The Master Shark knew a challenge when he saw one. His life had been evenly divided between war and politics; he was no stranger to struggles for dominance, whether they were fought with teeth or words.

The proud lift of his mate’s chin, the fire in her dark eyes, the oh-so-careful way she didn’t quite look at him; she was issuing a challenge. Demanding that he prove his strength and worth before she would deign to even acknowledge his presence.

He had never backed down from a challenge. He would win this one too.

Once he figured out what in the sea it could possibly be.

“A pedicure?” the tiny land-shifter woman in charge of the ‘spa’ repeated, as if she hadn’t quite believed him the first time.

“Yes.” He had no idea what one was, but from the triumphant note in his mate’s voice as she’d ordered her own, she believed that it was something a shark could not do.

He would prove her wrong. He would endure, no matter how she tested him. He would show her that he was more than the blood-blinded animal his reputation made him out to be. He would show her the best of himself; his patience, his persistence. Silently, with actions rather than words, he would destroy the stereotype she projected onto him, so that she could finally see the man underneath the monster.

And when she did, he could only hope that she would not turn away.

The spa attendant made a tiny shrug, as if to say that if he was determined to face the ‘pedicure,’ on his own head be it. “This way, sir.”

She led him through a curtain made of shells strung on thin ropes. He had to bend nearly double in order to fit through the low archway. When he saw what awaited beyond, he immediately understood.

Oh, clever, clever mate. Not a challenge of strength, or endurance. This is a test of softness.

The light, airy room was lined with comfortable wicker chairs draped in pristine white towels. Grooming instruments—for forms both animal and human—hung from the white-washed walls. A sweet, gentle scent hung in the air, drifting up from scattered candles. Wide windows kept the room pleasantly cool and offered soothing views of the sparkling turquoise bay.

It was a place for pampering. A place to be touched gently, by soft clean hands that had never known war. A place of peace and beauty.

No wonder she had thought a shark would not follow her here.

Well, he would show her that even he could enjoy softness. More than anything in the sea, he longed to enjoy her softness.

His lips curved a little at the intoxicating thought, but he forced the smile back. Dry-landers did not react well to the sight of a shark’s teeth, as Tex the bartender had demonstrated. He schooled his face to impassiveness as the spa attendant led him to a chair.

His mate was enthroned like a queen a few seats down, her own attendant kneeling at her feet as if in supplication. They had been chattering away in some human language he did not know, but broke off at his appearance. They both stared at him as if…well, as if he was a shark. In a koi pond.

“If you please, sir?” His own attendant knelt down, gesturing at him.

Apparently she wanted his feet, though for what purpose still escaped him. He forced his muscles to relax, allowing the tiny woman to do as she pleased.

The spa attendant let out a soft, surprised breath. “No calluses. You have beautiful feet, sir.”

He didn’t know why she sounded so astonished. It wasn’t like he used them much, after all.

The land-shifter woman shook her head ruefully. “To be honest, sir, I’m rather at a loss as to what to do here.”

Nonetheless, she reached for some sort of lotion. Spreading it onto her hands, she began to rub his soles.

His mate had gone back to pointedly ignoring him. Pretending indifference, he tipped his head back, closing his eyes. The sensation of firm fingers running over his instep was surprisingly pleasant, once he’d managed to subdue his instinctive urge to kick his assailant in the face.

“I’ve got five kids,” his mate announced.

He cracked open one eye, but she was still pointedly not looking at him. She appeared to be addressing her own attendant. Since she’d chosen to speak in English, however, he was confident that he was the real target of her words.

“Juanita, she’s my eldest, she’s mated to a lovely jackalope girl, just sweet as pie. They’ve got two kids of their own. My boy Nic, he and his mate have got one on the way too. Due in September. Can’t wait to smell that new-baby scent again. Grandpups are such a blessing.”

Ah. Another challenge.

She was indirectly telling him of her wealth—not in the sorts of unimportant trinkets valued by dragons, but true wealth. A shark knew that blood was the greatest prize of all. He listened as she so-casually mentioned name after name, treasure after treasure: children and grandchildren, sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews and cousins.

The undercurrent to her words was clear: I am the matriarch of a vast, powerful clan. What can you give me?

An unaccustomed wave of uncertainty washed over him. He was the Master Shark, and the Empress’s Voice, true. But his wealth was copper to her gold. Though all the sharks of the sea owed him fealty, it was a cold, formal relationship. Nothing compared to the love and loyalty of true family.

What did he have to offer her?

Only himself. But a woman as powerful and desirable as her could have her pick of males, as indeed she clearly had done in the past. He was her true mate, yes…but what if land-shifters didn’t feel that bond as intensely as the people of the sea did?

A strange, cold feeling gripped his heart. It was an emotion he had not felt in so long, it took him a moment to identify it.

For the first time in decades, he was afraid.