Unchained

Chapter Twenty-Seven

My baby, Misha is gonna be Tiberius cause, why not? Just image him with slightly curly hair and a bit shorter.

UNEDITED

     Pale fingers were wound tightly around the cold railing of the rocking commercial crabbing boat, her short hair brushed against her cheeks, dark eyes glittered brightly in high sun. The warmth of the body next to her doused hers in a warm shroud, blocking out the harsh winds of the northern hemisphere. Her lashes and ended of her hair were sprinkled with ice, from the crashing waves and freezing temperatures. 

     The short male beside her beamed happily through the harsh conditions, his brown curls whipped back from his forehead, the maroon scarf that sat snuggly against his slender neck was a stark contrast to the scenery around them. A shit eating grin was plastered across his face, joyous to be out on the seas, a place where he was most at home.

      "Lovely day, yeah?" Tiberius laughed out through the loud thunder of roaring waves.

     "Not really." She remarked, gray eyes scanned the blandness of their surroundings.

     The long crabbing ship was littered with equipment and scurrying men in bright yellow rain suits, to prevent the ever present water and coldness to leak into their shaking bodies. Beneath their feet the deck was slippery with salty ice water, the persistent winds froze nearly anything that water touched.

     "Don't be such a sour puss." He frowned at her, peering down at his small Alpha.

Lym grunted as a response, both of their feet slipped as the ship rocked greatly on its side without warning. She had a slender hand holding the railing in a death grip while Tiberius slid across the deck, laughing his ass off.

I hope he falls into the fucking ocean.

Why not do it yourself? Her wolf replied.

After that she blocked her wolf out, tucking her hands into her parka pockets, she carefully picked her way across the deck, heading for the sleeping quarters below. Hunger gnawed at her, along with annoyance.

The crew of the crabbing ship, The Santa Puta, were all humans, which meant keeping her reactions and sounds in check. Occasionally she would flash her teeth at a crew member who would try to get a bit too touchy, warding them off but they never said anything about her teeth. She figured it was mostly out of fear.

     Shoving the metal door to the sleeping quarters open with Salem force, she descended the slightly wet wooden stairs, having to catch herself many times on the long staircase. Cursing under her breath, she ambled towards her appointed room, one that she sadly shared with Tiberius.

Plopping down on the low hanging bed, she held her head between her hands. As much as she tried to convince herself it was not there, the worse it got. The pressure building inside her head, like a migraine, it made her see unrealistic spots and glittering stars every so often. Drawing her legs up so the heel of her boots could rest on the support frame underneath the mattress, she laid her head down on her knees, wrapping well muscled arms around her legs.

Choices.

The word floated around in her head.

Her choices defined everything. Whether she lived or died. Whether she suffered or thrived. Lym knew deep down she was apart of a larger plan, a path that not many take, but the path was not clear. It did not make sense to her, all of the pain and sorrow she had experienced in her life. How could it have helped her? Her time spent in Everest, that was her time spent as a true queen, though it had challenged her well.