by Aja James
Except for tonight.
Tonight the Mistress was entertaining some of Rome’s finest citizens. Influential noblemen and senators. And even their wives.
It was rumored that Marcus Aurelius himself might deign to attend.
Her sort of “entertainment” freed the reveler of all inhibitions. Plied with wine and rich foods, music and dance, and charmed by the inhumanly beautiful, scantily-clad young males and females the Mistress provided with a wink and a smile, the Roman guests would indulge in a wild night that could only be repeated in their darkest fantasies.
Meanwhile, the Mistress secured important negotiations, blackmailed high-ranking officials, and generally ruled Rome from its shadowy periphery.
Tonight, when the Mistress bathed, she had plenty of company. It was all part of the entertainment, after all. The use of her well-oiled, naked body in exchange for expensive favors.
She was the main attraction.
The boy snuck into the bath halls unnoticed amongst the crush of bodies, drunken laughter and noisy rutting.
He knew what it was now. What the Mistress did with her guests, what the guests did to each other and to the vampires who used them in turn for their blood and sometimes souls.
It was what the Mistress had done to the man who’d been a tiger.
Except in that case, he hadn’t wanted it. He’d fought her.
It happened almost every night. The boy now knew the Mistress’s schedule.
After the parties and gorging on human blood and sex, she always wanted more. She always went down to the cave to take what she wanted.
The boy had not ventured there again.
He didn’t want to witness and be witness to the tiger-man’s degradation and shame. He couldn’t risk the Mistress discovering him there. And he didn’t want to look into the tiger’s eyes without having the keys to its freedom.
But even so, now that he knew what she did down there, the boy couldn’t help hearing the echoes of furious roars and pained growls embedded in the stone walls.
He knew it was just his imagination, but even if he didn’t hear it in his ears, he heard it in his heart.
He had to get the tiger out.
He surreptitiously swiped the key chain from within the folds of the Mistress’s tunic and nimbly dodged the meaty arms of a drunken lord as the Roman leeringly reached for him.
Some of the men and women leaned that way, the boy had also come to understand. They preferred children to adults when they had their fun.
Hands clammy as he clutched the keys, sweat already rolling down the back of his neck, the boy hurriedly made his way to the underground cavern.
He didn’t have much time.
The party above ground was already winding down. After the guests finally passed out in a drunken stupor or lost their wits in a fog of lust, the vampires would descend upon them to take their fill.
And then…
The Mistress would come for the tiger.
There was eerie silence when he entered the cave. No growls, no movement.
The boy didn’t waste time; he went straight to the cage despite his lingering trepidation of what he would face.
He’d seen the tiger’s teeth and claws, after all. His head would easily fit between its massive jaws.
It did cross his mind a time or two that when he freed the tiger, he might just get eaten or savagely mauled for his effort. It was a wild animal. And it had been starved and abused. Kept in a cage and chained to the wall.
If the tiger decided to eat the boy, he wasn’t sure he’d blame it.
“I’m getting you out,” the boy said as he looked beyond the bars of the cage, trying to make out the tiger’s form.
“We have to hurry.”
There was a full moon tonight.
It cast its bright light through the opening high up above, washing the cavern in an eerie bluish glow.
Slowly, a furry white face appeared through the darkness, and a weak chuffing sound emerged.
The boy gasped.
The tiger’s fur was coated with blood everywhere that the boy could see, its eyes glazed over with agony.
“What did they do to you!” he exclaimed in a frightened and furious whisper.
The tiger rested its great head upon its front paws as if it was too weak to hold it up. Its sides shuddered with every belabored breath it took.
“I have the keys,” the boy said urgently, opening his palm to show the tiger, to give it hope.
“But you have to stand up. You have to fight to get out of here. Are you strong enough?”
As if understanding him, the tiger’s eyes cleared a little, its ears perking up. With a great groan, it struggled to a stance, swaying unsteadily on its paws.
“That’s it,” the boy encouraged, “you can do it!”
He quickly unlocked the door to the cage and didn’t hesitate this time to draw closer to the beast so that he could release the collar and cuffs as well.
The tiger watched him with those icy blue eyes but otherwise stayed still.
When the boy removed the last shackle from the tiger’s hind paw, the beast turned slowly and bowed its head.
Instinctively, the boy knew what it wanted, and stroked the tiger’s beautiful face with gentle hands.
“I’m sorry for what she did to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. I’m sorry you’re hurt like this.”
He gulped bravely to quell the surge of unmanly tears, but couldn’t contain them after all.
On a whim he threw his bony arms around the tiger’s neck and buried his face in the soft tufts of fur under its chin.
“Gather your strength now,” he told his friend. “It’s time to go.”
“And just where do you think you’re going?”
The tiger growled ferociously, its big body tensing to steel, at the sound of Mistress Circe’s voice.
It happened so fast, the boy barely had time to react.
One moment he held the tiger in a gentle hug, and the next the beast had charged out of the cage, leaping unerringly at the Mistress.
She raised her hand to transform it, but it got to her first this time, aided by a surge of furious power.
It swiped a massive paw at her torso and knocked her down. She didn’t even have time to scream.
While she lay on the ground unmoving, the tiger leapt on the guards she brought. Their weapons were no match for its claws and teeth, its savagery and primal strength, despite its unhealed wounds.
It was a massacre.
The boy had never seen the like.
In under a minute, six piles of vampire ashes littered the ground around the mistress.
But the tiger did not come out of the fight unscathed. It had sustained fresh wounds in the battle and could barely keep upright, its legs shaking badly.
The boy ran to it just as it started to lean. Somehow, he helped it stay on its paws despite the tremendous weight.
And then, the weight was suddenly gone. Replaced by a much lesser pressure, though still enough to knock the boy down in surprise.
The tiger had turned into a man again. One who slid to the floor of the cave in a tangle of bloody limbs.
“You can’t leave me,” Mistress Circe said through clenched teeth from her position a few feet away, lying half on her side with her hand, coated with blood, outstretched.
“You’re mine.”
She’d turned the tiger after all.
No! It was too weak as a man. It couldn’t survive like this!
The boy didn’t know what happened next; his mind would shy away from recalling it later.
One moment he put himself between the Mistress and the tiger-man, standing in a concentrated beam of the full moon, and the next a ferocious growl reverberated through the cavern.
The mistress screamed, but it was too late.
Something hurled itself at her body and locked dagger-like teeth around her throat.
Her eyeballs rounded in disbelief and terror as they all but b
ugged out of her sockets.
“You—”
But that was all she was allowed to utter. She barely got out a gurgle before her attacker ripped her jugular out.
Almost immediately, she disintegrated in a confetti of ashes, scattering like so much rubbish upon the cold hard ground……
Hours later, the boy woke to find himself alone in the cavern.
There were seven piles of ashes and no sign of the tiger or man.
Had the tiger been able to get away? Was it finally safe? Finally free?
Absently, the boy rubbed his hands over his face.
He was so very tired and sore and hungry. He was starving, actually.
And then he noticed his hands.
The sun was rising and illuminated the cave more fully through the opening above.
Which was why the boy saw very clearly the blood on his hands, still viscous and wet.
There was so much of it. But he wasn’t wounded anywhere, he realized upon checking himself for injuries.
Where did the blood come from?
A shrill buzz sounded in his ears as fleeting images flashed before his eyes.
Teeth. Claws. Tearing through a soft throat. The Mistress’s throat.
Her wide, shocked eyes.
A splatter of blood, its taste metallic and acrid on his tongue.
Ashes.
The boy huddled in on himself, horrified by these images and sensations.
Surely… Surely that hadn’t been him?
He wasn’t a beast. He was a boy! He didn’t want to be locked in a cage like the tiger-man!
No! He had to keep it a secret.
No one could know.
No one would ever know.
He’d lock it away forever to keep himself—and everyone around him—safe.
Chapter Seven
On a shudder, Maximus came awake.
And stared into Agent Kyles’ golden green eyes.
She’d turned in his arms while he slept, her torso flush against his. Her crotch cradling his hard-on oh so tightly even through the layers of their cold-weather clothes.
She was stroking his face lightly with her hands, tracing his eyebrows, temples, nose, cheeks, jaw and mouth with inquisitive fingers.
He realized that she’d been doing this for a while now.
It was her touch that calmed him in his dreams. Her touch that pulled him out of memories he’d rather forget.
“Hands are such wonderful things,” she murmured huskily, her voice rough from sleep.
“I could never do this with paws. And you have such an intriguing face. Such a beautiful body. I want to touch you all the time.”
Maximus swallowed.
His heart thudded. His cock leapt.
It would be so easy to push down their trousers and drive into her welcoming, wet heat.
He knew she would welcome him. Her body all but hummed for him to fill it.
“Ariel…” he rasped, searching for the right words but coming up empty.
Just her name alone gave him pause.
It was the first time he’d used it. The first time he’d even thought it.
She’d always been Agent Kyles to him, a designation instead of a person.
He also couldn’t see her as Simca, no matter what she said about the panther’s soul being inside her. No matter that he saw glimpses of his feline familiar in her personality, thoughts and gestures.
But now…somehow…she was Ariel.
And that realization and recognition made him even more confused than before. Even as a part of him embraced it.
He felt too raw right now, too conflicted from his recent dream.
Had she seen it too? Had she seen what he really was?
What was inside him all this time?
“Beautiful,” she said firmly. “You were magnificent in your dream. Fierce and primal. The most gorgeous being I’ve ever seen. You shouldn’t hide yourself. You should be proud. You protected someone helpless. You saved his life.”
Did he?
Maximus could still taste the Mistress’s blood on his tongue. He’d ripped her throat out like a savage animal.
Well, actually, he was a savage animal.
Or at least possessed by one.
“You did the right thing,” Agent Kyles…Ariel…asserted.
“You always do.”
He stiffened against her, bracing to distance himself.
He needed space to sort out his thoughts and emotions.
She was too close. He wanted her—needed her—too much.
Reading his mind, she pulled away first with an exaggerated sigh, as if she loathed giving him space and was simply doing it as a favor.
She stood and stretched like a limber feline. Even her yawn sounded like a meow. If she had a tail, Maximus was sure it would be curling and undulating to and fro.
“Ready to begin the climb again, Mad Max?” she challenged, looking down at him.
His muscles still unbelievably sore, he nodded.
No turning back now.
They had to see this, whatever it was, to its ultimate conclusion.
He rose to his feet and helped her gather up their supplies.
Just when he was about to put out the fire, a sudden gust of wind snuffed it out.
They both tensed.
That was no ordinary wind.
The air outside was mostly calm, warmed by an early morning sun.
Ariel inched toward the entrance from the left, a wicked combat knife gripped in her gloved hand, her back against the cave wall.
Maximus approached from the right, poised to attack or defend.
She was going to step out onto the ledge first, but Maximus motioned for her to stay back. She scowled at him for being protective and rolled her neck in annoyance.
He’d never do this to Simca, he’d be the first to admit. His panther had always been the scout, her animal instincts far sharper than his.
But had they been really?
If he hadn’t submerged the animal inside, so deep inside that no one, not even himself, could find it, perhaps his senses would be just as sharp as the panther’s.
Nevertheless, even as he was, if he homed in on a target, he could still anticipate their moves a couple of steps in advance. He realized now that it was because of his primal instincts rather than a particular Dark Gift.
He angled onto the ledge, crouching low, poised for battle.
But there was nothing around for miles that he could see.
Just rocky mountainside, blue sky and barren tundra below, broken up by patches of scruffy vegetation.
The air was too still.
The hairs on the back of his neck tingled with tension.
A moment before an enormous shadow blotted out the sun from the cliffs behind him and giant claws dug into his shoulders, lifting him straight up into the sky.
Momentarily stupefied by what was happening, Maximus looked frantically back at the mouth of the cave and saw the same thing happen to Ariel.
A gigantic bird—an eagle—grabbed hold of her shoulders when she ran out to try to catch him and plucked her right off the mountain.
The second bird screeched shrilly but briefly, and both eagles banked left, accelerating with the wind toward the western mountain ridge.
They were traveling at a speed much faster than when they’d glided with the parachutes. The icy air blasting in Maximus’s face made it difficult to breathe.
Though the talons that dug into his shoulders like massive lifting hooks on a crane were so secure he felt like he was a piece of paper that got hole-punched, the grip of the claws didn’t hurt beyond the unrelenting pressure that kept him immobile. The claws didn’t even break his skin.
He looked up at his captor and saw a feathered torso almost as large as his own, with long, steely legs that ended in the gigantic claws that dangled him several thousand feet above ground. The wings from tip to tip must have spanned over seven meters, almost four times Maximus’s height.
How in the fuck…?!
He turned his head as much as he could to look for the other bird that held Ariel.
It was following closely, slightly below, benefiting from the windshield provided by the bird in front.
Ariel’s captor was a slightly smaller eagle in terms of wing span, but just as formidable. After all, it’s carrying a one hundred-thirty-odd-pound human up the side of a freaking mountain!
Maximus considered trying to free himself for all of half a second.
That just didn’t seem wise.
One, he was several thousand feet in the air without a parachute.
Two, he might piss off his captor and get his skull crushed or his body punctured for the effort.
Three, supposing that he didn’t plummet directly to his death should he succeed at the escape attempt, how would he get to Ariel? At least they were staying together this way, headed toward the same fate.
He just hoped that fate didn’t include being torn apart by monstrous bird beaks, gobbled up and regurgitated to their spawn.
So, Maximus did nothing but dangle for the duration of his involuntary flight.
After some minutes, in which the eagles must have covered many miles, they began to descend toward a snow-covered plateau with a small lake in the center.
All around it rose jagged cliffs that shielded the enclave from view. No one would know it was there unless they hovered directly above it. It looked like it might have been a volcano once, now at rest and frozen over for tens of thousands of years.
The eagles flapped their massive wings to slow their downward spiral.
About twenty feet from the ground, they abruptly opened their talons.
Maximus ducked and rolled, and saw that Ariel did the same. They managed to land without injury a few yards away from each other.
He saw that she still had her mean-looking knife, though she also wisely decided not to use it while held captive mid-air to attempt escape.
She looked like she was ready and willing to use it now, her stance aggressive, her fists ready for battle, the knife gripped in her left hand, curved blade pointed down.
But almost immediately, they saw that they were outnumbered and outmatched, completely surrounded.