Shark Burn: The Shark Shifter Paranormal Romance, #5

Chapter 1

Hours before dawn, Koenraad stood on the mega yacht’s deck and stared across the dark and empty ocean. Overhead, only the brightest stars speared through the cloud cover.

Hands on the metal railing, he leaned back and inhaled deeply.

The ropy scars that ran down the right side of his torso tightened as his chest expanded. The newer scars on his lower back… Those were always tight.

Millions of scents swirled in the air.

Coconut and papaya, sunblock, battered and deep-fried food, cheap beer imported from the mainland… The incongruous but familiar mix had propelled him out of bed over an hour ago, long before the island was in view.

Now he could see the island through the morning fog—even a human could have seen it.

On one end of the land mass, hotels clumped together to form a dangerous sleeping creature. They smelled dangerous, too, but Koenraad knew that was his own worry, given form.

Somewhere behind that jutting collection of buildings, Victoria was waiting, plotting. Victoria and her powerful uncle. While Koenraad knew Victoria’s convoluted reasons for hating him, Darius’s motivations remained a mystery.

Of the two, Darius was the bigger threat. They were both schemers, but Darius was patient, a true chess master. His vendettas never interfered with his pragmatic decisions. Now that the older shifter’s interests aligned with Victoria’s, that spelled trouble for Koenraad.

On the back of his tongue, he tasted the ocean mixed with the barest hint of oil from the refineries on the far side of the island. And underneath everything, the contaminant.

He’d nicknamed it the sick, because it was disorientating and interfered with shifter senses. Now, it was faint, almost imperceptible. The storms had done that, and the waters around Tureygua were safe.

For how long, he couldn’t guess.

Tureygua. The island and its surrounding waters were his home. For his entire life, he’d been safe there. Hell, he’d been tasked with patrolling the shores, and even though he’d accepted the job for ulterior motives, he did feel protective of the island.

But he felt more protective of his vulnerable human mate, and also of his dangerous son, whose very life depended on Koenraad’s ability to keep him away from humans.

Koenraad leaned on the railing and stared into the waves. Members of his crew relentlessly patrolled the water, but he couldn’t relax.

Monroe was safe, sleeping in the master stateroom. For four days, he’d barely let her rest. Even now he ached to return to her, to once again yield to the powerful mating urges. But she needed rest now more than ever.

Because she was pregnant.

If Victoria had been unreasonable before, she was going to be a thousand times worse once she found out about the pregnancy. Which was why Koenraad planned to flush her out, then kill her. He tried to follow shifter law, but he’d stop at nothing to save Monroe.

The wind shifted. Koenraad sensed three sharks approaching in the water.

That was his cue.

He hadn’t bothered dressing—shifters certainly weren’t offended by nudity, though everyone wore clothes around Monroe, out of respect. She could claim that naked bodies didn’t bother her, but she was betrayed by the physical signs of her embarrassment.

The approaching sharks had stopped and were waiting.

Rather than descend to the swim platform, Koenraad climbed onto the railing and balanced a moment, his feet steady on the metal rungs.

Coming back to Tureygua was dangerous, but he couldn’t deny… It was good to be home.

He launched himself into the air.

A six-foot-five man left the boat, but over twenty feet of great white shark hit the ocean with a mighty splash.

Chapter 2

It was light outside when Monroe opened her eyes, though she could only see thin lines of sunshine on the floor and against the wall.

Koenraad liked to sleep with the windows and doors open, but when he left in the mornings—because shark shifters, she’d learned, didn’t need much sleep—he quietly closed everything up so that the sun wouldn’t wake her.

That was one clue that he was gone.

The biggest clue, lately, was that he wasn’t there, pushing her flat on the bed and spreading her thighs with a muscular knee so that he could once again fulfill his duty as her mate.

Sometimes they would be coupled for hours, leaving her body sore, her skin heated and raw. So much sex with a human would have been difficult to tolerate, but mating with a shark shifter meant accommodating twice the male. Literally.

She pushed down the sheet to press her palm on her soft stomach. Not that she expected big changes after only a few days, but she was disappointed. If Koenraad said she was pregnant, then she surely was, but she felt the same as she had a week ago.

Well, there was one change. She didn’t have to squeeze into a wetsuit. She didn’t have to use a rubber knife to fight Koenraad in shark form. A root canal without Novocain at the DMV would have been better than having to play-fight a great white shark.

Because those rows of razor-sharp teeth? They weren’t rubber.

Careful not to trap her long hair underneath her body, she rolled over to click on a light, then reached for a clean tissue and the paperback next to the bed.

Inside the paperback was a small paring knife. Monroe held it to her fingertip, then quickly sliced before she lost her resolve. She’d cut deep, but only a few crimson drops welled up. She wiped away the blood.

The skin underneath had already healed.

The blood transfusion she’d received should have worn off, but the opposite had happened. She healed faster than ever.

Spencer was the only one who could answer her questions, but for whatever reason, the brilliant scientist seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth.

Monroe wondered if he was avoiding them because he only had bad news. Spencer didn’t strike her as the cowardly sort, but she didn’t know him that well. He was Koenraad’s friend.

And he was a shifter. All shifters were mysterious and did things that made no sense, at least not to her.

Victoria, with her blind hatred, was a perfect example of that. When Koenraad had first told her about Victoria, Monroe hadn’t understood what would induce him to sleep with someone he despised. He’d said it was an accident, that he’d been drunk, but Koenraad wasn’t the type to accidentally fall into bed. He was careful, methodical.

Victoria must have had an angle.

At the time, Monroe had let it go. It had been early in their relationship… Pushing for answers would have been rude.

She put the knife on the table and turned her attention to the book.

When she found herself rereading, and not absorbing, the same paragraph for the fourth time, she dog-eared the page and tossed the book back onto the table. Concentration was impossible. They would be back on Tureygua soon, and within a few hours she’d be flying home, to New York. Alone.

Well, not exactly alone. Dunphy and Theo would surely accompany her as a security measure, and while she liked the brothers, they were no substitute for Koenraad.

Koenraad had suggested she go back, saying it would make her mother happy, but Monroe knew better. He was worried about keeping her safe from Victoria.

She got out of bed to open one of the windows, then pulled on a slinky nightgown. It was still early morning. Nothing to look at but empty ocean and the never-ending line of the horizon, shades of orange blurring into blue.

When she left the room and turned the other direction, however, she saw an enormous land mass. A smile slid across her face. Tureygua might be dangerous for her at the moment, but she loved the island. It had given her Koenraad… had given her a whole new life.

Civilization was in sight!

And suddenly, her reluctance to return to New York lifted. It would only be a week, and once Koenraad showed up with the yacht, they could spend time in the city. Together.

In the interim, she could do some shopping, replenish her book supply, have long lunches with her friends, indulge in a manicure… and highlights!

Could she get highlights? She’d have to ask Koenraad about the restrictions for a human pregnant with a shifter baby. There was so much she didn’t know.

Twenty minutes later, she was packed for the trip. There wasn’t much to take. Beach wear would be useless in the New York winter, so she was leaving most of her things behind.

Winter. Ugh.

Somehow, she’d forgotten about that detail. It dampened her newfound enthusiasm to go back.

On the other hand, being buried under layers of clothes meant she wouldn’t have to worry about hiding the mating scars on her back.

Reaching her fingers to her shoulder blade, she traced the scars. She didn’t need a mirror to know they looked exactly like what they were: bites. Shark bites. It would be hard to come up with an explanation that didn’t involve falling in the water and getting attacked.

She didn’t like the idea of portraying sharks as bad guys. Which was maybe funny given that bad sharks were trying to kill her.

Well, she had plenty of time to come up with a solution. The next time her mother and friends would be in the Caribbean, it would be for her wedding, and that was surely months away.

Second Chances, she noticed, wasn’t moving, and it made her wonder how long they’d been anchored.

Barefoot, she wandered around the yacht, but most of the shifters were working. Some were gone. Including Nicole.

Just as well. Monroe wasn’t in the mood for a brutal workout.

And Koenraad was gone, too, but that was hardly a surprise. Were he around, he would have been with her.

She leaned on the railing of the middle deck for some time and watched the ocean. Several gulls floated high over the water, like they were painted on the sky. Occasionally, one of them plunged through the air to snatch something from the waves.

When the birds finally flew away, Monroe returned to the bedroom and plopped down next to her packed bag to dig out her neglected novel.

Temping, a rough and masculine voice said.

Monroe’s pulse hammered wildly. Not because Koenraad had frightened her—he was always popping out of nowhere.

But the mere sound of his voice made hot, liquid lust shoot through her veins.

She shifted over a few inches so she could look at him.

The man was magnificently naked. Tall, bronzed. Wrapped in muscle. His longish blond hair was wet, which made it look several shades darker than its true sun-bleached hue. Water dripped from the ends and onto his broad shoulders. She wanted to chase the drops with her tongue.

He smelled of the ocean, her wild lover.

His torso was sculpted perfection, and his sex… Both his cocks slowly stiffened, the identical shafts growing under her gaze. They sprung in parallel, and while he was capable of using only one, it had been a long time since he’d restrained himself to that point.

The ravenous look on his face sent shivers racing along her skin.

He helped her to her feet, and she wondered how she’d ever found his eyes, impossibly dark blue and ringed in lighter blue, frightening. Enormous pupils or no.

He leaned back to shove the door closed, and she was already moving toward the bed.

You’re wearing a nightgown, he said in that panty-soaking rumble as he stalked toward her. Or it would have soaked her panties if she’d been wearing any. As it was, the area between her legs grew damp and slick.

Which he could probably smell. No, not probably. He could smell it.

It’s comfortable, she said coyly. And I had a hunch that you might want—

His mouth descended on hers, his tongue sweeping between her lips, but already she was opened to him.

It didn’t matter how pliable she was. There was only one way this could end. He was a shifter, and she was his mate. They were bonded, and ever since he’d impregnated her, he seemed to be trapped on the edge of a desperate need. It was a shifter thing.

A hot, forbidden, carnal, shifter thing.

He would have her on her back, and the power of his brawny frame would come to bear as he heeded the biological urges.

There would be little time for gentle words and foreplay.

Already her thighs were drenched for him.

Koenraad started to reach a hand between their bodies. He was trying to be a gentleman, trying to fight his animal nature… but then his hips bucked, impaling her on his hard length.

Just one length. The other engorged cock dragged hotly across the tender crease between her leg and pelvis. Heaven help her when Koenraad tried to be gentle.

He suddenly stilled. Go away, he roared, his deep voice like a crash of thunder.

Monroe stiffened.

Jandino’s voice floated through the closed door. You’ve got a call—

Thirty seconds, Koenraad growled.

Monroe’s crushing disappointment at such a short time frame came out in a groan.

His eyes caught hers, and she was helpless. He was her mate, her fiancé. Her savior, her personal apex predator. Even in human form, he could kill her with a quick snap of his jaws.

It wasn’t something she thought of often, but when she did…

Don’t be afraid of me, he murmured as he came down onto his elbows, his forearms on either side of her face so that she was cradled in his embrace. The look in his perceptive eyes, so intense…

He drove his hips forward, ending the movement with a hard snap that made her gasp.

No barbs, he promised as he rocked back. I’m just going to fuck you like this, slowly.

But only for thirty seconds, she said, the words practically a whimper. She raked her nails down his muscle-bound back and across the thick scars, but he didn’t even flinch. There was nothing she could physically do to hurt him.

Forty-five seconds, he said. I like to spoil a woman.

A woman, huh? Any woman? It shuddered out of her as tight spasms coiled through her wet center.

My woman, he said. My mate. My only woman. And he kissed her before she could say anything else.

That kiss… Combined with the steady rocking of his hips and the slide of his shaft over her clit, it sent her sailing over the edge.

She cried out and her shoulders came off the bed. Koenraad’s fingers caught in her hair, and even though violent shudders racked her body, he held her in place as his thick cock pumped hard and fast, his muscular thighs holding her legs wide.

When he came, it was almost like a normal orgasm. No barbs. No second cock pressing into