Beneath the Alpha’s Nose, Chapter 7

The Mermaid’s Folly wheezes like a wounded thing, every groan reminding me that I’m trapped inside another cage, only this one floats. If I breathe too loud, it could all collapse; this disguise, this fragile boy’s shell holding in the wolf.

I’ve barely been aboard six hours, and already my stomach is tying itself into knots from the constant motion. But seasickness is such a small problem compared to what’s really at stake: if the crew finds me hidden here in the hold—or figures out what I am underneath this disguise—they’ll toss me to the sea without ever looking back, or worse. We’re still days from Spiritwild.

I shift carefully, working the binding cloth under my blouse just enough to let my ribs expand. The relief is slight, but it’s better than nothing. Still, no matter how I try, sleep won’t come. Every new groan in the hull, every muffled shout above decks, rakes a fresh line of fear through my body. I force my eyes shut anyway, measuring out breaths and hoping exhaustion will win over nausea for a little while.

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A sudden jerk in the ship’s motion snaps me upright. The ship isn’t riding the waves the way it was; it’s lurching, like something beneath the water is pushing up against us. The shifting throws my senses wide open.

“I hate sailing to this accursed place.” The voice carries down the steps from the deck, boots thumping behind it.

“Aye,” another grunts. A thickset, tattooed sailor lights a lantern as he hits the bottom step, the flame flickering shadows across the stacked crates and the damp planks. “The waters near Spiritwild, they’re cursed. Unnatural.”

“But the captain gets good coin running for those furry freaks,” the first one says, sounding almost bored as they start picking their way through the stacked cargo.

I press myself as flat as I can between two crates, my muscles locked tense. Another shudder rolls through the hull, but it’s not the slap of waves—it’s pointed, deliberate. I feel it in my fingertips.

It isn’t the swell of water. It’s something alive. The beast in me recognizes the other before my mind does, like scent before sight. Father once said the sea hid predators older than wolves, hungrier too. I didn’t believe him. I do now.

Galeanthropes. Weresharks.

Father’s old stories flash up: unlike wolves, weresharks never hang on to human sense. Not in any shape. In them, the beast is in charge, savage and blood-hungry, cunning but totally unbound.

Why would they go after a ship like this? They must be desperate. Or they’ve caught the scent of a rival predator aboard.

Me.

My stomach curls up. Can they really catch a wolf’s scent through all the tar and stillskin soaked into every board on this ship?

I peer around the crates, silent as I can. The two sailors stand near the stairwell, the lantern swinging. If I stay hidden, they’ll die. But if I warn them, I risk everything. If I say nothing, is their blood on my hands?

Another slam shakes the Folly, rattling the crates and hammering my hesitation to dust. The wolf whispers run, but Ari—the name I made for living—finds his voice first.

“Hey.” I pitch my voice to the practiced register. “We need to talk.”

The two whirl, suspicion lighting their faces in the glow of the lantern. They look me over, boots to brow, and I know my ragged cap and chopped-down hair won’t hold up for long. My tongue feels thick, like it might stick.

“Who in the hells?” the tattooed sailor barks, thrusting the lantern up to show my face.

“There’s something in the water,” I say, as steady as I can. “Hitting the hull. You need to warn the captain.”

Both of them smirk, dark and amused. The tattooed one even shoulders me back, crowding me against the nearest box. “You think we can’t tell the difference, rat? Barnacles scrape at every crossing.”

I stumble but stay up. Panic shreds my voice raw. “This isn’t that. I grew up on the coast. This is… off. Weresharks. Maybe a whole pack. If you want to reach Spiritwild, you need to tell the captain now.”

The leaner one narrows his eyes, weighing me. “You ain’t crew. Not a paying passenger neither. Why would you care if the fish take us out?”

I hesitate. Too long for a lie. So the truth tumbles out, fast and thin: “I’m a stowaway. If you drown, so do I. I’d rather live.”

They’re silent, just the ship groaning and water slamming in the distance. Then the tattooed sailor grins, teeth chipped. “Stowaways go straight to the captain, rat. Captain’s got a special way to deal with you.”

Before I can so much as blink, the tall one grips my arm, iron in his fingers, sharp pain biting in. I feel the edge of his knife against my side, so I don’t fight it. They herd me up the narrow stairs, the lantern swinging wild as we climb into daylight.

The brightness slams into my skull but I keep my head down as they haul me across the deck. Past the coils of rope, past every pair of crew’s eyes burning holes in my back, straight for the stern.

The captain waits for us, arms folded. Broader than any of the other sailors I’d seen, his skin weathered, hair lashed tight behind him, sun-bleached coat nearly erased of rank. His eyes are flat, like butcher’s eyes; I feel them peel past the layers of my disguise.

Every instinct in me knows a predator when it circles close. He reeks of salt and command, the kind of man who could drown a truth just to keep order. I’ve met this type before. I called one ‘Father.’

“Found a rat in the hold, Captain,” the tattooed one announces. “Says monsters are in the water.”

The captain doesn’t look at his man, only at me. His mouth splits into a smile so sharp it could cut. “Is that right?” The words are silk over steel. “And what are you running from, boy?”

There’s something under the salt and rum on him, something wrong. The wolf in me feels it and answers sharp; my canines nearly break skin as I clamp them down.

I duck my head, steadying my voice. “It doesn’t matter where I’m from. But you need to check the hull.”

A huff, half a laugh. “Bold. Not many stowaways have the guts to lie to my face.” He closes the distance, deck planking groaning under his weight. “I hate liars. And surprises even more. So why shouldn’t I just toss you to the depths now? Let you get a nice close look at what’s down there?”

He leans in, his whisper scraping. “Say it, boy. Real story.”

I let the truth burn through. “I can smell them. They’re about to attack.”

The lean sailor twitches, the words sinking in and his jaw goes slack before it tightens again. He bolts for the bell.

DONG. DONG. DONG. Three times, then again. The deck thrums, panic blooming like smoke. I should feel relief, but all I can hear is my lie unraveling with every ringing of the bell. They’ll know soon enough—I’m not one of them. But if the monsters come first, maybe it won’t matter who I am, only what I can do.

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