Chapter 4

Tide

As my tiny omega finishes a third glass of water, I fight the urge to replace the cup with my lips.

I want to taste the sweetness of her mouth, but know I won't stop with a kiss. The only things stopping me from shredding our clothes and mounting her on the counter is the pallor of her skin and the wound on her shoulder.

And the hint of sourness in her pheromones. She's on the cusp of estrous, but not quite ready.

I won't earn her trust and devotion by rutting her too early, so I set the glass on the counter and focus on her hands. She doesn't move as I slather a generous coating of ointment over them before using a long strip of sterilized fabric to wrap each digit individually before covering her hand and finishing around her wrists. She whimpers. I prop her up as best I can before stepping back. When she tilts to the side, I dart forward and lower her onto her side. Her hair hangs off the edge, but she's so tiny her entire upper body fits along the mirror. I move the first aid box to the front of the counter, tuck her knees to her chest, and finger comb her hair away from her face.

"Don't move, my tiny treasure. I'll be right back," I mutter, afraid of rousing her when she so desperately needs a reprieve.

I turn, but can't take my eyes from her until I walk through the doorway and the wall blocks my view of her.

With her spell broken, I rush through the living room to the kitchen and yank a tray from the cabinet. After filling it with food from the pantry and icebox, I wedge the pitcher of juice into the center and return to the washroom.

Her lashes lift when I enter the room, but her unfocused eyes and lack of reaction tell me she doesn't see me.

My alpha soul roars in indignation, but I shove the fury aside and focus on building my empire.

I haven't gotten where I am today by giving in to instincts. I'll conquer this little omega the same way I became captain of the barge—with strength, determination, and patience .

The mixed scents of coppery blood and floral omega firm my resolve.

I place the tray on the shower floor and move the first aid box beside it before gathering my female in my arms. Her small sound of pain guts me. My chest vibrates without my permission, but when she nuzzles her ear over my heart, I strengthen my rumble and sit beside the tray of food.

I forgot the glass on the counter, damnit. Unwilling to stand and upset the female curled up in my lap, I open the small jar of dried kelp chips and dump the contents onto the tray before filling the jar with juice from the pitcher.

She wrinkles her nose in the cutest pout when I press the rim to her lips, but takes an obedient sip when I tilt the jar. Her hum of surprised delight as the juice hits her tongue hardens my cock to steel. I tighten my grip on the glass and deepen my purr as she becomes a greedy, needy little omega. When she nearly chokes in her haste, I tsk in admonition and pull the jar away.

Her low growl tests my control and the shifting of her ass in my lap teases my partially engorged knot.

I pull her head back by her hair and meet her dazed eyes.

"Be careful, little Pearl, or I'll lose control and rut you before you're ready. "

Her brows scrunch.

"It's not fair," she mumbles, and I wonder if she realizes she spoke aloud or not.

Unable to resist, I brush my lips over her forehead but pull back before I give in to temptation and lay her out for my next feast.

"I know," I murmur.

"It really isn't fair," she insists.

I study her face, but she's so exhausted she slips in and out of a doze.

"What isn't fair, my tiny treasure?"

"You know my name, but I don't know yours."

A surge of emotions clogs my throat. I clear it away with a cough and swallow an apology when she grumbles and wriggles back into place.

Her curiosity over my name fills me with hope and her ability to relax in my arms—albeit not completely by choice—fulfills a part of me I never realized was empty. I set the glass down beside my knee and stroke my fingers over her scalp.

"My name is Tide. Use it wisely, little one. I haven't heard my name spoken since my parents were alive."

She hiccups in her sleep. A tear slips down her cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb and marvel at her beauty.

She needs a good scrubbing, but her shoulder needs tending first .

Needing a moment to strengthen my control, I gather her close and wrap myself around her, cocooning her in a world of muscle.

Her shoes mash against my outer thigh, and I know I need to address her waterlogged lower half, but the mere thought of seeing her curves undoes my attempt to calm the need roaring through me. I pull her closer, drop my chin to the top of her head, and fill my lungs with her pheromones. The sour note of incompleteness and the roughness of her bandaged hands on my stomach help center me.

I close my eyes and relish every sensation. Her slight weight on my lap. The warmth of her breath on my chest. Her soft skin against mine.

As the minutes tick by, her breathing slows to the steady rhythm of deep sleep. I wait until the blood seeping from her shoulder drips off my forearm and lands on my thigh before interrupting her nap.

She doesn't respond when I shift her head into the crook of my arm. I sigh and brush her hair back from her face before pressing the jar to her lips. When the liquid runs down her chin, I growl, set the drink down, and catch the juice on my finger. She scrunches her brow when I dip my fingertip into her mouth. I push between her teeth and stroke her tongue .

She jolts awake and stares up at me with wide eyes. I purr and sink a little deeper before reluctantly removing my finger from her mouth.

She stiffens further as awareness seeps in through her confusion.

I offer her juice. She sips without balking, but her furtive glances between my face and our surroundings show her apprehension.

When I push a kelp chip into her mouth, she goes still.

"Eat," I demand.

"What is it?" she asks with the chip on her tongue.

"Food."

When she doesn't move, I pop one into my mouth and chew and swallow. After studying my face for a moment, she follows my lead.

I open several other containers and offer her each new item, one at a time. Pinched between my fingers, I ferry morsel after morsel into her mouth, until she no longer avoids my touch. When she moans in delight at an unfamiliar taste, I give her more.

My heart aches. I long to feed her from my hand like this for the rest of our lives.

She blushes as I deepen my purr.

The splotch of blood on my thigh grows .

I harden my expression and grab the bottle of liquor from the first aid kit. She stiffens. I press the rim to her lips.

"Just a few swallows," I assure her.

She lifts a bandaged hand to push the bottle and turns her head away. I growl and tighten my arm around her.

"Your shoulder needs stitches. Take a few sips."

"I don't want any," she says.

I place the bottle on the floor and frame her face with both hands. She stares up at me with startled eyes.

"I've seen you in enough pain, tiny treasure. Don't make me watch you suffer for no reason. Have a few swallows to dull your senses."

She blinks. Blinks again. Inhales. Exhales.

"Okay," she whispers.

I rumble my relief and settle her back into my arms before guiding the bottle to her lips. She grimaces but drinks until I pull the alcohol away. I wait until she finishes coughing from the burn before insisting she drink more. Her cheeks flush and the worst of the tension drains from her shoulders.

She squeaks as I flip her onto her stomach and drape her over my lap. Her breasts pillow against my thigh, tempting the beast within me, but I pin her lower back down and study her shoulder .

I resist the urge to take a swig out of the bottle and use it to sanitize my hands instead before pulling what I need from the first aid kit.

"Be still, Pearl. I'll finish as fast as I can," I promise.

She tucks her face against my leg and wraps her arms around her midsection, which pulls her shoulder into a better position. Her bandaged hands inch around her sides. I trail my fingers down her spine before grabbing the detachable showerhead above my shoulder. She turns her head and watches as I lean to the side, turn on the water, and test the temperature on my inner forearm. When I deem it acceptable, I move the hose to my other hand and pin her lower back down.

I spray her wound thoroughly. She cries and bucks, testing my control. It hurts to see her in pain. When I drop the showerhead and pick up the tweezers, she sobs and shakes her head against my leg.

"W-wait, I—"

I use the tweezers to pull a piece of debris from her shoulder, desperate to finish the task as quickly as possible.

Her teeth close over my thigh, but my pants prevent her from breaking skin. I press harder on her lower back in warning. She releases her bite as I pick a sliver of metal from her torn flesh .

I lean down to get another piece of shrapnel. She turns her head to look up at my face. Her wet lashes and big brown eyes strike a fatal blow to my innermost being.

"Will you purr for me? Please?" she asks.

The ground disappears out from underneath me.

"Yes, my tiny treasure. For you, I'll do anything."

She doesn't believe me, but her pupils expand and she relaxes against me as I release a deep, steady purr.

I'd almost given up hope of ever finding an omega, yet in less than half a day, I pulled two from the ocean and lost my heart to the bravest, sweetest female on the entire dystopian planet.

I don't need to mark her to know I belong to her.

I meant my words: I'll do anything to ensure she lives a long, happy life.

Even if it means causing her pain.

I strengthen my purr and lean down to finish cleaning her wound.