Oceans Untamed

by Cleo Peitsche

  The woman pulled herself upright. “All of them,” she said.

  “All? Why—”

  “Some glitch in the airport’s flight control software. No more planes have been allowed in since around noon, and they manually sent off the ones that were here. The airport looks like a graveyard,” the man said.

  “So someone who had a flight a few hours ago would have made it?” Monroe asked hopefully.

  “All the planes that were here left, so yeah,” the woman said. “It’s on all the news channels.” Her tone made it clear that Monroe and her too-small bikini could go elsewhere.

  Monroe exhaled as she turned away. She was glad Thomas had gotten out, but the rest of her friends were supposed to leave the next day. They’d already gotten food poisoning, sunburns, missed out on their super-expensive scuba diving charter, watched a woman have a breakdown after her boyfriend drowned… If Monroe got married in Tureygua, she’d never get them to attend the wedding.

  She felt her face go white. Why the hell was she thinking about weddings? She’d only known Koenraad for a few days.

  A boy catching a foam football ran backward, right at her. At the last moment, she hopped to the side—too close to the edge of the pool. She swayed, trying to keep her balance.

  It was dark, and she was falling. The only light came from the blazing white moon. Koenraad stood above her, and he looked pissed.

  Her side burned. Sticky warmth covered her torso and hip. She could feel the teeth still biting, tearing into her.

  She was going to die, and Koenraad was just watching.

  “Miss? Are you ok?”

  Blinking, Monroe looked up at the boy who had almost run her over. “Yes,” she gasped, not even sure how she’d ended up on the ground. She could still feel the pain in her side, the water closing over her head, but it was all fading quickly.

  “Sorry,” he said as he extended a helping hand. “I didn’t mean to run into you.”

  Monroe pushed to her feet. “I don’t think you did.”

  “Your book,” he said. Monroe turned to see her paperback floating in the pool.

  “Shit,” she muttered.

  “I’ll get it,” the boy said, but Monroe wrapped her arms tightly around herself and stumbled away, her bag bouncing against her hip.

  What the hell had just happened to her? It had felt so real, like a memory. A flashback?

  She shivered. She’d told Koenraad that she regretted not remembering the shark attack, but that had been… not exactly a lie. More like an exaggeration. He’d been so upset the night before, and he clearly blamed himself for the attack.

  She’d wanted to reassure him.

  But she didn’t actually want to remember.

  What had just happened didn’t even add up. What could she have fallen off of, and why would Koenraad look pissed? Maybe it was a dream, no more real than the one she’d had about gumdrop rainbows.

  “Excuse me.”

  With a start, Monroe looked up. She’d come to a stop just inside the hotel door, and she was blocking the walkway. She moved out of the way and gathered her thoughts.

  She needed to see Koenraad. Or at least to be somewhere that wasn’t here.

  Maybe, because of the “turtle mating,” Tara and the others had been sent back to their hotel early. Monroe could go over, get drinks, catch up.

  Or maybe it wasn’t a good idea. Her best friend would take one look and know something was wrong. Then Tara would do that cross examination thing, and Monroe would have to lie. Tara would know she was lying. It wouldn’t go well.

  She noticed the concierge walking across the lobby and holding a coffee mug in both hands. She caught up to him.

  “Really quick question. Where’s the closest bike rental place?” she asked.

  “Right here,” he said with a wide smile, like he lived to answer questions during his coffee break. “Complimentary loans for all our guests.”

  Twenty minutes later, she was rolling into the street on a bike. It wasn’t nearly as nice as Koenraad’s, but it was a heck of a lot better than she’d expected for free. The best part was that it was a woman’s bike. She’d put on a shirt-like, button-down denim dress over the bikini—a Tureygua purchase and not at all her style. Her beach bag, filled with her phone and charger, a sweater, and two new paperbacks, was in the front basket.

  There hadn’t been any new messages from Koenraad, and it was driving her up a wall. At least biking would burn off some energy as well as stop her from sending him a series of desperate texts.

  Riding to the other edge of town took longer than she’d expected. The bike didn’t have lights, so she had to go slowly; even though she hadn’t seen an iguana away from the beach areas, she didn’t want to accidentally run over one.

  Most of the stores were closed, which seemed weird, but then it was about dinnertime. Not everyplace had New York hours.

  As she pedaled past the real estate office where she’d talked to Ralph, one of the dreadlocked guides who had introduced her to Koenraad, she glanced inside, but it was dark, empty.

  A little shiver shot down her spine, and she wondered if she should stay near the lights and crowds. She decided she was being a wimp and pressed on.

  The bike only had three speeds, so she stood up on the pedals and worked them harder. She coasted down a small hill. The wind ruffled through her hair and pressed her dress against her legs.

  Soon she was on the long, winding road that would eventually lead to Koenraad’s seaside mansion. There wasn’t much traffic, but the few times cars did pass, she checked out the drivers.

  None of them were Koenraad.

  For the last stretch toward his beach house, she was alone on the road. She hadn’t appreciated just how remote his place was considering its relative proximity to the town. She hopped off the bike and took a moment to catch her breath and finger-comb her tangled hair away from her face. If she ended up spending lots more time on the island, she’d have to consider cutting it shorter. Between the salt water and the wind, long hair was a liability.

  She walked up to the first set of security gates—Koenraad had two—and punched in the code. To her surprise, the gate stayed closed.

  She reentered the code, tried again. Nothing. As she looked at the panel, she realized none of the lights were on. And it hadn’t beeped.

  Jangling the locked gate didn’t get her anywhere.

  Either Koenraad had locked her out or there was a power failure.

  She lifted onto her toes and tried to peer through the gates, but the mansion itself was too far back to see, and anyway it was too dark out.

  As she walked the bike out to the road, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she should be taking this personally. He’d blown her off several times since they’d met, and while it was true that his job was a bit hectic at the moment, he’d left her alone all day. He’d broken several promises to call.

  Busy she could understand, but the lack of communication was seriously fucked up.

  Maybe he wasn’t the man she’d thought. Maybe it was out of sight, out of mind with him. If this had been the first time… but he’d stood her up twice before.

  She was the problem. Nya, one of her friends who was also one of Linda’s bridesmaids, never had a guy stand her up. It was “one strike and don’t let the door hit you” with her.

  The more Monroe thought about it, the angrier she became. And she was stuck here, dependent on a guy who had vanished.

  Unless he’d gotten sick. He’d told her that the contaminant in the water did bad things to shifters… In which case, the thoughts going through her mind made her a horrible person.

  If only she knew for sure what was going on.

  She leaned the bike against her hip and tried to decide what to do next. She was stuck here for several more days. Funny how just a few hours ago she’d been wanting to stay forever.

  She turned and looked at the wall around Koenraad’s estate. It was too high to climb, and she was certain he had
a pretty good alarm system.

  She hated feeling insecure like this. She wanted to be more like Nya, to believe that if Koenraad couldn’t be bothered to keep his promises, she was better off without him. To believe that she’d find someone better.

  Koenraad had been pretty open with her about all the shark stuff. That had to count for something, right? He’d saved her life twice.

  But maybe he’d only felt responsible for her. Maybe he’d gotten tired of having to rescue a weak human all the time.

  Exhausted, she massaged the bridge of her nose, then she pulled out her phone and dialed. She went right to his voicemail.

  Where the hell was he?

  It was the not knowing that killed her. When she’d been with Thomas, everything was so stable. So predictable.

  Life with Koenraad was the opposite of that, and while it had been kinda fun at the beginning, she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  She scrolled through her messages and wasn’t surprised to see that Koenraad hadn’t texted.

  Dating Thomas had made her feel a lot of things, but pitiful wasn’t one of them. Not until the end, at least. Koenraad had managed to make her feel pathetic in just a handful of days.

  She perched on the bike seat and was about to push off when she heard a car approaching. Even though she was already at the extreme side of the road, with nothing but boulders and spiky bushes to her right, she squeezed over a bit more and waited for the car to pass.

  But the car was slowing.

  Turning, she saw a white luxury sedan with darkly tinted windows. It wasn’t the one Koenraad had been driving the last few days, and she didn’t recognize it from his garage, but who else would be about to turn into his driveway?

  So she waited, but the car didn’t turn. Not Koenraad, then. Could the driver even see her? And if he couldn’t, why was he stopped like that, diagonally across the road?

  Goose bumps rose on her arms as the car started rolling again—toward her.

  It wasn’t moving fast. Smiling uncertainly, she rolled the bike forward a few more feet until the front tire smacked the edge of a jutting boulder.

  The car kept coming.

  “Watch it!” she screamed. Fear made her voice shrill. She couldn’t believe the driver didn’t see her, but she also couldn’t believe someone would try to deliberately run over a stranger.

  She jerked the bike over and pushed off hard just as the car’s engine revved loudly. It lurched forward, missed her narrowly, and a gust of hot air swarmed over her.

  There was nowhere to run, so she pushed off and pedaled as hard as she could. All those hours in spinning class in the gym plus the adrenaline sent her sailing down the road.

  She swerved left and heard the car screech after her. It was the most chilling sound she’d ever heard.

  She yanked the handlebars to the right.

  If she’d been on a better bike, she might have been able to dodge the car, might have had a chance at eventually reaching the dunes Koenraad had told her about. But she wasn’t nimble enough. She and the bike separated with a violent jolt, and she was flying through the air.

  The bushes broke her fall, giving her scratches and gouges instead of broken bones, but she was stunned, and she lay there for a precious few moments, trying to collect herself. Maybe, she thought, if she stayed still, her tormenter would drive away.

  But then the car door opened.

  Monroe rolled over, heaved herself to her feet. She only caught a glimpse of a slight man—she probably outweighed him—but he was obviously a psycho. The dangerous look on his face said as much.

  She ran for her life.

  Chapter 6

  It was well past sunset by the time Koenraad pulled himself out of the water. He’d been so focused on trying to find even the slightest trace of Brady that he’d skipped eating. He felt it now, the lack of nutrients in his blood, and it was making him sluggish.

  Probably had been for hours.

  He considered going back into the ocean to feed but decided against it. It had been difficult enough to force himself to abandon his search for the time being.

  While he’d been searching, all his attention had been on that task as well as avoiding the sick in the ocean. Now, though, other things were creeping into his awareness. Things far more important than food.

  Like Monroe.

  He’d lost his phone along with his clothes when he’d jumped off the boat. There wasn’t a land line installed in his house, so he had no way of getting in contact with her. He doubted an extra few minutes would make much of a difference.

  Selfishly, he hoped Monroe was more pissed than worried. He could find a way to make things right with her, but he’d never forgive himself if she’d been frantically trying his phone for the last… how long?

  Eight hours? He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he’d said he’d meet her for lunch and now it was dark out.

  Damn.

  Yeah, he hoped she was pissed, that she’d charged expensive champagne and jewelry and clothes to the hotel room. The thing was, if she was pissed already, she was going to explode when he gave her the bad news: he had to send her home.

  It wasn’t that he wanted her gone, because he didn’t. Quite the opposite. But he had to find his son, and entertaining the sexiest woman he’d ever met was off his list of priorities. He’d miss the sex at night, but he’d miss her by his side even more. Monroe calmed him. She was the only person who ever had, but it wasn’t fair to keep her around when he knew he wouldn’t have time for her.

  And if he wasn’t with her, he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe. She’d be far better off in New York.

  He walked into his mansion. Victoria’s stench still hung in the air. It seemed wrong that he could despise the mother of his child so much, but then he hadn’t chosen to reproduce with her. He didn’t regret Brady—not even now—but he couldn’t help but wonder how differently things might have turned out if Brady’d had a better mother. Someone like Monroe, perhaps.

  To air the place out a bit, he opened windows as he made his way to the kitchen.

  There wasn’t much food left. He’d needed to feed after the transfusion, and it had pretty much cleaned out all the food, but he found three bags of stale tortilla chips in the main kitchen. He’d probably bought them when he first moved in. He never used this kitchen. It was too big, everything too spread out. He didn’t cook often, but his idea of enjoyable didn’t include walking half a mile between the stove and the refrigerator.

  When nothing was left of the tortilla chips except a few grains of salt in the bottoms of the greasy bags, he spared a few minutes to verify that the empty pool was clean, then a few more minutes to shower and make himself presentable, then drove to the hotel.

  He’d lost his room key in the inlet, during his first shark-shift, so he stopped at the desk for a replacement key.

  The clerk didn’t know him, but the manager did.

  The hotel room was dark. It seemed forlorn without Monroe there, and the sudden ache in his chest was just a small hint of what his life would be like in a few hours, when she was truly gone.

  She’d left a note saying she was reading on the beach. It was surely old; she wouldn’t be on the beach at all in the dark. Tureygua was safe, especially near the resorts, but Monroe wasn’t the type to take risks.

  He used the hotel phone to dial her cell but didn’t get an answer. “I’m back,” he said to her voicemail. “I’m so sorry about today. You have every right to hate me. Hell, I hate me.” He paused, trying to think of what to say next. Finally he hung up.

  There weren’t any messages in his voicemail.

  Off the balcony, he could see plenty of ocean. The beach looked roped off, but he imagined the resort had shut it to prevent any more drownings.

  He left Monroe a note telling her to stay put if she got back, that he’d lost his phone and was looking for her. Then he wandered down to the beach.

  There had been too many people here, and while he thought he’d
caught just the edges of Monroe’s scent near one of the hammocks, he couldn’t be sure. She must have left the note early in the morning, he decided, for her scent to be so faint. He tried the restaurants, the gift shops.

  Frowning, he tracked down the manager. “I’m looking for my friend,” he said. He described Monroe, then had the manager pull up his account. He hoped she hadn’t been so angry that she’d left.

  “Got a few room service charges,” the manager said. “The last one at 2:30. She also borrowed a bike, but the time isn’t noted. It was after the lunch charge, but I don’t know when exactly.”

  “When did she bring it back?” Koenraad asked.

  The manager frowned. “The times should have been noted, but my colleague—”

  “Find out.”

  The manager nodded obediently and disappeared into an office, shutting the door behind him. Koenraad was pretty sure the guy was cursing him silently, but he didn’t care. She hadn’t left a note about where she was, so she was angry with him, but he’d find her.

  It occurred to him that she’d biked out to the mansion. She knew how to get there. But he’d closed it up tight; there were some nasty surprises atop the gates and walls if anyone tried to get in that way. The only way for someone other than him to get into the estate was via the ocean, which effectively locked out all humans and most sharks. Too bad he hadn’t locked things down the moment Victoria returned to town. If not for Monroe, he probably would have.

  He’d been so stupid.

  “I checked, and it seems her bicycle has not been returned yet,” the manager said. “I called the concierge at home, and he says she took it around sunset.”

  “Did she ask for directions anywhere?”

  “No, and the concierge says she didn’t want a map.”

  “I need a phone. A cell phone.”

  The manager smiled uncertainly. “I…”

  “Charge me whatever you want, but get me one.”

  “Of course.” He scurried off.

  While Koenraad waited, he tried not to imagine the worst—Monroe riding out there on her own, getting lost, getting a flat tire, getting into an accident.