Blood in the Water

by Cleo Peitsche

  That grocery store paperback hadn’t been bad at all.

  It wasn’t like she had a job, and it would be months before she could begin any graduate program.

  She’d settled on getting a literature degree, and she was still putting together a list of schools. There was no hurry. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life being the spoiled, idle wife of a billionaire, but a few weeks of relaxation wouldn’t hurt anything.

  In fact, this was the first time she’d had a real vacation that didn’t end in disaster. Yeah, she was gonna savor the hell out of it.

  She walked through the exercise room and into the spa. The spa wasn’t staffed, but Monroe liked the showers here. The best part? Not having to worry about Koenraad coming in while she still reeked of sweat.

  After indulging in a long, hot shower—Koenraad told her the boat was extremely eco-friendly and efficient—she dressed in a white bikini and a flowing white sundress with yellow trim.

  What did she want to do now? She wondered what everyone else was up to.

  Some of the staff was busy making lunch, and they shooed her out. Koenraad made them do it, Monroe was sure.

  The bodyguards, two at each end of the boat, were watching the water.

  Personally, Monroe thought Koenraad was being a little paranoid. They were on the ocean, for heaven’s sake. What the hell was there to worry about?

  She heard splashing on the port side of the boat, and she rushed over. A moment later, an enormous great white shark shot into the air. The muscular body twisted, then dropped into the ocean.

  “Spectacular belly flop!” she called out, though she didn’t know if Koenraad could hear her.

  Monroe watched enviously as he and Brady played in the water. She hadn’t been in the ocean even once since they’d left. It was too much of a risk with Brady.

  At first she hadn’t minded, but it turned out she missed bobbing around. Or maybe she missed bobbing around with Koenraad, and someplace a bit more private than the on-board swimming pool.

  With the entire yacht crewed by shifters, privacy wasn’t even an illusion.

  She poured herself a cold glass of water, then climbed to the uppermost deck and stretched out in a shaded lounge chair. The book she’d started before the spinning class waited on the small table.

  “Hey.”

  Monroe started. “You’re too quiet.”

  Koenraad grinned down at her. Since they’d left Tureygua, he seemed to have shucked off the mantle of seriousness. It was nice to see him fully relaxed.

  “Have you decided about New York?”

  She groaned.

  “You’re the one who promised your mother,” Koenraad said. “I think you should fly back when we reach Tureygua.”

  She groaned again. Why had she let her mom corner her like that?

  “It won’t be so bad.” Koenraad tilted back his head to shake his hair out of his eyes.

  “That’s not what you said at first,” she said suspiciously. His initial reaction had been disbelief, followed by an explanation of how difficult extended periods of separation were for mated shifters.

  “I don’t want to piss off my future mother-in-law. And I was thinking… You can fly up and I’ll follow on the boat. We wouldn’t be apart for long.”

  She thought about it. The idea of spending time in Manhattan with Koenraad frankly thrilled her. Island life was fine, but she was starting to miss New York. All her favorite restaurants… shopping options beyond cotton dresses… first-run movies… museum exhibits… exuberant musicals… “That could be fun, if you think Brady will be fine.”

  “He’ll be fine.” Koenraad smiled. “I’ll buy your ticket today. Second question: what do you think about spending two days on a tropical island before we head back to Tureygua?” He crouched next to her so that they were more or less eye level.

  His sculpted face, always handsome, had turned radiant now that he was no longer stressed all the time. In the sun, she could see the dual shades of blue in his eyes: dark with a light blue ring around the edge.

  “Tureygua is a gorgeous island,” she pointed out when she realized that not only was she staring, he was still waiting for an answer.

  “It is. But this one has two advantages. First, it’s currently uninhabited.”

  “Who owns it?”

  He grinned. “Not me, though I’ve been trying to buy it from the owners for some time. I sent an email asking for permission to spend a few days, and we’re good to go.”

  “What’s the second advantage?” she asked, her eyes narrowing playfully. She hoped it had something to do with sex.

  “Victoria is still on Tureygua,” he said. “I’ve been trying to arrange things so that she’ll leave.”

  “How so, ‘arrange things’?”

  He agitated his hand vaguely. “Concocting reasons for her to leave. But she won’t.”

  “Because of Brady,” Monroe guessed. She did her best to keep the worried frown from her face, then gave up. At least now she knew why Koenraad was so anxious to send her back to New York.

  “Her pride has more to do with it,” Koenraad said.

  Monroe sat up and swung her legs over the side of the chair. “I don’t know, Koenraad. Maybe it’s possible that she cares about Brady in her own way.”

  “Anything is possible,” he said, but he clearly didn’t agree. “Island?”

  She sighed. “Fine. I’ll go hang out on your deserted island. Are the huts previously constructed, or will we have to get creative with fronds and mud?”

  He grinned, brushed her hair away from her face with a gentle motion. “No mud. It’s all dung.”

  Only Koenraad could say something like that and still look sexy.

  Late the next afternoon, the yacht stopped within sight of a lush island.

  They took the baby boat, named Grasshopper for some reason, into a much narrower strait before heading down a river. In the fifteen-minute trip, Monroe hadn’t seen a single building or any sign of civilization, so she went back to the book she was reading.

  Then the boat stopped.

  “Come on,” Koenraad said, standing in her light.

  She put down the book and stood. He immediately looped an arm around her waist and carried her onto the pebbly beach. The help was appreciated because she couldn’t take her eyes off the sight before her.

  “Is that a hotel?” she asked as she stared in awe at the sumptuous building that stretched before her.

  “Nah. That’s your dung hut for the next two days.”

  The building gleamed white in the fading sun’s slanting beams. It literally shimmered. There were some places in New York where the sidewalk glimmered in a similar way, but it wasn’t nearly as magical.

  “It looks like it should be sitting in the clouds,” she said.

  “The real view is in the back.”

  Monroe doubted anything could be more amazing than this, but she kept it to herself. Koenraad had a way of being right about… well, everything.

  The entire island was the opposite of what she’d expected. It was gloriously wild, and there was something decadent about it, too. She’d thought she’d be trudging her way through narrow, ankle-twisting paths. Because who would ever lend out a place like this? If she lived here, she’d never leave. If her friends wanted to hang out, they could fly down. And if they never wanted to leave, either, they could just stay. The mansion was big enough to shelter an army.

  Not what she’d expected at all. Too bad she couldn’t remember Koenraad’s exact words, pinpoint exactly how he had misled her.

  She couldn’t hold it against him. He delighted in surprising her, in pleasing her.

  A woman could do so much worse.

  Hand in hand, she and Koenraad crossed the pebbly beach and climbed a long, flattish set of marble steps that were set into the side of the hill. Surrounding the steps was unbridled, lush jungle.

  The air was so clean and fragrant that inhaling made Monroe want to weep with pleasure. When she ste
pped off the path to examine a four-inch, bright orange flower, she could practically feel the island breathing underneath her feet.

  The fringes of the mansion itself were gently enveloped by vegetation. The jungle seemed to come up respectfully and stop as if to say, I’ll let you be here, but on my terms.

  “How big is the island?” she asked.

  “You’ve seen about a fifth of it.” Louder, he said, “Go ahead, everyone.”

  Monroe glanced back to see that Dunphy and Theo had likewise disembarked, as had Nicole and another shifter who kept to herself. Her English wasn’t very good, and it seemed to make her self-conscious in front of Monroe.

  The four shifters passed Monroe and spilled across the front of the mansion.

  Damn, they were fast when they wanted to be. And quiet.

  And deadly, Monroe thought.

  “It’s just a precaution,” Koenraad said, sensing her worry.

  Monroe slid around so that she was standing in front of Koenraad. “I know you’re not telling me something,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  He bent in close, his hypnotic eyes trained on hers. “There shouldn’t be any cloud cover tonight,” he said.

  “So?”

  “So there’s something I want to show you.”

  In other words, he wasn’t going to tell her.

  The inside of the mansion was both cozy and luxurious. It felt like someone had crossed a mini Versailles with a mini Taj Mahal, then gave it a thorough sprinkling of warm island flavor before setting it lovingly down here.

  The halls were fairly wide. Monroe liked that. And even though the walls looked painted in real gold—it wouldn’t have surprised her in the least—she felt comfortable there.

  She upped her estimate of the home’s worth. She’d initially thought forty or fifty million. Now she was certain that it ran several times that, taking into account the furnishings.

  She wondered what the insurance bill was like.

  Though as she thought about the island itself, the trees were large but undamaged, and the vines and moss surely took years if not decades to grow. She’d seen what a normal tropical storm did to Tureygua. This place probably hadn’t been battered in some time.

  Koenraad opened a door to show Monroe a glimmering, shallow pool. It had a neoclassical Grecian feel. In fact, with the warm light coming through the tinted yellow windows, it reminded her of a Maxfield Parish painting.

  They continued on their way.

  Koenraad didn’t open every door, but each time he did, Monroe felt her eyes getting wider and wider until she wondered why they didn’t pop out of her head.

  Finally they reached an elevated walkway. The ceiling was glass, and below was a library with built-in wooden ladders capable of sliding back and forth. Monroe practically gasped in delight.

  On the other side of the walkway, though, was the biggest surprise of all. A bedroom like nothing she’d seen before.

  Everywhere she looked she discovered rich tapestries and hand-woven rugs and small paintings that she guessed were hundreds of years old.

  The ornate four-poster bed was up on a sort of low, wide platform. Monroe had never thought canopy-type beds were interesting.

  Until now.

  It was like something out of a castle, the feet of the bed like massive lion’s paws, the posts carved to resemble thick, vine-covered trees. As for the royal blue brocade that draped from the platform over the bed, the fabric was so delicate and expensive that Monroe was afraid to go near it.

  Koenraad ran across the room and flung himself at the bed. He landed with an oof on the mattress.

  The bed itself didn’t even shake.

  “Come here,” he said.

  Tentatively, she approached. “Whose place is this?”

  “It belongs to my parents, but they’ve been loaning it out to one of my aunts for the past five years.”

  “Your parents? I thought they were professors.”

  “And shifters. Shifters are wealthy, as I told you. Or did you think I earned my billions myself? Now come here.”

  She went to him, and when he pulled her into the soft sheets and coverlets, she sighed.

  “Watch this.” He leaned over. On the wall was a discreet rectangular plate with small black buttons set in it. He pushed one, and the floor-to-ceiling drapes against the wall began to gracefully sweep back, revealing a window so clear that for a moment, Monroe thought it wasn’t there at all.

  On the other side was a waterfall. Natural, she thought, not manmade.

  She rose up on her knees and saw that there was a spectacular, verdant valley just below, and the mansion itself must sit right at the edge.

  Her legs shaking, she stood and walked unsteadily to the window. A spray of scarlet and gold flashed past.

  “Those macaws aren’t native to the island,” Koenraad said. “My grandfather imported them. They can be annoyingly loud, and sometimes I wish they’d fly away.”

  Monroe would have pressed her face up against the glass, but she didn’t want to smudge it.

  Koenraad was right. The rear view was even better than the front.

  He came up behind her on silent feet, but she saw enough of his reflection in the glass that she didn’t jump when he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Do you know what’s down there?” he asked, his deep voice making every inch of her melt.

  She shook her head and leaned back against him so that she was cradled in his muscular embrace.

  “A lake,” he said. He leaned in closer, and she could feel his breath stirring on her ear. “The things I’ll do to you tonight…” His promise turned into a growl as he dragged his teeth over the sensitive skin of her neck.

  She knew what he was promising.

  And she couldn’t wait.

  Chapter 20

  After dinner, Koenraad slipped into the mansion’s east wing. He was curious to see how his childhood bedroom was faring.

  When he was younger, he’d hated coming to this place. He’d thought it boring, and most of his relatives were adults, so there was rarely anyone for him to play with.

  In fact, he’d often hoped the earth would swallow up the island, and whenever there were quakes or storms in the Caribbean, he would get excited.

  He felt very differently about it now, but his parents refused to sell.

  If it were his place, he wouldn’t have sold, either. As long as it remained in the family, that was all that mattered.

  He’d fudged the truth a little to Monroe. His aunt had been living here, but she didn’t happen to be away. He’d bribed her with a two-week European vacation. His aunt was being kind. She had plenty of her own money and could go to Europe whenever the mood struck her.

  But Koenraad had persisted because he needed this. He was relieved that it had been so easy to talk Monroe into going to New York, but the situation on Tureygua was going to be stressful. Victoria wasn’t being the least bit quiet about looking for him. It seemed that a day didn’t go by when at least one person didn’t email or text or call to let him know that she was on the warpath.

  He’d tried to be quiet when he’d set up the crew, but he’d been in such a hurry, and corners had been cut. He’d wisely gone through an intermediary, but not every shifter he’d tried to hire had been able to say yes. Sooner or later, someone was going to look at the timing and figure it out.

  This island wasn’t a place they could stay in any event. The river running up to the mansion was infested with bull sharks.

  Bull sharks were nasty, vicious creatures. Personally, Koenraad wouldn’t have been upset if every last one of them disappeared from the river by the morning. However, they were great for keeping nosy shifters away.

  Not so great if one was accompanied by a young white shark who didn’t like being left alone.

  So Koenraad hadn’t left him alone.

  He’d been watching which of the other shifters Brady got along with best, and out of this group he’d chosen three to remain with
his son. They’d decided to take him on a little tour of the surrounding ocean. A sort of sleepover.

  Of course he’d explained it to Brady, who had seemed excited about the prospect, and that was a balm on Koenraad’s heart.

  Trapping Brady in the inlet had been a mistake. He should have bought a larger boat and taken off a long time ago. Then none of this would have happened.

  But he’d wanted the damned cure so badly, wanted to get the old Brady back. All along, he should have accepted what his son had become.

  What was it about seeing his son happy that made him feel so awful?

  Guilt.

  It was as simple as that.

  He stopped outside his former bedroom, but he didn’t open the door. Mementos of himself as a healthy young shifter would only remind him of everything Brady would never experience.

  Two nights of peace weren’t too much to ask.

  He turned and went to find the others. It was time to take Monroe on a tour of the grounds.

  It was dark out, and trees obscured the light from the moon and stars.

  He could feel Monroe’s uncertainty as he led her forward. The tiny little hesitations in the clenching of her leg muscles. The way she held her breath, held her shoulders almost stiffly.

  But even though she couldn’t see a damned thing, she still walked blindly with him.

  She stepped into the silvery moonlight and looked at the waterfall across the lake. “Wow,” she said.

  He turned her so she could see the stars, and her little gasp made him think of other times she inhaled like that.

  “Enough looking,” he said. “The stars are there every night.” His fingers were gathering up the cotton of her dress, and then she was helping him impatiently yank it over her head.

  The endeavor left her hair mussed. He liked the look on her.

  His wild thing.

  She was excited, too. Not just sexually. He could feel her tremors of anticipation, so slight that she herself was likely unaware.

  He grabbed her panties, yanked them down. While she clumsily tried to kick them away, he did them both the favor of removing her bra.