The bartender digested this for a moment. Then he handed him one of the drinks. “Here. I think you’re going to need this.”
The Master Shark sniffed cautiously at the alarmingly-colored beverage. “Alcohol?”
“Sure is. Uh, don’t you have booze under the sea?”
He shook his head, putting the glass down untouched. “The deeps are not a place for dulled wits. Only the suicidal would deliberately impair themselves.”
“Guess I can rule Atlantis out of my list of job opportunities.” The bartender stuck out a hand. “Tex. Never met a shark before. Or royalty, for that matter.”
The Master Shark regarded the proffered hand, then shook it carefully. “I am not royalty. Not for many decades. Now, I am merely the Empress’s Voice.”
“Not sure the word ‘merely’ belongs in that sentence.” Tex tipped his head a little to one side, studying him. “So. You and her. Really?”
He lifted one shoulder fractionally. “It appears so.”
Tex let out a low whistle. “And I thought I was unlucky in love. Well, assuming you’re going to try again, I’ve got a friendly piece of advice for you. Up here on land, we have this thing called ‘smiling.’ You might try it some time.”
The Master Shark did so.
“Sweet daisies,” Tex muttered, taking a half-step back. “On second thought, definitely don’t do that. Maybe you could just…loom less. Somehow.”
He looked down at himself. He looked back at Tex, who was large for a land shifter, but still at least six inches under his own height. Words seemed unnecessary.
“Yeah, okay.” Tex scratched the back of his neck, eying him rather dubiously. “Y’know, I’ve seen some odd couples in my years behind the bar, but this one sure beats all. A coyote and a shark? Not exactly a natural match, I hope you don’t mind me saying.”
The Master Shark’s jaw tightened, but privately he had to admit that the bear shifter had a point. His mate—his mate!—was clearly a creature of the desert, while he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times in his long life he had ever ventured onto dry land. Fate clearly had a sense of humor worthy of a human.
Nonetheless, the inescapable fact remained. She was his mate.
To be a shark was to be driven by an unfillable void. He had heard other shifters speak sometimes of their inner animals as if they were the other half of their souls, a whisper in their minds. He had never understood what they meant. His soul was a silent predator, eternally seeking, never satisfied.
Now, he knew that he had never truly been hungry before. Not compared to this all-consuming need.
He’d had decades of practice at hiding his emotions, but the shock of the encounter had rattled even his control. Something of his thoughts must have shown in his manner, because Tex’s eyes softened in sympathy.
“Hey, you’ll work it out.” The bartender collected the unwanted drink. “So what are you going to do now?”
“What my kind do best.” The Master Shark allowed his lips to curl once again, exposing a brief, predatory flash of teeth. “Hunt.”
Chapter 4
“You thirsty, honey?”
Martha looked up from her waffle, expecting to find a waitress with a pot of coffee. Instead, a vast woman overflowing from a vibrant pink maxi dress gave her a cheeky wink as she put down her own breakfast plate down at Martha’s table.
“Because if you are,” the woman continued, her voice dropping to a delighted, throaty whisper, “I can’t help but notice that there seems to be a tall glass of water with your name on, right over there.”
Martha didn’t need to look round to know that the man she’d met yesterday—she was not going to think of him as her mate—was watching her from the buffet table. Ever since their brief meeting yesterday, she’d been acutely aware of his every movement, even from clear across the resort. It was like she was a fish on his hook; an unbreakable, invisible line connecting them together.
Martha scowled, resolutely keeping her back to him. No matter how much she wanted to sneak a peek to see if he really was as devastatingly charismatic as she remembered, she was not going to look round.
Manuel, she reminded herself, touching her thumb to her wedding band. Even though he was with the angels now, he was still her husband. She’d been married to him for thirty good, golden years, along with the inevitable few rocky ones. They’d had kids and raised them well; built a home and filled it with laughter. With all her heart and soul, she’d loved her husband, and the life they’d made together.
What sort of woman would she be if she let her head be turned by some stranger now, just because her coyote was no better than a bitch in heat?
“Oooh, honey.” The voluptuous woman’s grin widened. “It’s obvious you both got it bad. Who is he, anyway?”
“No idea,” Martha said, slicing a banana rather more viciously than the innocent fruit deserved. “Don’t know him.”