by Brenna Lyons
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Tygers
Copyright 2004 Brenna Lyons
ISBN: 1-55410-089-5
Cover art and design by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2004
Look for us online at:
www.zumayapublications.com
www.Extasybooks.com
Dedicated to the city of Pittsburgh and all the people I care for there.
For better or worse, the city has always been my home.
Chapter One
“When all is but a dream, reasoning and arguments are of no use, truth and knowledge nothing.” John Locke
“When a man wants to murder a tiger, it’s called sport; when the tiger wants to murder him, it’s called ferocity.” George Bernard Shaw
Kyle Thompson crouched in the darkness waiting, waiting and listening to the noise on the other side of the wall. They were fighting again. It seemed they had been fighting for as long as he could remember. The man’s voice spiked to a new high, and Kyle’s muscles tightened in response. He forced them to relax like Ty taught him. No one can ever know you’re afraid if you don’t let them.
Ty was sprawled beside him in the cramped space. His shoulder brushed against Kyle as he stretched lazily. The fighting never bothered Ty. Sometimes, it seemed nothing bothered Ty. “Relax,” his friend told Kyle. “It will end. It always does.”
Kyle regarded him in deep annoyance as Ty stretched out comfortably in the space behind the wall, taking up far more than his half of the room available. “How can you be so calm?”
Ty yawned widely. “They won’t find us. I told you they can’t, didn’t I?”
Kyle rubbed a small fist against his eye and leaned against Ty’s shoulder. It was late. If he wasn’t still here, Kyle would go to bed, but until the man was gone, it just wasn’t safe. He wasn’t Kyle’s real father. Kyle had heard him shout that often enough to know it was true. Sometimes, Kyle wished his mother would just send the bad man away. Then, they could be happy again. Even Aunt Katie would come home if he left. Ty said so.
Ty was smart. He told Kyle things, like how to find this hiding place. Kyle loved this place for two reasons. The first was that it was Aunt Katie’s place when she was a child. Ty never told Kyle why Aunt Katie would need to hide, but it made Kyle feel better to know that Aunt Katie needed to hide like he needed to hide. The other reason Kyle liked this place was obvious. He didn’t know about it, which meant Kyle was safe when he hid here, no matter how angry that man got.
Ty leaned his head over until his straight, white hair brushed over Kyle’s dark blonde curls. Kyle murmured in response and dropped off into a fitful sleep full of dreams of the bad man and all the things he could do to hurt them. It was too late, and unless his mother sent the bad man away, it would all be true. Ty told him it would be.
* * *
Carol leaned against the door and brushed her dishwater blonde curls back from her face in exhaustion. She glanced at the clock above the stove and groaned. It was almost eleven already. Three and a half hours! Peter kept her arguing all night. He knew she had to work in the morning. Now, she would be exhausted on top of everything else. Carol suddenly felt twice her thirty years.
Kyle! The thought landed like a blow to her ribs. Peter started the argument before she put Kyle to bed. She trudged to his bedroom to check on him. Hopefully, he fell asleep. Otherwise, he would be miserable in the morning, and Carol only needed one miserable Thompson at six o’clock.
She groaned again as she opened the door to her son’s room. His bed was empty. That meant he was hiding again. “Kyle, come out,” she pleaded. “Daddy is gone now. It’s time for bed.” She waited for an answer or a tired, moving child. Neither one materialized. “Kyle?”
Carol started searching. This wasn’t the first time she made this sweep, and it wouldn’t be the last unless she left Peter or he got the help he so desperately needed. She checked under Kyle’s bed, in the closet, and under the stack of stuffed animals. No Kyle.
Frustrated, Carol called him again. “Come on, Kyle. It’s late. Mommy’s tired. Let’s go to bed.” Carol waved her arms to punctuate the weariness seeping into her bones.
She did her usual sweep—bathroom cabinets, her closet, the living room, the guest bedroom. A panic settled in her chest. Carol swept her eyes over the front door. Both locks were engaged. She and Peter had been fighting in the kitchen, and he left by that door. There was no other way out of the small row house. “Kyle!” She ran back through the rooms, hastily researching all the same spots she checked before.
Carol stopped short in the doorway to his room, and his name died as a whisper on her lips. Kyle was in bed now, asleep with his pudgy arm tossed over the largest of his stuffed tigers. The others, grabbed from the stack she had knocked over as she searched, were lined up along the side of his bed nearest the door. Eight pairs of glass eyes regarded her stonily, sending a chill up her spine. Standing guard. Kyle put them there to stand guard while he slept.
She could hear Katie’s voice in her mind as her older sister gave Kyle the first of his tigers so long ago. “He’ll protect you, Kyle,” she told him as a smile softened her expression, usually grim or sarcastic except where her nephew was concerned. Carol shivered again at the thought that Katie would be the one person she would trust to back up such a claim. Not even their uncles scared Peter like Katie did.
Carol switched off the lamp, leaving only Kyle’s nightlight burning. The dim light intensified her feeling of unease. The tigers’ glass eyes seemed to glow in the pale light of the remaining bulb. Carol shuddered before sighing and closing the door on their sightless stare. They are toys! Just his damn toys! Why they should set her teeth on edge like they did was beyond her. Carol was so very tired. Maybe it was just her eyes playing tricks on her.
Tigers have great night vision, Carol. She collapsed on her bed without wondering where that cheery thought came from. She rubbed her hand over her eyes roughly.
Tigers! Kyle always liked his tigers. All of his other toys were props. They were other animals for the tigers to hunt, blocks to build landscapes and caves, balls to chase, trucks full of hunters to be chased from their ranges. The Siberian tiger was his first, his favorite and the largest, but tigers of any sort were okay with Kyle. They were all he ever asked for, and he knew more about tigers than any person Carol had ever met save her sister—much more than a four-year-old should know.
* * *
Carol started as the stack of paperwork landed on the edge of her desk.
Bobbie Jenkin’s wide grin turned to a concerned frown almost immediately. “What happened to you? You’re so run down you haven’t even bothered to try to hide it with makeup. What gives?”
Carol yawned and rubbed her eyes. She slept poorly the night before, and the exhaustion was even more pronounced now than when she had tumbled into bed. “I’ll give you three guesses, but you’ll only need one.”
Bobbie pulled u
p a chair and sat in it, crossing one long, slender leg over the other. Carol took in the sight of her boss, the only person she had that passed for a friend these days, as pitiful a thought as that was. With Peter’s crazy insinuations, when did Carol have time for anything that passed for friends? Bobbie cocked her head as if gauging Carol’s mind.
The older woman was opinionated, and no doubt some of those opinions were about to flow now. Bobbie had everything she needed to pull off being opinionated. She was thin and beautiful, her eyes were emerald green, her hair deep auburn that fell in soft curls down her back, and her chest and legs could make a swimsuit model half her age envy her. To top it off, she was financially secure in her own right. Carol was financially secure herself if it ever came to that, and it looked like it might.
Bobbie’s green eyes were doing their own evaluation. “You know, you can’t live like this forever,” she said quietly.
Carol groaned. “He’s just so damned frustrating!”
“Honey, you have options. The best one is to kick him out and change the locks. It’s your house, and no judge would argue that.” Carol looked at her wearily, and Bobbie hurried on. “Get a restraining order. He won’t freeze. He has family to go to.”
“I won’t get any more sleep. He’ll see to that.”
“Not after you change your phone number and have him arrested a few times. Call on those wonderful uncles of yours for once.”
Carol grimaced. Wouldn’t Mac and Bruce have a field day with that one! If Peter survived Prentice, it would be a miracle. No, that was one thing she and Katie had in common. There was no running home to the uncles.
Bobbie shook her head. “Look, there are other options. Move in with your mother or with me while you sell the house and move somewhere else. All I’m saying is that you have to do something. It’s taking its toll on you, and it can’t be good for Kyle.”
Carol sighed raggedly. “It’s not. I know that. Dammit!”
“What?” Bobbie’s eyes widened at her outburst.
“I hate it when Katie’s right.”
“Right about what?”
“Kyle. He was hiding again last night. He hides too much.”
“What does your sister know about it? She’s hardly what I would call involved. She won’t even stay with you when she’s in town.”
“There are reasons for that.”
“Yeah, she hates your husband.” Bobbie laughed a short, humorless laugh. “Maybe she’s not so bad after all.”
“No, that’s not the reason,” Carol snapped in annoyance. “I mean, she hates Peter, but she wouldn’t stay with me even if he was gone.”
“So, she’s a jerk who gives good advice.”
“No, she’s not!” Carol took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “Look, it’s a long story, and I’d rather not get into it with you. Katie and I get along fine. The only thing we argue about is—” She sighed hopelessly.
“Peter?”
Carol blushed. “Men. I give her crap about hers, and she does the same for me. It’s simple, really. If I sold that house and moved, she’d stay with me. There are just bad memories there, okay?”
“So, why do you stay there?”
“Path of least resistance.” Carol didn’t search for where the strange thought had come from. It wasn’t worth it anymore. “I’m a creature of habit.”
“No bad memories for you?” Bobbie asked in confusion.
“No.” Carol looked toward the window at the rain cascading from the sky. “I was too young to remember.”
* * *
Peter glared at Tasha Sterns. “Out!”
“But Carol—”
“Dammit! I said get outta my haus. He’s my son, and he’s staying with me this afternoon. Is that a problem?”
“No, of course—” she stammered.
“Then get out!”
She nodded and grabbed her purse and raincoat. “He’s down for his nap. Snack is at four.”
Doesn’t she ever shut up? “Do you think I don’t know how to take care of my son?” he asked dangerously.
Tasha shook her head and ducked toward the door. Peter grinned in satisfaction as it closed behind her.
“Good riddance!” It was a good thing for Tasha that she had this cozy job watching his kid. She certainly didn’t have anything else to recommend her.
Never before had Peter encountered a woman with nothing going for her. Even his wife had her looks. Carol was a nagging bitch and too smart for her own good, but she was a fine piece of work and damn good in bed when she wasn’t pissed off. Of course, she was always pissed off these days.
Everything was the kid. She went back to work, because Peter didn’t provide enough for the kid. He needed clothes and childcare. Now, Carol claimed that the brat was having emotional problems. Predictably, that one was pinned on Peter, too. Everything was his fault as far as Carol was concerned.
Problems? If Kyle had any problems, they stemmed from all the damn coddling the women heaped on him. From his mother-in-law to his wife to that mousy, useless woman Carol hired to watch him without even consulting Peter, everyone walked on eggshells around the kid. All he needed was a firm hand. It worked for Peter, and it would work for Kyle. They would see. Today was the start of his son’s new life.
Resolved, he walked up to Kyle’s room. Peter could hear him in there talking to himself. No, not talking to himself—He was talking to that damned toy! Of course, Kyle loved the tiger. After all, she gave it to him. The tigers would be the first things to go, he decided.
Kyle looked up as the door opened. His smile disappeared, and he launched onto the bed and wrapped his arms around the white tiger.
“Come over here,” Peter ordered.
Kyle looked around with wide, frantic eyes.
“Dammit! I said, come here. I’m your father.”
Kyle hugged the tiger closer to his chest, and Peter growled his frustration. He wrenched the toy from his son’s hands and silenced his wail of protest with a slap across the face. Then, he threw the tiger into the far corner of the room and grabbed the sniveling child by his arms, holding him a foot off of his twin bed.
“You do what I say. You don’t ignore me,” Peter thundered.
Kyle’s eyes flicked away, then widened in shock. A flash of movement caught Peter’s attention. He turned his head to look, but there was nothing there. Just the pile of toys tossed haphazardly around the room. He shook his head and turned back to Kyle.
“Now—” The movement was there again. Peter shivered as he glanced at the toys out of the corner of his eye.
“No, Ty,” Kyle cried out.
Peter looked at him in confusion, then jumped back in shock as he heard the deep growl behind him. The tigers were lined up across the room, and the albino one was up front.
“He’s not albino,” Kyle whispered. “He’s Amur. Other tigers can be white, but he’s Amur. If he was albino, his stripes wouldn’t be black. He wouldn’t have stripes.”
Peter looked at him in confusion before realization set in. His rage spiked, and he lunged at Kyle again. “You’re like her. She can do that, too. She can eavesdrop on thoughts like that. I won’t allow it, Kyle! Stop this. Stop it now, or you’ll be sorry.”
Kyle’s smile was sad and serene. “I’m not doing it, Daddy. Ty is.”
His mind froze for a moment. “Ty is a toy, Kyle. He’s not real. You’re doing this, now stop it!” He added a shake to snap his son into compliance.
Peter dropped his son on the bed and backed away as an ear-splitting roar cut the air in the room. He clapped his hands over his ears as the room shook with the force of the sound.
In the silence that followed, Kyle laughed in delight. “You can hear a tiger roar for more than two miles.”
Peter’s mouth went dry. His eyes locked on the tigers. “Good God,” he breathed as they stalked toward him. The white one pulled back his cheeks and bared impossibly long teeth. Peter backed to the wall and shook his head painfully, trying to banish
the sight. Long claws sank into the carpet as they closed on him.
“Call them off, Kyle. For the love of God, call them off.”
“I can’t. Tigers are solitary. They don’t have an alpha.”
Peter looked at his son in shock and dismay. “How could you learn that? You’re only four years old.”
“Ty told me. Ty doesn’t like you, Daddy.” Kyle didn’t seem to be seeing anything anymore. He sat on his bed with his arms wrapped around his legs and rocked, looking through the advancing tigers.
“No. Don’t do this, Kyle. Please, don’t.”
Kyle didn’t answer. The tigers pounced. Fire trails of pain branded Peter’s body in eight different locations at once.
“Tigers have three- to four-inch claws on each toe and five toes on their forepaws,” the child offered quietly.
New fire trails snapped Peter into focus. He bellowed in rage and pain, but the scream was cut off as it started by crushing pressure to his throat.
“Large prey is brought down by suffocation by biting the front of the neck,” Kyle informed him.
A new set of fire trails appeared. The pressure disappeared, and Peter collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. The tigers were scattered back in a heap where Kyle had discarded them earlier. Nothing moved. Nothing changed from before the attack.
Peter’s hand ached and he looked down at himself. Red, raised ridges like scratches covered his hands and arms. From the feel of it, they also covered his legs, chest, face, and back. Peter swallowed painfully and pushed to his feet. “I’ll leave now,” he whispered hoarsely.
“No, you won’t.”
Peter backed toward the door. Tears pooled in his eyes as he shook his head. Whatever Kyle was about to do would surely be worse than a simple death.
Kyle locked on his father’s eyes, and an angry light burned out from what was typically a friendly blue. A spike of pain gripped Peter’s mind. Through the haze of it, he could see Kyle’s mouth moving, but the voice was that of a strange man.