Page 158 of Alpha Mates

He gasps like I’d just stolen his firstborn. “You little shit!” he exclaims, forfeiting the war.

The doors open, and we filter out into the main lobby that’s just as busy as when we first arrived.

“You’ve really got to work on that vocab, Jewels,” I tease while I take his hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, lifting our hands so that he can show me his middle finger up close. I snort as he leads us down the wide hallways we’d ventured through on our first night for dinner.

“We’ve already glimpsed the aquarium, but there are supposed to be some special shows in there,” he explains as he leads the way. “I think the pool’s the other way, and it has a slide. There’s also an hourly belly dancing show if you’re interested in that.”

I am not, not unless Julian is about to hop on the stage. I snort, amused, until my mind crafts an image of Julian covered in golden rings, shaking his hips and curling his wrists in front of me. I think I drool a little.

“There’s a ‘swim with sea life’ on as well,” Julian adds, piquing my interest.

“Swim with?”

“One with sea serpents, another with sharks,” he says, sounding unusually intrigued by that prospect. “Want to check that out?”

“I guess,” I say, but I’m already less enthused now that I know dolphins are off the roster.

Who the hell wants to swim with creatures that can kill them?

Julian. Julian does, apparently, because he’s all but skipping now as he strangles my hand in his.

“You want to do it?” I ask with my best attempt at casual.

“I think so,” he replies, but he’s beaming. “I’ll decide when we get there.”

My stomach drops, and my palms become clammy.

“You know the humans have made, like, fifty movies about how stupid it is to swim with sharks?” I mention, hoping to sway him with his favourite thing—caution.

But Julian, my living, breathing contradiction, just shrugs. “They’re not all dangerous. Plus, there are smaller, docile species of sharks.”

True. Not all sharks are flesh-eating great whites. But when we reach the ‘swim with sea life’ area and see the tanks—two ginormous pools where sharks and serpents swim around—there’s not a single “docile” specimen in sight.

“Julian,” I whisper as I eye the tanks of death.

“Yeah?”

“On what planet is a great white not dangerous?” I demand, pointing at the grey beast thrashing around like it has a bone to pick with Mother Nature herself.

“I’m not a shark enthusiast,” he defends lamely before walking towards the makeshift reception desk. People mill around, but they’re all watching. There’s not a single soul standing behind the rope to enter. Julian—the idiot—makes a beeline for it.

“Are you guys open today?” he asks the concierge

“We are,” the large man replies, glancing between us. For an incubus, he smells unusually plain. “No one is booked for the day.”

“Hear that?” Julian turns to me excitedly. “No bookings.”

“Gee. I wonder why?” I reply sarcastically before I face the guy. “How many people die a year doing this?”

“We’ve had no deaths yet.”

My eyes bulge. Julian nods like that’s a great answer.

“Yet?” I echo for us, ’cause apparently I’m the one on living-duty today. “What do you mean, yet?”

“He means it’s safe,” Julian deadpans, motioning me forward. “Come on. Let’s go.”