by Ellie Pond
A loud knock came at her cabin door.
“Hold on a second,” Aurora yelled as she threw on her bikini bottoms and top. There were two holes on the door. One at six and a half feet, the other at five. She crouched to the lower one. In front of her, a waiter wearing a crisp white uniform held a tray with a large pineapple drink.
He waved at her through the hole. “Room service.”
She opened the door. “I didn’t order anything.”
“Yes, this comes with a note. May I put it down for you?” Aurora motioned for him to come in. He placed it on the table next to the bed and handed her the note. “Have a great stay.”
She picked the note up.
Sorry, have a great time with Spencer. -D
That was nice. It was about time he realized he’d been crabby. Aurora took a sip through the straw. Mai tai—now that was tasty. She put the flower in her hair, threw on a light white cover-up over her navy-blue bikini, and put her hand on the door to the adjacent room. A quick knock and the door flew open.
“Tad heard a man in here.” Spencer looked around.
“No one’s here now.”
“What is that thing?” He pointed at the drink.
That thing would be her favorite drink. That Duncan had known.
Aurora could feel the heat from Spencer standing behind her. “Room service.”
Spencer picked up the note. “Nice, guess the kid isn’t as much of an ass as I thought.” He put the note back on the table, and his phone rang from his pocket. He answered it and went into the other room. Tad picked up the note and read it. His expression confused her. Empathy? But empathy for what?
4
Pillow Pile
Duncan opened the door. This would be the longest week of his life. Spencer turned thirty-two on Friday, and with no fated mate, that meant the stupid pact would come to be. Why did it matter? It didn’t. Aurora was a great girl: tall, beautiful, with a great ass. What did it matter to him that Spencer didn’t care about his fated mate? Right? That shit probably wasn’t true, anyway. Granted, his mom and dad had an incredible marriage, going on thirty-five years when they died. But that didn’t mean shit. Spencer had said nothing to her yet about the pact. But everyone talked about it, their not-so-secret secret. Hell, the whole pack watched them drive off, even him. He would have crammed himself into the cab of the truck if he could. The pack liked Aurora. For a human, she fit in. But his aunt had said something weird to him right before he flew down the day before and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Take good care of Aurora; she will be a great Larsen. He threw back at her, “Wouldn’t that be Spencer’s job.” Her response: “Perhaps?” What the hell did that mean? Spencer was turning fucking thirty-two. Aurora and Spencer had been friends for eighteen years. Eighteen years of friendship with the most perfect woman on the planet, and he never let anyone have a chance. The guy was a fucking loser. He coughed and pulled the ever-present cloth handkerchief from his pocket. And spat blood into it.
Sleep would be the best thing. The drive across town from Monroeville to the airport on the parkway had taken longer than if the Pittsburgh Hounds were playing the New England Granites. Maybe he should go back up to the pool deck and register for a match with Oliver Sutton. Oliver Sutton on board the ship with him—that was amazing. He was his favorite player, even if he did play for Philadelphia.
Shit, the whole room stank. Spencer, Tad, and Gunnar, but most of all, her. He stood next to his bed. The cabin steward had made the beds and delivered their battered suitcases, which were lined up against the wall. On the floor, he opened his bag and grabbed his toiletry case and a new shirt. He fell back on the bed, his shoes still on, holding a pillow over his head. He breathed in. How the hell was he going to sleep in a room that smelled like her, not to mention a bed that had her scent all over it? Stupid, moping over a girl that would never be his. Stupid. He’d hoped he had gotten over this in high school. Repeat the mantra again. She is your friend. He could try what he normally did then, go fuck some random human. Some random girl who wasn’t her, who looked like her or looked nothing like her. The ones who looked nothing like her helped the most. The ones who were nasty and dumb, crass, full of sharp edges, with no sense of humor. He held the pillow over his head again for a minute.
“Are you sniffing the pillow or trying to suffocate yourself?”
He dropped the pillow between the beds. Shit, at least it was Tad and not Gunnar or Spencer.
“Aren’t you over that?”
“Yeah, well, I thought I was. How the hell did you know?” Duncan twisted on the bed.
“We all knew, well everyone but Spencer. And Aurora. Definitely Gunnar. He did that to piss both of you off.”
“Yeah, he’s an asshole.”
“It’s stupid, I understand that.”
“Acting like a jerk is stupid, I get it.”
“No, the pact.”
“Yeah.” Duncan picked the pillow off the floor and tucked it behind his head.
Tad sat on the chair across from the bed. “He should’ve just mated her a decade ago. My mom would have grandnephew and niece cubs to gush over, and we wouldn’t have to listen to them going on and on about mates and fate and whatever shit they drone on about.”
Duncan stood. He felt his wolf surge under his skin; he itched for a change. The notion of Aurora having children with Spencer made him furious.
“Right?” Tad pushed.
Duncan’s breath hitched. He stepped towards Tad.
“If just the thought of someone talking about our alpha mating Aurora makes you want to change, what will happen when he does, omega? You better get your shit together, or you will cause the pack to implode.” Tad grabbed his book from the dresser and strode out of the room.
He didn’t need a nap, he needed to bleed something. Duncan tossed the pillow at the cabin door.
5
McHotness
The elevator opened onto the Panther Deck. A line wrapped around the unopened cafe at the stern of the ship where Oliver Sutton stood with two other crew members who both held tablets. Duncan could see the top deck of the ship; no doubt the rest of his group were at the sail away party. For a moment he considered a quick jog up the stairs to the top deck. Spencer needed to know what a mistake he was making. He would be denying his true mate, and Aurora would live without romantic love. A shiver ran over him, and he stepped out of the line heading towards the pool deck. Spencer would take care of Aurora. Duncan nodded to the gorilla shifter behind him as he stepped back into the line.
“Having second thoughts, wolf?”
“No, thought I saw someone I know up there.”
“Right.”
Duncan turned his back to the gorilla shifter and crossed his arms over his chest. The line moved forward.
Oliver Sutton looked in even better shape than when he had played Kunyon Ball for the Baltimore Runners. He hated the Runners, but Sutton was a beast and didn’t deserve the punishment he got—being banned from the league for three seasons. That ended a career for a ball runner. You couldn’t be a Kunyon ball runner in your thirties—it was too hard on your knees. A mix of rugby, American football, and soccer, it was the favorite sport of most shifters.
The ruling had ended any thought of a career for Sutton.
Duncan turned his baseball cap around to keep the sun out of his eyes. The line crept forward. Every shifter who signed up wanted a picture and an autograph too. Sutton did each one and gave extra time to the kids who were in line, and there were a lot of kids. Kids, cubs, kits, half-shifted bears, they were all in line with him. These kids had it so easy. When he was that age, his dad would smack him on the side of the head if he shifted in public, and a half shift—that was out of the question. He made his ears bigger to hear once and only once. Duncan never thought of doing it again. That was the problem. He would never have thought of stepping out of line. Spencer challenged everything. Tad had to understand everything, and Gunnar made fun of everything. Duncan? He did wha
t he was told. And what did it get him? An ulcer. Shifters weren’t supposed to get sick, and technically he wasn’t. They couldn’t find anything wrong with him. While he was muscular and fit, he felt skinny, tired. And then there were the nose bleeds.
A cub in line started to wail, and he didn’t blame the kid—he wanted to, too.
Fifty minutes later, he was at the front of the line. He got the second last slot, matched against another omega wolf from New Brunswick. He was probably an Icer fan. He hated the Icers, too. That would make it all the more fun to bleed the shit out of the guy. He had let the crew photographer take his picture with Sutton, who had been nice enough. But after watching him take photos with a hundred other shifters and their kids, he felt bad to talk to him too much. He had the choice between the first night and the last. So, tonight it was, and that was fine with him. Let his wolf out to chomp on something. He could hardly wait. They had given him the time of his pre-fight physical and the match. He twirled the little piece of paper in his hands and then crumpled it in his fist. He didn’t need it. They said it would be on his orange cruise wrist band, if he lost the paper. Why the hell was his band orange, anyway? Maybe it was a question that his aunt had asked him when she filled out the paperwork. He probably hadn't texted her back in time, so she took orange, the closest to his wolf’s fawn coat. Yeah. Spencer’s was black, and Gunnar’s was gray, and Tad’s—well, his was blue. That shithead. He ran up the stairs to the top deck.
The pool bar had an open seat, and he took it as a sign and slid into it. He glanced to the left side of his stool, where a short human with amazing curves and long blonde hair sat. She wasn’t looking at anyone either, only down at her fruity drink. And on the right side of him sat another human girl with long dark hair, a high ponytail, and caramel skin. She turned towards him. “Hey? Having fun?”
He glanced over at her. And nodded.
“Oh, I will take that as a no.” Her ponytail bounced.
Duncan waved at the bartender. But the petite brunette was busy with a large crowd at the other end of the bar.
“You look like my brother when he needs to let his animal, like, out, badly.”
Duncan didn’t turn towards her but took a deep breath. Human. She was human.
“So you are listening. Yeah, I am human. It happens, you know. Every once in a while. My twin is a shifter, and I’m not. Human just like Dad. Well, just like dad was. Now, I am the only human in my family.”
Duncan wasn’t a puma, but something was off in that statement. As much as Duncan didn’t want to be a cat, he would have loved to have the Puma ability to tell when someone was lying to him.
“I am sure that could change.” Duncan didn’t turn towards her.
“He talks. Listen, wolf, that’s not going to change. Not that I haven’t tried. But I am good with that now.”
“So … you came on a ship full of shifters for what, then? Find your mate, live happily ever after?”
“There’s no such thing as happily ever after. And from the looks of you, you know that.”
Duncan turned towards her. “A cynic. Might be you are exactly what I am looking for.”
“Me, nope. You, sir, with your Hottie McHotness, are nothing but trouble.” She waved at the bartender, who hustled towards them.
“What can I get you, Sam?”
“I’m good, but my friend here needs a …?”
“Beer, dark if you have it, as many as possible.”
“Sure. Not a problem, Sam.” The bartender poured a stout Belgium beer. One that he had often when he tried to get drunk. It worked almost as good as Dragon Ale, but not quite.
“So, Sam, are you the resident matchmaker on board?” Duncan glanced at her. He settled a little.
“Something like that. Maybe Courtney next to you wants a little trouble.”
The blonde next to him lifted her head. “No, I am good.” She giggled and played with her paper straw. “I am done with trouble. Mostly done at least.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Courtney. My work here is done. I’ll see you around, Wolfie.”
“Yeah, don’t call me that.”
“Sure thing. McHotness.” Sam touched his shoulder, and he coughed at the cool vibration that went through him, like he had been skating on the pond with his brothers for hours. Cold and sweaty at the same time. Not human—witch. Duncan shivered. Witches and wolves didn’t get along. And especially in his pack, since a witch’s curse made his uncle go mad. The war went back decades. The witches didn’t want to be outed to humans so they handed over shifters. While keeping themselves protected with magical shields. He couldn’t blame their shields being exposed to the humans was a rocky ride. The blonde next to him sipped her drink.
Duncan finished his third as Aurora sat down next to him. He didn’t have to glance at her, he could smell her twenty feet away. That almond moisturizer she wore might as well have been barbecue sauce.
“There you are.” The auburn in her hair shimmered in the sun. He hadn’t turned to look at her. She touched his arm, and his senses exploded. As he turned, his breath hitched. Under a thin white cover-up, she had on a navy-blue bikini. He wanted to rip the cover-up off of her and cover her up with towels at the same time.
She put her hand on his on the bar. “Duncan, are you okay? What in the world is going on with you?”
Duncan paused, his wolf pacing inside him.
“Did you just growl?”
“No.” He did not growl, did he? At his brother’s—his alpha’s—future mate.
“Yes, you did. Listen, what the heck is going on with you? You need to tell me.” She was cute as hell with her other hand on her hip, bunching the cover-up there. He was staring at her hips. The bartender appeared, and he ordered her a mai tai without the pineapple container this time.
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t growl,” he said as soon as the bartender put her drink down in front of her.
“I definitely heard a growl.” The blonde next to him lifted her head up.
“Courtney, I didn’t ask you.”
“Making friends, that’s good, Duncan.”
Courtney laughed, her blonde hair cascading in front of her face. “I am staying out of trouble. Excuse me, I see my friend.” She jumped down from the stool and sashayed away from the bar; eyes all around followed her.
“I guess that’s one way to clear a room.” She sat down on the stool.
“Where’s Spencer?” Duncan looked around the pool deck.
“He’s checking out the excursions. Tad’s sitting over there in the shade and Gunnar disappeared right after you left.”
Duncan took a long chug of his Belgium brewed beer.
6
Last Dance
Aurora sat still next to him, Duncan stared straight ahead. He gulped his drink and motioned for a refill.
“Right, so how’d your flight go? Terrifying, I bet?” Why was it so much harder to talk to him now? He made this so odd for the two of them. He turned towards her but stared over her left shoulder near the pool. Was it a girl? Don’t look, that would be weird. Were his lips fuller? Maybe he was kissing someone earlier—that makes your lips bigger, right? Aurora’s silent monologue rang through her head. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to have the connection with Duncan. To be able to hear his thoughts and have him hear hers. Shit, how would anyone put up with the never-stopping string of nonsense. If you counted Spencer as her best friend, Duncan was second. Not second, different. More than once she wondered if Duncan hadn’t been Spencer’s brother, would they have dated? They had danced together more than once at pack weddings; each time Duncan held her like glass. Other than at her prom, their bodies never touched.
The first memory Aurora held onto of Duncan as more than a friend came from their prom. Dave Driskell asked her to the big dance on the first day back from Christmas break, and she said yes without thinking. There wasn’t anything wrong with Dave, but there wasn’t much right with him either. January, February and Mar
ch blew past and Dave didn’t talk to her, with only an occasional head bob as they passed in the hallway. She tried to get out of it. The few times they did talk, she wanted to tell him that they should find other people to go with. But it never came out. With only two weeks to go, she tried again. She searched for an excuse to tell him that she didn’t want to be his date. But he did it for her. The week before the dance, he stopped her in the hall and blurted out that he couldn’t take her. He wanted to take Jenny Phinnegan. Spencer hadn’t rubbed Aurora’s nose in it, even though he might have mentioned it a dozen times that she needed to tell Dave to take a hike. Two weeks before, at the Larsens’ dinner table, Duncan said the same thing and even his Dad nodded in agreement. She didn’t cry in the hall or on the walk home or on the walk to the Larsens’. But with three sets of glowing eyes glued to her, she let her frustration out. And then talked Spencer, Gunnar, and Duncan out of ripping Dave apart.