Nico stood in the shallows and said nothing.
For a man who had just come out of the Atlantic after being a shark, he was taking a lot of time with the obvious follow-up.
I kept my phone gripped in one hand and my keys hooked around the other, because I’d come outside to check the service door like a normal bar owner with normal problems. One stuck latch. Maybe a delivery guy being dramatic. Possibly Dusty leaving a broom where a broom had no spiritual right to be.
Not a dark fin cutting through the silver wash near the shallows.
I swept the surf again. No swimmers. No bright swim caps. No kid splashing where he shouldn’t be. The beach was still in that thin gray hour before tourists arrived with sunscreen, coolers, and the survival instincts of wet toast.
Thank God.
Then I faced Nico.
Water streamed from his dark hair, over his bare chest, and down the gold chain against his skin. His shirt lay on the sand behind him. Dawn spread pale over the horizon, and wet sand clung to my sandals while I stared at the impossible visual until it stayed impossible.
I’d known he was trouble. I’d known he was connected. A man didn’t walk into my bar wearing that much gold and collector confidence because he volunteered with sea turtles.
But I hadn’t prepared for dorsal fin.
Nico took one step toward shore.
I took one step back.
He stopped with the tide pulling around his legs.
His blue eyes stayed on mine.
“You saw,” he said.
“I saw a shark too close to my beach, a man coming out of the same ocean, and you standing there like I’m supposed to put that on the prep list.”
His voice came low and careful. “Nella.”
“No. Absolutely not. You don’t get to say my name in that voice until you explain whether I need animal control, the Coast Guard, or a priest.”
That almost got me a smile.
Not quite.
Nico glanced at the ocean behind him, then at the water around his legs, then back at me. “No one’s in danger.”
“Bold statement from the thing with fins.”
“I checked the water before I shifted.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It should make you feel slightly better.”
“I’m going to need you to manage your expectations.”
He nodded once, slow and careful. “Fair.”
The tide washed around his thighs. Wet swim trunks clung to him. The whole scene would’ve been illegal in at least three states if I hadn’t been busy deciding whether my insurance covered supernatural debt collectors.
“What are you?” I asked again.
“I’m a shark shifter.”
