Blood in the Water

by Cleo Peitsche

  And also because struggling against him turned her on. It reminded her of the mating, when he’d lost control.

  “Focus,” he barked.

  They went a few more rounds. She was breathing hard from the struggle, though he wasn’t, not at all.

  Finally he had his arms around her, but he wasn’t holding her in quite the same way. She relaxed, and one of his hands cupped her breast.

  He was hard, his cocks jabbing into her.

  Monroe opened her legs, giving him access.

  Ever since he’d thrust himself into her, she’d been waiting for this, for her reward. Maybe she wouldn’t get to suck his cocks, but at least she’d get the rough pounding she so desperately craved.

  And he surely knew what she was thinking.

  He easily carried her to the bed and gently tossed her onto it. “You’re tough,” he said.

  “You have no idea,” she said, laughing, as she flipped onto her back.

  He braced himself over her. His hair had dried into a mass of tangles. Monroe liked him like this, looking wild but not terrifying.

  She locked her hands behind his neck, and when he moved in to kiss her, she did her best to flip him onto his back.

  It didn’t happen, though. She simply wasn’t strong enough.

  His eyes locked to hers, he reached down. She felt an anticipatory shudder travel through her entire body. She knew what he was doing.

  One swollen cock head nudged at her pussy, then he was inside, driving the air from her lungs.

  “What have we been doing that’s gotten you so wet?” he murmured. “Do you like it when I catch you, when I hold your naked body against mine?”

  He pulled out, and she gasped. Then that same cock was driving into her ass. She exhaled and let it happen. There was a moment of discomfort that soon felt so good that it almost reduced her to grateful tears.

  He fucked into her with long, commanding strokes, then he pulled mostly out.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  But his hand was already between them, his second cock filling her slippery hole. His hips inched forward as his hand moved up so that his fingers rested on her clit.

  She’d had plenty of orgasms while her body was filled with his cocks, but climaxing while he was still entering her was something else entirely.

  As her muscles contracted, they tried to lock him out, but he easily pushed past through that, and by the time he was fully sheathed inside her, she was coming again.

  “Better?” he asked as he rocked his hips.

  Both his cocks inside her…

  Nothing should feel this amazing.

  And if sex in the water had been too fast—suspiciously fast, now that she thought of it—he made up for it now, fucking her until they both dripped with sweat, until he’d extracted so many orgasms from her that she lost count.

  The sensation of having both her holes stretched full was simply amazing. She was so slippery wet, the bed under her hips drenched.

  When he came, his cocks buried to the hilt, she nearly screamed. It always hurt a little, and it always made her come one last time.

  He collapsed on top of her, his weight crushing. It didn’t matter that his cocks were softening; he still filled her completely.

  Her fingers inched blindly toward the knife.

  “Koenraad?” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer immediately. He was still in orgasm land. His hand clenched on her hip. “Yeah?” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She palmed the handle, squeezed it in her fist. “Looks like I win.”

  “You always win,” he said sleepily. He closed his eyes, his face relaxed, drowsy, satisfied.

  She thrust the blade at his throat, but he caught her wrist. An amused smile made him so handsome that she couldn’t even be pissed that he’d stopped her.

  “So close, lover,” he said as he opened his eyes. His blue irises were almost black because his pupils were so large.

  He leaned down, and the knife’s blade scraped across her throat as his weight pushed on their entangled hands.

  His kiss sent spasms rocketing through her, tightening her muscles around his thick cocks.

  He sucked in a shuddering breath as his cocks throbbed in response to her clenching, then he kissed her harder.

  She decided to count the night as a victory.

  Chapter 13

  Monroe woke to an empty bed.

  For a moment she thought she was on the boat, and she couldn’t figure out why there were birds singing outside.

  Then she remembered. The house. The beach.

  She found Koenraad in the kitchen. He was already dressed in jeans and a blue cotton T-shirt that made his eyes look more amazing than ever.

  Freakier, too, she thought, trying to imagine how he might seem to her mother. She wondered if he’d get offended if she asked him to wear sunglasses.

  Blown pupils were the sort of thing her mother would notice. Her mother, after all, had been charged with the unenviable task of raising a teenage daughter who, at the age of fourteen, had the body of a bombshell.

  Yeah, her mother could be a little overprotective. They weren’t close, but Monroe had never doubted for a moment that her mom cared.

  “Where are you heading out so early?” she asked.

  “I need to check on Brady.” When he said his son’s name, Koenraad seemed to deflate just a little.

  It was frightening to see the most powerful person she’d ever met struggle like this. The situation with Brady was killing him.

  “You’re a good father,” she said. “Sometimes that means looking at the options and choosing one that’s painful.”

  He smiled wanly. “Can I repeat that back to you when you’re giving me a hard time about something?”

  “If you were my father, sure. But I’m glad you’re not.”

  That, at least, got a real smile out of him. “As am I.” He glanced at his phone. “I need to get moving. I’ll be back in three hours to take you to Spencer, and we can get lunch after.”

  He kissed her goodbye, then walked across the room with sure strides. The man looked hot in those tight jeans. Monroe was used to seeing him in loose, lightweight clothing, and she wondered what had made him choose denim.

  After making breakfast and quickly showering, she put on a light dress, a thin sweater, and sandals, and went outside. She planned to see if she had the same bodyguards as the day before, and if they were hungry.

  But the moment she stepped outside, her eyes went wide in shock.

  The area around the house looked like someone had grabbed the island and shaken it violently from side to side. Trees were damaged, huge fronds everywhere.

  With all the broken bushes, it was difficult to see the paths to the beach and to the small parking area.

  She walked out a few feet and turned to look at the house. Other than wearing a fresh coat of sand and dirt, it looked none the worse for the wear.

  Dunphy and Theo walked up to her. They either hadn’t left or were wearing the same clothes as the day before.

  “Do you need to go somewhere?” Dunphy asked.

  She shook her head. “I’ve got a bunch of leftover batter. It would only take a few minutes to fix you pancakes. There’s no maple syrup, but they taste great with butter.”

  “We already ate,” Theo said.

  Dunphy indicated the ocean.

  “I figured,” Monroe said with a smile. “Were you guys out here all night in the storm?”

  “We like the outdoors,” Dunphy said.

  Monroe nodded. She’d been willing to believe them the night before, but sitting in the middle of a storm couldn’t be fun for anyone. She hoped Koenraad was paying these guys extremely well.

  She nodded. “I think I’m going to walk around a bit.”

  Dunphy gestured toward the beach. “That’s your best bet,” he said. “Unless you want me to find a machete so you can hack through all the half-fallen branches.” He sounded serious.

 
“The beach is fine,” she said, and she headed down the path. She was surprised when the bodyguards didn’t accompany her.

  But thirty seconds later, she turned to survey the house again and saw the bodyguards following at a respectful distance. Their faces were neutral, closed off.

  Something told her not to try to get them to walk and talk with her. Too bad. It would have been fun to interrogate them about shark life and shark culture.

  The sky was still a little gray, the kind of haze that would be obliterated once the sun fully rose. Monroe yawned and tightened her sweater around her. She’d slept well, but not nearly long enough.

  The beach reeked to high heaven. The reason quickly became clear.

  The sand was littered with thousands of crab carcasses. Monroe stooped next to one that wasn’t quite dead yet, its slender legs cutting through the air. It was shades of pink and white, and despite the one big claw, it seemed delicate. It went still, then began wiggling its limbs again.

  She found a stick and gently turned the creature over. It scuttled a little.

  A few feet away, she caught another flash of movement. Dutifully, she crept over and repeated her rescue mission.

  And again.

  And again.

  The sun was now throwing out yellow light from low in the sky. Monroe became vaguely aware of the bodyguards approaching.

  “It’s no use,” Theo said. “They’ll all be dead within an hour.”

  She looked up at him. “Is this normal after a storm?”

  Dunphy shrugged. “Depends on the storm. Your phone is ringing.”

  Monroe stood, and her knees protested; she must have been crouched over for longer than she’d realized.

  She patted the pockets of her sweater out of habit, but her phone wasn’t on her. “It’s on the kitchen table,” she said, feeling silly. Of course the shifters could hear it. “Can you tell me who’s calling?” she asked, straight-faced.

  Theo grinned, but Dunphy’s face creased in confusion. “We can’t see it,” he said.

  Theo’s grin stretched wider, and Monroe found herself cracking a smile. “Then I guess I’ll have to go answer it,” she said as she headed up the beach. She made sure to avoid stepping on the poor little crabs.

  The phone wasn’t ringing by the time she got up to the house, of course, but Koenraad had sent a text. She was surprised it had come through. I’m not going to be able to get back. Could you ask the shifters to bring you to the aquarium?

  Like the shifters had any choice in the matter.

  She texted back that she was on her way.

  As the pickup bounced along the road, Monroe realized the path had been partially cleared. She saw more than one fallen tree that had been shoved out of the way, but it wasn’t until she saw deep tire tracks in the mud and a man’s large footprint next to them that she put it together.

  Now she knew why Koenraad had been wearing jeans. And judging from the looks of the road, he’d likely made slow progress getting out.

  Like he needed any more stress in his life at the moment.

  A strange feeling of absurdity dawned on her. She was looking at heavy trees and thinking about how her boyfriend—fiancé—had been late getting to the aquarium because he’d had to rearrange logs with his bare hands.

  She didn’t have moments like this as often as at the beginning, but when they hit, they always left her a little dizzy. She’d become habituated to the quotidian weirdnesses, to things like Koenraad’s freaky, gorgeous eyes, to his decreased need for sleep, to the way he noticed things that no human could.

  She accepted all that as simply Koenraad.

  But then she’d see something like a road that should have needed a crew with chainsaws and a bulldozer to clear it, and it reminded her that the man she loved wasn’t just a man.

  It kinda made her wonder what the hell he needed her for.

  The aquarium was a bit of a drive once they hit the major road, which was mostly clear. As Dunphy pulled into the parking lot, Monroe found herself frowning.

  So this was where Koenraad was keeping Brady. Was he on display or something? She sincerely hoped not. If the aquarium hadn’t had signs announcing what it was, she never would have guessed. It was mostly made of concrete and looked more like a WWII prison than a fun place to learn about marine life. The construction was sturdy, she supposed, and it would withstand storms just fine.

  It actually reminded her of the compound where she and Spencer had crashed Koenraad’s trial, and that wasn’t a pleasant association at all.

  She looked around but didn’t see any other vehicles. Maybe Koenraad had left for some reason?

  As she got out of the pickup, she noticed Spencer walking over to her, a warm smile on his face. His brown hair was slightly messy. “Glad you made it,” he said.

  She glanced at the building behind him. “How bad is Brady?”

  His smile faltered as he shook his head. “Koenraad is making the best out of a very bad situation,” he said.

  He started to lead her to the building, then looked her over. It wasn’t in a checking-her-out sort of way. More like he was examining a specimen for indications as to what it might be. “How are you?” he asked.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re asking out of friendliness or if you’re going to dissect my answer for clues.”

  “Monroe, you offend me,” he said in a wounded voice. “I’m a scientist first and foremost.” He grinned. “But if it makes you feel better, we can exchange social pleasantries first.”

  Monroe swatted at him. She liked Spencer. He was like the older brother she’d always wanted but had never had.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I feel normal. The first few days after the…” She remembered the bodyguards and glanced behind her. They were leaning against the pickup, but she already knew they had excellent hearing; the sounds of the surf had been extraordinarily loud, but they had heard the phone.

  Instead of finishing her answer to Spencer’s question, she posed one of her own. “Do different shifters have different talents?”

  “Are you wondering why Koenraad can’t sing? It’s not a shifter thing. The solution is to prevent him from drinking too much.”

  Monroe smiled. Spencer would definitely be a good match for Tara.

  “That’s not what I meant.” She told him about the ringing phone as they walked through a heavy concrete door.

  “Any of us could do that, assuming the wind was blowing in the right direction. To be more on point, Koenraad has excellent tracking skills, but he’s honed them over the years. Does he have innate talent? Sure.” He cleared his throat. “We’re not superheroes with superhuman powers depending on what kind of animal bit us.”

  “Yet look at me. I had that transfusion and I’m changed. It’s not a ridiculous question,” she said.

  “There is that,” Spencer agreed with a nod. Monroe suspected he was being nice. “So you were explaining something about the first few days after the transfusion?”

  “I felt, well, superhuman. Am I allowed to use that word?”

  Spencer considered. “As my best friend’s mate, you can say or do anything you want.”

  “I felt superhuman, like myself but a thousand times better. Now I feel normal again. I think I was even more surprised than Koenraad when I healed so quickly.”

  “For all we know, this is normal,” Spencer said. He stopped walking. “Transfusions are outlawed. It doesn’t mean they don’t happen, but the people who do them don’t talk about it. The typical recipient also tends to be older.”

  “Older?”

  “When it happens legally, it’s typically a shifter mated to a human with cancer or some lethal or chronic disease correlated with age. The humans usually aren’t healthy to begin with. However, I did some research and I can’t find any instance of a case where the effects didn’t degrade quickly without ongoing transfusions. But there’s not much information available, to be honest.”

  “I’m s
urprised no one has studied it,” Monroe said.

  “Oh, I’m certain it’s been studied, but that’s the sort of thing that’s kept well under wraps. Perhaps if my field of concentration included shifters…” He rubbed his chin. “I wonder if Koenraad’s parents know anything about it.”

  “His parents?”

  “They’re marine biologists, and they study shifters. I’ll try to get in touch with them when I’m back in Boston.”

  “They’re retired. Koenraad says they just swim from vacation spot to vacation spot.”

  “His parents are the most driven shifters I’ve ever met. I haven’t seen them in a few years, but I don’t believe for a second that they’re truly retired. They might tell their son, who is prone to worrying about them, that they’re just swimming around and having a grand old time, and they might be doing that, too, but I’d bet money that they’re studying something. They share a driving, obsessive curiosity.”

  “I don’t think Koenraad inherited that,” Monroe said.

  “He’s much more laid-back,” Spencer said. “Though who knows what would have happened if Victoria hadn’t gotten pregnant, if Brady hadn’t needed such intense care. The man Koenraad would have been is surely not the man he’s become.”

  Spencer began walking again, but Monroe’s head was buzzing. She wanted to hear more about what Koenraad had been like before. All she knew was that after Brady had shifted into a shark, Koenraad had grown very serious and somber. Spencer had claimed that meeting her had changed Koenraad’s life.

  The night Brady bit her, Koenraad had definitely changed, she realized.

  He’d gotten much more serious. Sure, he was still lighthearted at times, but she often felt like he was only partially there, that even when he was relaxing, the things that worried him were playing in his mind.

  Monroe and Spencer went through a winding, sloped corridor. They must have come in through some employee entrance because so far, Monroe hadn’t seen anything that looked like educational displays or seating for a marine show.

  Then they were going up another sloping walkway. At the top of the ramp and through a heavy door, she found herself in a large room. There was an enormous tank that had some outside space; she could see where the artificial lighting turned into daylight.