The Drowned Fear No Sea

7

Cael grabbed the wet sweater from the deck and swung over the low side onto the flimsy wooden landing.

He’d left the glove with its blades on the cruiser, but he shoved the pistol into his belt. Without the cloak and the rest of his gear, Cael felt naked. But he wasn’t about to let Ray show his bare ass to these soldiers. Not to these ones.

The checkpoint was guarded by a mixed contingent of alphas and betas and was better fortified than the parliament building, blackened from repeated stormings. Politicians were easy to replace—push a day-old minister into the raging crowd and let the sacrifice cool public fury for a minute or two; lately the crowd demanded blood more and more often.

At the checkpoints, discipline was absolute. From those blind embrasures at the “gates to the city,” they shot without warning, not letting anyone approach.

Border breaches by “drowners” were rare and cost heaps of lives. Those who did make it through were tracked down and killed by the checkpoint troops—as a lesson. Later their bodies turned up in the “floating camps.”

International observers and the Red Cross didn’t know this; foreign media didn’t print it. No one said it aloud, but everyone understood: the checkpoints were forging a “new military elite”—merciless, hard. Alphas and betas together, a new caste without biological contradictions. Everyone in his place; subordination and discipline. A heavy fist, ready to strike without pity. Cael watched this new force ripen—ready to crush the slobbering past in one blow, to clamp the dying country in an iron grip and either ride the wave of blood… or drown in it.

He also knew the militarist gangs kept steady contact with the army, waiting impatiently for the signal to rampage—tear down hated fences and mow the “oppressors” with a bloody thresher. The one hitch was the terrorists dug in at the half-ruined dam. No one knew which bastard supplied that clutch of freaks who’d kept the whole region on edge for over half a year.

The dam had to be repaired—or destroyed completely. But the latter meant the capital would go under for good. The river would return to its old banks, and the marshlands could be drained little by little. As long as the threat of a new flood hung over them, no one rushed to save the country. People? No one cared. New power, old power—Cael felt only contempt. He supported no one. His “sanitary” work was enough.

“Picked up a b***h, Zen?” Major Simon Sveczeg—an alpha—came out to meet him, ostentatiously sniffing toward the cruiser. “Tired of f*****g corpses?”

Zen bared his teeth. Lucky as a drowned man. He’d landed at the one checkpoint commanded by the one alpha who’d wished him dead with his team of cleaners. The pistol at his belt suddenly felt heavy. But Cael had better weapons.

“Nose-less swore before he died that you sold him this boat, S.S. How are you going to explain that?” Zen pitched his voice loud; the beta soldiers flanking the major traded glances and slowed. No one wanted to get between alphas.

“I don’t owe you explanations, carrion-eater,” Sveczeg growled. He stopped at pouncing distance, crouched a little, ready to spring. Cael stepped closer still, almost chest to chest, provoking:

“He said you helped him get more than the boat,” he murmured, almost tenderly, mocking. “Come on then, alpha. Strike first. You know I’m stronger. You’ll shame yourself in front of your men, and the call from upstairs will land on you…” Cael leaned close to the major’s ear and held his breath.

Instinct screamed for blood—to clamp onto the throat and rip the Adam’s apple out with teeth if not fingers. But a fight now would only ruin things. Still, he wasn’t letting the insult to Ray slide.

“Go. File your report. I need a pass into the city,” Cael stepped back, noting how the major’s tanned face darkened toward purple. Then, loudly, he added a line from the old life: “Serve, alpha. Your country won’t forget you.”

“Son of a—” the major hissed through clenched teeth. He couldn’t start a brawl in full view of the checkpoint. He wanted Zen to hit first—he was begging for it—but he had to “serve,” because the last cleaner, Zen, was still untouchable. Cael’s “immunity” had been granted by an order in the first days after the flood. And Major “S.S.,” as they called him behind his back, had to swallow it.

“Remove the civilians from the cruiser until we clarify the theft of government property,” Sveczeg switched to a bureaucratic tone, stepping aside and signaling the soldiers who’d been loitering. “Criminal elements misappropriated this boat. We’ll investigate.”

He turned a glare full of hate on Zen. “You may proceed into the city, Zen. I’ll report your heroic deed—returning state property. But civilians without your level of clearance must remain in temporary quarters until their permits are issued.”

Cael felt his heart skip. Ray had told him he had no documents. Which meant… He spun around.

Ray hadn’t obeyed him this time. He’d come out on deck, wrapped in the cloak, clutching Zen’s glove in his hand. Foolish little goat.

The beta soldiers didn’t dare approach him. They put on a show around the boat—re-docking it, running a mine-detector along the sides. They’d lived long enough to understand: don’t get near an alpha’s pair. And Cael was glad the major had been fooled the same way the noseless freak had been. Zen’s mind raced. To reach a red phone he’d have to leave Ray in the holding barracks. A long shed—packed like a human sty—two kilometers downstream. Rickety wooden walkways ran from the shed to the checkpoint and broke regularly. He wasn’t leaving his pair in a sty.

Cael whirled back to the major, reflexively knocking away Sveczeg’s hand as it twitched toward his sidearm.

“You’ll keep him here, Simon. In a separate room. Under guard,” he rumbled barely above a whisper. “If he even gets scared while I’m gone, I’ll kill you very slowly. The way I know how.”

Before the major could recover, Cael took two steps back and said aloud: “I’ll inform command that the witness in the theft of army property remains under your protection, Major. I’m sure the documents for his entry will be ready very soon.”

The major’s mouth twitched; his eyes flicked toward the cruiser. For the first time Zen felt real panic. He’d baited Sveczeg by hinting the sale had been personal. The major was a cruel bastard, but he’d served on the front since day one—never hiding behind others during sweeps and fights. He just couldn’t be the rat supplying the enemy…

Sveczeg slowly nodded, staring into Cael’s eyes. “He stays here for twenty-four hours, Zen. Not a minute more.”

Too easy. Way too easy. Cael’s instincts howled that he was missing something crucial, but Ray came up to stand beside him—scared and angry—and Cael relented. With a curt “Lead on,” he scooped Ray into his arms.

After a few clipped phone calls, Cael inspected the wooden cubby Sveczeg had assigned to Ray. Nothing much: an iron cot with a sagging mesh and a dingy white plastic chair. A hole in the floor behind a partition. He saw Ray flinch at the sight of the cot, but he said nothing and didn’t try to comfort him.

“You wait here, little goat. Don’t go out, don’t let anyone in, don’t talk to anyone,” he instructed quietly.

Ray clenched his jaw, turned away, but nodded. He clearly wanted to say something, then just shook his head.

“What if you don’t come back?” he asked as Cael was turning to go. “He gave you twenty-four hours. I heard.”

“I’ll come back,” Zen said—there was no other option in his world. He stepped in close to Ray, who was still frowning away from him. He wanted nothing more than to hold him and never let go; instead he drew the pistol from his belt and offered it.

“Service award, Ray. I’ve never been without it,” he said. Ray raised his eyebrows at the weapon, then carefully, with effort, took it in both hands.

“Keep it for now,” Cael said. He knew Ray wouldn’t be able to use it—the gun was too heavy. But how else to convince a beta that he had to return? Let him think Zen would come back for the weapon. Cael couldn’t help smoothing Ray’s messy hair.

“I have to make one call, little goat,” he winked. “You can start choosing a movie. You’re getting out of this swamp to the dry, lovely world behind the fence.”

Ray shot him a murderous look but stayed silent. He hid the pistol under the cloak and seemed to calm a little. Cael gave a crooked grin and stepped out: of course he wanted out. He didn’t care about Cael’s claims. Zen would find a doctor and free himself too—if it could be cured.

⸻

They were waiting for him in the plain but well-fortified “HQ.” The brass had gone off somewhere, so a weedy aide escorted Zen to the phone. Cael frowned: the city’s military leadership seemed to have vanished. But Ray’s document request had already been processed—the aide promised everything would be delivered to the checkpoint and that both of them would be received by the Secretary of the Security Council early tomorrow.

“There’s a closed session right now,” the little toad sniffed and slipped out, pulling the door shut. Cael was left alone with the “red” satellite phone (white, in fact): the most reliable line to the diplomatic mission his mother headed.

“I wasn’t expecting your call, Cael,” his mother’s voice—amused, a little tired. A drag on a cigarette.

“I need help,” he ground out. Asking was shameful.

“I figured. Be specific,” Leia said, unruffled, as if she’d known he’d call.

“I’ve imprinted on a beta. I need a doctor.” Why was it so hard to say? Shame, like a recruit at a medical commission.

She was silent for a long moment; he heard her exhale smoke.

“The beta alive?” Leia asked dryly, like it was routine.

“Yes. I want you to take him,” the words tore out of his throat and fell like stones into a well.

Another long exhale; then her voice came back like the sky collapsing. “I need your help,” she paused. “In exchange, I’ll take the beta.”

Cael growled. His alpha mother was immune to that tactic, but he growled anyway—long and hateful, wordless. She never did anything “for him.” Only politics and the abstract public good mattered.

“Don’t waste our time,” Leia let a trace of alpha steel into her tone. “You wanted to serve your country? Here’s your chance—once in a lifetime.”

“What do you want?” Zen spat each word. Even veterans would flinch to see his face now. Good thing Ray wasn’t here.

“You’ll destroy the terrorists on the dam. Take helpers and weapons—I’ll arrange it. Do it in three days. If not, you’ll all get bombs on your heads, and Hell can sort who goes where,” Leia said coldly. “Then I’ll take your beta. He’ll go to another country, and he’ll be fine.”

Cael almost whimpered. He’ll go, he’ll go, he’ll go hammered in his skull. His pair would go. He kept his voice level. “With papers and money. You have them, I know.”

“Three days, Cael,” she said briskly, about to hang up—then couldn’t help herself: “What’s his name?”

“Ray. My pair’s name is Ray.”

Cael hung up first and bolted from HQ. He felt sick—tired, hungry, banged up. But his instincts were raging for another reason: the thought of losing his pair had the beast in him raking claws down the walls of his mind. He had to see Ray now, or he’d snap into berserker mode.

He didn’t remember how he reached Ray’s cubby. He thought he’d kicked the flimsy latch in. Ray jumped up—already changed into a too-big tactical coverall. And the worst part—there was a stranger’s scent in the room.

“Who was here?!” Cael rasped, the world bleeding into shades of red.

“A beta! A beta woman!” Ray surprised him by rushing in and wrapping his arms around Zen’s waist. Protest died in Cael’s throat; he hugged Ray back and pressed his face to his crown. He had to calm the beast. His pair was here—everything was okay. He’d send him away from himself for a while. For a while, Cael repeated in his head.

“Cael, let go!” Ray squeaked. “My ribs!”

“Sorry, sorry!” He really did release him. The adrenaline storm slid into plain s****l hunger; breeding thoughts crawled back in. But he’d reached, if not euphoria, at least balance. All right. Ray had hugged him. No reason to panic.

“Getting bold, little goat,” he muttered, clicking his tongue at himself.

“Lola suggested it,” Ray smirked.

“Who?” Cael frowned.

“Lola. The local signaler. Thought I was an omega and brought a pile of pamphlets with the porridge,” Ray nodded at a bunch of garish handouts on the chair. “How to keep s****l hygiene, how to get through heat, how to deal with an alpha. I told her I’m not an omega.”

“Even if you hadn’t, you couldn’t hide it,” Zen snorted.

“She sympathized—said it happens. Said there are ways to handle an alpha even like this, so he doesn’t pounce and break you,” Ray rushed on. “We had a nice chat. I didn’t blab about us, but I’ve got the feeling she was speaking from experience.”

“Alpha and beta?” Cael arched a brow, smothering the unseemly relief that he wasn’t a freak of nature.

“Yeah. Said we should keep physical contact but not provoke. And if you go into rut, you need to go to an omega,” Ray sighed for some reason. “So we’ve been prescribed cuddling.”

There was a knock. Cael growled, and Ray kicked his shin: “That’s water!”

They really did bring a metal drum of warm water.

“To wash up,” Ray beamed as if he hadn’t been earning water by diving.

Cael didn’t mind. Wash off the stranger’s scent, and he’d be naked… Stop. Naked didn’t work for him right now.

“I’ll go,” Zen said, standing.

“Stay—you need salve for scratches and bruises,” Ray waved a standard army kit.

Cael noticed Ray was different—more sure of himself with him. He reached past for the cloak, rummaged a pocket, and pulled out handcuffs.

“Alpha-grade mods,” he said, tossing them on his palm. “You’ll have to lock me to that pipe so I stay put.”

“You don’t want to look yourself?” Ray asked in an odd tone. If Cael didn’t know he was a beta—and scared—he’d think Ray was teasing him.

“Nothing worth looking at,” Cael said bitterly, dosing himself a shot of chemical gloom labeled don’t upset the mate.

“So I am ugly?” Ray plucked the cuffs from his fingers. “I knew you were trolling me.”

“No,” Cael licked his lips without meaning to. “Right now I want you more than anything. But you’re a breath away from being knotted—and believe me, little goat, you won’t like that spit on a skewer. Better not be the main course for the big bad wolf.”

“You’re not bad—otherwise you’d have taken what’s yours. You’re holding back. Let’s try…” Ray trailed off, groping for words.

“Play with fire?” Zen bared his teeth.

“A half-measure’s sometimes better than nothing,” Ray said, awkwardly shrugging—like repeating someone else’s line.

“Usually worse,” Cael forced himself to object. “Why do you need this?”

“Because I want that famous sense of safety omegas get with a partner,” Ray lifted his chin. “Even for a little while.”

“You’re not an omega… Not an omega,” Cael shook his head, angry. Ray kept looking at him, as if testing him. Cael held out his hands, wrists forward.

Ray giggled. Cael, who’d been wrestling the urge to pounce for hours, was so startled he even stopped fighting it for a moment.

“What?” he asked.

“The pipe’s behind you,” Ray nodded. “Hands go back. Sit.”

Cael obeyed—sat on the edge of the cot; the cracked plastic chair would never hold his hundred kilos. A solid pipe ran along the wall; no water in it—he could hear that. Ray stretched the chain, fed it behind the pipe, bent low, and closed warm metal around Cael’s wrists.

He lunged instantly, wrenching hard enough to make the pipe groan and the cot jump, and managed to lick Ray’s neck—where omegas had the imprint gland. Ray jerked back, eyes round.

“Good hold,” Cael joked and tugged again.

Ray went to the water drum, neatly took off his boots, and stood on the omega pamphlets. Then he peeled off the coverall—without looking at Cael. There was nothing underneath. At all.

He’d already seen Ray naked: a lean, flat, freckled chest; ribs like knife-edges; bruises everywhere; a dark trail of hair arrowing down from his navel to a thatch at the base of his c**k. Now the sight hit harder—his mouth filled with saliva as he tugged at his bound wrists, watching Ray lift his hands to undo the silly knots in his hair.

Good-good-good… Mine-mine-mine! throbbed inside; his c**k kicked. I’ll tear them all apart, kill them all, never give him up, mine-mine-mine.

Ray grabbed a gray waffle towel and a sliver of soap, climbed into the drum like a diesel tank, crouched. Water sloshed onto the concrete, but he fit—barely. He scrubbed fast, hair too, until the soap vanished, then raked himself with nails and scoured with the towel.

Cael watched, rumbling deep and ugly at times. Even the beast in him was enthralled. It would wait. Just a little. This miracle was his. Would be his. He’d find a way. He had to.

Ray dunked fully and stood up straight. “Your eyes…” he breathed, “they’re really glowing.”

“Rut,” Cael answered. “Keys in the cloak pocket. Get dressed and go. Come back in an hour.”

Speech cost him effort. Ray stepped out and padded toward him, leaving funny little prints. He stopped almost against Cael.

“Go…” Cael murmured, swaying like in a fever. He shut his eyes. “Go…”

“No,” Ray plunged a hand into his hair and yanked hard.

Cael’s eyes flew open; the world showed in shades of blood.

“How far… will you go… for me…” Ray’s voice wasn’t quite his own either. He set one foot on the edge of the cot, tugged Cael’s hair again, and Cael understood what he wanted.

He didn’t need it twice. Awkwardly, he ducked a shoulder under Ray’s knee and buried his face in his crotch. God, the smell. Metal, salt, thunder.

Cael started sucking greedily. No thinking, no “strategy” to please—just hunger. He dragged his tongue along the underside of Ray’s shaft, circled the swollen head, lapped the slit, teased the frenulum until Ray shuddered, sucked the crown, then nosed lower to warm the soft weight of his balls with breath before tracing back along the seam. The angle wouldn’t let him take Ray deep; he couldn’t get the fit to throat him—and he didn’t try. He licked, sucked, kissed whatever he could reach, again and again, until Ray was shaking.

Ray broke with a choked sound, his whole body locked tight as a bowstring. Cael swallowed the taste that burst on his tongue and kept him through the tremors, the beast inside howling: Now. Now. It’s time. And when Ray finally sagged, wrung-out and gasping, Cael bit his thigh, hard enough to draw blood.

Ray leapt back—he hadn’t expected that—shouting with pain and pleasure. Cael hadn’t nipped; he’d driven his teeth in for real. Blood dripped on the floor. Cael heaved, feeling the pipe bow, the metal behind him crumple like paper. He had to knot him.

Ray grabbed the coverall and bolted out—naked. Only then did Cael claw back a scrap of control and realize what he’d done. He had to get Ray away from him forever—even if it meant shooting himself full of suppressants for the rest of his f****d-up life. Next time he’d kill him.

The pipe rang and split. The door flew open—Ray came back. Before Cael could launch at him, he dropped to the floor as bullets hammered down the corridor.