Foam-capped waves leapt up the sides of the Lorraine’s wooden hull. The ship was an exact replica of the Santa Maria that Columbus crossed the Atlantic in, except, of course, for several modern additions and a significantly larger size. I stood on the ship’s deck and waited. Unlike most of the crew who were preparing for us to leave dock, I was solely an entertainer. My purpose at this moment was to stand there and smile, while listening to the excited voices of children rising from the gathering crowd.

I wasn’t, obviously, a real pirate, but children didn’t seem to care. I wore a pirate costume and could put on an appropriate accent on demand, and that was enough for an army of kids. That was except for some of the older children. They were easy to pick out because they weren’t fooled by the illusion and were over eager to prove their intelligence and maturity. But if an entire adolescence spent watching my neighbors’ children and five years working on a tourist-trap pirate ship had taught me anything, it was how to work with stubborn kids.

“We’re setting sail!” Captain Sherri called.

Captain Sherri was, in fact, the actual ship’s captain, and being captain of a pirate ship was a job she took very seriously. From her wild, curly red hair to her dramatic long-coat, she looked exactly as a pre-adolescent child would expect a pirate captain to look like. She shouted from the helm and I moved into action. I went to the bow and grabbed the rope the deckhand threw to me, pulling it over the gunwales with practiced ease. The first few minutes of any voyage were always a flurry of activity, and a good deal of it was for just for show.

Lorraine might look like the Santa Maria, but she sure didn’t have to worry about the wind to provide power. Not with her engines.

Once we’d properly set sail, I joined Sherri at the helm. Just like the Lorraine’s massive white sails didn’t propel the ship, the helm didn’t actually steer her. It was more of a feature, designed to look realistic and entertain, while the actual steering was done behind locked hatches. Part of being a pirate cruise was upholding the illusion. “Ready to go, Lance?” she asked.

“Always!”

I took the helm while she adjusted the microphone cord. “Hello, me hearties!” Sherri yelled, her Southern drawl vanishing in a heartbeat. “And welcome aboard me glorious vessel, the Lorraine! She’s a real beaut and has been sailing these waters for nigh on three-hundred years! Ain’t that right?”

“Aye, Captain!” I replied, leaning forward to make sure my words were caught by everyone.

“Aye, and during that time, we’ve had many an adventure on the high seas! We’ve fought pirates! Found treasure and braved many a storm, and now, ye lot are gonna join us! What d’ya say?” Sherri waited for the army of children to stop screaming before continuing. “Aye! That’s what we here on the Lorraine like to hear! Now most of the time, I’m gonna be busy up here steering the ship and checking me charts for treasure, so I’ll be leaving ye lot in the care of me first mate here, that be Jolly Jack!”

I waved amidst an army of cheers.

“Now that means you lot has to do everything he says, alright?” Sherri asked.

A chorus of promises rang through the air.

“Alright, everyone get settled in, and we’ll be starting all the pirate hijinks soon! Avast, me hearties!”

Sherri killed the microphone and filled the silence with a cheerful jig. “So, did you know we have a celebrity on board?” Sherri asked.

“No,” I replied. “Who?”

“Adrian Lafayette.”

“Never heard of him.”

Sherri shook her head in mock-disappointment. “You young people,” she said, shaking her head woefully. “You just don’t read.”

I laughed. “You are literally two years older than me.”

“Three,” she counted on her fingers. “I turned twenty-six just last month.”

“Okay, so who is Mr. Lafayette?”

“He’s a writer. I’ve never actually read his work, but he’s one of those experimental types. Sort of a prodigy. We’re talking Pulitzer-winning by the time he was twenty-one. Big deal.”

A Pulitzer? How cool! “So, why is he taking a pirate cruise in the Gulf of Mexico?” I asked.

Sherri shrugged. “No idea. Apparently Patrick knows all about him though.”

Patrick was Sherri’s boyfriend. They were inseparable on land, but Hell would freeze over before Patrick ever set foot at sea. It struck me as odd that Sherri, who came from a long line of faux-pirates, would be the perfect match for Patrick, the aquaphobic artist from Kentucky, but fate could deal a strange hand sometimes. “I guess we’d better roll out the red carpet then. We don’t want a super-famous writer giving us bad reviews,” I joked.

“Damn straight,” Sherri said. “And if he starts being a sourpuss, drop a bucket of water on his head.”

“With pleasure. Shall I go on down and greet our new crew?”

“Only if you’re up for it. Limbo doesn’t start for another couple hours, you workaholic.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I was never this enthusiastic working retail,” I said. “Maybe I’m not a workaholic at all. Maybe it’s just your bad influence.”

She swatted at me, and I backed away. “Let me know if you need me,” I said in a sing-song voice.

There wasn’t really any need to say it. I knew what my job was and I did it well; and if she did need assistance, I’d likely be the first person she called. As I descended to the quarter deck, I caught myself before I collided with a small child. An unattended small child. Children with missing parents weren’t really rare on a ship like this because we had so many group activities for kids, but it was weird to see one alone this early in the trip. Everyone should still be getting settled into their cabins. “Avast!” I declared, mentally scrambling to remember my accent. “Where be ye headed, young miss?”

She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her brown eyes. Her imposing stance was ruined somewhat by her long, dark braids and the fact that she was probably, at most, ten years old. “Are you a real pirate?” she asked.

This kid didn’t seem to be lost, but if she was, she didn’t seem particularly concerned about it.

I gasped and threw a hand over my heart for dramatic effect. “I’m offended ye would even ask! Don’t I have a pirate hat and sword? And a pirate name?”

The girl looked unimpressed. “Well, my dad said you’re not a real pirate. It’s just pretend.”

“And how many pirates has your dad ever met?” I asked.

The girl wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know.”

“See? I bet he never met any! So, he’s got no way of knowing that we’re really the real pirates,” I said. “Are ye with your dad now? I’ll give him a proper swashbuckling talking to, so he knows we’re real pirates.”

The girl shrugged. “He’s in our room,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t think he really wants to be here.”

“No? Why wouldn’t the landlubber want to be a on a pirate ship?”

The girl sighed. “He’s just boring.”

“Angelica!” a deep, masculine voice shouted.

The girl crossed her arms and huffed, seemingly confirming that she’d been caught. Whether or not she’d slipped away from her guardian still wasn’t clear. Regardless, I offered a friendly wave to the approaching man, so he could see that his beloved daughter was in good hands. “Dad,” the girl, evidently Angelica, said sullenly.

The man halted beside his daughter and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was a well-muscled man, and I tried not to linger on his impressive pecs or abs for too long. That feat might’ve been easier if he’d worn a shirt, but he hadn’t. His hair was so black it appeared nearly blue in the setting sun. “Back to the room,” he said. “Don’t go wandering around without me until we’ve seen where everything is. You’re going to give Joan a heart attack.”

Angelica sighed but immediately turned around and trudged away.

“Two-zero-three!” the man called after her.

“I know!” she retorted.

This man could’ve stepped straight off a fashion show runway, but the effect of his appearance didn’t really sink in until he looked away from his daughter and let his gaze meet mine. His eyes were the most stunning shade of green I’d ever seen. They were sharp and cat-like, and in a brief instant where he really looked at me, I felt as if this man had seen everything I was and ever could be. And somehow, he’d found me lacking. Blood and warmth flooded my face, and I glanced away quickly. As I drew a shuddering breath, my pulse raced.

“Hey, you. She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?” he asked, although he didn’t sound like he cared either way.

“Not at all,” I replied.

The man’s green eyes narrowed as he surveyed me again. He wasn’t even standing that close to me, but heat radiated off him. My heart was in my throat. It felt like I’d forgotten how to breath, and I was torn between wanting him to close the distance between us and wanting him to leave. I’d gone into heat. This wasn’t the first time it’d happened, but it’d never happened quite like this before. No build-up or anything. Just one look too hard at another person, and everything was warmth, light, and longing.

“Oh,” the man said, smirking. “I sent you into heat, didn’t I?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. Well, he was certainly full of himself, wasn’t he? “That’s a very inappropriate question for a guest to ask,” I replied.

“Is that so?”

“If you think otherwise, you’re completely lacking in tact.”

The man crossed his arms and took a few steps closer to me. He was tall, well over six feet, and I felt absurdly tiny standing in front of him. Still, I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me, even with the sudden, rising need between my thighs. Great.

“What good is tact?” he asked. “I’d rather know exactly where I stand with someone instead of hiding behind polite behavior.”

“How strange. I manage to be polite and know exactly where I stand with people,” I replied.

“Or maybe you just think you do,” he replied. “I’ll tell you something else: I always get what I want.”

A shiver trailed down my spine, and although a small part of me felt like maybe I should feel indignant at the insinuation, another part of me felt a sharp thrill at his words. “I’m sure you do,” I said.

The man arched an eyebrow. “You’re a cute little omega,” he said, placing a business card in my hand. “Let me know when you decide to get help with that problem of yours. It’s Adrian Lafayette.”

When you decide. Not if I decide. “The writer?”

“So you’ve heard of me.”

I considered saying I’d heard his prose was terrible and his plotting cliché, but that, perhaps, really was a bit out of line considering he was a guest. I was fairly good with quick remarks, but I didn’t like being openly mean. Besides, I’d never actually read any of his stuff and if he pressed me on it, I’d be quickly found out. I was not going to set myself up for that. Instead, I settled on an ambivalent shrug. “I have work to do,” I said, as I turned away.

I was so hot. So, so hot. This was terrible.

“What’s your actual name? Is it Jack?”

I knew something this arrogant, hot-shot writer didn’t, and if he thought I was going to just throw away my one advantage, however slight, he was dead wrong. “It isn’t,” I said.

“Oh, what is it, then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I asked.

Through some miracle I survived the rest of the day. Perhaps it was because there was so much to do. The first and last days of the cruises were always the busiest. They were filled with lost guests, managing new employees, and working out the kinks. Even though I’d done this many times before, I still felt the same anxious buzzing of nerves with every voyage. It’d helped me ignore my heat.

It was a different story at night. I lay in bed on my stomach and tried smothering my face in my pillow. My cock ached and heat curled in my stomach. Every inch of my body felt hypersensitive and electrically charged. I rocked my hips and attempted to relieve some of the constant pressure in my belly. Damn Adrian Lafayette.

I’d tried taking care of it myself, but the problem with going into heat was that masturbation wasn’t nearly enough to curb the burning, constant need. This was all that obnoxious writer’s fault, and he’d been so smug about it, too. I tilted my head back and groaned. There was, of course, an easy solution. A very easy solution.

But I really didn’t want to grovel to Adrian Lafayette, and I especially didn’t want to ask him for sex. I ground my hips into the bedsheets. It did absolutely nothing, but I felt better trying something, however ineffectual the result. Blearily, I reached onto the nightstand for my phone. Three in the morning. I hadn’t slept at all, and this just wasn’t fair. I was going to be absolutely worthless for my shift in the morning.

Of course, I could tell Sherri I’d gone into heat and just not work until it passed; she’d understand and she’d let me. She let other people do it, and it wasn’t as if I could hide it. Sherri was an alpha. She’d smell that I’d gone into heat, her and probably half our guests. But I’d feel so guilty. I was filled with the irrational urge to leave my own cabin and barge into Adrian’s suite. Wouldn’t that be fun? At the very least, I’d have the satisfaction of knowing that if I wasn’t getting any sleep, he wasn’t either.

I pulled my phone off the charger and pulled up the internet browser. I typed in his name and waited for the results. There were thousands of them.

The first hit was his biography. He was thirty-two and worth fifty-nine-million dollars. I whistled between my teeth. I managed on my thirty-thousand a year but the idea of having fifty-nine-million dollars to my name was unthinkable. I could drop everything and never work again with that kind of money. Wow!

I skimmed through the rest of his life. He was born in Jacksonville, Florida, graduated high school at sixteen, and obtained his bachelor’s degree by the time he was twenty. Sherri had been only a year off; he won the Pulitzer Prize when he was twenty-two rather than twenty-one. Either way, it was impressive and one more Pulitzer Prize than I’d ever won. Common themes in his fiction were labyrinths and mirrors. He claimed Italo Calvino and Jorges Luis Borges, two writers I’d never heard of, as his biggest literary influences.

He had an omega seven years older than him, who’d died just a year ago. I felt a swell of sympathy reading that. I knew what it felt like to lose a family member. Maybe that was why he was such an arrogant jerk. Maybe he was just lashing out because he was still upset. That didn’t excuse his behavior, but maybe it did make him a bit more sympathetic. I hummed and pulled up Amazon to skim through some of his works.

They all appeared to be set in the South, and coming from Nowheresville, Alabama, I had an inherent appreciation for that. His reviews were all good with the main complaint being that he was overrated, pretentious, or too difficult to understand. Well, they were certainly right about the pretentious part.

He didn’t seem like the sort of man who’d be interested in a pirate ship cruise. Maybe he was here for his daughter, though. Angelica. The pieces clicked together. As far as I’d read, Adrian only had one omega, and she was dead. That poor kid.