The Curse of the Tiger

by Bebe Balocca

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  The Curse of the Tiger

  ISBN # 978-1-78184-353-6

  ©Copyright Bebe Balocca 2013

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright May 2013

  Edited by Sue Meadows

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 2.

  This story contains 69 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 5 pages.

  THE CURSE OF THE TIGER

  Bebe Balocca

  She knew that being close to tigers was her destiny, but she’d never thought she’d be riding on top of one…

  Faline Hopper owns and runs a free-range tiger refuge in northeastern Colorado. She loves the animals and the mission of Kat’s Crest, but the sanctuary is on the verge of financial disaster. A mysterious stranger with deep pockets comes to its rescue.

  Hunter Cartwright is one tall, cool drink of Alabama water. Sparks fly immediately when he shows up at Faline’s door. He’s ravenous for the blonde beauty, but there’s something he needs to make Faline understand before he can really sink his teeth into her. Something that happens at sundown, when the tigers roam the sanctuary and the nightly hunts begin…

  The curse of the tiger was cast by a Native American witch. Abetzi rejects the Great Spirit and worships a powerful demon instead. Faline is determined to free Hunter from the witch’s spell and to stop Abetzi from abusing exotic animals, but at what price?

  Will Faline risk everything to put a halt to Abetzi’s cruelty?

  And will it be worth it?

  Dedication

  To my fabulous husband, who supports me in every way.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Jeep: Chrysler Group LLC

  Indiana Jones : The Walt Disney Company

  Glenlivet: Pernot Ricard, S.A.

  Bambi : The Walt Disney Company

  Reflections : Carly Simon, BMG Heritage/WEA International

  ‘You’re So Vain’ : Carly Simon

  ‘I Want It That Way’ : Max Martin, Andreas Carlsson

  Incredible Hulk: Marvel Entertainment LLC

  Formica: Formica Corporation

  Lycra: Invista

  Taco Bell: Yum! Brands Inc.

  Trojan: Church & Dwight Co., Inc.

  Range Rover: Land Rover

  Pillow Pets: CJ Products

  Chapter One

  Faline stood on her back porch and stared at the tangled ruins of Jonas Hopper’s dream. The random cruelty was almost laughable—a tornado had swept through like the swipe of a malicious tiger’s claw. It had left her house and the fence intact, miraculously, but had lifted the rented tents and tables up and hurled them who knew where. The three Jeeps and the carport were less of a mystery. They’d been tossed and mangled beyond repair. Without the fundraiser and a fresh influx of money, Kat’s Crest couldn’t possibly pay the steep insurance deductible.

  It was hopeless.

  She had sent her staff home for the rest of the day so she could be alone with her thoughts. Four whiskies and two hours of heavy thinking later, Faline felt the dull relief of numbness flow into her limbs at last. She’d do her best for the tigers—perhaps the lion sanctuary two counties over would be willing to take them in—and she’d sell the land. Maybe one of the other cat refuges would hire her, or perhaps she’d move back to the northeast. None of it was ideal, but she’d have to do something.

  The sun, untroubled by Kat’s Crest’s impending dissolution, began its nightly slide behind the pines. Faline knew that the tigers would soon commence their evening of fun. They’d hunt boars, prairie dogs and whitetail deer, as they had for the past five years, with no idea that their lives as they knew them were about to end. She propped her feet up on her porch rail and folded her hands across her stomach to watch the dramatic beauty of the dying light. After a few moments, the sun’s orange glow had faded entirely. An icy-cool moon and a smattering of crystalline stars provided the only illumination. Faline sighed and drank in the stark, lonely beauty of the Colorado night.

  “Ah, well,” she said quietly, gazing up at the Big Dipper. “Better they don’t know, anyway.”

  “Better who doesn’t know what?” a male voice answered. Faline gaped. There, on her back patio, stood a six-foot tall reminder that she’d never got a guard dog, even after Mick’s incessant warnings about the dangers of a young woman living all alone in the country. The man was massively built and looked like he’d just hacked his way out of a jungle. His faded T-shirt and dusty jeans did nothing to hide his physique. Faline could tell his chest and arms were as thick as tree trunks. She swallowed and scanned his face for any hints of aggression. He appeared intelligent, if somewhat bedraggled. He was handsome, in a rugged, post-adventure Indiana Jones sort of way.

  “Um,” she began, “the tigers don’t know the reserve is about to close. Kat’s Crest Refuge is soon to be no more.”

  The man lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t say?” he asked grimly. “Now that I’ve finally found it, you’re telling me it’s about to fold?” He shook his head. “Do you mind me asking what you’re going to do with all of your tigers?”

  Faline pursed her lips and looked up at him. “Well, they’re not my tigers,” she said, slurring a bit. “They live here, but they’re nobody’s pets. I don’t own them. I just give them a place to live. Well, I gave them a place to live.” She tossed back the whisky in her hand, picked up the bottle of Glenlivet, and poured some of the amber liquid into the glass for a fifth time.

  The man rubbed one hand over his tousled brown hair and cleared his throat. “I’m Hunter, by the way,” he said. Faline’s body reacted to the deep, masculine rumble of his southern drawl. Stupid whisky, making her forget about the tigers’ plight and see only the tall drink of water standing next to her. “Hunter Cartwright. I guess you could say I have a thing for tigers. I wanted to speak with Jonas Hopper and see if I could work here.” He dropped a battered leather backpack to the floor next to his feet. “Kat’s Crest sounds very special. It called to me, way down south, and pulled me up here.” He gazed down at her with steady eyes.

  Faline felt awkward and slightly afraid, like a schoolgirl who’s been called before her hot principal for misbehaving. “Faline,” she responded hoarsely. She took a sip of whisky and felt the spicy heat burn a path down her throat. “Faline Hopper. Nice to meet you, Hunter.”

  “Faline?” he asked. “As in Bambi’s girlfriend Faline? Y
ou’re named after a deer?” He chuckled. “Sorta ironic, considering that you work on a tiger refuge. Do you ever worry that they’ll get confused and hunt you down?”

  Faline rolled her eyes. Just once, she thought. Just once it would be so nice if someone knew what my name means. “It doesn’t mean ‘deer’,” she explained. “It’s Latin. It means ‘catlike’. I’m named after my mother, Katherine Faline Hopper. She was Kat, as in Kat’s Crest.” She indicated the grounds of the sanctuary. “But she died when I was just a baby.”

  “Ah,” he answered. “How stupid of me.” He caught her hand in his and pressed his lips to it. “Such a true pleasure to meet you.” The soft, slightly damp kiss on her skin made Faline catch her breath. “Well, Faline Hopper,” Hunter asked, green eyes glinting. “I hate to see a lady drink alone.” He licked his lips and gave her a lopsided grin. “Been a while since I had a drink, but I seem to recall that I’ve got a taste for the stuff. Maybe you’d be willing to share that fine whisky… And tell me why it is that these tigers that don’t belong to anybody are getting their eviction notice.”

  Faline heard the feral shriek of a tiger and the hairs on her arms prickled. Hunting time. Feeling the whisky have its way with her, she slid her gaze from the top of Hunter’s mussed hair to the tips of his scuffed cowboy boots. There was nothing she could do about Kat’s Crest tonight, and a distraction from her woes in the form of Hunter Cartwright was awfully tantalising.

  “Sure,” she replied. “Let me get a glass for you.”

  Once they were both settled with whiskies in hand, Faline felt the words rush from her lips as if she hadn’t spoken to anyone at all since her father’s death. The strong liquor combined with Hunter’s enticing presence melted away every bit of her usual shyness around strangers. She was an open book, and Hunter seemed eager to read her.

  “At Kat’s Crest, we cage the humans and let the tigers run free!” she proclaimed boldly. “That was my dad’s philosophy, and it’s how we run things here—me, Mick, Sabrina and Paul.” She shrugged and swirled the whisky in her glass. “Well, we tried, anyway, but our funds got pretty depleted while Dad was sick and I was taking care of him. And now—” She waved a hand towards a felled tree in the side yard. “We had planned to put on a big fundraiser, because we’ve just got to have some real money to keep going, but it seems that Mother Nature had different plans for us.”

  “That’s tragic, Faline,” said Hunter. “It’s a real shame about your father, and a real shame about Kat’s Crest, too.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” Faline agreed. “At least Dad isn’t here to see it all fall apart. The tigers out there aren’t going to know what hit them, Hunter.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Faline felt as drained as the fifth of Glenlivet. She had vague memories of sitting next to Hunter on her porch, all four of their booted feet up on the railing, and telling him about Jonas’ cancer, her profoundly negative feelings towards insurance companies, her own lifelong fascination with big cats and her sympathy for that badass rescue tiger, Khan. Hunter had described his own dream to work with tigers and how it had led him to Kat’s Crest.

  It had been a pleasant conversation, but now the whisky was curled up in her belly like a warm, sleepy kitten, and Faline found herself rapidly following suit. The night was cool and calm, and the Adirondack porch chairs weren’t so uncomfortable, all things considered…

  Faline felt herself being lifted like a doll and carried with long, smooth strides before sliding between her covers and into murky oblivion.

  * * * *

  She woke with sawdust in her mouth and a vice around her forehead. “Holy shit on toast,” Faline croaked. She lurched from her bed and stumbled into the bathroom, where her body reminded her why she wasn’t an accomplished whisky drinker.

  Hangovers sucked.

  Faline chased down two ibuprofen tablets with gulps of tap water, then took a long, steamy shower. Every outraged pore screamed for mercy, so she slipped on the comfiest clothes she could find—a baggy pair of navy sweatpants and a fuchsia ribbed tank top.

  She looked into the mirror and shuddered to see what stared back at her. Her eyes were swollen into slits, her nose and cheeks were flushed and her wheat blonde hair hung in damp, limp strands on her shoulders. Fresh as a dried-out, month-old rose.

  Faline walked gingerly into the kitchen, careful not to move too fast and earn a fresh assault of pain to her whisky-soaked brain. When she opened the refrigerator, the cold air felt like a blast of pure heaven. She cracked open an ice-cold soda and chugged it, feeling the welcome surge of sugar and caffeine course through her limbs. After removing a second cola, Faline shut the fridge door and saw a sheepishly smiling muscle man standing before her.

  “Oh my God!” she yelled then clapped her palm to her forehead in misery. “Aw, fuck, my head,” she complained, wincing. Hunter led her to her couch and eased her down onto the cushioned seat. “You slept here last night?” she whispered. “In my house?”

  “I’m really sorry,” he answered in a low voice. “I hope you don’t mind that I took a sorely needed shower early this morning, too. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll leave now that it’s light and I can make some calls.”

  Faline nodded slowly and held the cool can to her cheek. She glanced at Hunter through her puffy eyes. “Help yourself to a soda,” she offered. “I’m guessing that if you were going to, like, do something awful to me, you’d have already done it.” She sank back into the couch. “And besides, I don’t even have the energy to worry about you with everything else that’s going on. I’m not a raging lush, you know. You just came over on a bad night.”

  “I know,” Hunter answered. “We talked about it, although you may not remember the entire conversation. I’m so sorry about your dad. From the little I know about him, Jonas Hopper was one of a kind. I know you miss him terribly.” He popped open a can of soda and gulped deeply. “Thanks for the refreshments last night,” he tipped his can at her, “and for the cold drink this morning. I have one more favour to ask. Could I please borrow your phone?”

  As Faline rummaged in her purse, Hunter looked through the kitchen window at the waving grasslands of the tiger sanctuary. “Do you have a website for Kat’s Crest?” he asked. “Can people donate online if they want to?”

  “Sure,” Faline answered. “We accept all the major credit cards. But, like I said, Kat’s Crest Refuge won’t be around much longer. Making a donation is nice, but it’s not going to be enough to save us. We’d need the whole state to chip in, I’m afraid.”

  Hunter grunted and took the phone from her before stepping outside onto her back porch. Faline heard the deep rumble of his voice through the screen door, but left him to make his call in private. She played Carly Simon’s Reflections on her stereo—turned soothingly low—dampened a washcloth with cool water and stretched out on her sofa as ‘You’re So Vain’ lulled her to sleep.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, Mick, Paul and Sabrina burst through the back door. Their agitated voices woke Faline from pleasant, if somewhat confusing, dreams of a young and hot Warren Beatty prancing around in an apricot cravat and offering her a nice, steamy latte. Faline slipped the wet washcloth from her forehead and sat up blearily. She saw that Hunter had placed her cellphone on the coffee table and that a brown paper sack now rested on the kitchen counter. Her three employees stood in a row and stared at her expectantly.

  Sabrina tilted her head and asked, “What’s wrong, Faline? You sick?” Her twin braids swung from the sides of her head like glossy black ropes.

  Faline sighed and took a swallow of her now-tepid cola. “Sorry, guys, I stayed up kind of late last night.” Mick and Paul seemed confused and, oddly, amused. “Look, I’m just as upset as you are about the botched fundraiser, but we’re going to have to face reality. We just don’t have the money to keep going,” Faline went on. “As of today, I’ll advertise online that Kat’s Crest Refuge is up for sale. Maybe we’ll find a buyer,
you know?” Paul chuckled and his thick, stocky shoulders shook. Faline shot him an irritated glare. “Well, we might find a buyer, Paul!” she snipped. “You never know. I certainly don’t think the situation is funny, at any rate.” Paul and Mick exchanged a glance. “Whatever,” Faline grumbled. “At the same time, we need to start looking at new homes for the tigers. We’ve got to get plans lined up so they are not taken into emergency custody.”

  “By Manitou,” Sabrina said, giggling, “she doesn’t even know!” Her braids wiggled and Faline, annoyed, was struck by the urge to grab them and yank. Hard.

  “I don’t know what?” Faline asked in exasperation. “You guys are really starting to piss me off.”

  “Call the bank,” Sabrina told her. She waved her hand at the coffee table and Faline caught a wink of turquoise from her rings. “I didn’t believe it when I called to balance the account this morning. I had to speak to the bank manager in person.” Sabrina looked upward with a beatific expression. “Thank you, Great Spirit Manitou, for intervening on our behalf.” She glanced back at Faline. “Seriously, Faline, you’ve gotta call the bank. You’re gonna freak.”

  Faline picked up her phone and shrugged. “Fine, whatever,” she mumbled. “I’ll call the bank if it makes you happy.”

  Mick cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels. “Oh, I dunno, Faline,” he said, eyes glittering. “It might just make you happy to call.”

  Faline flushed, wondering what the hell was going on. She didn’t dare to hope for a miracle, but suppose one had happened…? She gave Kat’s Crest Refuge’s account information to the teller and was immediately put on hold. After a few interminable seconds of elevator music—The Backstreet Boys’ ‘I Want It That Way’ had never been so maddening—the bank manager finally came on the line.