Bite Me Harder (a paranormal shifter novel) (Guardians of the Deep Book 2)

by Chris Genovese

  “I’m too scared,” Sylvia said out loud as she reached for her laptop and opened it up.

  Scared of what? I’m afraid of the sharks. I saw people ripped apart. I can’t get the images out of my head. Yet, I feel somehow drawn back to the water. Drawn back to Australia. Penny is so happy there. She tried to tell me that her shark friends weren’t behind the attack and I didn’t listen to her. I pushed her away when she was home. Lately she’s all I can think about. Her…and the sharks.

  She’d convinced herself that her intention was to find her friend, to locate her, and then what? She wasn’t sure. All that was a lie though. Yes, she wanted to see her friend again. She missed Penny so fucking much. But that wasn’t the real reason she had her laptop open to a page with flight comparisons. She’d sensed Thane’s power. She’d seen the way he looked at her friend. She’d heard Penny’s stories even if she’d pretended not to. Penny’s tales of loyalty and honesty and trust and the way her man completely devoured her with his love and…and…the sex. As disgusted as she was with the sharks and as much as the blood made her stomach turn, she also felt herself getting wet when she fantasized about being on the island surrounded by shirtless, shark shifter men.

  I need to shake what happened from my mind. I need to get back to the real me. The wild, fun, sensual me. I lost that part of me in Australia. I think the only thing that will get me over this slump is to face a shark…and tame it.

  She chuckled softly to herself as her finger hovered over the button to buy a one-way airplane ticket to Australia. Her hope was she’d find Penny and would never need to return. She looked around the kitchen and into the living room. She glanced over her belongings and realized none of them were important. She had no old family heirlooms. She had no photo albums. She had no trinkets from past lovers. She had nothing. And that excited her even more.

  This is crazy.

  She clicked the button and smiled through the nerves building up inside her. She was doing it.

  Fuck this life. I’m going rogue.

  Chapter 2 - Rafe

  “Come here, you little shit.”

  Rafe Daniels lay on the beach, his blond, wet hair smoothed back away from his face, so the sun could dry up the final beads of ocean water on his cheeks. The grainy sand beneath him was like skateboard grip tape against his back. Yet, it was the most comfortable feeling he knew next to dipping underwater and meeting the shore break face-on. He loved that rough slap to the jaw and the way it massaged his face. These thoughts were interrupted by the squeal of a seagull followed by the annoying voices of the men he’d seen moments before tossing a ball back and forth.

  He’d seen the three men playing his favorite sport, or their version of it, when he’d first made his way out of the water. They were assholes. He could tell. One sucked the ocean breeze past his cigarette pursed lips and tossed the ball into the air again and again while his buddies had waited for him to throw it their way. His tattoo covered right arm looked like a parlor catalogue, as if he’d walked in, pointed at all the cool shit he saw on display, and ordered the artist to replicate it on his arm. Rafe tried not to judge people, but these guys had rubbed him the wrong way when they’d all turned to stare at him making his way up the beach. He’d nodded in their direction and none of them had nodded back. That was bro code for “go fuck yourself.” He always nodded back when someone offered him that unspoken greeting.

  “Come here, you little piece of shit,” the guy repeated.

  The muffled sound of his voice told Rafe it was the tattooed cigarette smoker doing the talking.

  “Feed it some cheese Twisties,” came the high-pitched voice of his friend.

  “Alright,” tattooed guy said. “I’m gonna give him one and then you keep him steady.

  “What are you gonna do to him?” a third voice asked, sounding more amused than concerned.

  “You’ll see,” tattoo guy said.

  Rafe finally opened his eyes and looked left. There he saw the guy with the cigarette squatted down handing a Twisties cheese chip to a seagull while purposely blowing a cloud of smoke into its face.

  “I think his leg’s broken or something,” the guy with the high-pitched voice said, his scrawny voice and beanie cap covered head reminding Rafe of a character he saw on a cartoon as a kid. “Look how he waddles.”

  “I fucking hate these birds,” the third guy said, his head bald and beet red, taking on way too much sun. “They’re beach cockroaches. Always begging for a handout.”

  Assholes.

  The seagull squawked as the tattooed guy flicked its beak. The bird’s feathers went crazy, but he was injured and couldn’t move much.

  “Hey!” Rafe yelled, jumping to his feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you, man? It’s just a gull.”

  “And?” the guy replied.

  “What do you mean and? It’s a helpless bird, man,” Rafe replied.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” tattoo guy said. “Guess I shouldn’t do this then.”

  Before Rafe could close the distance between them, the guy turned and kicked the bird, sending it flying across the beach. Even his two buddies were shocked. Normally, Rafe wouldn’t resort to violence. He prided himself on keeping his cool. He was tough, but he wasn’t mean. More importantly though, he had a soft spot for animals. Especially any sea animals, and he considered seagulls part of the ocean environment.

  Rafe caught up with the guy just as he turned back to him with a laugh, holding both hands up, thumbs toward each other in a field goal symbol. Rafe’s heavy heel broke through his hands and smashed against his chest, sending the man soaring backward in the same direction as the gull.

  “Motherfucker!” the bald guy said as he swung a closed fist at Rafe.

  Rafe lifted his forearm and blocked the lazy punch before swinging his own hand upward and smacking the man’s jaw with a solid backfist. The guy grunted and stumbled back. The scrawny dude thought it was wise to use this chance to attack. He was wrong. Rafe ducked his punch, grabbed the man’s fragile arm, and pulled while lifting his own body up. The guy flipped over Rafe’s shoulder and landed hard against the ground. One more kick sent his buddy, the bald guy to his knees, clutching his stomach, fighting back the urge to vomit.

  The tattoo guy was back on his feet and rushing at him. He jabbed left, then right, then left again. Rafe dodged and weaved the way his uncle had taught him. Not once did he feel worried about his wellbeing. This guy didn’t stand a chance. If anything, it was more like a game. He slapped the guy’s fists, keeping close contact with him so the guy would never be far enough away to gain any power behind his punches.

  “Fuck you and that seagull!” the guy said through clenched teeth as he ran at Rafe with what seemed like the intention to spear him or tackle him, but Rafe sidestepped him easily, grabbed the back of his head, and leapt, slamming his knee into the guy’s face.

  Tattooed guy fell to the ground in a crumpled-up heap. His buddies rushed to his side and helped him escape. It wasn’t like Rafe was going to chase them. He was more worried about the seagull than he was about these pieces of shit.

  “Hey, little buddy,” he said as he approached the bird.

  It had taken quite the brutal assault but remained alive and well. Rafe picked it up gently and soothed down its feathers, being careful not to touch its injured leg.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” he promised. “Becca will take care of you. Let’s get you out of here.”

  The waves were dying down and that was a good thing because he was exhausted. If it weren’t for the bird, he would have returned to the water to ride a few more waves before they became nothing but choppy sea. He’d surf until the ocean called it quits, and the bigger the waves, the harder he surfed. Only when the water calmed he took a break. The beach was his home. If he could live there, he totally would. The ocean was the fucking life. It was the life he and his best friends, more like brothers, had decided to live.

  Fuck a suit and tie, fuck changing oil, fuck serving food,
fuck crunching numbers and arriving on time to meetings. All I need is the sun, the sand, and the water.

  Beanie, Hightail, Squid, and Rafe. They were like a gang, if gangs didn’t care much for drugs, fighting, and breaking the law. His brotherhood only gave a shit about one thing…surfing. Unfortunately, he’d had to leave his brothers behind when he got the job in Queensland. They weren’t far away, down in Sydney, but they weren’t sitting next to him on the beach sharing a laugh and talking shit about the day they had ahead of them either. They did swing around from time to time to do part time gigs in a touristy area called LampaVille on the outskirts of the Queensland beaches. That’s how his buddies got by. They did only enough work to put a hot plate on the table, a cold beer in their hands, and some sort of roof over their heads so they could make it to the next wave. As much as Rafe hated working, he couldn’t half-ass it like the others. Bumming around could only get you so far. It was time he put his oceanography degree to use. If nothing else, his degree had gotten him closer to the water. Who could complain about a life on the Australian shore?

  As he cradled the bird in his arms and glanced back at the ocean one final time, he thought he saw a fin in the distance, but then again, the ocean was good at playing tricks on the eye. He envied things with fins. Like angels in the water, they only ate to survive. They didn’t attack unless provoked. They were pure souls and Rafe would trade everything for a chance at riding the waves with them.

  Yet, they did attack without being provoked. The massacre on the barge.

  Working with Keelan Kane had shown him the darker side of the underwater monsters, or at least that’s what Kane considered them. Rafe had his own theories, but to voice them around his older, meaner, half-psychotic boss wouldn’t be a good idea. He’d seen the man beat down four men inside a bar all because they’d cracked jokes about the kids who’d died on the barge, saying something about how “those young kids went looking for some ass and turns out they lost theirs.” Kane’s short fuse and violent reaction had shocked Rafe, damn near frightened him.

  And here I did the same damn thing to these hoodlums.

  He’d seen a lot of brawls growing up on the beaches. Surfers were some of the coolest, chillest people on the planet until they weren’t. He’d once accidentally stolen a guy’s girlfriend and it had jumpstarted a feud that lasted three years. Rafe was good with his hands. He knew how to fight, but he never fought with even an ounce of Keelan’s ferocity. Fighting had always been fun to Rafe, more like a silly way to let off some steam. That was his world though. He could laugh, throw a few jabs, laugh some more, help his fallen opponent back up to his feet, and then share a beer with him.

  Unless they kick a helpless animal.

  Throwing punches was a lot like surfing. You go in with a bang, take control, lose some control, rein it back in, fall down, get back up, and laugh your ass off in the end. This was Rafe’s attitude about most things in life.

  Pain is temporary. Bruises lighten, cuts heal, blood dries, hearts mend, and anger fades…as long as your smile remains. Always grin wide enough that your smile hides your scars.

  Rafe wasn’t a fool, but he’d learned to trick his body into thinking that everything was okay…all the time. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t had a serious relationship in a long time. He was absolutely no drama. No money? No problem. Life offers you plenty of shit to do for free. Bad hair day? Wear a hat. Friends were talking shit about you? Get new ones. These were some of the things his girlfriends had bitched about in the past. He was able to let all that slide as long as none of the shit landed on him. Ultimately, the driving force behind the break up was usually the girl trying to control him too much. He didn’t ask for much. Only three things.

  1- He had to live near the ocean.

  2- He needed his time in the ocean (she could even be there with him if she wanted)

  3- She had to understand that he wasn’t angry, he didn’t have an attitude…he simply didn’t give a shit about trivial things.

  Sadly, Rafe didn’t seem to be relationship material. Sure, he’d had meaningless sex. A man has his needs like a woman has hers, but his heart was never in it. His heart had so much room inside. It only needed the right interior decorator to spruce it up for him. A hollow heart echoes loudly when it thumps, and his heart beat like thunder at all times.

  With the bird cradled softly in his arms, Rafe made his way down the sandy sidewalk and up toward the parking lot. He hadn’t wanted to be a hero. He didn’t need anyone to commend him for a job well done or to give him a pat on the back, but it did make him feel good when he passed a woman sitting on a bench tossing pieces of bread to a flock of seagulls, and she offered him kind words.

  Flock of Seagulls.

  They really were a flock, but as soon as he thought it, he couldn’t help singing the popular 80s tune made famous by the band with the same name.

  I ran so far away.

  He’d never run so far away. The world had so many beautiful beaches, and he’d only ever run far enough to find one. Then, that was where he settled until something picked him up and moved him along.

  Dammit. I’ll never get that tune out of my head now.

  “Looks like you’ve made a friend,” the woman said as he passed.

  She smiled and it was so genuine it made him think of his grandmother, perhaps the only woman in the world who’d ever truly cared about him.

  “A friend?” Rafe said. “No, this is my little brother. Can’t you see the resemblance?”

  “Ah yes,” she replied. “I see it now…in the nose area.”

  They both laughed.

  “I saw what you did for the bird,” she said. “You have a kind heart. You like animals, don’t you?”

  “Love ‘em,” he said. “I believe deep down they’re all so much kinder than human beings.”

  “Interesting,” she said.

  “You here for the festival?” he asked.

  The Party for Life festival was one of the biggest ones to hit the Australian shores. For days, people of all ages would swarm the beaches to hear the best live music, to taste the most exquisite foods, and to see the amazing treats local and traveling artists had whipped up especially for the event. Rafe had never been to the festival, but he’d heard it was a blast for the tourists and exhausting for the locals. Maddening for the cops too, he suspected. No party that large could be easy to control.

  “Oh no,” she said. “Not that I won’t stop by for a drink or two or three.”

  She laughed and then continued, “My husband adores the water. We live a couple hours inland so every once in a while, we come out here to enjoy the good life. But we’ll be long gone before the craziness begins.”

  “Your husband sounds like a smart man,” Rafe replied. “This is the life out here. We’ve got a beautiful ocean behind us, I’ve got a cute new pal in my arms, and unfortunately, I have a job that I’m about to be late for. You have a great day.”

  “You too,” she said.

  Rafe looked back at her as he reached the parking lot, but she’d gone back to feeding the birds. Now, that was the life. That old man had a beautiful woman still by his side late into their older years. There she was, driving hours away from home for him, so she could feed birds while he enjoyed the ocean. That was a good woman, and he wondered if he’d ever have anything like it.

  I’ve got a bird.

  As he thought it, he remembered that an English friend of his used to call women birds. He’d talk about how he, “took this bird out last night and had to graft all night just so he could stick it on.”

  Rafe had felt like he needed a British slang interpreter whenever they’d gone surfing. He laughed and gently touched the top of the bird’s head. The seagull chirped as he set it down gently on the passenger seat of his Jeep. If it could fly, which for some reason it hadn’t even attempted to since he’d first seen it on the beach, it could have launched itself into the air and flown away from the topless vehicle. After putting his surfboar
d in the backseat, he sat and turned the key in the ignition. He looked down at his new friend and wondered if anyone had a seagull as a pet. He laughed at the thought.

  “Yeah, we’ll sit and watch movies together,” he said aloud.

  Truth was, he’d never had a pet. Not as an adult anyway. He’d had a dog once as a kid, but when it suddenly died, it had shattered his heart in a million pieces and he’d promised himself he’d be friendly to animals, but he’d never again own one. Not only because he was afraid to lose a friend, but because he felt no spirit should be caged. It saddened him whenever he saw a dog inside a house. He couldn’t help transporting his thoughts to the dog’s mind, thinking what it must be like when the owners left the house and it was forced to stay alone, in quiet solitude, licking his balls and peering through window blinds for any movement outside that might serve as temporary entertainment. Yet, he knew it was necessary to take care of these animals, so he felt no ill-will toward their owners. It saddened him…that’s all.

  “What’s your name, bro?” he asked the seagull as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward his new workplace.

  He had a change of clothes in a duffle bag in the backseat. Queensland’s Department of Agriculture and Fisheries now housed a small unit aimed specifically at monitoring the shark population around its shores. Having the most experience with sharks, Keelan Kane was the obvious choice to run the unit. Being located in a building separate from the rest of the department offered agents a much more relaxed atmosphere. Kane was all business, but he seemed to understand that his best officers and his best partners were the ones who truly valued the nautical lifestyle and anyone who did wasn’t likely to show up to work in formal attire. So, the uniform was khaki shorts and polo with the unit logo on it. Ironically, the logo was that of a shark fin with a small school of fish to each side of the unit’s initials. Shark Safety Unit. Rafe had almost laughed when he’d first heard the name. It sounded childish in his opinion. Too simple. It was like something a group of kids would call themselves when playing at the pool and pretending a dangerous predator lurked beneath the calm chlorine-saturated surface.