“Todd and James,” the one in the baseball cap says, and I don’t miss the way his focus keeps shifting to the woman.
His friend stands with arms crossed, backpack straps tight across his chest.
Uneasiness ripples through me as I check them off, too. “I’m Captain Jared. We’ll depart in about five minutes. You’re welcome to board and find seats.”
The first man, tall with a day’s worth of stubble on his jaw, steps onto the boat ahead of the woman, before offering his hand to help her board.
He scans the deck before leveling me with an evaluating stare. “Are you the regular captain?”
“I usually assist my cousin, but today I’m running solo,” I reply, helping the other two men aboard. “Don’t worry, though. You’re in good hands.”
The woman accepts his hand, her fingers clutching his. A slight tremor runs through them, and her chest rises and falls too quickly. Is she anxious about the boat ride?
When Todd and James climb onto the boat, Derek shifts his weight, blocking their view of Mia. The movement isn’t subtle with his feet planted,shoulders squared, and head high. Every line of his body screams territorial.
This is where most Alphas would rely on scent to understand the dynamics. They’d pick up territorial pheromones, possessive markers, perhaps even attraction signals. But all I have are my eyes and ears, the visual language of bodies I’ve spent my life learning to read after I realized I’d never experience the pheromones my peers base every interaction on.
When one of the men moves closer to Mia to store his backpack, Derek’s jaw clenches, the tendons in his neck straining beneath his tanned skin. Mia places a hand on his arm, but again, I can’t tell if it’s to restrain or reassure.
I busy myself with final preparations but keep them in my peripheral vision. Todd and James settle into seats near the middle, both angled to maintain sight lines to the front where Derek and Mia sit. Their postures mirror each other, alert, interested, and forward-leaning.
The uneasy feeling grows. In my weeks of training, we’ve never had an issue between riders. This is the worst time for Kyle to decide I’m competent, so he can go check out a new fishing hole.
“Water’s a bit choppy today, so please remainseated,” I announce, retrieving the mooring rope. “Trip should take about twenty minutes. Life vests are under your seats if needed.”
Derek’s attention stays locked on the other hikers as I speak. When one of them moves to a seat with a better view of Mia, Derek’s hand slides to her thigh in a silent claim of possession.
The tension vibrates in the air like a plucked string. I don’t need to smell it to know it’s there.
I move to the steering console, struggling to stay calm. The engine purrs to life beneath us, the reassuring rumble traveling up through the soles of my boots.
“Cast off in one minute,” I call out, mentally reviewing the route to Pinecrest.
Stick to the channel markers, time the crossing to hit the reef section at slack, then come in from the southeast to let the current ease me alongside the dock.
“So, have you two been hiking long?” James asks, directing his question to Mia rather than Derek.
“We’re experienced,” Derek answers for her, putting an end to further discussion.
I untie the last rope, coiling it before tossing it into the locker and stepping back aboard. The boat drifts free of the dock, and once I’m steady at thehelm, I ease the throttle forward. Water churns white behind us as we slide into open water.
The island of Misty Pines shrinks behind us as the boat gathers speed. Wind whips across the deck, and I keep my knees loose to ride the boat’s rise and fall.
I keep an eye on my passengers during the crossing, sensing the growing tension between the two groups. Derek keeps one protective arm around Mia, who sits rigidly, her focus locked on the horizon, while her body language screams discomfort.
The water churns beneath the hull, spray misting across my face as I grip the wheel. A wave catches us broadside, and the boat rocks harder than I anticipated. I adjust our course, driving requiring my full attention as I scan the channel markers ahead.
“So you two took the ridge trail?” James asks. “We hiked over there yesterday. Beautiful views.”
“We did,” Derek answers, the words clipped. “Until we noticed someone following us.”
The accusation hangs in the air, and I risk a look over my shoulder to see Todd raise his hands in mock surrender. “Popular trail. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
I return my attention to the water, wherewhitecaps begin to form as the wind picks up. The boat dips into a trough, then rises again in a rhythmic pattern I can predict and respond to, unlike the human dynamics playing out behind me.
“Strange how you kept stopping whenever we did,” Derek continues. “Like you couldn’t decide on your own pace.”
“Trail etiquette, man. You pass slow hikers or keep your distance.” I catch the smile under Todd’s words. “We were trying to be polite.”