SHARK (Shifter Kings Nashville Book 3)

by Holly Gunn

  “Philosophical debates about the female empowerment angles brought about in Disney movies … Now, I’ve heard it all.” My voice sounds like it’s been rubbed raw, worse than right after I almost drowned.

  “Your day has sucked,” another woman comments, this one on the far side buxom in that perfectly curvy kind of way. She’s got dark hair, like midnight that drapes along her back. Her hips are a work of art Marilyn Monroe would be jealous of. Her smile is white in a face that’s dark like brown leather but not at all weathered. She’s smooth, like model perfect smooth. Yeah, I think, I’m not self-conscious in the least that I’m still in my one-piece, my hair’s frizzed out, my face is splotchy and feels slightly swollen from almost dying of accidental drowning.

  She holds out her hand. My face contorts. I want to say it’s not in horror but by the look on hers, I’m not so sure I wouldn’t be lying.

  “I’m not gonna be shaking any more crazy people’s hands today.” Rudy’s hand is over my mouth before I can finish. I speak around it. “Ut er oo ooing?”

  “What am I doing?” my best friend asks with a smile. Even with the smile, I can see and feel the concern coming off him in waves. “I’m saving you from putting your foot in your mouth, Lexi-Lou.”

  There’s a growl, and that rushing water of a voice is closer now. “Just saying, Rudy man, I know she’s not your thing now that we’ve talked …” Palms out, he says, “But can you keep your hands away from my queen’s mouth?”

  Queen.

  A voice like rushing water.

  Shit.

  It all comes back to me in a wash of memory. A movie reel that’s more movie than real.

  Head tilted back again, wide eyes on my friend, I lean forward and whisper quiet as possible, “Why are we still here? Best friend rules state that you save yourself and your bestie when in the claws of closet science-fiction nutters.” I ignore the twitter of laughter because at this point, if they’ve heard, well there’s nothing to do about it. My face softens when I realize, “Oh, my god. You have that Munchausen thing where you start to like your captors.”

  “I think you mean Stockholm syndrome,” he who shall not be named says from a corner of the room that’s even closer. And he was already too damn close. So close, I notice he’s got, not one but two nipple rings. He also has abs like a superhero action figure. I don’t like action figures, per se. But I do like superheroes. I always imagined Deadpool with a dad bod, though. This man, he who shall not be named, does not have a dad bod. I have the sudden thought that when he does finally get a dad bod, however, as happens with age, he’s gonna be even hotter.

  I avert my gaze.

  “You don’t exist to me.”

  “Before you got your tattoo and passed out, it was all some elaborate joke. Now, we’re crazy and have kidnapped you?” he asks, stepping closer, so in my space, I can smell him. He’s all male, like all male in that way that I know my virgin status (yes, virgin at twenty-nine) comes in to question with just his proximity. There are others in the room, and still I want to jump his bones.

  I sputter, knowing he’s right.

  Then I point to my arm as exhibit A. “You’ve branded me.”

  The women in the room laugh. Rudy joins them.

  The man, who is now in my space and has a tattoo that matches mine, grins.

  The older version of him, who the woman called Jayden, has a matching grin.

  It’s a fabulous grin.

  I shake my head. “I do not see what is so funny about this debacle.”

  He who shall not be named grins wider until it’s turned to a full-fledged smile. A really really nice smile. My eyes narrow. “Debacle, is it, nerd?”

  “It’s one of her favorite words,” Rudy replies from over my shoulder, giving away my childhood secrets like candy to kids. The traitor. “She just never gets to use it that often.”

  This is true. When can such a fantastic word be used? No time. Except when your best friend has Munchausen’s Stockholm and you’re in a beautiful, cozy cottage on a comfy couch with an equally enigmatic, gorgeous, let-me-be-on-top-please, man who is insane. So off his rocker that even if you could catch a guy like him, you don’t need that kind of negativity in your life. Which, in this case, is my life.

  I start to move to my feet and feel like my head is swimming.

  “Alright, Lexie. Sit down,” the raven-haired beauty says.

  She slides onto the couch next to me, a stethoscope in hand.

  “Nice prop,” I tell her, my voice rough, but suspicion clear.

  She smiles, but her eyes are serious. “Not a prop, Lexie. I’m Doctor Callie Hartwood, but you can call me Doc, everyone else does.”

  “Where’d you get your degree? PsychostoDoctors.com?”

  Okay, that was mean.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, but she seems unperturbed by the comments.

  “Told you that mouth of yours was going to get you in trouble, Lexie-Lou.” Rudy clucks his tongue, while the doctor hushes me from making a sarcastic retort. Rudy’s smirk tips down a bit. “But I think you’re in good company here, honey.”

  I don’t know these people, but Rudy seems to have bonded with them while I was out like a light.

  I wait until Doc’s done taking my vitals then I ask, “How long was I out?”

  The sun’s low in the sky but when we were at the river bend, it was nearing dark.

  “You were out all night,” the perfect man with the perfect abs answers. His voice is still like rushing water but it’s softer now, gentle. I like that too. He’s closer to my side, his knees on the ground. His face at my feet. He’s looking up at me, his own eyes a bright blue that just is not natural. It’s ethereal, another of my favorite words that I don’t get to use often.

  Our eyes hold. There’s something happening in this moment. Something important. A something I’ve never felt—in my life. I try to grasp at what the feeling is, but it sifts free from me with the small voice that enters into the fray of bodies.

  “I’m so sorry, Lexie. I didn’t know you were in the dark on all this. I swear I didn’t. I’m blind as a bat but I can see shapes and outlines of people. Your mark?” She takes a deep breath and seems sheepish but excited when she says, “It wasn’t merely an outline, a shape, or a shadow. It was the first thing I’ve seen clearly since I was a kid and got Percy’s disease. I knew right away who you were, and I knew it was fate you being in Nashville. I just knew it.”

  “She could have been for Wolf,” the woman, Doc, points out. I don’t know who Wolf is but damn, they sure do have some special names in the South.

  “Wolf, Lion, Shark,” Rudy says. “Start with that.”

  It’s like he’s reading my mind. I glance at my friend. There’s something in his gaze that says maybe he did pick it up from my brain. I shake my head to eject the crazy I’ve apparently absorbed but I’m too slow on the uptake.

  He who shall not be named, but really his name is running through my head over and over again, speaks. “We’re shifters. I shift into a shark, like my mom and dad here.” He points to the Hawaiian woman and the bleach-blond, long-haired man with the shark tattoo on the top part of his forearm. My tattoo, which I’m firmly ignoring, the one that matches Shark’s (okay, fine, so that’s his name), is on my inner forearm. “Little cat over there, Henry, is a shifter too. Doc is half-healer, which means she’s got witch in her, and half-big cat.” He nods to Rudy and I suck in a breath. “And your best friend here, is a witch too.”

  I want to laugh. But my gut’s telling me something, and I always listen to my gut. I let my curiosity get the best of me and so my questions tend to flow like rushing water from my mouth, but my gut’s never led me astray. And it’s telling me—this is all true.

  So, instead of laughter bubbling out, I glance toward Rudy and shuffle a space away from him, though he’s behind the couch and I’m on it.

  Betrayal.

  I’ve never had the opportunity to feel such an emotion. I’ve never had anyone care
about me so much that I’ve learned to care about them to the same degree. Only Rudy. And if what’s being shared is true—as my gut is nudging me to trust and believe—then the only person who’s ever really loved me, has lied to me. For a very long time.

  His face contorts in a way I’ve only seen once. When he was sixteen and his parents announced they were sending him to one of those cleansing camps to rid him of his ‘gayness’. If I was a violent person, I would have punched his mom and dad in the face. As it was, at the time, I threw my napkin on the table of the fancy restaurant we were at, stood up and for all to hear, told them boldly, “If another man fucking a man is your biggest concern, I’m thinking you’re the ones who need a goddamned cleansing camp.”

  His mother had gasped.

  His father? He’d turned beet red.

  It was glorious.

  At the time, I’d worried Rudy would say something about my mouth. I know him, though. He only does that when he thinks people are going to make fun of me. He’s protective that way. When I’m protecting him or others, he thinks my way with words, or lack thereof, is charming. Yes, he uses that exact word.

  We left.

  He went to cleansing camp.

  He came back, still gay—and no longer a virgin.

  He also came back changed. He was lighter in some ways, and more burdened in others.

  His face is contorted like that now, like the time his parents dropped that bomb on him, like he’s in pain and doesn’t have the words to make it better, to even think about how to go about fixing the situation.

  I close my eyes. I close them because I can’t stand to see that look and not forgive him.

  This all happens in the span of seconds but Shark seems to catch on that something is happening, so his voice gentles when he continues. “Every thirty years, a new ruling cycle starts. Each of us kings are born with a tattoo. It’s kind of like a birthmark only it’s a faded imprint of our animal. When the former rulers’ cycle is up, the tattoo goes dark for those of us born to be king. When it goes dark, we only have thirty days to find our queen. If we don’t, another member of our shifter tribe, the runner-up as we like to call the poor bastard, takes over. He starts to get the tattoo before ours even fades which has caused some issues in the past, because there’s still a chance, even in the last few days, that a king will find his queen. The runner-up then knows he was just that.”

  “How many kings are there?” I ask. In for a penny, in for a pound, amiright?

  His eyes say he knows I’m coming around. Cocky bastard. His smile broadens. Cocky, hot bastard.

  “Thirty kings.”

  My eyes go wide and I blurt out, “And all thirty kings just roam around trying to find their queens at once? Jeez, but Nashville must be a mess every thirty years.”

  Laughter can be heard round the room. I try not to cringe. Me, laughter, and conversing? Not a good combo. It usually means someone’s laughing at my strangely clipped voice and awkward phrasing.

  I don’t manage to hide my reaction. Rudy’s there, his hand on my back, comforting me. I take a deep breath. Shark watches this, and there’s a light in his eyes, like he gets something he didn’t get before. He’s been studying me. I’m giving away all my secrets. And secrets, in the wrong hands, can be weapons.

  “They don’t all go at the same time,” Henry interrupts. She seems to have sensed the change in me too. “It’s geographical. Every thirty years it’s different, but this time Nashville is up first. We don’t know who’ll be next. Moosehead Lake in Maine has a few kings. Denver and Chicago, the Texas foothills and L.A. to name a few. Any of them might be next. My brother, Lion,” she points to Shark, “Shark here … Spider, and Wolf are the four future kings in this area.”

  “Lion and Spider have found their queens,” Doc says.

  “And now Shark’s found his,” the man’s mother says, her voice proud—and oddly, relieved.

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, and take a deep breath to stop the impending feeling of doom settling inside me. It doesn’t work. I open my eyes. The room is looking at me expectantly.

  This is when I turn to va-va-voom Doc and share with her the one thought that comes to mind. “You’re so right, dark goddess. My day has sucked.”

  The bright side?

  “Recap,” I start. “My best friend lied to me my whole damn life.” I feel Rudy tense. “But he’s a witch, which is kinda cool. And although I’m not ready to show him my happy face, I will begrudgingly admit that I’m not unhappy he’s not Stockholming it up.” Smiles around the room. Whatever. They can laugh at me all they want. “Also, I’m queen. Don’t know of what. Don’t know why. Don’t know how. Also,” throwing my hands in the air, in the universal sign for stop, “… not going to think about it right now,” I add when they seem to want to throw more at my brain. “My brain is usually a sponge. It says a lot that right now the poor critter is on overload. It may go into organ failure if you try to give it anything else today.”

  I know the others decide to let it go but it’s Shark who I’m looking at.

  His lip twitches. It’s hot.

  Yes, yes, I know everything is hot about this man. I try to shake off his effect on me, but I know he knows when he starts to make little circles with his thumb against my leg.

  He may be a shark but I’m like one of those love-starved puppies at his touch. Rudy is very touchy. I’m not starved of it. And it’s not only that I’m a virgin; this shifter is everything I’d look for in a guy. A little goofy. Laid back. Sweet. Gentle. Great voice. Great abs. Seriously great hair. A smile that makes my pussy do a little dance and has my mind screaming, “let’s get down tonight.” Shit, I’ve been stuck in my head while they’ve all been waiting for me to say something else.

  “Ummm, well … that’s kind of all I’ve got for a recap.”

  Doc looks to Shark, and he shakes his head. She then looks to Rudy who nods.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Don’t want to add more onto your plate, Lexie-Lou, but we have one more thing to tell you.”

  “Uh-uh,” I say, this time going to stand and finding success. No blood rushing to my brain. Lexie Leland – score of one. Universe – infinity. It still feels like a win.

  “No more.” I cross my arms against my chest and shake my head in denial.

  Shark blows out a breath.

  “I’ll tell her,” he communicates to the others.

  Damn it.

  The room’s already clearing out.

  Weirdly, which means it’s comforting because weird is my bread and butter, Shark’s dad smiles huge at me and pulls me forward to give me a very strong hug. He cracks a bone in my back and I make a mental note to ask him to do that again later. Free chiropractic reset and a hug. My day’s looking up.

  When the room is cleared out, I plop my ass on the cream couch and face the music.

  SHARK

  She’s on the couch, and my body moves to her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Me, in her space, hearing her breath and knowing I’ll never take her breaths for granted. Not with how our first meeting has gone.

  I kneel by her feet again, only this time, she’s sitting cross-legged, leaning forward, her head in her hands.

  When I gently touch my hands to her arms, she freezes. But I only mean to ask if she’s okay. Instead, her gaze on me, she whispers, “Your eyes are like little pieces of glass from the bottom of the ocean that get dark. But then they brighten. It’s like you’ve got the whole spectrum of water, what it looks like in the deep, what it looks like in sunlight, even the feel of it, the warmth and the refreshing cool, right there in your eyes.”

  She ducks her head again. I don’t let her. My hand goes to her chin and gently, as if I were touching a baby shark, I raise her head so she’s face to face with me. I do this because, first, those words are the most beautiful I’ve ever heard. But second, I want her to see my eyes when I have to break another truth to her.

  “You don’t have to h
ide from me, Lexie.”

  She lowers her eyes but can’t shield her face completely, because I’ve got her chin gently but firmly captured in my hand. I’m already holding her in one of the ways I intend to hold her until the day we die. With this hold, I’m trying to show her that she’s safe. She just doesn’t see it yet. But she will. I’ll keep her heart safe.

  She’s sort of pouty, and I can’t help my smile when she replies, “I don’t say things right.” When she sees my smile, chin still in my grip, she throws her arms across her chest and proceeds in breaking my heart. “I’m not stupid.”

  I lean in closer, get so close in fact that I can feel her breath against my own lips. As much as I want to kiss her, to show her she’s beautiful, it’s not her body she needs convincing is gorgeous. We’ll get to that. Right now, it’s something else that needs mending.

  “Don’t you see how amazing you are? I’ve known you for a total of about an hour, if you don’t include the time you’ve been unconscious.” That draws a smile from her, thank fuck. “You say things like, “superhero promise” and forgive your best friend for lying to you in a heartbeat because you see things in him no one else does, and you trust your heart to lead you.” I shake my head. “You make friends with random women at Comic Cons, and I think it bears repeating that you look hot in a one-piece. No, I was not lying,” I add when it seems she’s about to argue. “And you might think your brain’s on overload, but babe, you’ve had a lot of shit thrown at you and you’re not backing down. Not at all. You’re tired. I can see that. But you’ve got a little left in you. That’s strength. That’s why you’re amazing. That’s why my mom’s got the biggest fucking smile on her face, because she knows I not only found my queen, but I found a quirky one who is my complement. A woman who is going to be a fierce, protective, heart-on-her-sleeve queen.” When she remains quiet, I add, “Did I mention that in that one-piece, she’s got incredibly amazing, will fit perfectly in my palms and my mouth, super-duper lovely tits?”