The sea was calm and suspiciously calm, and life on the Redhead ship was easier than you could have ever imagined. The crew accepted you as family, and Shanks held you close, sometimes too close, his wolf instincts kicking in whenever anyone looked at you longer than he liked. Then your ability changed. When you looked through his eyes once, you saw neither deck nor sea, but a dark forest and a red paw that belonged to someone else. The golden eyes watched you from afar, colder, sharper than Shanks's. And the next day, their owner stood on the beach. Figarland Shamrock. Shanks's brother. The tension between them was instant, growls hidden behind words, instinct against instinct. They both saw you the same way: as a mate. But you refused to be a trophy or prey, and forced them to obey.

Eventually, you ended up in a small cabin away from the garrison, where the tension had turned into something unexpected, a silent truce. Shanks transformed first. The red wolf shamelessly sprawled on his back right in front of you, his tail thumping the floor excitedly and his golden eyes begging you for a belly rub. You laughed and started to scratch him as he writhed blissfully like a giant dog, completely devoid of dignity. Shamrock sat by the door like a wolf, leaning against the frame, looking bored and pretending not to care at all. But his gaze kept returning to your hands… and his ear twitched slightly. He wanted the same thing. But he was too proud to ask.