your other hand.

“What the fuck’s going on?”

Beau’s head snapped in Jack’s direction. He wasn’t your Alpha, but he was acting like it, at least in the neanderthal‑like territorial sense. He grabbed you by the arm roughly.

“It was an accident,” Beau said. The words were clipped tight. He had to bury the edge of a growl.

Jack huffed in irritation. There was something dangerous in his gaze, though controlled when he aimed it at you. You didn’t flinch. You deserved credit for that, but your back pressed against the nearby pillar. Your body wanted to pull away, even if you didn’t allow yourself to do it.

“Go back to the table,” he said to you, low and quiet. It was the press of his thumb into your wrist that made you wince.

Somehow, that was what stopped Beau from maintaining his cover.

The smart thing would’ve been to walk away, for now, and wait them out—until Beau could follow them out of this place and see if they were stashing away any of the other four Omegas on his list.

But Beau’s temper snapped before he even realized the fuse was lit. It had him grabbing Jack’s shoulder with his left hand, balling up his right, and swinging with precision, cracking into the other Alpha’s jaw.

You plastered yourself to the column while Beau successfully drove his knee into the man’s gut. Jack wheezed and went down. That was when the younger Dalton brother finally jolted out of his inebriated haze, long enough to help his big brother.

Ezra took Beau by surprise, tackling him to the ground to land a few wild hits. He was frankly impressed by the drunken aim.

He managed to throw off the younger man, just for Jack to get back up and throw a punch that made Beau see brittle stars, then another. A pot-shot from Ezra had him doubling over, his boots skidding on broken glass. But it wouldn’t have been the first time Beau was taken at a disadvantage. And it wasn’t the first time he’d been underestimated either.

He noticed Donna, the casino’s owner, standing by in the shadows with her security team, but Beau gave her a subtle shake of his head. He needed this to play out a little longer.

To be fair to her, it didn’t look like he had much control of the situation. This little standoff was going to cost the casino in broken tables and shattered glassware, black and red betting chips threatening to fly up Beau’s nose. And while Ezra managed to pin Beau's arms behind his back, Jack took a beat to angrily wipe the blood from his mouth.

Beau raised his head, spitting a wad of phlegm and blood to his left. His face felt like a living bruise, his lip split, tasting blood in his teeth, but he didn’t think of that when he met your eyes for a split second. He had seen that kind of fear before. He knew then that whatever happened here, he couldn’t let you disappear with these guys. He didn’t know if you’d survive their anger by tomorrow.

Jack cracked his neck, wincing at the sting of his own bruises. He rubbed his jaw like he was contemplating breaking Beau’s in retaliation.

“You done, cowboy?” Jack said. “Or do I gotta show you how it works in Montana when some dumb fuck touches another Alpha’s Omega.”

“She ain’t yours yet,” Beau said, leaning into the act of a southern drawl. Or maybe that was just his throbbing mouth giving up on enunciation.

“How about if I win this fight, your Omegas are mine,” he rasped, a rumble of his Alpha lacing the words.

Jack blinked incredulously. Then he laughed—laughed like it was goddamn hilarious.

Until Beau’s arm slipped out of Ezra’s hold. Beau’s elbow raised up sharply into his face. Ezra howled and grabbed for his nose, but he yelled for real when Beau grabbed him up and all but threw him onto a Blackjack table.

Jack came at him next and got another sucker punch in, hitting Beau square in the ribs. It knocked half the air out of his lungs, but Beau latched onto the other man’s arm.

Twist, instep, and a hard toss over his shoulder.

Jack groaned, winded, and still angry as he tried to curl over and get back onto his feet. Just when Beau thought he was going to have to dislocate something to get his point across, you smashed that premier bottle of Woodford Reserve over Jack’s head, knocking him clean out onto the dusty, grimy wood flooring.

The mix of bourbon and glass was tinged with a bit of blood, but you didn’t seem to care that it sloshed over your shoes. You just stared down at the Alpha, heaving for breath while the adrenaline of it made your hands shake.

You slowly raised your gaze up to meet Beau, whose surprise melted into a smile.

“Good hands,” he said.

Your mouth trembled as you caught your breath, but he spied the hint of your lips curving upward.

That was when the casino’s security team came out, along with the rest of Beau’s team from where they had either been hiding in plain sight, dressed like civilians, or handling the surveillance of the entire premises—out back behind the staff‑only doors.

“Now you guys decide to show up?” Beau panted jokingly.

Jenny shook her head at him while she helped you step away from the mess. Poppernak was already guiding Lucy out too.

“You’re the one who deviated from the plan,” Jenny said, casting him a knowing look.

Beau grinned. “Well, the plan kinda deviated on me, you know?”

She sighed.

Donna Cobell was a practical woman, but not unsentimental. Her family was descended from the Chippewa tribe. She had inherited this casino from her father, who had it passed down from her grandfather, who opened this place in the early 70s, on land his tribe had once bought back from an elderly white rancher in 1923.

In her eyes, this casino sat on hallowed ground. Her family had bled and died on it. Perhaps more importantly, it still thrived on it. However, tonight, in the ruined tables and scuffed wood, she saw the true price of operating in this industry.

The patrons had long been cleared out by both state police and the tribal police. An ambulance had gotten there half an hour ago, and Donna walked past the EMTs treating the young women who had been saved—you and Lucy Hernandez.

Donna stopped in front of Sheriff Beau Arlen, who was getting patched up himself while he sat on the open trunk bed of one of his deputy’s pickups. She crossed her arms. He smiled up at her.

“I appreciate you working with us, Donna,” he said.

“You promised you wouldn’t make a mess,” she said flatly.

Beau inclined his head. “I’m sorry, I take responsibility for that. We’ll certainly pay for the damages.”

She huffed. Oh, yes. She would make sure he kept his word.

Donna had been reluctantly cooperating with his investigation of the Daltons. What had tipped off her staff were the women those men brought in—all Omegas, all exhibiting the same signs Donna had seen today: shifty behavior, silent tension, the subtle scent of fear and resignation covered by their Alphas’ laughing, smoking, drugging, and dominance.

Eventually it had been brought to Donna’s attention, and she soon realized what those men were. They were traffickers.

She had been reluctant to allow the Montana police through her doors, but as she'd told the sheriff, “These are yours. You deal with them.”

After the EMT finished his work with Beau, he got up, thanked Donna again with a shake of her hand, and got back to work. He nodded over at Jenny and Poppernak, and together they went to you and Lucy for your statements.

You two were holding each other’s arms in support, sitting on a bench outside the casino. While another paramedic was taking Lucy's vitals, you were able to tell his team where the Alphas had been staying here in town.

“We were driven in last week with a few of the others, staying at a hotel in downtown, but they blindfolded us. I don’t know exactly where we were kept before,” you said, taking a steeling breath. “But we…they called it the Farm.”

The officers shared a perturbed look.

Jenny recovered the quickest, turning her attention back to you.

“Okay, we’re going to let the paramedics take you to the hospital to get checked out, but is there anything else you can tell us about the Daltons’ other brother?”

“Clay?” you said, glancing over at Lucy. She fidgeted with her sleeve, wishing it would stretch over the scars of a cigarette burn, and other things burned into her skin.

“He rarely leaves the Farm,” she said in a quiet voice. “He’s the Shepherd.”

Beau’s brows furrowed deeper. “Why is he called that?”

Lucy just breathed a shaky sigh. She was still trying to process the fact that she wouldn’t have to go back there again. Not tonight. Not ever.

You answered for her. “It’s that old myth, that a shepherd used to break the legs of his sheep when they wandered too far from the herd.”

Beau’s frown deepened.

“He broke your legs?” he asked. His gaze flit between you and Lucy. She was mostly disassociated at that point, falling into shock. You were on the way there too.

Your nod was slow as you swallowed past the emotion that tried to close your throat. A tear drew down your cheek, then another. You wiped them away in vain.

“Yeah, you could say that,” you replied. “In other ways.”

That settled heavily in the air. The scent of Lucy’s distress climbed along with yours. You still held her hand tightly. The paramedics had both of you wrapped in warm blankets, but one of them signaled to Beau with a sympathetic look in your direction. It really was time to take you to the hospital, away from this place.

The sheriff agreed.

Later at the hospital, you and Lucy were allowed to change out of your dresses and into fabric gowns in the Emergency Department, along with two other Omega women rescued from the hotel. The officers were still working on getting their statements.

Beau glanced over at your bed when he heard the nurse drawing the curtain to give you privacy while you changed. He still caught a glimpse of the dark bruising that marred your back as the curtain closed.

It churned not only upset, but anger, hot in his gut. More than it should have.

He forced himself to walk down the hall and take a calming breath, especially when the low rumble reverberating in his chest made another nurse look at him sideways before quickly walking past him. His own reaction confused him. The hell…

“You okay, boss?” Poppernak asked. The Beta had not only noticed the way Beau left, but had come around the corner to find him.

“I’m fine, Pop,” Beau said, clearing his throat.

“You sure? Your scent’s a little…off.”

“Really? Well, probably just the adrenaline, you know?” Beau cut a dismissive hand, but he had no other choice but to lead his deputy back to the ED. They still had work to do.

Beau wasn’t an idiot, though. He already had a suspicion what this was, and…it meant he was in trouble. Even now, he could pick out your scent among all others in the Emergency Room: hints of jasmine and vanilla, and rain after a summer storm.

It was enticing. It was soothing. It had been stuck in his nose before he even realized that scent was yours when he entered the casino tonight. It filled his chest cavity when he breathed and imprinted itself on his brain—like a brand of you.

And your face, too. That had been burned behind his lids since the moment he looked into your eyes and caught a glimpse of everything you were hiding there.

He had heard about this, of course, but never once experienced it for himself. Not even with Carla, his ex‑wife.

He dragged a hand over his face.

Shit, he thought.

It felt like a fever dream.

You were still working through the fact that you were here at all, in a hospital bed.

“When was the last time you ate, hun?” Nurse Shannon asked. It was an important question, since she was taking vials of your blood, but you didn’t have a good answer for her.

“Sorry, I don’t…um…I don’t remember,” you said. You were already dizzy just lying there in bed.

She rubbed your arm after she finished. “Okay, no problem. I’ll see if I can find you some crackers.”

Before you could say “thank you,” a familiar voice grabbed your attention behind the curtain.

“No need, Miss Shannon. We’ve got sandwiches, courtesy of Deputy Hoyt, here.”

The nurse pulled the curtain back to find Beau Arlen, the sheriff, and Jenny, the blonde officer. Jenny carried a bag of deli sandwiches from the hospital cafeteria. You knew you were in debt to both of them for much more than a turkey and cheese sandwich, but somehow, unwrapping the freshly‑made sub had you weeping.

You could barely get out those two words of gratitude, but Jenny just gave you a smile and a gentle squeeze of your shoulder. Beau kept his distance, but his gaze on you was soft.

“You’ve helped us a lot tonight already, but I just have a couple more questions for you, if that’s okay,” Jenny said.

You nodded while you ate. You guessed you could understand why they wanted more information, even though you wished you could just be left alone for a while. You were grateful for what they had done, but you were still exhausted. Still overcome.

“It looks like your friend, Ava Barratt, reported you missing a couple of months ago on January 24,” she said. “I know this is probably difficult, but can you tell me what the circumstances were around your kidnapping? How did it happen?”

After a few more precious moments of chewing, you sighed. “It’s stupid.”

“I doubt that,” Jenny said.

Beau nodded, agreeing with her. His face was just as serious, just as invested in your answer. Somehow, it was harder to meet his gaze now.

You set the half-eaten sandwich in your lap. It was difficult, but you forced yourself to travel backward in those well‑worn mental roads, all the way back to when it started.

Danny. You had met him on fucking Hinge, of all things. You hadn’t known then that his real name was Felix. Not until date number two, after he invited you over. You had thought it was safer than letting him come to your apartment, and you’d been led in by his boyish charm and the earnest, “raised by a single mom who taught me to respect women” line.

You remembered noticing how clean his apartment was. You were actually thinking this guy was more put together than most men you met. He was a Beta, so he didn’t give off the same energy as the Alphas you had been with in the past. He had a good job, a decent place in a good part of the neighborhood—certainly better than your mid‑at‑best apartment, right above a drycleaners.

You remembered sitting on his couch, and not much after. You were fairly certain that he drugged you, but you didn’t remember a glass of wine or a beer. You didn’t remember him coming from behind.

You didn’t know what had happened—what was still happening—until you woke up at the Farm. There was a dingy mattress beneath you, and a dark room with bare walls around you. The only window was boarded up.

“Was it really a farm?” Beau asked.

You shook your head.

“I don’t know. That’s just what they called it…the other Omegas. It wasn’t just women. There were boys too, younger than me, or even Lucy. She’d been there over a year. She…sort of lost track of exactly how long.”

“I’m sorry,” Jenny said, with a professional kind of gentleness. “So Felix was essentially their scout?”

You nodded in confirmation.

“Would the Daltons claim all the Omegas?” she asked.

You paused, trying to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

“No. It depended on what they wanted you for. I was mostly kept in isolation, since I was new, but Lucy told me that most of the others were…sold.”

“Into prostitution?”

Again, your nod of confirmation was heavy. Even then, you remembered what you used to hear through the walls. It was hard for you to say even this much out loud, to put into words what it was that happened to you, what you had seen. But even then, you knew it could’ve been much worse for you.

The day you got there, a countdown began. You almost heard that ticking clock in your sleep, felt it pulse behind your waking eyes.

You rubbed your sweaty palms over the blanket covering your lap.

“Me and Lucy, we were meant to be theirs.”

Their breakable toys.

“She was given to Ezra. I was…given to Jack.” Tears stung in your eyes. For the first time, you were admitting this out loud. It was still strange to think of it in the past tense, when the idea alone had crept around your heart and mind like a black, reedy, poisonous vine.

“He was waiting on my next heat, to claim me,” you said.

When you chanced looking up from your hands in your lap, the green of the sheriff’s eyes was what you saw. There was something about those eyes…something that made you break.

You took in a deep breath that didn’t stop the tears that stung hot in your eyes.

Jenny tried to help you through it, but when Beau touched your shoulder gently, it ignited that strange spark again. A full‑on body shudder ran through you, though you instinctively grasped his hand, your fingers curling around his palm.

His scent hit you full force then, just like it had in the bar: green pine and vetiver, wood and amber. It was a heady mix that spread warmth through your body, and embarrassingly, between your legs.

You pressed your thighs together on reflex, just as you recoiled from the feeling, from him, dropping your hand from his and flinching away in a gasp.

Beau blinked in shock. He straightened, raising his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to, uh…upset you.”

You shook your head as you tried to get ahold of yourself. “No, I—I don’t…I’m…sorry.”

Your fingers tangled in your blanket as you brought it high to cover you. Of course, you knew logically that this Alpha, the sheriff, was the one who saved you. He was just trying to help you. Maybe that was why your inner Omega was already so drawn to him, craving more of his comfort. But your psychological wounds were just as powerful.

Beau stepped back tactfully. “I’ll let Jenny finish things up here.”

You nodded, even though your Omega whined at the thought. You watched him leave.

And Jenny, she watched you. She knew better than to ask you if you were okay.

“I think that’s enough for now,” she said. “We can pick this up tomorrow. I know your doctor has been running some wellness checks and bloodwork.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t altogether here with her. You pushed through it enough to ask a question of your own.

“What happens now?” you asked. “To Lucy, the other women, and everyone else still at the Farm.”

“Well, finding that place will be the next thing we tackle, along with locating and arresting Clay Dalton,” Jenny said. Her face turned more grave. “As for the Omegas who’re already here, the ones like Lucy, who were claimed…well, a doctor could better explain it to you, but many of them will need to undergo extensive treatment to sever the forced claim bonds.”

You covered your mouth with your hand as more tears percolated in your eyes. You hadn’t even thought about that part of it. The aftermath for Lucy and the others would be even harder than yours.

“We’re going to do our best to hunt down everyone who played a part in this, and shut it down,” Jenny vowed. “It’s not the first time we’ve heard of something like this, but it’s the first time I’ve actually encountered it in Montana.”

You huffed humorlessly, swiping at your tears. “Trust me, I never thought this would become my life.”

That fell between you two for a beat, solemn and weighted.

“Do you have any family you’d like us to call for you?” Jenny asked.

You cast your gaze up to the ceiling as you lay there in bed, and you sighed.

“I don’t have anyone,” you said.

“What about your friend, Ava?”

You hesitated, but you shook your head. “It’s fine. You don’t have to call her. I’ll figure myself out.”

Jenny paused too. The concern was obvious in her eyes, but you really just wanted to be done with this for the night. Or rather, the day. Dawn was starting to climb up into the sky, painting it in pastels bleeding into gold. You stared at your first sunrise in nearly two months as tears dried on your skin.

The look of that big, cotton candy sky was beautiful enough to make your eyes burn again.

Your overseeing doctor admitted you to the hospital for a couple of days just to be safe, rooming you with Lucy. Trace amounts of Ketamine were found in your system, and you weren’t surprised. That was another way the Daltons had controlled you.

The nurses continued giving you IV electrolytes, a meal of eggs, turkey bacon, and toast for breakfast, as well as a better bed to rest in, and no less than three warm blankets to burrow in like it was a makeshift nest. Even though it smelled like antiseptic here, it was easily the best rest you had had since…well, since before.

On the afternoon of Day 2, a knock on the door revealed Beau Arlen, giving you a careful wave. He still almost startled you with those dark bruises around his left eye and cheek, and the split in his lip. You almost forgot how he got them.

“Hey, there. Sorry for disturbing you,” he said, lingering at the door. "How're you doing?"

"I'm okay," you said, unsure of how convincing you sounded.

He nodded. “I'm glad to hear it... Can I just ask you a couple of follow-up questions?”

You were hesitant to answer, but you grabbed the remote and paused the movie you were watching with the volume on low.

“I could call Jenny down here, or I could, uh, get a nurse over if you’d feel more comfortable that way,” he said.

You still felt a little bad for the way you had acted toward him the other day, even though reasonably you knew you shouldn’t have to be sorry about it. You glanced over at Lucy, who was sleeping. They’d given her another sedative when her anxiety climbed again. She’d likely be out for a while.

“It’s fine, come in,” you said quietly.

Beau nodded, but he still left the door open a bit before he took a guest chair and sat at your bedside. His movements were slow, intentional.

“So, I’ve got my team working on finding Clay Dalton and the Farm. In the meantime, let’s start with this. What’re your plans after you’re discharged?” he asked. “I took the liberty of finding out that your friend Ava put your stuff in storage. Unfortunately though, your apartment’s been vacated and rented out already.”

“Damn, that was fast,” you muttered. But it really didn’t surprise you. The guy who owned your apartment also owned the dry cleaners below it. He was a miserly, miserable old man who once tried to make you pay a $50 fine because your rent check was three hours late.

Hell, after he found out about Ava’s missing persons’ report for you, he probably threatened to collect your stuff and throw it by the curb if she didn't come pick it up.

But even just putting your stuff in storage for you was very Ava. You wanted to see her, but you just hadn’t gotten the courage to call her yet.

“I’m sorry,” Beau said.

You shook your head. “I guess it is what it is, but…I’m realizing that I don’t have a cell phone. I don’t have a home. I don’t have much of anything anymore. Not even my job.”

Your eyes were stinging again as you tried and failed to keep it together, especially in front of the sheriff.

“Where did you work?” he asked. His eyes were kind, but he didn’t try to touch you again while you struggled and wiped at your tears. He did hand you the nearest tissue box though.

You laughed a little. “I was, um, the manager of a bookstore. Nothing special.”

“Oh, yeah? Uh, did you like it?” he asked, an obvious attempt to perk you up a little.

"Yeah." You sniffed, then shrugged. "It wasn't bad."

“My daughter, she’s gotten into all this romantasy stuff recently," he said. "I don’t really pretend to understand it, but hey, if she digs the elves and fairies and all that crap, then it’s all right with me, I guess. Long as she doesn’t make me dress up like the Witcher for Halloween. Can’t say platinum blonde is my color.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, wiping your eyes.

“You have a daughter?” you asked.

“Yep, a seventeen-year-old with a stubborn streak and a smart mouth,” Beau said, shaking his head fondly. “Gets that from her mother.”

You gnawed on the inside of your lip. “Oh, you’re married?”

Beau paused. He flashed his left hand, free of a ring.

“Uh, no…divorced.”

“Oh,” you said, dropping your gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Worked out for the best, I think,” he said. He rubbed his hands on his jeans and cleared his throat. “Okay, so, we need to contact Ava to get your stuff out of storage. I’m willing to do that on your behalf, but is there a reason you don’t want to reconnect with her, tell her you’re all right?”

You saw genuine curiosity in his gaze. It led you back to your reasons, and back to the ball of lead you couldn’t seem to swallow past when you thought about it. At this point, you were sick as hell of crying, but you couldn’t stop yourself either.

“I don’t know the first thing to say to her. I don’t know…I just don’t know. I don’t want her to see me like this,” you confessed.

Beau nodded in understanding. He wanted to ask about your family, namely where they were in this equation, but Jenny had already noted in her report that you claimed you didn’t have anyone. He didn’t want to pry into every corner of your life right now, but he'd settle on telling you one thing.

“I think I know what you might be thinking, that your friend probably won’t understand,” he said. “You’d be right. You were shown a dark world, and you had to learn to survive in it."

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

"But she doesn’t need to understand everything from the start," Beau continued. "I’d imagine that she’s just going to be happy to see you again and know you’re safe.”

“Am I safe?” you asked. “Clay’s still out there.”

Beau grasped the rail of your hospital bed, earning your attention.

“I promise, darlin’. You’re safe," he said. "We’re gonna find him, and we’re gonna make sure him and his brothers don’t see the light outside a goddamn prison cell again in this life.”

Looking into the earthy green of his eyes, you knew he meant it.

Tentatively, you laid your hand over his on the railing, just to feel that spark thrum to life. In that moment, it soothed (at least a little) the roiling well of anxiety inside you. But it also made you realize what this was—the thing that was drawing your Omega toward this man. You just couldn’t bring yourself to name it, let alone say it out loud.

“I hope that’s what that feeling means,” you said. “I haven’t had great luck with Alphas, Sheriff.”

Beau sighed and gently took your hand in both of his.

“That, we can talk about later…when you’re ready,” he said.

You weren’t sure if that was going to be any time soon. Another tear rolled down your cheek.

“Can you be patient on that one?” you whispered.

Beau smiled softly, pulling at the crow’s feet around his eyes. It only made him more handsome, even if that made you more wary.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think you’ve got my number.”

You laughed lightly. Somehow, you were able to.

The day you were discharged from the hospital, Jenny brought you another change of clothes in a plain pair of sweatpants and a matching sweater. She and Beau were waiting for you in the lobby.

You stepped outside and breathed the free March air, though you still weren’t sure about this plan. The well of anxiety was back, threatening to rise into your throat.

They drove you to a familiar apartment building, where they came with you up to the second floor. You hesitated, but eventually, you found the courage to knock on the door.

Ava opened it, her eyes becoming wide and glassy, her mouth trembling with a smile. Jenny had told her what happened to you, and that you were coming, but it still wasn’t the same as seeing you again—your name falling from her lips, being able to hug you and know for certain that you were alive.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried.

You were crying too, shaking your head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You allowed yourself to be pulled into her hug. Your heart was breaking, but you got a piece of it back too.

Even after a week, you were still trying to get your footing with Ava. She’d turned her office into your bedroom, bringing in a lot of your stuff out of storage. You were very grateful for her making room for you, but it was difficult to be so out of sorts. You were only gone for a couple of months, and yet being able to live for yourself again, let alone finding a job, was daunting. 

Sleep was a whole beast in itself. For you, it was hard to come by, even in your own bed. You lived with constant pangs of nausea that crept up on you slowly, then didn’t want to let you hold down your lunch. Headaches started in the morning and didn’t leave until you’d taken four Ibuprofen tablets.

You’d also started taking suppressants at the first sign of your heat, because you really didn’t have the strength to deal with that shit right now. It also rang as a cruel reminder, and a relief all at once. 

But one night, you and Ava had a true old-school girls’ night. Pizza and beer and all manners of junk strategically organized in the living room while you watched He’s Just Not That into You, one of your favorite romcoms. You two shared the couch and the same blanket, just like you used to in high school.

“Ughhh, I forgot how much I hate Bradley Cooper in this,” you lamented, while stuffing another mini Reese’s cup in your face.

“What? He’s so fucking hot in this,” Ava said. She was opening up another beer for both of you while Scarlet Johansson seduced the married Bradley on the screen. He was about to cheat on Jennifer Connelly. A lot.

“Yeah, but he’s a fucking dog, and dogs should get punished,” you said. To be fair, it had a little more bite than it needed to.

Ava’s good humor faded. She handed over your third beer. You hesitated, setting it down on the coffee table instead of taking a sip. She looped your arm through hers and got you to relax by laying back with her against the couch.

You two had been friends since the sixth grade. She was an Alpha, but she was also your sister in every way that counted, and she was the only person you had in your life who you actually considered family.

Because family didn’t start leaving you alone in the house at four years old. Family didn’t count a half-zip of weed as as higher priority than milk and bread on the grocery list, and family certainly didn’t raid your sneakers for the last $10 you could hide away for a new sweater.

Family didn’t try to trade you off to her boyfriend for a night, so she could pay off her debts.

Luckily, you were stubborn enough to run, and smart enough not to get caught.

And when you ran, you ran to Ava’s house. Once her mom got that story out of you, you weren’t going back. You were already home.

But this time, you hadn’t been stubborn enough or smart enough, and being here with your best friend didn’t entirely feel like coming home. You felt like something dumped on her doorstep with nowhere else to run.

And yet, Ava’s voice reached you gently, her patient smile making you feel shame for doubting that she actually wanted you here. Her parents had visited a few times too. They even paid for a new phone for you, despite how many times you told them not to. It was getting delivered soon. They were good people, generous and kind. Ava was just like them, and it sometimes made you feel the sting of selfishness whenever you benefitted from it.

“You know, when you’re ready to talk about it, any of it, I’m right here,” she said.

You nodded, belatedly. “I know. I’m just…I’m still trying to figure things out.”

“Yeah. Just take it slow. Don’t feel like you have to find a job right away and leave me,” she said, squeezing your arm. “You’re staying here for as long as you need. As long as you want.”

Again, stupid tears welled up in your eyes. You sniffed, managing to blink them back as you nodded.

“Thank you,” you said. Because that was all you ever could say.

She smiled, though a curious look soon crossed her face.

“You know, your scent is a little different now.”

Your expression dimmed. “What, has it gotten bitter?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s warmer. More…earthy, with like, a hint of Christmas tree.”

“What? What do you…” Your confusion died when it hit you, slowly at first, then like a firm slap across the face.

Ava must’ve seen it on your face, because she pulled away, paused the movie, and shifted her whole body toward you in her seat, like you were about to drop some hot tea.

“Whaaat?” she asked knowingly.

You briefly closed your eyes. “Beau Arlen, the man who… He’s the one who called you, who brought me from the hospital.”

Ava’s brows rose high. “Oh, the sheriff?”

You sighed. The more you thought about him, the more your mind wandered on his crinkly eyes, his trim beard, his smile, and his bow legs when he walked. And also, the way he single-handedly beat Jack and Ezra bruised and bloody.

“Yeah, him,” you said. Your lips hinted at a smile on reflex. “When I met him, his scent was strong as hell. Like a pine forest in…winter.”

Your words trailed off at the end in a softer tone. Until reality hit, pulsing painfully in your mind.

Too bad Ava was already grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“The literal goddamn sheriff? He’s your—”

“Don’t. Don’t say it!” you snapped, holding up a hand. “He’s not my anything. He saved me. That’s it.”

Ava’s excitement faded. You were getting emotional, breathing harder, even though that ache in your stomach was growing worse. 

She stroked your arm. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you upset.” 

You breathed through it and tried to get a grip. “No, it’s…it’s okay. It’s just too much right now. Even if he is…what we’re thinking...”

The one. Your mate. Your Alpha.

“I can’t handle that,” you said, remembering what you and Beau had agreed to in the hospital. Even he understands.

You wanted to mention that fact, but then you’d have to explain that you already sort of “had the talk” with the man without really having it, just like now. It wasn’t even something you were ready to admit out loud. 

“I get it,” Ava said. “When you’re ready, we’ll talk about it, but you know, you haven’t said much these last few days. I know you’re having nightmares.”

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment.

“What, you’ve heard me? Do I say things in my sleep?”

“More just the sounds you make,” she said, softer and sadder.

You sighed and grabbed your beer. You weren’t in the mood to talk anymore. Not tonight, and not for a while. You didn’t have the words to make her understand, and right now, it was probably better that she didn’t.

You two went back to watching the movie, but it wasn’t the same as before. Now, there was an unspoken thread of unease between you.

Later though, after you helped Ava clean up, you made sure to thank her again, hug her, and apologize, even though she said you didn’t need to.

That offered you little comfort when you went to your room, where all you could do was stand there and hold yourself, hating yourself—the you that you’d become.  

The nausea bubbled up worse, forcing you back out to the bathroom where you wretched into the toilet.

Almost three weeks passed, in which spotty sleep turned to sleeplessness. Nausea eventually turned to vomiting at least once a day. You wondered if this was withdrawals from the drugs Jack and the other Alphas used to force on you, but you drank as much water and ate as many crackers as you could stomach.

Your headaches became migraines, and if you did manage to sleep, it usually ended in nightmares that woke you up sweating, heart racing, a terrible pulsing in your chest.

One morning, you just felt achy and wrong. You tried to take a hot shower to revive yourself, but it didn’t do shit. You were probably just getting sick or something, you reasoned. Or maybe it was the suppressants causing some adverse side effects. You made a mental note to check the damn prescription bottle later, when the world wasn’t so helter fucking skelter.

You somehow dragged your limbs into putting on clothes and making it to the kitchen, where Ava was making breakfast on a Saturday morning. Normally the smell of French toast would make your mouth water. Now, you were contemplating using her potted fern for its convenient bowl shape.

Ava tried to have a tentative, friendly greeting waiting for you, but one look at your ashen face, and she knew. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “Just think I’ve caught a cold.” 

She set aside her spatula, turned down the heat on the stove, and went to you. She rested the back of her hand against your forehead, and she frowned in worry. 

“Oh my God, you’re burning up,” she said in concern. “You have a fever.” 

All you could do was groan. You did feel dizzy. “Yeah, think I need to lay down.”

One shaky step toward the couch made your vision blur, your balance fail, and your body crash to the ground.

Ava gasped and shouted your name as she fell to her knees with you, checking if you hit your head on the way down. She grabbed her cell and started dialing 9-1-1 for an ambulance. 

Before you passed out, your eyes fluttering closed, you managed to tell her one thing. 

“Call the sheriff.”

AN: 😬 Sorry to leave it on a big cliffhanger, but what did you think about the first chapter? This reader character has gone through quite a lot, and we're exploring some darker themes here, but don't worry too much. There's a road to healing here that our dear sheriff is going to play a big part in. 🧡

Next Time:

When you once again found yourself blinking awake at the Lewis & Clark Hospital’s Emergency Department, the first thing you noticed was the familiar scent of antiseptic and fresh pine.

At least I get my own room this time.

From the sleepy haze of your hospital bed, you noticed Ava dozing off in the corner, curled up in a recliner. You glanced down to find an IV hooked into your left hand. Sheriff Beau Arlen held your right hand. He was sitting there, dressed down in jeans and a plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, pieces of his short brown hair falling in his eyes while he scrolled through his phone.

That explains the evergreens.

You frowned, confused and conflicted. Your inner Omega was…steady? Soothed?

This past week, you had been restless, anxious, and uncomfortable. Now, there was a sense of calm in your chest. You didn’t want to think about what it meant as you bit your lip, so you pulled your hand away on reflex. It earned Beau’s attention, and his furrowed brows.

“Sorry,” he said, “the doctor said it’d be a good idea if I, uh…well, anyway, how’re you feeling?”

Your lips twitched at a smile, despite yourself. You then actually considered his question, this time more practically. Your nausea was gone, your headache too.

But that’s just the IV and whatever drugs they’re giving me, you thought stubbornly. Not the calming touch of an Alpha you were starting to trust.

⟢ Keep reading: Part 2

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Though time passes by a lot faster when most of the traveling is spent sleeping and 'healing' as Zoro has been ordered to do by everyone he sails with in their own way. It was annoying at first, until he actually started feeling better. And then he didn't much care what they had to say.

Or so he was able to pretend until Owleyes would come his way twice a day and demand to check his wounds and change his bandages. 

What they still had relatively limited of was medical supplies, so when she came closer to re-dress his wounds, it wasn't with rolls of gauze like he'd been treated with before. Instead, she sits by his side, and makes him hold a piece of paper the same color as her skin about two or three inches across and helps her unwind it from the unfolded flesh of her thigh just above her knee.

This was "muscle paper" different from the "bone paper" she'd tried to use to make Luffy's cage key, or "skin paper" which was the thin smooth material she turned into when she fainted. 

It was strangely textured, this muscle paper. Slightly soft and more absorbent than normal paper, but it didn't have the same stretch as a cloth gauze, so she had to stitch the bandages in place when she was satisfied with how tightly they were wrapped around his torso.

When it was on, it felt more like a plaster wrap than bandages and made it so hard to move—but whenever he complained about that she shot him a sharp look. 

Those eyes said, then don't move. And it wasn't a request.  

Today though, she sat beside him, quietly and now looking quite practiced as well, cutting him free of and then re-wrapping his body up in her paper gauze.

Looking satisfied by the way he was healing, she said as much with a smile, tracing one cooling hand around the slightly swollen wounded area. He let out a slight hiss from between his teeth and she retracted quickly, apologizing and he almost cursed when she pulled away. 

But she didn't need to apologize. He almost wished it hurt when she did that, but it felt so good he could barely contain himself. 

Now, instead of touching him, her hands were turned to paper and slipping under the curve of his back with a slight wiggling motion which was nowhere near as pleasant. Though he did have the task of slightly tugging out more paper from time-to-time when she asked him too, so that the process remained smooth. He learned through experience that if he didn't comply, the whole event took that much longer, and it already took long enough. 

Allowing his fingers this near to her skin was a dangerous game, one it didn't even seem like Owleyes knew they were playing. Let alone the skin here, on the flat expanse of her thigh, where if he let his hands drift, he could jusssst...

But he didn’t fall to temptation. She was literally made of paper. He worried if he touched her, she would just crumple under his strength. Could he even be soft enough to touch her? He feared he couldn’t. 

"More slack." She prompted in a flat voice. 

Snapping out of his brewing fantasy, he tugged the edge of the paper roll which extended out from her normal skin from a pallet of papers within her body and watched them shift around.

It was a strange picture, he had to admit, seeing her knee and the lower portion of her leg looking like something between a scroll and a book when the rest of her was still clearly flesh. 

And his mind shouldn't have so easily dropped to a filthy place, it wasn't like he was pulling it out of her inner thigh. 

That would've been too weird. 

"A little more..." She reminded him, but when he did pull again, she let out a startled, "Too mu—ohch! H-ahhhh..." which she very breathily moaned. 

Zoro's eyes went a little wide, and Owleyes was beyond mortified. 

She cleared her throat. "That-that's enough Mr. Roronoa, I'm almost done." She tried to recover, really, but her voice sounded a little shaky. 

And he just nodded. Unwilling, like she was, to acknowledge that pitchy little noise which sent his heart racing. Zoro wasn't used to this feeling. This brewing attraction that seemed to be growing rather than going away. 

If he wanted sex—and usually only when he was piss drunk—he'd find a cute enough girl at whatever bar he was squatting at, and take her and her bed for a drunken night of fun with the added benefit of sleeping under a roof that night. And when said night was over, he'd barely even remember her face. 

He'd made it a point and habit not to get attached to women, and outright avoided omegas, since he didn't stay anywhere long. He never got drunker than a woman. And he never finished in a woman—not even her mouth.

To the extent he didn't even really allow himself to fantasize about it, lest his drunken self be struck with the idea and he made a mistake that would have generational implications he wasn't ready to deal with. 

He'd never had a crush before, and there wasn't another word to describe this feeling. The closest thing he had was Kunia--and though he'd been close with her, they were so young he could now box his feeling for her cleanly into "admiration" and now "dedication" to their shared dream.

Zoro'd thought the term crush was childish and stupid for a long time, but now he'd experienced it, he understood.

When he looked at her, it did feel like his heart was being crushed. Like a single look could either liberate him from this oppressive spark of desire to make it a flame, or snuff it out. And as much as it made his insides twist around more than the knife wound had, he also didn't want it to end. 

He wondered, in a distant way, if she could feel the weight of these thoughts when he stared at her. This needling lingering desire was a torment, he decided. Its own torture.

Frosting and frankincense lingered everywhere on their little boats, stronger than any other to him. It slipped into his dreams sometimes, whispering softly spoken sweet nothings in his ear and he'd wake up hard, certain that he'd heard her voice. 

But upon waking, he was always alone.

When she was done tending to him, she asked him if he was comfortable and when he responded affirmatively, she was quick to stand up and put some distance between them. That made Zoro's mouth tick down into a frown.

As he watched her settle down on the opposite side of the boat though, he could still see the faintest traces of embarrassment in her expression and was oddly satisfied by the sight.  

Though it makes his alpha growl—her distance that is, and how he forces himself to look away. He didn’t even get to express his secret satisfaction at being cared for by the (not his) omega with a look. Nami was always quick to catch him staring. Even though she didn’t seem to always be able to see her, she could see when Zoro started to hyper fixate, and when she did it always came with some kind of teasing word he didn’t want to hear. 

This is why he stayed away from omegas. This overthinking was driving him nuts.

With the weather calm and the sea at ease, they float on without much issue as the East Blue currents guide them forward. He relaxes into a nap that passes the hours by, and when he wakes up, it's to the sounds of Nami and Luffy discussing something. 

Based on the map, Nami was sure they'd hit land within the next two or three days, maybe sooner, which meant it was time to plan.

Or... that's what Nami was trying to do. 

"I'm asking how exactly do you expect to get to the Grand Line like this?"

Luffy didn't seem to understand the question. "Well..." He considers her words, "We could use more meat supplies." He agrees.

"No, I'm not talking about food." She huffs. 

Fully awake now, Zoro decided to jump in. 

"And we don't have any rum, or sake, or ale, or mead, or even grog." Zoro counted out on his fingers, snickering when Nami snapped at him.

He was feeling much better, able now to be stretched out with his legs loosely crossed in front of him and his arms up behind his head, so he could use his fingers as a cushion between his skull and the wood railing. 

"No, I'm not talking about drinks or supplies!" 

"Ms. Nami is right. We should be thankful the weather's been so nice. We'd be blown apart by a sturdy wind, let alone a storm." Owleyes agrees. Though she's playing what must be the ninetieth game of speed run solitaire, she doesn't even look up from her laid out cards. "The Grand Line is the most dangerous ocean water in the world, and we don't even have an anchor."  

One thing that has not changed over the last few weeks is how Nami jumps with fright when she remembers that there is an omega on deck with them. Though she does try to hide how spooked she is better, it's no use. It's like the moment her eyes drift away, the other girl disappears completely, even from recent memory. 

It's a strange ability, that for one reason or another does not work on either Luffy or Zoro, but did on most everybody else. Apparently, Owleyes insists that she's been this way even before eating the paper-paper fruit and she had no idea where it came from.

He would never admit aloud that his alpha liked it about her though. There was a certain primal satisfaction in knowing he was one of few that could even see her, let alone scent her…

"Y-es!" Nami stutters, "Exactly, (y/n)! We need a better ship. As it is we’ll probably sink before we even get there!" 

"Oh, well, if you say it like that." Luffy concedes, "Then what do we do?"

"We could sail right on to Lougetown and see if we can steal a boat up there. Not to mention, we need to go that way anyway based on Buggy's map. But that's pretty far. There's an island just due a little north east of here that I noticed. It should have a village, so maybe it has a port too." Nami pointed at the map, but the little pictures on there only meant something to her, "I think we should go there first." 

"Alright!" Luffy stands up, one foot on the helm of their scooter and points onward. "It's a plan!" 

"So, we'll look for a better boat..." Nami continues...

"And eat some meat!" Luffy finishes and this time she just groans.

X...X...X

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