Chapter Text
The merchant ship limped out of Harley and Ivy’s territory, scraped and glittering. All the better target for Slade and his crew. The Deathstroke was one of the fastest ships in the sea, but even its dinghy could overtake the Central City merchant ship.
“No movement by the cannons,” Angelica reported, telescope pressed to her scarred eye. “Could be a trap, but it looks like they’re out of ammo.”
“Be ready to fire, but don’t shoot if they don’t load the cannons. A round from us and that ship and its cargo is sinking,” Slade said. “They’re not idiots if they survived an attack from Harley and Ivy.”
The First Mate descended from the quarterdeck, her orders followed without hesitation. Slade demanded unflinching loyalty and obedience from his crew and that extended to his First Mate and lieutenants. In compensation, everyone received a fair share of loot and the protection that came from following someone with the moniker the Terminator.
A ragged white flag jerked up the merchant vessel’s mast and most of his crew cheered. The bloodthirsty grumbled, but limited their griping to sour looks. Not idiots indeed. It took a certain level of pragmaticism to let a pirate crew board them, but Slade had a code. If the white flag was raised, no blood would be shed and only half the cargo would be taken.
“Rose, take us in,” Slade said.
His daughter eagerly took the wheel, white hair in intricate braids and silver hat gleaming. She won that hat after a grueling duel against one of Bane’s top lieutenants. He approved of a trophy as much as anyone and she was hardly seen without it. “Aye, aye, Pops.”
He fixed his coat and checked his weapons—he had a reputation after all—before walking on deck, lines thrown and hooking onto the merchant ship.
“Board!” Angelica shouted and the crew surged. Angelica led most boarding parties, having the advantageous combo of being one of his best fighters and an omega. Too many ships believed omega crew members were bad omens for Slade not to exploit. The boarding party made quick work leaping across and collecting weapons into a pile meager even for merchants. Merchants weren’t known for fighting prowess and Central merchants were notorious cheapskates when it came to hiring protection.
Slade landed on the merchant ship and several bruised and bandaged faces drained. Slade carefully didn’t react. Captain Wilson of the Deathstroke was deadly and untouchable. He killed faster than a person blinked and ruthlessly protected what was his. He was vicious and unruffled. He was impossible to—
He scowled at the grinning Dick Grayson, armed and in front of the haphazard weapon pile. A refresher lecture was needed on how to treat Bats, the bounty hunter guild that’d drive him to an early grave with Grayson at the helm.
“Why isn’t he disarmed?” Slade shouted. A few of his crew and merchant sailors jumped.
“He said he wouldn’t attack,” Angelica said as if they were in the habit of accepting anyone’s word. A slight mocking tone took over. “His swords are finely crafted. It’d be a shame to toss them in with everything else.”
Grayson’s rant about his swords at their last run in was seared into Angelica’s mind as well. Amazonian blades were rare enough anyone would be tempted to nab them. Slade lamented not taking one when he had the chance.
“Everyone gets disarmed,” Slade said. “No exceptions.”
“Threats get disarmed,” Angelica corrected, turning to the merchant crew. “Where’s your captain?”
He needed to lecture Angelica too.
“Aw, if you’re nervous, I’ll add my swords to the pile,” Grayson said, looking as comfortable as a lone guard on a merchant vessel as he did captaining his ship, The Nightwing. Why Grayson played guard on a random vessel in his territory was not on Slade’s radar. Grayson’s tendency of taking odd jobs aside, too often the Bats sniffed into things they had no business in and made life needlessly difficult.
“I could take one of your precious blades as is my due,” Slade said.
“My blades aren’t part of the ship’s cargo.” Grayson’s grin widened demonically. “I’m happy to duel you for the pleasure, but we’d need to discuss stakes.”
Slade fought to keep his face smooth. His code protected all people on the surrendering craft, including their personal belongings. It was a good code, of course, but his insides twisted at Grayson reciting it to his advantage.
“Even your blades aren’t worth anything I have, birdie,” Slade said, all deadly venom. Again, he had a reputation to—
“Dick!” Rose said, weaving around the cowed merchant crew. She must’ve given the wheel to Wintergreen.
“Rose!” Grayson said, equally excited. They hugged and Slade’s eye twitched.
He pretended his daughter and the bounty hunter weren’t gabbing as the merchant captain scurried over, arm bandaged and alpha scent raging. Slade was grateful alpha noses weren’t as sensitive as others. While Angelica scrunched her nose, all Slade got was harsh marshy notes.
He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. A merchant captain, alpha or no, was no match for a pirate, especially a merchant captain that surrendered. Slade let his scent plume. Slade’s crew didn’t react, though he knew Angelica would complain about a headache later, but the merchant crew cowered, regardless their secondary gender. The merchant captain’s scent dropped meekly.
“So, you get half my cargo?” the captain asked.
Slade simply stared.
The captain swallowed. “Right, Benjy will show you the hull.”
Benjy, a frazzled beta, didn’t look eager to show anyone anything, but led Angelica and some other crew without fuss.
The captain’s meek scent soured and he glared at Dick. “Didn’t realize you knew the Deathstroke crew. Do you get a cut since you forced us to surrender?”
“After the bout with Harley’s Freaks, we can’t take another attack from any ship,” Grayson said. He, like all the Bats, wore a scent blocker, but Slade suspected the man was a beta. He generally kept a level head. “You don’t have to be a part of his crew to know Captain Wilson follows a code. Now this won’t be a completely wasted trip.”
The merchant captain snarled. It was a funny picture. The merchant captain, even if he was uninjured, was no match for Grayson. Grayson was wiry, all hard muscle, while the merchant’s smooth hands hadn’t held a weapon in years. “You don’t get to make the call on what’s a wasted trip.”
His beta daughter stepped away from the captains. It was lucky Angelica and most the omega crew onboard went into the hull. Omegas notoriously had the most sensitive noses.
“We talked about the pros and cons of waving the white flag,” Grayson said mildly. “You ordered the flag waved.”
“I had no choice when you weren’t willing to fight,” the merchant captain scoffed. As if one person could singlehandedly oppose Slade’s crew. Classic Central cheapskate. Though Slade was curious how Grayson fended off Harley’s crew with the merchant’s hands-off approach. “Our agreement isn’t worth losing this much cargo. Maybe I’ll see what pirate crews you don’t get along with to make up the difference.”
More than a few pirates would pay a pretty penny for a Bat. Slade never bothered because pissing off the Bats rarely had a strategic advantage. Bats were more trouble than they’re worth. He leaned back, keeping the merchant and bounty hunter in view. Slade enjoyed when Grayson’s smile revealing the fangs underneath.
Dick laughed, blatantly fake. Uneasiness cracked the merchant captain’s ire. Look who finally realized threatening one of the most notorious bounty hunters was a bad idea. “I love a good joke because that has to be a joke or else I’m forced to retaliate.” Grayson bared his teeth in a facsimile of a grin. “I like your crew, I do, but you’ve been a bastard since I boarded. Cutting you down to size won’t be difficult. It’ll hardly be a warm up even if you bribe people to defend you.
His grip fell to his dual swords. “But my hands are tied if you’re impulsive enough to threaten the only reason your boat didn’t sink after Harley’s first glitter bomb. So, Maxwell, are we laughing together? Or are we seeing how fast you’ll fall under my blade?”
But Grayson had the temper of an alpha.
Captain Maxwell swallowed. There was no noticeable shift in his scent to Slade, but the betas and omegas in Slade’s crew looked amused. Apparently, the captain’s scent was scared shitless.
“Oh,” Grayson said as if the thought just occurred to him, “and if you turn on me, every Bat and Titan will be after you, but a strong alpha like yourself can take of that, right?”
The Bats weren’t protected by law—the Navy largely turning a blind eye to bounty hunters until they brought in someone matching a wanted poster—but Bats served their own justice with a swiftness and brutality Slade admired. He’d only been on the wrong end of their vengeance a handful of times and each time led to new scars and maimed crew and, on one memorable occasion, a new ship.
And the Titans have been a pain in everyone’s ass since they were teenagers stealing their better’s ships.
The merchant captain coughed and tittered. “Of course, I was joking. Half the cargo is a reasonable price to pay to keep our lives and the ship. Thank you for your guidance.”
“Pleased to hear it,” Grayson said cheerfully, steel covered by velvet again. Captain Maxwell ducked his head and tried to melt into the background.
Slade hid his amusement but Grayson caught his eye knowingly.
“Did inventory,” Angelica said, strategically upwind. She shook her head at Slade’s silent question. He pursed his lip but wasn’t too surprised a random merchant vessel was unrelated to the surge of drugged attacks hitting Slade’s territories. None of this escaped Grayson’s notice. “We’re transferring cargo now.”
Slade nodded and dismissed the merchant captain with a lazy wave of his hand. He meant to return to his ship when Grayson, lacking survival instincts as always, grabbed his arm. His grip fell away before Slade could do more than raise an eyebrow.
“What are you looking for? I’ve been around. Could have useful information.”
Finding the source of a drug that induced an omega’s heat in seconds sounded exactly like the type of thing Grayson would stick his nose in, but Slade survived too long to get involved with Bats. “I’m not working with you, Grayson.”
Grayson pouted dramatically. Slade retracted his last opinion; the man could not be an alpha. “What about a hint?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“I’ll ask Rose.”
Slade sighed as Grayson over exaggeratedly looked for his daughter who would answer questions, regardless of what Slade said. He couldn’t even order her back to the ship since she wouldn’t listen, further undermining him in front of the crews. “I’m looking for Scorch.”
“Why?” Grayson asked, attempting casual but wariness leaked through. Scorch was spreading if the little bird knew about it. Bludhaven was far from Slade’s territory.
“To track down the supplier and destroy their production line.” And kill said supplier, but Grayson got righteous about murder. Grayson’s relief was there and gone in a flash. “Too many towns in my territory have been attacked.”
“If I had a sample, I could help manufacture a cure or preventative,” Grayson said. “It won’t be easy to take the drug off the market even if you take out the main supplier.”
Slade preferred solving his problems with shooting and slicing, but Grayson had a point. “When I have a sample, I’ll send it to you, but we’re not working together.”
“But,” Grayson said, holding up his hands, “have you considered how cute it would be if we did?”
Slade pointedly rolled his eye and Grayson grinned, shooting Slade with his fingers. Grayson remained the most annoying Bat. He turned his back, ignoring the bounty hunter in favor of returning to the ship with Angelica, who remained amused as always when Grayson was involved. Slade ignored her too.
“Bye, Rose!” Grayson yelled.
“Bye, Dick!” Rose yelled, enthusiastically waving from the ship’s lines.
Slade sighed again.
Slade seethed and the omega scrambled further behind Rose. His daughter glared and Slade forcibly controlled his scent, but his blood boiled. This was the third Scorch attack Slade arrived too late to stop and the attackers had the audacity to do it while Slade and the Deathstroke crew drank at bars across town. The audacity to do it in one of the first towns he claimed.
The omega was dazed, whining and cowering behind anyone who wasn’t an alpha. Another omega clawed Slade’s boots until he stepped away and she crawled towards the next closest alpha. All total, about a dozen omegas were dosed in this attack. Their sweet scents tangled thick in the air, choking everyone with the sheer desperation. The concoction of distress, want, anxiety, and terror was disorientating even with the chemical edge. While alphas had the weakest noses, they were the most sensitive to omegas in heat. Slade was forced to order some of his crew to the docks to clear their heads. The townspeople were less inclined to follow Slade’s orders, snarling at the unfamiliar alpha scent by the overwhelming distress of familiar omegas. His crew separated several fights, family members and interested alphas coming to blows with each other and the Deathstroke crew.
Slade should have kept more betas with him once he realized the source of the terrified screams, but he was too furious to be strategic. Beta scents were nonthreatening to alphas and omegas alike. Something that was a godsend when alphas and omegas were lost to their baser instincts.
Right now, it was a sea of chaos and Slade’s attention was split between helping the omegas and finding the perpetrators. He drew a breath. The assailants fled to the sea. There was no place to hide on the island long term and, if they had any survival instinct, they would flee to the docks or the bay. Everywhere else was too steep and jagged to dock a boat.
“Rose.” Slade’s voice was more growl than coherent, but Rose turned. “You have control here. I’m hunting the idiots who attacked.”
If she was nervous, Rose didn’t show it. Angelica typically was in this position but she and the other omega crew stayed back, not wanting to be incapacitated in another Scorch attack. Angelica refused to stay far from the action, however. Currently, she and some town guards weaved in the frays of the crowd, separating fights and calming people as best they could.
“Deathstroke alphas with me,” Slade ordered. His crew, as intoxicating as the omega stench was in provoking protective and baser alpha instincts, obeyed. He moved upwind of the omegas and the cloudy look faded in his crew’s eyes. “Wintergreen, take half to the docks. Everyone else, we’re going to the bay. Be swift and keep them alive for now. We need information.”
They split and Slade sprinted, trusting his crew to follow. The town morphed into jungle and there was no attempt at stealth. They burst through the underbrush, sending flocks flying and deterring more dangerous predators. Nothing wanted to mess with a furious pack, scent wrathful and deadly.
They burst onto the bay’s rough shore in minutes. The assailants swore, hurriedly pushing their dinghy where it cut into the sand as if the water would protect them. A couple got shots off and one of the Deathstroke crew went down. Slade, without dropping pace, drew his pistols and shot an alpha through the head and another in the arm. There were five people total. Not everyone had to survive to give them information.
The fleeing alphas and betas put up more of a fight than Slade liked but he wasn’t known as the Terminator for irony and he ensured his crew wouldn’t embarrass him. Soon, the perpetrators were bleeding into the sand, disarmed and reeking of terror under their glares.
Slade shot the one cursing. Someone needed to play the example and the loud ones were tempting targets. Taking out the loudest helped the others see reason and they squealed in record time, serving their use. The Deathstroke pirates left the corpses laid in the sand, bathed in the setting sun.
Manatee Bay was deserted most of the year, people only making the trek the couple of months manatees deigned to fill the shallow bay. The island was not notable otherwise, too small to support much of anything and far outside of typical shipping routes. Or so he thought. The freshly made docks was a glaring sign and Slade was furious it took spineless drug runners for him to find it. This island was near the border of his and Harley’s territories but firmly in Slade’s.
Deathstroke was forced to anchor and the two dinghies were filled to the brim with their best fighters. Slade wanted this assault completed with a speed as deadly as it was terrifying. Angelica refused to stay on the ship. In her words, she wasn’t letting the bastards who made Scorch leave this world without her help. Her and the other omegas who joined all wrapped thick cloth around their mouths. It was doubtful to do much if they were blasted with Scorch but that was why they were in the rear, Angelica’s protests be damned.
The alphas in his crew were on edge since they left the town in an efficiency that would make the Navy proud. The induced heat of the omegas combined with the adrenaline of the fight led to them feeding into each other’s heightened senses and protective instincts. Slade’s own fury riled them further, but they’d heed his commands, including letting betas and omegas take the lead if needed.
They landed on the dock, opting for the most direct path as there was no hiding The Deathstroke in the open ocean. A few other boats were tied on the dock.
“Flint, Burgess.” The scouts with the best noses materialized by his side. “Let us know who’s on the island.” They melted into the jungle. “Speed is our strategy. Remain alert. Supposedly they don’t have much in the way of defense, but I won’t risk our lives on the word of a sniveling coward. Omegas are the rear guards. Alphas and betas are better equipped to deal with the Scorch. If they release the Scorch, whistle two short notes and all omegas need to get upwind and away as quickly as possible.”
His First Mate hated anything resembling coddling, which is why Slade made the practicality clear. Any protest she had was pushed to the side. She had no qualms questioning his orders, but restrained herself in front of the crew unless his plan veered towards a suicide mission.
“You heard the captain,” Angelica barked. “We don’t have time to waste. We’re operating assuming they saw us coming.”
“Move out,” Slade said.
The crew slunk through the jungle, Slade near the front but letting more sharp-eyed crew members lead. No traps so far. A worn trail sprawled from the docks that no one stepped on, but kept in sight. This group didn’t seem the type to have false trails.
Swords clanging had the crew picking up their pace, only Flint’s appearance halting them.
“Their settlement is ahead. Mostly tents so nothing permanent and only one lookout in a tree stand who Burgess is taking care of,” Flint said. “Everyone is preoccupied so I don’t think they realize we’re here.”
“Report details, Flint,” Slade said. “I don’t have time for theatrics.”
Flint flushed. “There’s an omega going in heat fighting them off. Not sure if he’s an intruder or a test subject but everyone is giving chase. I couldn’t get a good look, but he didn’t seem badly injured.”
Slade growled. Likely an omega captured from one of his towns. “Omegas, stay back. We’re going in.”
Slade followed Flint, the scout steering their group upwind. The tents were interspersed among the trees, the group either lazy or clever enough to keep the natural cover. Several collapsed on the ground in heaps of canvas, a clear trail showing where the chase started, which was the largest tent. Likely where the omega was kept prisoner. No omega would willingly come here without backup and Flint would have reported if the omega had allies.
The sword strikes were constant, not quite covered by the jeering taunts from the alphas. Both made for ample cover for the Deathstroke crew.
“—a fine omega.”
“Just lay down like a good bitch!”
“Stop fighting it.”
“Can’t wait till you’re begging for my knot!”
While the alphas didn’t want to maim the omega, they weren’t half-assing the sword fight. Ideally this meant their guns were holstered. A lot could happen in the seconds it took to draw them.
Several alphas panted on the ground, their alarms silenced before they could draw breath, his crew finishing the job with slit throats. The chemical caramel scent made Slade move faster. He couldn’t fully appreciate the omega’s scent with the sharp panicked note and harsh Scorch undertone.
Eleven alphas stood between the Deathstroke crew and the swordfight, oblivious to anything but the omega. Slade held up his hand, about to soundlessly direct his crew, when a mocking alpha shifted and all thought stopped.
Grayson fought the alphas, his usual grace jerky. Sweat drenched the man and he panted, fighting with a desperation Slade rarely saw. Grayson was—
Slade roared and he didn’t remember moving. All he knew was he was in front of Grayson, shoving the omega behind with only a few scratches bleeding down his sides. Grayson whimpered and Slade hated this was how he heard it.
The Scorcher gang’s jeers died. His crew leapt into the fray, but Slade’s focus narrowed to the brazen alphas closest to Grayson. The alphas who dared attack him. The alphas who wanted to force their knots. The alphas who wouldn’t bother anyone soon.
An unguarded stomach, a too slow guard, a feint Slade tore through. It didn’t matter the technique. It didn’t matter when slashes made it past his guard. Alphas fell under his blade. He crushed a windpipe with one hand and shoved the soon to be corpse at an alpha scrambling back, but the alpha needed to do more if he wanted mercy. Slade whacked the coward’s weapon out of his hand and tilted his head back.
Slade’s low snarl had the coward begging, but he didn’t hear a word. “Don’t touch what’s not yours.” He twisted the coward’s head, his neck cracking satisfyingly loud and he fell limply.
He swung at another target and Angelica deflected his blade. The pounding red didn’t fade even as the Scorcher gang sprawled dead at their feet.
“—ade? Slade, snap out of it,” Angelica said. “They’re dead. You can’t—fuck.”
The acidic caramel cut through Slade’s bloodlust faster than anything Angelica attempted. He was protective like any alpha when an omega was stressed, but Grayson’s scent drove him to a different level.
Grayson wasn’t actively fighting, but he pressed against a large pile of rocks and that alone showed how he wasn’t thinking clearly. Grayson never cut off an exit.
Grayson swiped his blade, motion like a novice.
“Dick?” Rose said. “You’re ok. We won’t—”
She deflected the bounty hunter’s blade and fell back a couple steps with a swear. Grayson’s snarl was low and dangerous. He didn’t seem aware that his limbs grew shakier. His only focus was keeping his blade between him and any threats, which was everyone.
“Two cannisters were empty back there,” Angelica said. “Not that anyone’s been coherent after a Scorch attack, but Grayson’s feral. There’s no reasoning with him right now.”
“Give me room,” Slade said. “I’ll disarm him.”
“Omegas should be the one to pin him,” Angelica said. “He’ll recognize us as less of a threat.”
Slade signaled his agreement and approached Grayson with measured steps. A quick disarm and Angelica will swoop in. The attack played out in his head, a few variants dismissed as acrobatics was unlikely in his current state. The bounty hunter’s glazed eyes immediately locked on his. He was familiar with Grayson’s fighting techniques, but the drug made him erratic. Slade couldn’t let Grayson get close. He needed—
Grayson whimpered and Slade hesitated long enough for the omega to launch forward. Slade flinched—he’d be damned if this was how he goes—but the blades didn’t pierce him. Grayson curled around Slade, blades crisscrossed behind his back where Grayson clung. He purred, aggressively rubbing their scent glands together.
Slade couldn’t move, the contentment of the omega safely in his arms controlling all motor function. His caramel scent plumed.
“Or we can do that.” Angelica’s drawl made Grayson growl, swinging his swords at his crew behind Slade’s back. Even in Grayson’s current state, the blades never touched Slade.
“Enough of that,” Slade said. Grayson, as typical, didn’t listen. But Grayson was lost to his instincts, all the easier to manipulate. Slade scented Grayson. He couldn’t manage anything soothing, adrenaline still pumping, but he put all the protectiveness and instinctive mine into it and Grayson melted. He stopped lashing out, but didn’t drop the swords. Angle awkward, Slade eased the blades out of Grayson’s grasp. The omega’s ire was easily dealt with once Slade loosened his jacket and the bounty hunter promptly burrowed inside.
Angelica looked amused and Rose was torn between laughing and disgust, picking up Grayson’s blades. The rest of the crew wisely kept blank faces at the absurd image Slade and the bounty hunter made.
“Good work, Cap,” Angelica said. Slade scented Grayson again to cut off his growl. Grayson was liquid in his arms. “Let’s return to the dinghy before he changes his mind.”
Grayson was content to be carried through the jungle once the crew figured out exactly how wide of a berth was needed to prevent Grayson from trying to fight them. Luckily, the berth grew smaller as Grayson got more entangled in Slade’s clothes. Growls and purrs came out in equal measures as the bounty hunter was torn between snuggling and scaring off anyone daring to get in his eyeline.
At one point, Grayson, handsy as always, tore his shirt so wide its collar was a distant memory. Grayson trilled, lapping Slade’s unobstructed scent gland eagerly. It was unfair how Grayson evaded Slade’s attempt to halt him when he was barely holding his swords earlier. Slade took a deep breath, failing to calm his stirring pleasure. Caramel swelled and would be mouthwatering if it weren’t for the harsh chemical choking it. Teeth nipped his gland and Slade hissed.
Rose, as far away as she could manage while staying with the crew, cringed.
Slade couldn’t have the omega’s teeth piercing anything. A mating bond needed more intent than errant bites from one side, but Grayson needed to stop being a menace and Slade needed to preserve some dignity in front of his crew.
Slade curled fingers into dark strands and yanked the bounty hunter’s head to the side and away from his neck with a stern glare, but all Grayson did was growl playfully.
“—go first to prepare the crew for our guest,” Angelica said and Slade realized he had not been paying attention to much besides Grayson for a while. They were at the docks and commandeering one of the empty boats along with untying their dinghies. “Captain, we’ll only have Flint and Kunis on your dinghy.”
Betas were the smartest choice for this trek. She was his First Mate for many reasons, but her pragmaticism was up there. Grayson twisted out of Slade’s hold to latch onto his scent gland again. Rose gagged.
“You have your hands full as it is,” Angelica said.
Slade’s unimpressed glare was undermined by a purring omega who finally settled enough to stop threatening people near him. Slade glanced and his annoyance thawed. It was difficult for it to do anything else when Grayson, bounty hunter dangerous enough to warrant his own wanted poster, nuzzled sweetly closer. This would be near perfect if his scent wasn’t tainted with Scorch. And if his crew and daughter weren’t nearby. And if Grayson was coherent enough to choose this.
Slade shifted Grayson away from his neck, ignoring the bounty hunter’s whines. He stroked through Grayson’s hair, massaging his neck, and the omega’s displeasure vanished under purrs again. Maneuvering Grayson to the dinghy was anti-climatic as he didn’t acknowledge the change of scenery and only eyed the betas before nudging Slade persistently for his massages continued. Demanding even now, the brat.
The journey back to the ship took a metaphorical age and a half but a realistic fifteen minutes as they lingered behind the other two dinghies. Grayson, restless on a good day, shifted dangerously on Slade’s lap. Burgess and Flint carefully didn’t look as Slade kept maneuvering Grayson into less precarious positions. The omega’s pouts turned to growls as Slade kept Grayson away from his neck. Eventually he wrapped Grayson firmly, his back molded to Slade’s chest and the huffing omega squirmed until they reached the Deathstroke. The one time Slade looked down and Grayson had the widest blue eyes, waiting to pounce the moment Slade showed weakness. It almost worked, gallingly enough, and Slade distrusted Grayson on principle.
Angelica, the godsend she sometimes chose to be, cleared the deck of everyone but essential crew. All who were conveniently beta and all pointedly too busy to watch as their captain carried Grayson onto the ship because the bounty hunter refused to let go of Slade.
“The way to your cabin is clear, Captain,” Angelica said.
The implication of that sentence would make crews hoot on different vessels. Slade’s crew pretended not to hear.
Slade cleared his mind as Grayson rumbled excitedly, twisting out of Slade’s grip to press his face to his neck. He was weak enough to not jostle Grayson away. This could only end one way. He selfishly soaked it up while he could.
He swung his door open and dropped Grayson on his mattress. The omega rolled happily, shoving his nose to Slade’s pillows. He was in drugged heaven—Scorch coercing Grayson to Slade and Slade leaving him in a place where his scent was the most potent. Grayson made a tempting picture. Slade would be a liar if he said otherwise, but out of all the ways he imagined Grayson in his bed, drugged never made the cut.
He slammed the door behind him and closed his eye at Grayson’s shriek. The bounty hunter hammered at the door, too incoherent to turn the knob of the unlocked door.
“I have a space for you in medical. Spare clothes too,” Angelica said. She didn’t acknowledge his dishevelment. “Grayson will calm down. I’ll have guards posted just in case, for our safety as well as his.”
Slade grunted.
“Usually Scorch heats last a couple days. Worst case, Grayson will be in this heat for the rest of the week.”
Slade grunted again. Grayson likely kept banging at the door because he smelled Slade on the other side. His drugged consent was as enthusiastic as Grayson’s inevitable mortification will be.
“Respectfully, captain, you reek,” Angelica said. “You need to bathe if you want Rose to look you in the eye and to stop the crew from speculating.”
“They’re not to come near Grayson.” Slade’s growl was low, filling the corridor. It was a growl that sent the Navy and pirates quivering. It was a growl out of place on his ship to his First Mate.
Angelica visibly swallowed back a snarky comment. Slade knew he was alpha posturing but was unable to stop. The idea of anyone getting close to Grayson… Another growl, dark and possessive, escaped. The possessiveness that was out of place. The urge to guard the door until Grayson’s heat broke unwanted by a lucid Grayson. His instincts weren’t getting the same memo as his brain—that Grayson’s behavior and affection weren’t genuine.
“Aye, Captain. Beta and omega guards only and I’ll drop by myself to keep everyone in check.”
Slade grunted, his willpower almost not strong enough to stomp away.