Oceans Untamed

by Cleo Peitsche

  The car was still in drive. She checked her seatbelt and said a silent prayer.

  Taking a deep breath, she stomped on the gas and mashed the horn at the same time.

  The shifter was startled—which was what she’d intended—but his grip on the car didn’t loosen.

  Fury made his eyes gleam. “I tried to be nice to you.” Then she couldn’t see him anymore because he’d raised the front of the car over his head.

  Monroe had always liked roller coasters, the way they were terrifying and safe at the same time. She’d always laughed as much as she’d screamed.

  She wasn’t laughing now, though. She felt the car’s rear bumper hit the ground, then the car was being shaken, up and down, side to side, faster than she could have possibly imagined.

  Holding her breath, she grabbed tighter onto the steering wheel—like that would do a damned thing if he flipped her upside down.

  “Please,” she gasped. “I’ll—” She couldn’t finish her sentence. Her head and neck hurt, and the acrid taste of bile was creeping up her throat. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes closed.

  He didn’t need to make a deal with her. He could shake her until she was too dizzy to drive in a straight line. Or until she passed out, which was becoming more and more likely by the second.

  Suddenly, the car slammed to the ground, bottomed out with a heavy bang. If not for the seatbelt, the top of her head would have collided with the roof. As it was, her upper body, which wasn’t as tightly restrained, whipped forward. Her arms flew up fast enough to keep her forehead and nose from crashing into the steering wheel.

  Still, the taste of warm copper filled her mouth, and her teeth hurt. They must have banged together. She didn’t know; it had happened so quickly. Her head throbbed in six different places, and when she pushed herself upright, sharp pain stabbed from her neck to down between her shoulder blades. Every bone felt brittle, like a sneeze would turn her to powder.

  The shifter.

  She forced her eyes open, expecting to see him preparing to either shake her again or to rip off the door. But he was nowhere in sight.

  It wasn’t very reassuring because she couldn’t see very much. A dark mist hovered in her peripheral vision, and it moved along with her eyes. She blinked several times and redoubled her concentration.

  The headlights were still working, miraculously, but it was a cloudy night. Between the darkness and the brain fog, anything not directly in front of the car was all but invisible to her.

  She cupped her hands over her eyes and pressed her face against the glass. Turning her neck sent jolts of pain down her arm. When she didn’t immediately straighten her neck, her stomach heaved. She quickly faced forward and concentrated on the dark shapes of the Tureyguan landscape.

  Where was he?

  If his plan was to lure her out by making her think he’d gone away, he was going to be very disappointed. There was no way in hell she was unlocking the door.

  But she could drive.

  The realization made it through the hazy cloud that seemed to have settled over her head. The engine had stopped, so she pushed the ignition button, and the car choked, coughed, then sputtered to life.

  Slowly, she pressed her foot on the gas, expecting to find that she’d played into the shifter’s trap.

  But the vehicle moved forward.

  It didn’t sound healthy, like it’d be up for a cross-country trip anytime soon, but with luck, she could get back to town.

  Or she could have, if she’d known which direction town was. The haze was getting thicker, and her vision seemed to be narrowing, tunneling. Tunnel vision. Now she knew why they called it that.

  Carefully, she pointed the car toward the closest thing to a road in the area. Two shadowy shapes surged out of the darkness. Shifters. She knew they had to be shifters because of how quickly they’d moved.

  Screaming, she floored the gas pedal and drove right at them.

  At the last moment, they lunged away. Her shoulders came up around her ears as she braced for impact, or for the car to be picked up or flipped over, but nothing touched her.

  Then she was driving down the rocky, sandy road. Every little bump felt like she’d been stuffed inside one of the metal washing machines at her neighborhood laundromat, and it was stuck on the spin cycle. But weirdly, the headache was receding, the pain in her neck going away.

  It probably meant she was in shock, about to pass out. Then the ache in her teeth disappeared, and her nose started to feel normal. She blinked, and some of the darkness went away. Little by little, it retreated.

  Even then she didn’t see the road’s sharp curve until it was too late.

  Apparently, there really was a cliff on the island, and she was sailing over it.

  Chapter 10

  Monroe floored the brakes with both feet, but the car bumbled down the slope. The airbag opened with an explosion of noise and powder, more like a grenade than a safety device.

  And the car was still moving, hurtling, picking up speed.

  She batted at the deflating airbag, trying to shove it out of her line of vision. Not that seeing where she was going would have done any good; she had no control over the car at the moment, and it was picking up speed, the bumps coming faster, the vehicle airborne for heart-stopping seconds, then bouncing hard enough to rattle her teeth loose.

  “No, no, no…” she pleaded, her voice warbled because of the jouncing. “Please.” Begging was the only option open to her, and it was useless. There wasn’t someone out there controlling all this who could be convinced to rethink this torture.

  She was going to die here. She knew it. So when the car came to a rather gentle stop, she sat there for several seconds in surprise.

  The headlights had finally given up, but the wind had scattered enough of the cloud cover that she could make out her immediate surroundings. Large rocks, strange cacti, stunted bushes and trees.

  In other words, like anywhere in Tureygua that wasn’t beachfront.

  And come to think of it, maybe she did hear the ocean. If she could find the ocean, she could find her way back.

  She pushed on the door, expecting it would be bent to hell and unwilling to open, but to her surprise it swung out without any effort on her part. She would have fallen out if not for the seatbelt.

  “Are you alright?”

  She screamed, tried to push away but couldn’t go anywhere.

  “Monroe?”

  “She’s in shock,” another male voice said.

  The seatbelt yielded to her clawing, and she practically flew to the far side of the vehicle.

  The vehicle tipped as she slammed into the door, then immediately tipped back before being dragged forward. She couldn’t see anything, though.

  “It’s me. It’s Koenraad. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Koenraad?” She could barely speak because she was panting so hard, almost gasping. “How?”

  “We followed your scent.” His deep voice instantly reassured her.

  “And got lucky.”

  “That’s Spencer.”

  “I figured as much.” She massaged her fingertips over her temples. “I recognize his voice.”

  “She might have a concussion,” Spencer said.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s just, you two showing up… It was the last thing I expected. I’m fine.”

  “Do you mind crawling out this way?” Koenraad asked patiently.

  Right. Get out of the car. She thrust her legs over the center console and scooted across the two seats. Koenraad held out his hand. The moment their fingers touched, she knew everything would be fine, and when he pulled her into his arms, she sagged with relief.

  The night air was cool and felt unbelievably refreshing after being imprisoned in the car. She gulped it down like she’d been holding her breath underwater.

  “What happened?” Koenraad asked. “Who was that guy?”

  “Never smelled him before, either,” Spencer said. “
Maybe it’s me, but he seemed easily scared off.”

  “Monroe? Had you seen him before?”

  She shook her head, unable to talk about it yet.

  Hands touched her face. Not Koenraad’s, though.

  “What the hell?” Spencer said. “Your blood?”

  “I guess I’m bleeding a bit,” she murmured. “I got banged around some during my joyride, but I don’t have a concussion.” It was true. Also true was that she didn’t have health insurance coverage for an international hospital stay. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “I bet you are,” Spencer said, his tone sharp.

  Puzzled, she tried to lift her head to look at him, to figure out what she’d missed, but Koenraad pressed her closer to him, trapping her against his broad, muscular chest.

  “We can talk about this later.” There was a crude bluntness in his deep voice that Monroe had never heard before.

  “Unbelievable,” Spencer said. “Do you have any idea what kind of impossible situation you’ve put me in? I’m obligated to report this.”

  Monroe felt Koenraad’s chest expand and contract with a deep sigh. She could hear the steady thumping of his heart. “I understand that,” he said softly. “I respect you too much to ask for a favor of this magnitude.”

  “Damn. You… how did you…” Spencer’s tone had turned from angry to incredulous. “When?” he demanded.

  “Two nights ago,” Koenraad said.

  “Why?”

  Koenraad’s grip tightened as if he was worried someone wanted to snatch her away. “It’s not something to discuss right now.”

  It was pretty clear that they were talking about the blood transfusion. Spenser must have smelled it somehow, much like Koenraad had smelled his own blood on her the evening before.

  Koenraad had somberly instructed her to never tell anyone what he’d done, and now she was thinking it was a bigger deal than he’d let on.

  “As soon as I can get her to the airport, she’ll be on the next flight out,” Koenraad said.

  “What?” Monroe struggled, but Koenraad had her wrapped up tight in his arms.

  “It’s temporary,” he promised her. “For your own safety, and anyway I’ve got my hands full. I’m so sorry.”

  Spencer laughed ruefully. “She won’t be flying anywhere. I guess you haven’t heard that the Council forced the airports here and in Curaçao to shut down. They don’t want any more tourists coming in because of all the drownings.”

  “There’ve been more drownings?” Monroe asked, but both men ignored her.

  “Then I’ll get her off in a boat,” Koenraad said.

  “Or you could claim her,” Spencer said softly.

  “Claim me?” Again, no answer. Cocooned in Koenraad’s arms, she was starting to feel like she was completely invisible. For all she knew, she was still in the trunk of the car, having a really bizarre hallucination.

  “And drag her permanently into this mess? No.”

  “There’s precedent. If she’s your mate, you’re allowed to give her blood.”

  “What does claim me mean!” she screamed.

  “I’ll explain later,” Koenraad said quietly, his large hand stroking her hair.

  “Claim her,” Spencer said. “If you don’t, they’ll kill her.”

  “Not if you don’t say who she is,” Koenraad said.

  “Someone thought it would be a good idea to kidnap her. Like it or not, she’s part of this already. So claim her. Make it so that everyone who sees her knows she’s yours, under your full protection. She’ll have almost all the rights of a shark.”

  “Exactly. She could be challenged,” Koenraad said, his voice hot, prickly. “Even if I kept giving her blood, she’s not a shifter. A challenge is a death sentence.”

  There was silence, and Monroe heard the wind stirring through the stunted trees. Far away, she heard the ocean’s dull roar, too.

  Spencer sighed softly. “That’s a hypothetical. What is certain is that she’ll be killed if you don’t. Even if I don’t report this, that other shifter knows. Even from here, I can smell your blood in the trunk. The Council might be looking for her now.” He sighed again, then his footsteps were moving away.

  Koenraad went tense. “Where are you going?”

  “To get drunk and be seen. Making an alibi. Tomorrow morning you’re going to confess what you did, but right now? I don’t know a thing.”

  Long after Spencer’s footsteps had faded to nothing, Koenraad held her tight. His heart was hammering in his chest.

  “If you squeeze me any harder, my eyes will pop out of my head,” she murmured.

  He eased his grip more than she liked. “Sorry. How do you feel?”

  “Fine.”

  “Monroe—”

  “Fine. Really. My boyfriend has two dicks. A shark bit me. I have magical healing powers. Being kidnapped barely rates a mention in the ‘weird things that happened to Monroe this week’ list.”

  “Not sure if I should be offended about my genitals on your list of weird things,” he said lightly.

  “Oh, you should be.” She snuggled closer as wind swept along the hill. It scattered the clouds, too, and she noted that the chafed and torn skin on her wrists had healed. She wondered if Koenraad’s blood could heal mental scars, if she would get through this less traumatized. At the moment she felt fine, but it was easy to feel safe with Koenraad there.

  His embrace grew tighter.

  “Explain the claiming thing. Is it like getting married?”

  “Well, it’ll be painful as hell for you, and there’s no possibility of divorce or ever being apart from me for more than a few weeks unless you want to torture me. Then there are the challenges. You’d be bound by shifter laws governing challenges. Humans tend not to do well against sharks.”

  “Is that all?” She asked it casually, but she hung on tenterhooks waiting for his reply.

  “There’s no easy way to explain the nightmare you’d be opening yourself up to. It’s not something to take lightly.”

  A sinking feeling of rejection knotted her stomach. “Ok,” she said slowly, her voice muffled against his chest.

  “Shifters and humans don’t typically mate.”

  She looked up at him. “But the first time we slept together, you said you could get me pregnant.”

  “In the shifter world, sex and mating are two different things. Mating includes sex, but it’s so much more.” He released her slowly.

  As she stepped back, she wrapped her arms around herself. Koenraad was unbuttoning his shirt. Her lips went dry as he slipped it off his shoulders, revealing his perfect torso. Even the ropy scar that ran down the right side of his body was perfect.

  She thought it was the prelude to the mating-and-claiming-her thing, but then he draped the shirt over her shoulders, shrouding her in his warm, masculine scent. “Stand over there,” he said, pointing uphill. He acted like the mating conversation was over.

  That wasn’t what she’d been expecting at all. Mating sounded like marriage on steroids, and it was obviously inappropriate for a man and woman who’d only met a few days earlier, but judging from what Spencer had said, it made sense. She wasn’t a brilliant scientist, but possible death was better than certain death. So why did Koenraad have to sound like the very concept pained him?

  “Please go up on the hill. I need to pull the car up.”

  Nodding, she did as he asked, but inside she was fuming. Now that the immediate danger had passed, she remembered how he’d been out of touch all day. Maybe if he hadn’t disappeared on her, she never would have been kidnapped in the first place.

  Yeah, they had a lot to talk about.

  He grabbed the underside of the car and easily pulled it away from the edge. It wasn’t a sheer drop on the other side, but it would have hurt if she’d gone off it.

  He leaned into the car and opened the glovebox, pulling out a plastic envelope with a string-and-button closure. He unwound the string and shook out the contents onto the car’s ro
of.

  Too bad he hadn’t been wearing an undershirt because she wanted to be pissed at him, but instead she had a prime view of him in all his half-naked glory.

  He’d just saved her life for the third time. Maybe it was acceptable to want to fuck him more than she wanted to yell at him.

  To distract herself, she called out, “Whose car?”

  “Bamboo Menendez,” he said absentmindedly.

  The name meant nothing to her. “He was a shifter.”

  “Yes. A drifter from Mexico.”

  She frowned. “How do you know?”

  He stuffed the papers back into the envelope and tossed it through the car’s open door.

  “I think he works for my boss,” he said as he slammed the door. “Drifters are the exception to rich shifters, and I saw Menendez’s file. He shouldn’t have a car this nice, and he certainly didn’t earn it in a few weeks’ salary, but the registration is two weeks old.”

  “No wonder he didn’t want to scratch it,” Monroe said.

  Koenraad turned toward her. In the darkness his face was a shadow. “We have a decision to make.”

  Chapter 11

  Monroe was staring at him with large, frightened eyes. After everything she’d been through, his suggesting they needed to make a decision was the thing that was freaking her out the most?

  For all that, he couldn’t help but notice the way her gaze traveled over his chest, and even handicapped by his hours in the ocean earlier, he could smell her arousal.

  He’d noted it earlier, too, during all that talk of mating and sex. Of course Spencer had known. That knowledge, combined with Koenraad’s death grip on Monroe, had doubtless influenced the demand that they mate. Koenraad knew Spencer. They’d raised hell together all over the Caribbean. Spencer was more than willing to bend rules when it suited him. He wouldn’t turn them in.

  He wondered if Monroe had realized how much the concept of being claimed turned her on. Based on what he knew of her… probably not. As dire as the situation was, he found himself fighting a smile.

  “Are you laughing?” she asked, incredulous.