The Drowned Fear No Sea

5

Adrenaline wouldn’t let him sleep. He kept thinking Zen had given in — that he was coming to take him.

And he hoped for… he didn’t even know what. Guessed at it the way you guess on daisy petals — at death.

Maybe Zen would snap his neck. Maybe he’d f**k him, like those betas did Jess. Maybe he’d just rub against him. Maybe he’d jerk off.

But he did nothing. Zen simply fell asleep.

Ray turned and studied his face. The hard, predatory lines had softened — it turned out he had full, almost girlish lips, though his mouth was big. Turned out his eyelashes were long and soft. Turned out his pale skin was dotted with small, dark moles. A mole on the cheek — flighty. A mole on the neck — faithful in love.

Across that face, a crooked canyon of an old, healed scar ran deep. Who had marked Zen like that?

Ray sniffed, then exhaled loudly right into his face. Zen snorted comically, still asleep, and even smiled a little. Ray couldn’t describe his scent precisely — no image quite fit. Morning, thunderstorm, ozone, dust… He sniffed again. And you’d be wormwood, he thought. But I won’t tell you that, alpha. Ray shut his eyes, recalling that bitter, sharp, intoxicating scent of pale velvety leaves…

…He wasn’t prey to Zen — Zen had lied! The certainty hit Ray like a heavy, dusty sack. No one treated prey like that. He was a mate to Zen — weak and sick, not capable of breeding, but mate.

As if mocking him, Zen bared his fangs in his sleep, growled softly — and drifted away again. Ray moved, and suddenly a hard hand pressed him to a stone chest. But Zen didn’t wake.

He won’t let me go, Ray realized.

How stupid he’d been not to care about biology until it was too late. Maybe then he’d have found a way to trick Zen’s animal nature.

No sedatives or suppressants, no physical preparation — no “control collar” with tranquilizers like in that porn clip, no special neck brace so he wouldn’t bite through in a frenzy — Ray was doomed.

Internal tears. A snapped spine. A throat bitten open. Not exactly romantic. Not at all.

He looked at Zen’s face again. He was human — under the beast’s instincts and the cynic’s mask. He could have used Ray, justified it by saying nature was stronger and all that. He didn’t answer to anyone and didn’t believe in anything. Though he had fought — and there are no atheists in trenches.

But here was the divine irony: Ray was safer with an alpha trying to keep his beast leashed. Safer to knot without breaking him. Ordinary men — betas — were more dangerous to him than… than…

“What were you thinking, letting me in?” Zen asked mockingly.

Ray jumped. The sun was peeking through the small window, and Zen sat in the corner with a bottle of water, dark and fearsome.

“I’ve come to a temporary agreement with my wolf side, little goat,” Zen smirked. “My animal half has agreed to consider you a fiancée. Temporarily — since beasts don’t like to wait, and on the so-called wedding night a squealing beta bride quickly becomes a dead wife. You’re not my match. That’s the bad news.”

“And the good?” Ray muttered from under the blanket.

“The good — possibly, and I emphasize possibly — is that I can stay in ‘fiancé mode’ long enough to get you to the high shore. If not, you’ve got your shocker.” Zen spread his long arms.

“That’s all?” Ray rubbed his empty stomach.

“Well, you don’t have gene-modified syphilis — a fever would’ve hit by now,” Zen said, rising. “So — go to the toilet, then down to the boat and wait for me. Or run away. I won’t cry over it.”

Ray did as told, but by hamster habit brought a blanket and water into the boat. He tied Zen’s track jacket around his waist. Zen came later, in other boots and a cleaned coat.

“Move from the stern to the bow,” he ordered, taking a long pole and pushing off like a gondolier. Ray giggled, imagining him singing “O dolce Napoli.”

“All you’re missing is a straw hat,” he teased. “You’d be a perfect Venetian boatman.”

“You been there?” Zen asked flatly. His boat was asymmetrical — he could row, pole, or start the motor.

“Only seen pictures,” Ray shrugged. “Looks beautiful.”

“It stinks worse,” Zen wrinkled his nose. “Centuries of s**t washing through those canals. It’s all crap, goat — beauty for the camera. You know how wonderful a flooded country looks from a helicopter? All blue-green, sunlight glittering on the water, empty towers poking up like rotten teeth — and the stink of bloated corpses doesn’t reach you. We had a photographer who called it ‘sublime.’ I tossed him overboard — let him swim in that beauty.”

“Why not start the motor?” Ray fought not to laugh.

“Because the noise carries. Might as well hand you a megaphone and yell for everyone who wants to f**k you,” Zen showed his teeth, “and maybe eat you. Or both at once.”

“Is there… any way not to?” Ray asked hesitantly. “I mean — satisfy you and not die? So I can feel a bit safer?”

“You’re funny,” Zen smiled faintly. “You want to eat the fish and sit on the d**k without choking on the bone. Not disgusted?”

“What?” Ray folded his arms in a defensive reflex.

“Sleeping with the beast,” Zen said, letting go of the pole, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Show me your tail!” Ray refused to back down. “Some beast you are — just a lunatic with a big d**k. But you know, not every schizophrenic is dangerous. And not every alpha either, even if he’s built like a cliff.”

“Thanks,” Zen muttered, turning away. Then over his shoulder: “I can swim, so don’t think you’ll knock me out with that pole.”

“I need shoes,” Ray changed the subject, wiggling his bare toes. His ribs, once agony, now just ached faintly. “Those sneakers of yours weren’t bad.”

“After a visit to contamination, everything gets burned,” Zen said. “Be glad I didn’t make you jump naked over a bonfire for purification.”

“Thanks,” Ray echoed drily.

“You don’t need shoes — maybe fins and a mask,” Zen went on. “Then my beast half might take you for a frog and stop obsessing over mating and imprinting.”

“You actually want to imprint with me?!” Ray couldn’t believe it — his first open admission. Then couldn’t believe his eyes either, because Zen’s cheekbones flushed.

“Well,” Zen pursed his full lips, “it’s beyond my control. Beasts can be just as monogamous as any saintly i***t with a pigeon’s intellect. So yes, the animal in me wants to drag you to a den, bite you, knot you, feed you, and get you pregnant.”

Ray pressed his legs together, grateful he was sitting downwind so Zen couldn’t smell his arousal. He had to stop imagining that now.

“And what does the man want?” he asked quietly. But Zen, with his sharp ears, heard.

“The man wants to be free of the beast,” Zen said softly. “I couldn’t even ask a girl I liked — the wrong type — to the movies before. Now I have no options at all.”

“There’s nothing special about the movies,” Ray said, looking away. “Popcorn gets your hands greasy, soda spills, the film’s about superheroes in stupid tights, and the guy can’t kiss, and…”

He started crying. Because there would be no peaceful movie nights anymore — not for him. And for Jess and his parents, there would be nothing at all. Ray felt ashamed that he’d survived, ashamed that his tears came now — not over Jess’s corpse, but here.

“There, there,” Zen’s voice came softly, close.

Ray looked up as the alpha’s heavy hand rested on his shoulder.

“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Zen said sympathetically. “Welcome to the club.”

Ray waved him off, still wiping his face.

“Cry more often,” Zen advised. “Makes me less likely to want to f**k you.”

“So ugly?” Ray snapped.

“No,” Zen bared his teeth in a humorless grin. “Instinct says I should comfort you — warm you, feed you, lick you clean.”

“I like the feeding part,” Ray sniffed, rinsing his hand in the water.

“Horns up, little goat,” Zen said, gripping the pole again. “If you want to eat, you want to live. You’re lucky as hell — don’t waste it. I’ll pull strings and get you to the civilized zone. Soon enough, you’ll be kissing some beta in a cinema and forget this ever happened.”

“And you?” Ray asked.

“What about me?” Zen raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll stay here?” Ray nodded toward the half-drowned city.

“Someone’s got to be the forest’s janitor,” Zen shrugged. “In my case, more like the swamp’s. Besides, I don’t have many prospects in the brave new world — if it ever comes.”

“Why not?” Ray asked.

“Because people will look for culprits. Terrorists chose true believers — boys and girls with shining faces. Then every atrocity on the flooded lands will be pinned on ‘half-beasts.’ Politicians will start a fresh a*******d — segregation, deportation, ghettos, ‘zones of compact residence’… We’ve sung this song before.”

“The water will go down someday,” Ray insisted. “Then what?”

“I’ll sign a contract and work as a mercenary in faraway Africa — where there’s no water, and betas in some tribes are my size,” Zen said.

Ray’s next question was drowned by the roar of a motorboat.

“Well, the devil and all his spawn!” the alpha spat into the water. “We’re caught.”

He dropped the pole and started the motor, but their pursuers closed in fast.

They had no chance in open water, so Zen steered into the maze of flooded streets, hoping the larger boat would get stuck while they slipped through. Ray recognized the crudely painted symbol of yesterday’s gang.

“You didn’t kill that alpha yesterday?” he rasped, pain throbbing in his temples from fear and hunger.

“Either save you or chase a sick bastard,” Zen grinned. “Can’t split myself in two.”

Ray’s luck had run out yesterday. They hit a dead end — a collapsed building blocked the narrow street. Zen cut the motor, but the boat still scraped against the wall. The pursuers’ craft couldn’t follow — so they started shooting.

Zen boosted Ray up to a low balcony. “Inside! Stay out of the line of fire!” He jumped up after her.

He didn’t tell her to hide — no point against an alpha opponent. They sprinted through a floor buried in rubble. Looters had stripped it long ago — nothing left but dust and shards. Once, this had been luxury housing.

Zen pushed Ray into an alcove, pressed her there with his body, and drew his terrifying alpha pistol.

“I can hear your heart pounding,” he said with a brief, crooked smile. “And I’m not the only one.”

“Not from fear,” Ray shot back. Then, rising on tiptoe, kissed him quickly on the lips — because on the edge of death, you can kiss whoever you want, even if you shouldn’t.

Zen froze — Ray could feel his body turn to stone. Then Zen jerked his arm up and fired.

The shot ripped through wood and plaster — and one pursuer dropped. Another went down with a gut wound.

“Betas are dead. The leader’s left,” Zen said evenly. “I’ll handle him. You go back to the boat and get the hell out. I’ll find you.”

Ray nodded and ran. Behind him came a gurgling roar — and Zen’s answering growl — but he didn’t look back. No turning like in stupid horror movies. He’d only distract Zen and risk infection from that sick alpha leader.

But when he reached the balcony, he saw the problem — the boat had slammed the wall too hard and sprung a leak. Ray swore, then noticed the pursuers’ boat still stuck at the street’s mouth — empty deck. He leapt from balcony to balcony like the “mountain goat” Zen always called him. Before jumping onto the boat, he grabbed a chunk of brick.

An omega sat on the stern, jerking off. Too absorbed to notice Ray. So Ray bashed him on the head with the brick and shoved him into the water. He ran across the deck, locked every door he could find, then finally started the motor — on the third try.

Just in time. Zen appeared on the rooftop, with another hulking figure crawling behind him on all fours.

The leader lunged, they clashed, and both fell into the water — only ripples remained. Ray prayed silently and counted seconds. Around thirty later, Zen surfaced — alone.

He grabbed the edge of the boat. Ray caught his collar and hauled. Drenched to the bone, Zen collapsed onto him — and Ray wrapped him up, arms and legs, and cried.

“If you don’t let go, I can’t promise I’ll behave,” Zen rasped. “And what the hell were you doing kissing me mid-fight?”

“State of shock,” Ray muttered. “I wasn’t in control. You know… emotional overload.”

“Which of us is the half-beast?” Zen grunted, pushing him off.

“Obviously me! I was sick as a kid!” Ray couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“Go below deck, look for food,” Zen ordered. “No one’s there, I can smell it. Don’t touch opened bottles or packs. I’ll paint over the gang’s mark and we’ll make for the checkpoint.”

“You’re not hurt?” Ray reached for him, but Zen brushed his hands away.

“Nice to know you think so highly of me. Move it!” Then he added over his shoulder: “By the way, my real name’s Cael.”

And he ran off toward the bow.