Page 16 of Why Cruise

“Those two are probably leading the ‘how to survive rejection’ roundtable.” I kept my eyes glued to the packet of information, desperate to block out the snickers from around us. Mackenzie shifted in her seat, the lotions forgotten.

“Now, before we conclude…” Aria glided back to center stage, “I’d like to share some of our success stories.”

A screen descended behind her, displaying a montage of photos of smiling faces with red-ringed bite marks on their necks. “Over the past five years, Bond Voyage has celebrated hundreds of successful pack formations, including countless scent match discoveries.”

I took a few shallow breaths and resisted the urge to touch my neck. I’d had so many fantasies of the perfect alpha putting their teeth on me, marking me as theirs. As part of a real pack.

“What many don’t realize is that pack formation isn’t just about finding the right alpha.” Aria’s gaze swept the room. “It’s about timing. Chemistry. Sometimes even luck. During this cruise, you’ll have opportunities to meet potential packmates in both structured and casual settings. Trust your instincts. They’re usually right.”

“Trust your instincts,” Rose muttered. “Like any alpha’s instincts would lead them to…” She cleared her throat meaningfully, and I felt her eyes boring into me

“Some of you will find exactly what you came looking for. Others might discover something completely unexpected. Remember,” Aria concluded, “the most successful packs are built on authenticity. Be yourselves. The right connections will follow.”

Mackenzie’s orange blossom scent warmed beside me, and I fought the urge to lean closer. Her hand was still in mine, our fingers intertwined like they belonged there. Like we belonged together.

I really needed to stop thinking like that.

Justice

Not even the crisp ocean air could wipe away the rank odor of desperation oozing from the pool bar. I nursed my third whiskey, neat, because Todd the Butler had yet to produce a fountain pen. Drinking seemed like a better option than more Dear Diary entries. The journal and the shitty pen sat right there on the bar mocking me.

“Check out the goods in the pool.” An alpha with a designer watch that cost more than a mid-sized car gestured with his martini glass. His chest was all puffed out, like most trust fund babies who’d never had to work for anything. “That little brunette’s stacked.”

I didn’t turn to look. I’d already memorized every curve on display in that blue one piece. Her scent carried even over the chlorine, orange wrapped in coconut. You’d think it wouldn’t be distinct out in the open with or without whatever scent dampening technology there was on this boat. But maybe it was my imagination making it seem more intense. Or maybe it was all the piña colada the bartenders were slinging.

“The male omega’s not bad either.” Another alpha chimed in. “Good for a heat partner, maybe.”

“No one actually keeps male omegas in their pack.” The first alpha snorted. “They’re fun to play with, but come on. My grandmother would have a stroke.”

I gripped my glass tighter, fighting back a growl. The whiskey burned, but it was not enough of a distraction to drown out their voices or the way their auras scraped against mine like sandpaper. Alphas who couldn’t hold their liquor and auras at the same time were fucking annoying.

A group of omegas strutted past, all bikinis and heels and diamond tennis bracelets glinting in the sun. Their synchronized hair flips and practiced giggles drew the alphas’ attention. Good. Maybe they’d shut up now.

But no. The universe wasn’t that kind.

“Now that’s more like it.” one gestured at the women. “Just picture their mouths wrapped around…”

I slammed back the rest of my drink, grabbed the journal and stood, the bar stool threatening to topple over. If I stayed, I’d end up throwing someone overboard. I was supposed to be relaxing, not starting fights like my aura just presented.

The VIP deck beckoned, promising blessed silence and fewer assholes per square foot. The security guard barely glanced at my keycard before waving me through.

I rolled my neck on my shoulders, like I could coax the sun to melt the tension.

They weren’t exactly subtle about the whole “very important” part on this part of the ship. The infinity pool dominated the space, all sleek lines and crystal-clear water designed to make you forget you were floating on a giant metal box in the middle of the ocean. Someone had gone overboard with the teak and natural stone, probably the same designer who thought gauzy white curtains looked sophisticated instead of pretentious.

Private cabanas lined one side, spaced far enough apart that you could pretend you were alone if you wanted to. The real estate with the best view was a raised platform with circular daybeds, reserved for the type of people who measured their worth in social media followers and stock options.

Aria lounged on a daybed like a goddess from a Renaissance painting, all golden skin and curves that would bring any alpha to their knees, as evidenced by the ring of alphas attempting to remain at a respectful distance. The ocean breeze brought me her chocolate caramel scent, hitting me like a drug, that impossible blend of everything you’d ever wanted and nothing you could ever have.

“Justice Twill.” My name rolled off her tongue like honey. “I was wondering when you’d get tired of slumming it with the peasants.”

“Aria.” I dropped onto the daybed next to her, putting my back to the alpha peanut gallery. “Still breaking hearts and bank accounts?”

She smiled, all teeth and promises. “You would know.”

When she leaned over to kiss me, it was familiar territory. We’d played this game before, back when I’d needed arm candy for tech conventions and she’d needed connections in Silicon Valley. Her lips were soft, tasting of something expensive and sweet, but there was no heat behind it.

She pulled back, studying my face with those impossible violet eyes. “You look like shit.”

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