And then the air between them broke apart with the sounds of gunfire. Bullets slammed into the car, the ground, whining and spitting.
“On the hill!” shouted Dean, reaching for his weapon.
Hari was already stripping off his clothes, tearing the cloth like paper. Even as the other men took cover, he ran toward Dela, who was pressed flat against the ground with her hands over her head.
Bullets entered Hari’s shoulder; he shook off the pain and flung himself on top of Dela’s body. Struggling to kick off his jeans, he pressed his lips to her ear.
“We must move,” he said, and she nodded with a sharp jerk of her chin. Shoving off the last of his clothes, Hari changed shape, splitting form with a thought, his vision swimming gold. Beneath him, Dela gasped.
More bullets struck him, burrowing deep, striking bone. Hari growled, and nudged Dela with his nose. She did not hesitate; carefully pushing herself up on all fours, she began crawling toward the car with Hari pressed against her side, protecting her from the bullets with his larger mass. In his human shape, he would not have been able to shield her so thoroughly.
Dean and the others were pinned behind the Land Cruiser. Bullets riddled the metal frame. A metallic roar filled Hari’s ears and he watched with alarm as three large cars sped into the parking lot.
Two of the cars’ engines suddenly exploded into flames. Men scrambled from the vehicle interiors, shouting. The third car pulled away from the others, driving straight at Hari and Dela. The engine roared.
Dela flung out her hands. The car slowed, swerving, but the driver pulled hard on the wheel and regained control, barreling down upon them. Dela’s face contorted with pain, and Hari flung himself around her body.
The car never hit them. Its engine sputtered, dying, and Hari glimpsed Blue peering around the battered fender of the Land Cruiser, his eyes hard, his jaw working.
Men—faces twisted in grimaces of desperation—piled out of the stalled car, some of them shooting the Land Cruiser, others aiming at Dela and Hari.
“Call her off or we’ll kill you!” one of them shouted, his eyes bloodshot, wild. “Do it!”
Dela stared, helpless. “Call off who?”
Hari did not care what the men wanted; they smelled crazy, like murder. Shouldering Dela into nearby bushes, he leapt at the speaker, claws extended for the kill. The terrified man got off one shot, but the impact of the bullet did not slow Hari. The blood rage was upon him, hot and sweet. Hari batted aside the weapon and sank his teeth into the man’s throat. Blood spilled into his mouth. The beast savored the taste.
Thunder—pain riddled his ribs, but it was nothing—nothing—and he whirled on the men shooting him, claws arcing in the fading light, ripping and tearing into flesh. Distant cries filled his ears, and men dropped weapons that glowed red-hot. Artur, Dean, and Blue rolled out from behind the Land Cruiser, guns trained on the unarmed men. Eddie followed close behind, drenched in sweat, his eyes dark with concentration. The guns continued to glow. Up on the hill the snipers stopped shooting.
“What the fuck is going on?” Dean snarled. Blood streamed down his arm.
Hari changed shape, and everyone but Artur watched the transformation with awed disbelief. A gunman swore something ugly.
“They wanted Delilah.” Hari spit out blood, wiping it from his lips. He turned to the bushes where he had pushed her.
Dela was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
The remarkable thing was, Dela had been expecting this. Really. She just didn’t think it would happen under the noses of all her friends—although she had to admit, a violent gunfight was one damn fine distraction, even if totally unrelated to her current predicament.
Dela had also held higher expectations for herself; a good struggle, some well-placed bites and punches. At the very least, a scream.
Instead, the Magi had crept up behind her, stuck a needle full of tranquilizers in her arm, then dragged her backward through the bushes. The last thing Dela remembered was Hari’s killing charge, raising her hands to try her powers at protecting him from the guns trained on his back.
And then a prick, instant vertigo, a mouth full of leaves, and that sneering cold face, quickly swallowed by darkness.
When she finally opened her eyes, she found herself stretched on a cold hard floor, bound and oh-so-carefully gagged. Her head pounded. The Magi sat cross-legged beside her. His hair was mussed, his cheeks hollow.
“Welcome back,” he cooed.
“Grrrr.”
“Oh, come now. I haven’t hurt you.”
No, but Dela knew he would, short of killing her. Until he had the box, until he had Hari. And then, death.
Well, screw that.
She glanced around the room. She appeared to be in an empty basement; handcuffs connected her to one of three wooden support pillars. No windows, and only one light source—a bulb hanging from a flimsy chain in the center of the room. The stairs were behind the Magi. The air smelled damp, moldy.
Dela studied the man, forcing herself to remain calm, to study his face. It was not her imagination; he looked tired, the skin drawn tight around his mouth and eyes. If she had to guess, she would say he was in pain.
The Magi stirred, his fingers uncurling. “You are quite fascinating. “You and your friends. In all my years, I have never witnessed such a congregation of talent. And yet, all of you together do not amount to what I was, what I will be again.”
A sadist? Dela wondered. A goatloving son of a—
The Magi smiled. “I cannot read your thoughts, but I still sense your emotions. Be angry. Rage at me, if you wish.” He reached behind him and pulled out a syringe. “I am going to undo your gag, but if you begin screaming, I will dose you again.”
Dela thought of biting him, but decided against it. The Magi seemed to be in a talkative mood, and her curiosity was piqued. She might learn something that could help Hari. Or perhaps she just might stall him long enough for someone to find her.
The Magi squirted some water into her mouth after he removed the gag, then sat back, once again watching her.
“Where is the box?” he finally asked, as Dela knew he would.
“I don’t know,” she said, which was partially true. Blue had taken the box to her local bank and placed it in a security deposit box. Dela did not know the number, nor did she have the key.
The Magi stared, and Dela felt something flutter against her mind. Light as butterfly wings, but infinitely colder.
“You are not telling me the whole truth.” Shadows spread beneath his eyes.
“I don’t know where the box is,” she repeated, concentrating on her ignorance of its exact location.
A breathless moment, and then the Magi leaned backward. “Who does know where it is?”
Ah, the question she would not answer. It was becoming clear to Dela that the Magi possessed the ability to read minds—just not hers. Unsurprising, really. Even Max couldn’t read her mind when she shielded, although he was still able to “speak” to her telepathically.
But if the Magi could sense the truth of what she said, it would not be long before he ferreted out fact from fiction, and she refused to put Blue and her friends in danger.
Dela’s silence displeased the Magi and he leaned close. “I have been watching your home for several days, following your movements. Watching you with Hari and your friends. What a simple thing, to ask questions of neighbors. I now know your name, Dela Reese.”
Dela’s tongue thickened, her vision blurring. A strange heaviness coated her thoughts. The hiss of her name leaving the Magi’s lips reverberated in her skull, and Dela fought for clarity, struggling to shrug off the strange lassitude flowing through her body.
When you know a person’s true name, it opens a crack into her life, into her mind. Your name is not what you are, but it is what you are called, and that is a profound knowledge to have over another.
Hari’s warm voice flooded Dela’s mind, and she clung to his words.
My name is
not what I am. It is what I am called.
“Who knows the location of the box, Dela Reese? Is it one of your friends?”
Dela gritted her teeth against the compulsion to speak, to say anything at all.
My name is not what I am.
I could change my name, throw it away, and I would still be me. Metalsmith, artist, dreamer, lover—
“Tell me his name, Dela Reese.”
It is what I am called.
“Tell me.”
But Dela is not my real name. It is only one name. And Hari calls me Delilah.
Delilah, never Dela.
My name is not what I am. It is what I am called.
And I am called Delilah.
Dela embraced her full name, silently chanting it, again and again, forming a shield against the Magi’s questions. The shadow peeled away from her mind, darkness flaking like ash. Clarity returned; her bones felt light as air.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dela said, raggedly fighting for her breath.
The Magi snarled, slapping her so hard her ears rang. For some reason, his outburst made her grin. She tasted blood, pain, and triumph.
“What happened?” she goaded him. “When you cursed Hari into that box, what was the price you paid?”
Too close, too close. The Magi screamed at her, his cheeks sinking into his mouth with each mighty breath, raging in languages Dela did not understand. He asked her again for the box, and she refused him with her silence.
He beat her. With fists and feet, he kicked her again and again, stomping on her stomach, her ribs. He fell to his knees, wrapping his fists in her hair, screeching in her face. His desperation frightened her; it bordered on insanity—it was insane.
Dela’s only weapon was her mind, but the Magi was relentless, and the pain—perhaps even the drugs still in her system—scrambled her concentration. She instinctively searched for metal—her handcuffs, the light bulb chain, water pipes, wiring—but she could not grasp them, could not do more than rattle weak links. All her new strength, and she was helpless.
When the Magi finally exhausted himself, he backed away from her, stumbling over his own feet. Dela’s eyes seemed to be the only part of her body still working correctly; she stared at the Magi, dumbly noting the bright splashes of blood staining his shirt, his pants. His hands were red, wet.
“Your friends are next,” he said. “Think on that.”
And he turned out the light.
They searched the underbrush, calling Dela’s name until Hari stopped them and listened to the sound of his heart, reaching for the compulsion that bound him to his summoner. East, whispered the spell. Go east.
“She has been taken from this place,” Hari said, clutching his ribs. He could not track Dela’s scent, no matter how hard he tried. Blood overwhelmed his senses, leaking through his fingers, pooling in the dust. Blood everywhere, with his heart bleeding too, dying for Dela.
Hari slowly straightened, turning on the men who’d attacked them, who now cowered against the ground. He wrapped his hand around the closest available throat, and the transformation rippled, Hari controlling, tempering the split. His arm sprouted fur, claws pushing through his fingernails. His teeth brushed past his lips, his face elongating into something not quite human, not quite tiger.
Someone screamed, and Hari smelled urine; the man in front of him, pissing his pants. He flexed his hand, and claws pierced soft flesh.
“Where is she?”
Atur stepped forward, stripping off his gloves. His eyes were flat, cold. He grabbed the shivering gunman’s head. Silence, and then he explained what he saw:
“All of these men are from New York,” he said through gritted teeth. “They came with Wen Zhang, an entire entourage. Late last night, after he disappeared, an old woman came to them. Golden eyes. She told them to leave Dela alone. When they laughed at her, she began killing them with her bare hands.”
“You sent her!” gasped the gunman, his eyes wild. “You killed Wen Zhang!”
“No,” Blue said. “We didn’t.”
Artur released the gunman. “She was like you, Hari. Except she had scales.”
“What of Delilah?” Hari asked, uncaring if another shape-shifter had become involved. He was indifferent to anything but Dela.
“I don’t think they kidnapped her,” Dean said, interrupting what Artur was about to say. He clutched his head, his eyes squeezed shut. “She’s in the trunk of a car. A Jeep. Damn, come on … see … the driver … the driver is a man, mixed race, dark hair—”
Hari snarled, releasing the gunman who collapsed, weeping, to his knees. “The Magi has her.”
Blue ground his gun into the temple of the man nearest him. “This is the last straw. If you ever come near us again, I swear what happened last night, and what happened today, will be nothing compared to what we’ll do to you. You all thought those warnings we gave were jokes, huh? No. Go back to New York, and don’t ever leave that shithole you boys call home. The minute you do, we’ll know. And you’ll be dead.”
“Their guns?” Artur asked Eddie.
“Ruined.” The young man kicked one of the discarded rifles, the barrel melted.
“Car’s going to be a problem.” Blue’s eyes grew distant. “Bullets ruined the engine.”
“Start up their Suburban,” Artur ordered, gesturing toward the large vehicle parked beside them. Eddie went to the Land Cruiser and began removing the license plates.
“What is he doing?” Hari asked Dean.
“We don’t have time to move the car or wipe it down. Eddie takes off the plates, lights a major fire, and we’re good.”
“Not quite that easy,” Eddie called back at them, “but I know what I’m doing. I burned out all the vehicle identification numbers when I first got the car.”
Hari closed his eyes, searching for Dela. The spell allowed him to track his masters; indeed, distance increased the compulsion to find her. She was still heading east, but until he began moving, he would be unable to obtain a more specific location.
The Suburban roared to life. Blue stuck his head out the driver’s window, shouting at them to get in.
“What about the dumbasses?” Dean asked Artur.
“No time,” Artur said, sharing a meaningful glance with Hari. “Right now, the Magi is the greater threat.”
They climbed into the car, leaving behind the gunmen who struggled to their feet. Blue stopped the vehicle less than a hundred yards away, and Eddie leaned out the window, eyeing the Land Cruiser.
“Make her pop,” Blue murmured.
The car did not pop—it exploded into a raging fireball, the Suburban rocking with the force of the blow. Hari’s ears rang. The gunmen were thrown flat against the ground, covering their heads as burning steel rained down upon them.
“Bitchin’,” said Dean, slapping Eddie on the back. “He bakes and burns.”
“I need a direction,” Blue called out.
“East,” Hari said, closing his eyes. “Away from the city.”
Blue frowned, pulling onto the highway. “Can you get more specific?”
“Not until we’re closer to Delilah.” Hari clutched the armrest, his claws raking deep grooves into the leather. Blue glanced at him.
“Uh, you might want to change back to full human, Hari. If anyone sees you pulling a Moreau …”
Hari did not know what that was, but he settled back into his human skin. He felt the other men watching him, yet he was content not to speak. All he could think of was Dela, trapped, alone with the Magi. His mate. Stolen from him.
I swore I would protect her. I promised I would keep her safe.
The beast howled. Hari fought to keep his human face. The blood rage was still upon him, but this time nothing would stop him until he destroyed the man who had torn apart his life, who threatened to steal away his future.
“You said the Magi needed the box.” Eddie leaned forward, his dark eyes agonized. “Dela’s safe unless he gets it, right?”
Eddie paled. Dean slammed his fist into the seat.
“How the hell did this happen?” he raged. “How did that bastard get her, right in the middle of a firefight?”
“Timing,” Artur said, staring out the window. “He must have been watching us, waiting for the right moment to grab her.”
“I should have sensed him.” Hari buried his fists against his thighs. “I should have been more vigilant. I knew he would be coming for us eventually.”
“You warned us, Hari. We all knew, and we still couldn’t stop him.” Blue gestured at the road. “Picking up anything?”
Hari closed his eyes, listening to his heart. “They’re moving in a northeasterly direction now.”
Blue took the next exit, and they drove for another hour in near silence, broken only when the bullets in Hari’s body wiggled free, plunking onto his seat. There were ten in all, each accompanied by a chorus of hisses.
Darkness fell. The city disappeared behind them, suburbia giving way to farmland, farmland to forest, the road growing thick with the shadow of evergreen, hiding the stars.
They were curling around a bend in the road when a stream of vicious invective left Blue’s mouth. A moment later, the engine sputtered.
“Shit, no,” said Dean.
“Shit, yes.”
The car died and they coasted to the side of the road. Hari jumped out while the vehicle was still moving, his eyes sharpening, the world beyond clear as day. He listened, found his direction, and ran into the forest, giving himself over to the tiger.
“Where are you going?” Artur shouted.
Hari spun around; fur rippled through his skin in waves. He was bathed in light. “She is close now. I cannot wait.”
He left them before they could say another word, shutting himself off to everything but Dela. Two legs to four—he dropped in an instant, the tiger replacing the man, loping through the forest.
I am coming, he called to her, reaching out with every fiber in his being. Hold on, Delilah. Hold on.
* * *
Holding on was the only thing Dela could do.
Tiger Eye Page 29