Master of the Deep

by Cleo Peitsche

  Koenraad’s family was powerful among the shifters, but it wouldn’t matter. No one would stand beside him, and even if he was wrong, even if he could convince one or two Council members to consider mercy given Brady’s age, the outcome would remain the same. The law was clear on this point.

  Brady would be killed. Cut down like a rabid animal.

  If Monroe survived, Koenraad could beg her to keep it secret. He could send her back to New York as soon as she was stable. Then he’d never have to worry about her slipping up or saying something to Spencer or to any other shifter she might meet. His happiness was a small price to pay for his son’s life.

  But Koenraad would know the truth. A shifter who attacked a human once would do it again. Koenraad was tasked with protecting the island. He couldn’t allow a man-eating shark to live.

  Even if Spencer, if BioAmbition, found a way to reverse Brady’s condition, that wouldn’t change a thing. Brady had sealed his fate by attacking Monroe.

  And unless he wanted to allow his son to be torn apart by strangers, Koenraad would have to deliver the mercy blow himself.

  Hours later found Koenraad still supporting Monroe on his back. His wounds had closed, but he was too weak. He’d lost too much blood, he was drained and shaky. He needed to feed.

  But he’d felt Monroe’s steady progress all night. She wasn’t back to normal yet, but within a few more hours, she’d be fine.

  Better than fine, actually.

  And she’d want answers. She’d want to know why he’d taken her to meet Brady.

  He should have realized his son was dangerous. When Brady first disappeared into the ocean, how many times had he been told that his son was now just an animal?

  Oh, he’d been in denial. And when he’d found Brady after a year and a half of searching, he’d thought that meant that he was right. Brady had recognized him. It hadn’t been difficult to get his son into the artificial inlet. Brady had never fought the submerged, double-wide fencing keeping him there.

  Koenraad had believed with every ounce of his being that Brady, the boy who was his world, was still inside the shark.

  Koenraad’s shift back to human felt almost fueled by sorrow, and the pain from his new wound ripped his breath from his chest, his surprised scream ringing down the beach.

  Slowly, tentatively, he stood.

  Despite the misery set off by even the smallest movement, he was fine. He wasn’t in a hurry to catalog the extent of the damage or his new permanent scars. They were small sacrifices to fix his unforgivable mistake.

  Monroe looked peaceful. She was swollen—perhaps he’d given her too much blood, but he didn’t think so. Her skin was waterlogged.

  It was past time to get her into a comfortable bed.

  Gritting his teeth against the burning pain, he lifted her out of the pool, then heaved himself out. He swayed on his feet. He needed to get food in his stomach, and fast.

  When the world stopped seesawing, he carefully gathered up Monroe and carried her inside. Each step was agony as the new scars and damaged, poorly healed muscle spasmed, tightened, twisted. It felt like someone stalked behind him, wielding a jagged, coal-hot knife. With each step, his invisible tormenter punched the blade into Koenraad’s back and sawed, trying to slice him in half.

  It felt like penance, and he welcomed it. He would have begged for more, would have sacrificed anything to spare Monroe and Brady.

  Monroe moaned as he gently laid her on the bed in one of the downstairs guest rooms.

  In the kitchen, he grabbed every bit of food in the refrigerator and cabinets, as well as the unfinished dinner from the night before. He piled it all inside a tablecloth and dragged it to where Monroe slept.

  He sank into a chair next to the bed and began to eat. When his stomach was so full that he couldn’t get another bite down, he checked Monroe closely.

  She was still asleep and breathing easily. If he hadn’t smelled the blood on her, he never would have guessed she’d nearly died. With any luck, she’d have little memory of the attack.

  He turned back to the food. As he shoved more indiscriminately down his throat, he could already feel nutrients from the first round of feeding seeping into his bloodstream.

  In twenty minutes, he would be strong enough to go back outside and deal with Brady. He would do it then, while the evening’s horror was still fresh in his mind, because with every passing minute, his resolve weakened.

  Do it now. Twenty minutes was too long.

  But instead he slumped back in the chair and immediately fell asleep.

  Chapter 13

  Monroe floated on her back. Above her, the sapphire sky invited comparisons with heaven. She felt like she could see for miles and miles.

  She floated in clear blue water. It was so warm, so lovely.

  A deep breath, and she let it out slowly. When was the last time she had felt this good?

  Stretching, she turned, and she could see a coral reef below her, striped fish and anemones, small sharks and large rays.

  This was her world. She was of it. It would protect and cherish her, and she would love it back. Would defend it.

  Six dolphins swam by. They watched her warily.

  Of course they did. She was a shark.

  A shark?

  She turned, caught a glimpse of a dark tail, of the back of her body, gray on top, white on the bottom.

  So she was a shark. No biggie. She was happy. This was nice.

  She turned over again and stretched up her arms. A dolphin broke through the water, jumped over her, its body spraying a rainbow of water over her face. The drops turned to jellybeans as they fell.

  Chewing on the candy, she wondered what else she could do.

  Walk on water? Only one way to find out.

  She pushed herself up, and the water felt like sheets over a soft mattress.

  “Monroe?”

  She knew that voice. Male. Deep. Sexy. Sounded a bit rough, though, like he’d come down with a brutal cold.

  Hands turned her, laid her carefully back in the water. So it wasn’t time to walk. That was fine. She could stay here all day.

  Monroe’s eyes felt like they’d been glued shut. She rubbed the back of her hand over them, then slowly blinked open.

  She was in a four-poster bed that seemed familiar…

  Pushing herself up to sitting, she noticed a strange smell. She inhaled. Blood? Food, too.

  Weird.

  And where was Koenraad? This was one of the guest rooms she’d stuck her head in when she’d explored his mansion. She remembered it now, and she could hear the faint sounds of crashing waves outside the window.

  The last thing she remembered was… she rubbed her head as if that would help her think. She didn’t feel hung over. But obviously she’d gotten very drunk at dinner the night before.

  Making dinner. She remembered that. Remembered starting it, at least. And drinking wine… Koenraad refilling her glass. But nothing after.

  She pushed back the sheets and gasped. Her dress hung in tatters, and her exposed skin, her stomach and side… she hesitantly pressed her fingertips to her stomach. It wasn’t tan like the rest of her. It was pink, like a wound freshly healed.

  “Koenraad?” she called out, her voice high-pitched with barely contained hysteria. “Koenraad!”

  Footsteps thundered down the hall, then he was there, panting, unsteady on his feet.

  Monroe grabbed a handful of her ruined dress, which she now realized seemed to have been dyed pink. Were those bloodstains?

  She raised her eyes to Koenraad, silently imploring for this to all go away.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was husky, his eyes shot with red, and his hands… dried blood under his fingernails? He looked like he’d been through hell.

  “What happened to me?”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated needlessly; regret was written all over his face. “It’s my fault. I never should have taken you near the water.”

  “What wa
ter?”

  Koenraad’s expression went neutral, then hardened. “You don’t remember?”

  She looked down at the remnants of her dress, at that plate-sized chunk of strangely pink skin. “We were in the kitchen, making dinner, and…” She shook her head.

  Koenraad came closer and took both her hands in his. “Do you remember going outside?”

  “No. What happened?” The only thing keeping her from screaming panic was Koenraad’s calm demeanor. If he wasn’t alarmed, then she shouldn’t be either, right?

  “You were attacked by a shark,” he said.

  “I… what?”

  He released one of her hands and traced the edges where the pink skin bled into the tanned skin. His touch was slightly ticklish, but she had no desire to laugh.

  “Here,” he said, his voice strained. “See how the edges are jagged?”

  “But that’s not possible. It’s”—she looked at the light at the edges of the closed brocade drapes—“morning?”

  “Afternoon. It all happened last night,” he said. “I… gave you…” Without raising his head, he looked up, like he hoped to find help written on the ceiling. “Shifters heal quickly. Each shift is large-scale restructuring of the body.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Can you put your leg behind your head?”

  “What? No.”

  “But someone strong enough could do it to you. If they did it fast enough, it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “The hell it wouldn’t.” She wondered where he was going with this.

  “I mean right when it was happening. Like ripping off a bandaid. It would definitely be torture afterward because of the damage done. That’s what shifting is like. Like being double-jointed, taken to an extreme. Remember how we talked about the healing properties of shark cells? All shifters heal quickly because otherwise we would pass out from the pain, but shark shifters have an extra challenge because sharks don’t have bone skeletons. Instead, we carry restorative powers in our blood.”

  Monroe’s jaw dropped. “Did you feed me blood?”

  “A very small amount.” He turned over her arm and stroked his thumb over her inner wrist. “Mostly I gave you a transfusion here.”

  No matter how hard she stared at the spot he indicated, she saw nothing to confirm that what he’d said was true. However, she believed him.

  She pulled back. She needed fresh air but suddenly felt too woozy to stand. “I’m dreaming.”

  “I wish you were.” Koenraad grabbed both her hands again. “My blood healed your injury.” His gaze darted to her stomach… to the new flesh?

  “Am… I going to turn into a shark?”

  “No. Absolutely not. For a short time, you’ll have better healing powers, a supercharged immune system. Actually, it’s likely worn off already. There are permanent changes, and you can never tell anyone what I did. No humans and no shifters.” He stared gravely into her eyes. “Do you understand?”

  She swallowed. He hadn’t been this somber even when he’d told her that he was a shifter. In fact, she’d never seen him so serious before, which was saying something. “I won’t,” she said, rattled. “What kind of permanent changes?”

  “That new skin will always heal faster. Same for your organs that were damaged.”

  “What does that mean, practically speaking?”

  “Really, nothing. If you ever have to take a bullet, try to get it there, I guess.” He smiled weakly. “But you won’t turn into a shark. You won’t start craving bleeding fish or anything like that.”

  “Wow.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Thank you. That’s twice you saved me.”

  Distress passed over his features. “It’s my fault you were attacked. You should be furious with me.”

  His words made her frown. “How is it your fault? Did you attack me?”

  “I would never attack you. But I took you out there.”

  “What happened? What was I doing in the water? And in my dress?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I was in the water, and—”

  “And a shark came up and grabbed me?” She shuddered. “Don’t answer that. I don’t remember, and I don’t want to remember.” She threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him for all she was worth. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  After a moment, he drew her even closer. “I was so worried I’d lost you,” he said. He exhaled, long and slow, and she felt that he only now believed she would be ok.

  She couldn’t even imagine how it must have been for him, watching her get attacked and then having to give her a blood transfusion. Though how he’d done that, she didn’t know.

  How lucky that he’d been there, that he’d known what to do.

  “I think maybe I need to get away from tropical islands,” she said shakily as he released her.

  “Honestly, I can’t blame you. But shower first,” Koenraad said. He tipped her in his arms and carried her through a door in the rear of the bedroom.

  “Does every bedroom have an attached bathroom?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been in them all.”

  This bathroom, tiled in shades of burnt orange and periwinkle, wasn’t as large as the one in Koenraad’s main bedroom, but the bathtub was big enough for two. Actually, there was room for twice that. Ditto for the glass-paneled shower stall that stretched from the corner.

  Koenraad set her down carefully, like he was afraid she would break. She, on the other hand, felt… invincible.

  “Is it weird if I feel like I could jump over a building?” she asked.

  “Please don’t.” Koenraad began filling the tub. “I may have given you more blood than was necessary,” he said. “Wanted to err well on the side of caution.”

  And in those words, she knew exactly how close she’d come to dying.

  “So now you’re anemic?” she asked.

  “I can generate more. And I have.” He peeled her out of the ruined dress, and when it hit the floor, she realized it was a uniformly dyed pink.

  “Is that all my blood?”

  “And mine. I had to do it in the pool,” he said.

  She blinked. “How much blood did you lose?”

  Without answering, he stripped, ushered her into the shower and turned the handle. Twin jets of water erupted from the tile wall. Monroe looked down, saw reddish water swirling around their feet.

  Koenraad cupped the back of her head in his hand, and he stared at her as if it was the first chance he’d gotten to really look. “You’re going to be fine,” he said. Like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

  The man had been watching her, thinking about her, taking care of her since the moment they’d met, and he still hadn’t gotten his fill. No one had ever taken such care with her before. It was humbling… and terrifying to imagine that attention being taken away. It would feel like being plunged into darkness.

  “Monroe.” The crush of his lips stole her breath away, and she returned his feverish kiss, rising up on her toes and twining her fingers behind his neck.

  Then she was crying, and Koenraad seemed to somehow know because when the tears started, he stiffened as if he wanted to pull away to check on her. But she held tight, and he allowed it.

  Water flowed down their faces, and when Koenraad slowly and gently ended what had started as an almost violent kiss, Monroe looked into his eyes.

  “Maybe you’re technically not human, but you’re a good man, Koenraad Van Buren.”

  “Monroe—”

  “You protect me, and you’re thoughtful. You have to realize that nothing in my life is ever going to measure up to this.”

  Before he could renew his protests, she pushed him up against a wall. He could have easily stopped her, but he didn’t. She took that as a good sign.

  “Fuck me,” she said, staring steadily into his eyes.

  He looked away, shook his head. “I don’t think I should.”

  “Well, I do. If you’re too tired, sit down. I’ll
climb on top.”

  His eyes searched hers. “I think one day you’re going to hate me,” he said quietly. “And I’ll deserve it. The least I can do is keep my hands off you.”

  “If you’re going to do that overprotective guy thing with me, then yeah, there’s a good chance I’ll hate you. Yes, I could have drowned in that crater lake, died when that toy airplane crashed, gotten eaten by a shark, but I didn’t. But you know what did happen? I’ve had the most amazing few days of my life.” Her voice nearly shook with emotion.

  “Monroe, listen—”

  “You listen. My life isn’t horrible, but I can honestly say that I never had a moment of true peace until I met you. And that’s with all the dangerous things happening around me. I’m happy, Koenraad. Really, truly happy. And I’m saying that as someone who apparently has blood in her hair and… whatever this is.” She gestured to the pink skin, which had turned a raw shade of red under the hot water. “It doesn’t even hurt. I’m fine!”

  She grabbed shampoo and lathered up her hair, then did the same to Koenraad.

  “But you don’t know the whole story,” he said, quickly rinsing himself with jerky movements.

  She held up a sudsy hand. “Forget it. You know what I say? It doesn’t matter!” Her vehemence took him noticeably aback, and she charged ahead. “So I got bitten by a shark. At first I was glad that I don’t remember anything, but you know what? I’m exercising my prerogative as a woman and I’m changing my mind. I wish I could remember. How many people get mortal shark bites and recover? You know what they say… swim with sharks…” She grinned as she rinsed away the shampoo, which was surprisingly moisturizing. “What’s the equivalent of fleas in the water?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked so sad. “Sea lice, I guess.”

  That brought her up short. “Ew. Is that a thing?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Do you have sea lice?”

  He didn’t smile, but at least his frown wasn’t as deep as before. “No. Do you?”