Oceans Untamed

by Cleo Peitsche

  Normally when he got this stressed, he went for a swim. But his pool was full of blood and the ocean was full of sick.

  He stalked through the mansion and out to the back. He was really starting to hate this place, he thought as he began draining the pool. He set the program to clean and refill. It was an automated process, but slow. He left it to run and went back inside.

  For fifteen minutes he sat near the front door, his breathing shallow, his muscles so tense he could feel them tearing at his joints.

  The phone rang.

  He answered immediately.

  “Happy to see you’re taking my calls again,” she said. If she was trying to keep the victory out of her voice, she was failing miserably.

  “What do you want?” he asked. His voice was a quiet growl.

  She laughed. “Under the circumstances, I think you can do better than that,” she said. “Reach deep and try again.”

  There was only one acceptable outcome for this exchange, and that was for him to get Brady back. He ground his teeth, but when he spoke, his tone was civil. “How may I help you?”

  “Better,” she said, drawing out the word as if she were still trying to make up her mind. “We’ll have to work on that, don’t you think? Koenraad?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Yes, what?”

  “I’ll have to work on that,” he said. Jesus, she seemed to think this was some kind of flirtation. The woman was insane, but he had to play by her rules. For now. She had Brady. Everything else was secondary.

  “Meet me in an hour at Council headquarters,” she said. “In my uncle’s office.”

  “I would rather—” But she hung up before he could ask to meet wherever she was keeping Brady.

  The boy must be scared out of his mind, Koenraad thought.

  But he understood why she’d picked Council headquarters. While she couldn’t possibly know what had happened in the pool, and while keeping Brady in the inlet wasn’t against any law, the threat she posed was real. She might have even figured out that Brady had attacked someone. If that was the case…

  God help him.

  So he would go to Council headquarters and he would Yes, ma’am anything she asked for. If he didn’t, she could walk ten feet and call Darius. Game over for Brady.

  Koenraad heaved himself to standing, his head instantly spinning. The buzzing between his ears was getting intolerable. Without thinking, he walked to the closest wall, gently placed his hand flat against it. His forehead bumped against the surface.

  What if Victoria had let Brady loose in the ocean? If he attacked a swimmer. If he killed someone. It would be Koenraad’s fault. Brady would be executed.

  Oh, god, if Brady had killed someone…

  With a roar, Koenraad pulled back his fist and punched, his knuckles colliding with the immaculate cream-colored surface.

  He didn’t feel anything. If not for the smear of red marring the wall, he might not have known his fist had connected at all.

  Another roar, another punch. Rhythmically, he landed them one after the other until he was sagging against the wall, the air driven out of him. Skin hung off his fists in small, bloody strips, but the calm that had settled over him was worth the temporary destruction of his body. Which wasn’t so bad considering how much he wanted to hurt himself, punish himself for being sloppy.

  He’d known that he had everything to risk. He’d been stupid. Complacent. Look what it had cost him.

  He went upstairs, showered and dressed. The skin over his knuckles was translucent now, and it would be normal by the time he met Victoria.

  When he arrived at Darius’s office, he found it empty. He seated himself on the hard metal chair across from the empty secretary’s station. A metal fan whirred noisily overhead. It irritated him, and he got up to switch it off.

  He was five minutes early, but he hadn’t wanted to do anything to upset Victoria. In any event, at least his mind was clear now. He’d developed a plan.

  Find out where Brady was.

  Kill Victoria.

  It was beautiful in its simplicity.

  Despite being a shark, Koenraad had never killed another shifter. It was a violation of Council law except in very specific situations.

  That didn’t mean it never happened, though. Shark shifters could be territorial and aggressive. Accidents happened.

  Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. The hard seat was making his ass hurt, and he stood.

  The office was small. Darius had plenty of prestige in the Council. He could have forced another member out of one of the larger offices. He could have built a new wing just for himself. But he liked to play humble, to pretend he was one of the common sharks, that he wasn’t wealthy even by shifter standards. He was a born politician.

  Koenraad paced for a bit, then switched the fan back on, setting it on high to circulate the air. A stack of papers sat in one corner of the desk, and several sheets fluttered free as the wind hit.

  He swept them into a pile and returned them to the stack, dropping a stapler on top. But now that he was looking, he noticed a yellow folder. The yellow folders contained information about itinerant shifters. They were usually kept under lock and key in what had formerly been a bank vault. Very few shifters knew the code to get into the office, but the file wasn’t the sort of thing to be left sitting in the open.

  Curious, he flipped open the folder. There was a photo of a scrawny man with a prominent Adam’s apple. His face was narrow, his eyes bulged. His name was Bamboo Menendez, from the west coast of Mexico.

  Koenraad had never met him. It was probably one of the sharks who’d come into the area to help with the toxins in the water.

  He flipped through, learned the shifter had a criminal record. That wasn’t so unusual, either, especially for the drifters. Mostly nonviolent crime, though there were a few fights. Par for the course.

  He turned the page, then, frowning, turned back. Dating back six months, the man’s bail had been paid by Darius.

  Maybe it was a bodyguard; Darius used them when making official Council visits. But the shifter was slight, unimposing.

  Koenraad heard footsteps, and he assembled the papers over the folder and stepped away. Moments later, Darius pushed into the office. He stopped short when he saw Koenraad but immediately recovered.

  “Hope you enjoyed your day off. I need you to—”

  “He’s here to see me,” Victoria said as she entered. She wore white shorts that didn’t cover her ass cheeks and a striped tank top. No bra. “Koenraad called me this morning and said he wants us to be partners from now on.”

  Darius turned to look at his niece, then at Koenraad. In the last two years of working for the Council, Koenraad had never seen Darius speechless.

  But then, Koenraad volunteering to work with Victoria was about as common as ice sculptures in hell.

  “I did,” Koenraad said. His gaze cut to Victoria. “Ready?”

  She came over to him, pressed her body up against his. For a moment he recoiled inwardly, an uncontrollable instinct even though he managed not to flinch. Mostly. Darius frowned.

  “Koenraad and I have decided to get back together,” Victoria said. There wasn’t any ominous hint of warning in her voice, but then, there didn’t need to be. They both knew the score. “We’re going to work on finally replacing Brady.”

  Koenraad sucked in a breath. Darius narrowed his eyes slightly, then turned away. Darius sniffed the air, somewhat discreetly, and Koenraad could only imagine what the older shifter was thinking. The scent of Victoria’s lust was now heavy in the air, but so was Koenraad’s anger.

  Given contradictory evidence, Darius would likely choose to believe what he smelled over what he was told. But Victoria wanted this lie, and Koenraad was at her mercy until he could get to Brady.

  “We did,” he said. “I’ve come to realize that Victoria is a strong female. We might not always see eye to eye, but I can think of no better bearer of my children.”

&n
bsp; Darius grunted. Koenraad had no idea if he’d swallowed the ridiculous story, but Victoria seemed satisfied. “Koenraad and I will go check the demarcation lines,” she said, pulling him out the door.

  To Koenraad’s relief, she released his hand the moment they were outside.

  “That went well,” she said. “This is going to be easier than I thought.” She headed toward the docks, but Koenraad grabbed her arm and swung her around toward him.

  “I don’t have time for games,” he said.

  “Who’s playing games? We’re supposed to check on the contaminant, and that’s what we’re doing. It’ll give us time to catch up, talk about some of your new habits.” Her gaze fell to his hand clamped around her arm. “I like it when you’re rough,” she said.

  Koenraad released her.

  “You know, I’m doing you a favor by refocusing your priorities. You’re so busy with that stupid human that you’re forgetting your obligations. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in crisis mode here.”

  “There must be a hundred sharks in town. Darius has all the help he needs and then some. Don’t act like you give a shit about anyone but yourself. You forget that I know your black soul, Victoria.”

  “But it seems I didn’t know yours. It’s nice to be taken by surprise after all these years.” She grinned.

  “How did you get in? How did you find me?”

  “A girl’s gotta have secrets. Though I bet you can fuck the answer out of me.”

  He didn’t initiate conversation again until they were on the ocean. His mind was working on the problem, picking at it, turning it over and over as he tried to find a solution.

  The result was the same every time: he could do nothing until he knew Brady was safe… and that others were safe from Brady. Nothing was worth risking that.

  They reached the line where the sick turned to normal ocean water.

  “How often are you out here checking it?” he asked.

  Victoria shrugged. “Nonstop. We get to the end, we start over at the beginning. It’s spreading toward the shores, but not farther out into the ocean.”

  “Any results from the samples?”

  She shrugged. “No, and that’s a lot less interesting than why I asked you out here.”

  Asked. Like he’d had a choice. “Look, you’ve got me over a barrel, Victoria. I’m just following your lead.”

  She smiled. “I think that’s right.”

  Now he remembered why he hated her so much. “A long time ago, you told me you owed me.”

  “We were kids. Let’s just say that my gratitude wouldn’t have been nearly so profound if you weren’t the hottest guy around.” She pulled up a bucket of ocean water, swirled it, sniffed it. Then she marked the coordinates down in a tablet.

  “This is a waste of time,” she snapped.

  Koenraad went very still. “What is?”

  “Checking on this. It’s only hurting shifters and a few humans. If everyone stays out of the ocean for a few days, maybe a couple of weeks, it’ll get diluted whenever the next storm runs through. Stupid to fight this.”

  “And Wardell?”

  “Old man with a drinking problem.” She shrugged. “Who cares?”

  “You’re all heart,” he said, forgetting himself for a moment.

  But Victoria didn’t take offense. “That’s interesting coming from you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She laughed. “I always knew something was up with you. You were always so secretive, always so standoffish and judgmental. I should have known that holier-than-thou attitude was a coverup. You’ve got dangerous tastes, Koenraad, and you got caught.” She smiled, flipped her dark hair. “It’s going to cost you.”

  “Fine, Victoria. What do you want?”

  “You.” She waved her hand airily. “Only as a temporary measure. Once we’ve replaced Brady, I’ll let you go, but with the understanding that you’ll need to play stud if I need you to.”

  His heart seemed to seize up in his chest. “Replace him? You wanted to find him, you said—”

  “That was yesterday. Or two days ago. You know, I really did think I’d caught his scent. You probably don’t believe me, but I regret Brady getting into the ocean that day. Yes, he wasn’t what I’d wanted, but I cared for him in my own way. Of course it doesn’t matter now. He’s gone forever.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “If you want to go looking for him near Bonaire, be my guest.”

  “He’s in Bonaire?”

  “As I told you.” She smiled. “Want to know a secret? I got into your bloody pool. It was delicious, rolling around in all that blood. There’s just one thing I can’t figure out. How’d you get hurt?”

  His answer was too slow in coming because he couldn’t make sense of her words. Was she saying she didn’t have Brady? Did this mean she never had? “Knife,” he said.

  “You cut yourself?”

  “I…” And then it all came together. Victoria assumed she’d come across a massacre in his pool. That’s what she was blackmailing him over; she wasn’t holding Brady hostage. “I like to give them a knife,” he said, feeling disgusted with himself. “Makes it more sporting.” He squinted up at the sun. He needed to get home, to find out how Brady had gotten out of the inlet and to bring him back, to get him someplace safe.

  When he looked at her again, the admiration in Victoria’s smile made him feel even more disgusted.

  “You’re hot when you talk like that,” she said. “We’d make a hell of a team.”

  He leaned in. “You killing people?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have a death wish. You, apparently, do.”

  “That’s a shame,” he said, and he meant it. If she admitted to killing humans, he could rip her head off right now and be well within his rights. Guarding Tureygua was his job. Of course, he’d need to prove her guilt later.

  “I haven’t killed anyone,” he said. “Just so we’re clear.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s a matter of time, I think.”

  “Never.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Why was he going down this path, arguing with a woman who had the emotional maturity of a toddler? “Think it’s time to get back.”

  “We’ve got the entire coast to check.”

  “You know what? Check it yourself.” He turned and walked toward the boat’s stern.

  “Where are you going?” She sounded so confused it was almost comical.

  “Away from you,” he said.

  “Don’t you know what will happen if I tell the Council what you’ve been doing?”

  He didn’t feel like answering her, and even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t have; he’d already launched himself into the air and was shifting shark. And for the second time that day, he ruined a perfectly good set of clothing.

  Chapter 5

  The sun was getting lower in the sky when Monroe swung her feet off the hammock. For a moment she swayed there before she could catch her balance and heave to standing.

  Maybe there was a dignified way to get out of a hammock, but she sure hadn’t found it yet. There were plenty of hammocks on the island just waiting to humiliate her in front of Koenraad. She’d have to look online and see if there was a trick.

  She’d made little progress in her paperback. Pinning her book against her body with an elbow, she shook out her long hair before pulling her bag onto her shoulder.

  A glance over at the beach didn’t show her a single turtle, though a small huddle of tourists was staring out at the sand. Even though she felt confident that the turtle thing was a lie, she slowed as she neared the group, her eyes combing the white expanse for movement.

  “Can’t believe we’re stuck here,” a woman murmured.

  “If you have to be stuck, better here than somewhere else,” an older woman said, but there was a forced gaiety to her voice. Her watery blue gaze landed on Monroe. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen the turtles?” she asked.
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br />   Monroe shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “God, this sucks,” the younger woman was saying again. “My boss is going to kill me.”

  Monroe took that as her cue to leave. If she ever got so spoiled that being “stuck” on Tureygua was a hardship, she hoped someone would put a bullet in her brain. What a miserable way to live. She laughed aloud at the irony; her first days on the island had been awful. Now she never wanted to leave.

  The iguanas had all gone, and she wondered where they spent their nights. As she walked by the giant kidney pool, she saw that tons of guests had come out. There wasn’t nearly enough room for them all to stake out private suntanning spots in the waning sunlight. Not that many seemed interested in sunbathing; excitement buzzed in the air. Curious, Monroe slowed enough to catch snatches of conversation.

  “… Get a flight out tomorrow, hopefully,” a middle-aged woman said into a phone. Monroe repressed a laugh. When she made phone calls, she tended to talk too quietly lest she turn into one of those people who screamed.

  “… Canceled a bunch of planes or something…” a teenager was saying. “Guess I’ll miss the chem test tomorrow. How ever will I live?”

  Monroe’s mouth went dry. Thomas had left hours ago, but what if his flight was one of the ones canceled? The thought that he could still be on the island was frankly terrifying. She’d have to insist on staying in Koenraad’s mansion.

  He’d want to know why. If only she’d told him about Thomas at the beginning.

  But maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Thomas wasn’t hanging out by the pool, and his flight was hours ago. He was probably halfway home by now. She paused a moment and licked her lips nervously.

  A man in his late thirties, holding a tablet, was just to her right. He appeared to be idly surfing the web, looking at sports stats. If he didn’t know the answer to her question, maybe he could look it up…

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  He looked up, as did the woman next to him. She gave Monroe a quick but disdainful once-over.

  Monroe smiled and tried to look innocuous. “I overheard someone saying that a flight was canceled today. I don’t suppose you know which one?”