Minutes became hours of enjoyment as Arielle, the lioness of God, became Luke Simball’s best pupil. Her first lesson opened new horizons of possibility and for the first time she saw what Luke had known for two years: the joy of the hunt was almost as sweet as the taste of the kill.
As Arielle toyed with the dying creature, Luke watched like what he was–king of the pride, green eyes glowing with lust for this indomitable creature in all her forms.
Shelly looked up at Luke Simball’s darkened rooms. She didn’t think he’d be there, but she hoped a search would yield some clue as to where he’d spirited Arielle. She was about to slip around to the back of the flat when she noticed two things: Luke’s dark glossy door was scratched with the deep imprint of a lion’s claws. And to the side of the building stood a restive black Arabian Shelly recognized. Seth’s horse.
A bundle was tied neatly over the saddle, and when she opened it, a black cloak and black garments were revealed, wrapped neatly about Seth’s magnificent lion headed cane. When she shifted the bundle, however, her hand came away dotted with blood. She reared back, nostrils flaring at the familiar scent, but blood didn’t carry the unique signature of a being as did skin, hair and sweat.
He’d removed his clothes for the same reason she removed hers: to shape shift. He was chasing Luke and Arielle. Shelly inhaled the familiar scent of Seth, and then she put the clothes back as she’d found them, wondering whom he’d injured, or perhaps killed, though there did not appear to be enough blood for murder.
Shelly moved warily closer to the scratched door, looking around for any threat, and then, using her powerful sense of smell, she sniffed the marks, not sure if she hoped the scent matched the clothes, or it did not, but this piece of evidence would be irrefutable. The one thing Seth could not hide no matter how skillful his psychic abilities.
Every creature, whether man or beast, smelled slightly different, an olfactory signature, as it were. When she sniffed deeply of the claw marks, the scent was bold, and dark and could be overpowering, like the man who emitted it–Seth. Exactly the same scent coming from the clothes. Shelly stumbled back at this proof that Seth was certainly a lion creature, perhaps Mihos himself reborn.
It was certain Seth had deliberately left his sign emblazoned on Luke’s door, a blatant challenge. A battle was brewing. As she’d begun to suspect, there were two great cat-beasts wandering London, not one. And they were half brothers, both with Egyptian blood, who were also mortal enemies.
Most terrifying of all, Arielle was the prize they battled over….
Moving behind a huge pile of rugs behind a rug establishment, Shelly methodically removed her own clothes. Normally she’d never risk transformation in such a dense part of a city, but she had no choice. It would be easier to track the trail four great lion paws had left, if she, too, were fleetly four-footed. She’d just have to try to avoid any innocent citizenry.
One alarm incited by cat creatures was bad enough.
A woman went behind the pile of rugs. A giant wolf came out, greyish green eyes glowing with enjoyment of the hunt.
As Shelly slinked behind buildings and under bridges, sniffing a trail only she could define, she was too preoccupied to notice that she, too, had been under stealthy observation as she entered the pile of rugs a woman and emerged a wolf. Smiling with a peculiar mix of admiration and rueful respect, as if he had no illusions about the power of the intellect he toyed with, Ethan Perot ducked out from under a wagon, where he’d hidden to observe her. He was dressed in rags, his face shielded by a muffler, but his green eyes were keen above the tattered wool.
His shoes were tied with rags to muffle their hard soles, and he followed her at a goodly distance as the cat tracks wove away from the streets, deeper into the countryside.
At Seth Taub’s lodgings, his ancient manservant tottered to the door. “I’m comin’, no need to knock the damn door down!” He opened the door a crack, leaving the chain latched, to stare out with an inimical, watery eye. “What be the calamity?”
“We wish to speak with your master, my good man,” said a bobby, his hand restive on his stick. He was backed up by several more bobbies, and behind them was a man in a suit and bowler hat. “Do ye know what time it be?”
“It’s never too late to apprehend a murderer,” the bobby retorted.
The manservant’s eyes widened. “Mr. Taub is indisposed,” came the cool response sounding much more cultured.
“Then we wish to search the premises. Does he own a gold lion headed cane?”
The manservant hesitated. “Aye. But so do half the gents in London.”
“Not like this one.” A sketch was thrust through the door.
Dismay flickered in the rheumy eyes and was noticed by the silent, watching man in the background. He finally spoke. “I have verified Taub’s use of that blasted sword in the cane. There’s no need to lie and get yourself in trouble.”
The manservant blinked out at the man. “And you be?”
“A member of his club. He attacked me with that sword cane once. He will not do so again.” The gentleman, such as he was, looked at the bobbies. “I’d suggest we wait.”
“Aye, your lordship. Excellent notion.” The captain of the policemen motioned to his men, and they all piled across the street to sit on low walls and smoke.
Samuel Hathaway, Marquis of Brackton, Seth’s one time gaming opponent, pulled a file from his pocket and began to manicure his nails, looking forward to repaying a slight with a greater slight.
What could be more satisfying than to see that arrogant bastard jailed for murder? Whether he did it or not was immaterial to the Marquis.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When, some thirty minutes later, she reached a small clearing in a dense woody copse not far from the main road into London, Shelly heard them long before she saw them. The smells that wafted to her on the breeze were both familiar and alarming: scents of blood and fear, and vicious enjoyment of both in the acrid odor of cat excitement.
She crouched in the trees, looking into the clearing. Two great cats, one a golden maned lion and the other a lovely, lethal snow leopard with blue eyes the exact shade of Arielle’s, toyed with a buck. The poor creature made abortive attempts to defend itself with magnificent antlers, but since Luke held it immobilized with a giant paw, the attempt barely lifted its head off the ground even as it drove Luke’s claws deeper into its neck. It lashed out with a hoof, striking Arielle-leopard in the jaw. Her half hearted nips at the haunch area of the deer were interrupted by an angry growl as her head popped back at the blow. Then the glowing feline eyes, already slitted, narrowed.
As Shelly watched, Arielle sank her teeth deeply into a haunch. Blood spurted and dripped down the sides of her mouth. Under Luke’s approving gaze, she ripped off a piece of haunch meat and chewed. The deer bleated in pain but went still again under Luke’s grip.
Shelly couldn’t bear to watch any longer, particularly as she knew that the more she tasted of blood and fear, the greater would become Arielle’s bond both with Luke’s evil influence and her own cat persona. Such was the feline way.
And such was the reason Isis had killed herself…Shelly had little choice. The only way to save Arielle from the ruination of feline blood lust was to kill the deer and stop the hunt. She looked cooly about the clearing, planning her attack–and saw a gun barrel poking out of a tree high above the clearing.
Astounded, she looked up to meet Ethan Perot’s eyes. He held a rifle in his capable hands, but he was not fixated on the grisly scene below. He was fixated on her. He stared at her with both fascination and…recognition. At that moment, she knew beyond any doubt that he was aware of her werewolf powers but had kept that knowledge to himself. To what purpose, she could not say, nor did she have time to weigh the ramifications of this unwelcome revelation.
The deer bleated again and Arielle took another bite.
With one giant leap, Shelly topped the bushes and landed lightly next to the dying deer, con
fronting both cats. Arielle was still mesmerized by the taste and smell of blood, but Luke stood to meet her, roaring. Shelly braced herself, hackles raised, light on her feet. The minute he tensed to leap over the deer, she dodged in the other direction and knocked Arielle aside. With two swipes of her paw, it was done.
The poor stag lay eviscerated, dead within seconds. Shelly’s nostrils flared at the scent, but she had other priorities than feeding. Namely, defending herself. Furthermore, as she squared off with Luke, she knew she had two huge liabilities Luke didn’t face: she dared not scratch or wound him lest werewolf skills be added to his own already formidable talent for killing. And she still had to find a way to protect Arielle and get her uncooperative charge away unscathed.
Perhaps it was good Ethan had spied on her, after all.
Luke, with an enraged roar that virtually shook the treetops, attacked. The first swipe of his paw knocked Shelly off her feet sideways into a tree. She lay winded for a second, scratches in her side oozing blood, but she heard him coming and knew she had seconds to regroup. The report of a rifle shot echoed through the clearing.
Luke yowled in pain as an oozing hole appeared in his shoulder. He licked it.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Shelly staggered to her feet. As she watched, the hole in Luke’s shoulder slowly closed as the bullet popped free from the healed flesh. His regenerative powers were amazing, stronger even than her own. She barely had time to take cover behind the tree in time to avoid another blow. The claws slashed into tree bark instead. Luke tried to pull free, but his claws were hooked too deeply.
Shelly used the opportunity to try to hustle Arielle to safety, but she found herself facing a very angry snow leopard instead of the innocent young girl she’d been charged to keep. Arielle, in her feline form, was too new to her powers to be as dangerous as Luke, but she crouched on her haunches, long, magnificent tail switching, in front of her kill, growling a warning. Luke struggled so hard to escape the tree’s clutches that he ripped one of his claws loose. But the other four held.
And above their heads, the rifle poised, moving between Luke and Arielle. Shelly gave Ethan a warning look and a shake of the head but she didn’t believe he’d ever shoot Arielle, even to protect her protectress.
Freezing so she seemed less of a threat to Arielle’s heightened state, Shelly said, “Arielle, I know you can hear me. Do you not see that this is exactly the sickness your mother warned you about?” Shelly inched closer as she spoke, but Arielle’s only response was a vicious swipe of a heavily furred paw that still displayed lethal claws.
Shelly tried again. “The first time it will be a deer, but the next, he will seduce you into killing the ultimate prey–a human. And then it will be too late for you. You will forever rule the night, but at what price? I know something of the toll immortality takes on a human soul.”
Arielle’s switching tail slowed. The blood lust in the blue eyes began to dim.
And above, Ethan was riveted on Shelly.
Luke struggled harder at the tree, growling in frustration, but his claws remained embedded. His voice sounding strange, interspersed with hisses, he said, “Arielle, your mother was not strong enough to survive the change and turn it to the good it can serve. This shapeshifter stinks of the jackal and is not to be trusted--”
Shelly seized the opportunity her new knowledge of Egyptian mythology granted her. “Yes, Arielle, I am related to the jackal. I serve Anubis, god of the underworld. Heed me and you heed him. He dwells with your mother--”
So stealthily had Luke worked his claws free that Shelly scarcely had time to react before he was upon her. She moved slightly aside as she felt the movement behind her, and the killing slash of lethal paws that would have taken off her head landed on her shoulder instead. She felt the strike pass deeply through flesh to bone.
Yelping, she reacted instinctively, turning on him with her teeth bared in a grimace of part pain and part determination. With all her might, she latched onto one of the paws lashing at her, her jaw clamping down as she tried to drag him away from Arielle. It was a delicate balance, for she had to be careful not to bite hard enough to bring blood, for the notion of Luke Simball, warrior Mihos, possessing werewolf skills in addition to his own did not bear thinking about.
Luke didn’t try to pull away. Like the vicious killer he was, he turned her attack to his advantage and used their close proximity to sink his fangs into her neck. He didn’t struggle to pull his claw away. He let her bite.
Through the searing pain, Shelly heard the rifle shots in rapid succession, so close that she felt the singe of hair and didn’t know if it were Luke’s or her own. But she also knew the puny rounds would scarcely slow Luke down, even if Ethan could hit him in the darkness from a perch high above.
If he hit Luke, the shots did no good, for she felt her lungs emptying of air as Luke bit harder. Blood began to seep from the wound, and she knew he was near her carotid artery. In reflexive self defense, she bit down too, hard enough to bring the taste of blood.
Despite the dangers of turning him to her kind, she had little choice but to try to hurt him enough to make him slink away. He could not kill her like this but he could incapacitate her and make off with Arielle. Her indomitable will began to waver as her sight grew dim. She clamped down viciously, hearing bone crack. Still Luke didn’t struggle, biting harder at her neck in their obscene embrace of two powerful beings committed to dominance.
For now, he won. Her jaws relaxed automatically as her consciousness began to fade. Luke pulled his paw free even as he bit harder, trying to suffocate her in the way of his kind.
Shelly went limp, her breath stolen, her neck bleeding.
Luke released her and watched her fall to the ground. Almost lazily, Luke licked at the paw that was now only half connected by a few frayed tendons, even some of the bones crushed.
The paw began to reform. Luke looked over at Arielle. She stared at Shelly’s limp form, back at Luke. He began to approach her, his eyes never leaving hers, limping on the bad paw that was still reforming.
Above, Ethan rapidly reloaded, but the frustration in his face was testament to his sense of futility. Worriedly, he glanced between Luke’s wound and Shelly’s still form.
Luke nudged the dead deer with his nose, shoving it toward Arielle. “Feast, my love. You have earned the taste.” Arielle looked between Shelly and Luke, back down at the deer. Her nostrils flared. She delicately licked the side of her mouth where blood still flecked. The fear and confusion in her gaze began to fade again behind the glow.
“Feed, Arielle,” coaxed Luke. “It is your birthright. Join me and we will both live forever.”
The gun wavered in Ethan’s hand. He pointed the barrel at Luke, then moved it toward Arielle. One shot, in the chest. She probably had no regenerative powers yet since the transformation was not complete, but her mother would not want her to live as Luke’s consort, a ruthless feline without morals or conscience preying on mortals for all eternity.
Just as his finger tightened on the trigger, tears glazing his eyes at what he had to do, an enormous figure leaped into the clearing. A lion with a black mane and glowing golden eyes. With a distinctive, rasping cough of a feline challenge, he stared directly into Luke’s green eyes.
“Brother, you will not do this. If you insist on turning her to evil merely so you can achieve immortality, you leave me no choice but to kill you to stop it.”
Ethan almost fell out of the tree as he leaned to watch in astonishment. He had to catch himself. The gun went flying. All he could do now was observe.
Luke sat back on his haunches, giving a lion’s version of a scoffing cough. “She tried. I shall be happy to teach you the same lesson that I cannot be killed easily.”
Seth looked at Shelly’s still lupine form, and when he stared at his brother, his pupils had grown narrow, black and menacing, stark against the golden irises. “I’ll kill Arielle myself before I’ll let you steal what sense of humanity she h
as left.”
Oblivious to the battle for her soul, Arielle had begun to feed again.
“Too late,” Luke said tauntingly as Arielle bit deeply into the buck’s still heart.
Seth-lion tensed and leaped right over Luke to tackle Arielle and force her away from the deer. She snarled at him, swatting. He swatted back, gently, but the force was enough to roll her across the clearing into a tree. She whacked her head against the huge bore of the oak and collapsed, unconscious.
His maneuver gave Luke time to attack. Seth barely had time to turn to meet him, and Luke’s first strike caught him squarely in the chest. Claw marks slashed into his breastbone, but he struck back with a vicious slash of teeth and claw that brought great gashes into Luke’s side and neck. Luke tried to counter with more bites and bats of his front paws, but Seth was, for once, the one who seemed possessed.
The two lions reared back on their haunches, slashing with front paws and biting. The clearing rang with their roars, and blood soon dotted the leaves beneath their great paws. But while Luke soon grew weak, already exhausted by his battle with Shelly, Seth seemed immune to the wounds he received. Every attack Luke made was met with more vicious parries. Seth was slightly larger and obviously stronger, and his superior ability soon made the difference.
“You’re not immortal yet,” Seth purred, using his head to butt Luke halfway across the clearing. The sound of cracking ribs preceded a grunt of pain.
Taking advantage of the distance between them, Luke slunk into the darkness, bleeding from numerous wounds, and limping from the piece of raw flesh and mangled hide dangling from his shoulder. Seth stared after him, breathing hard, and then he went to awaken Arielle. He licked her cheek gently, and then turned the same tender attention to her mouth. She began to stir, and when her eyes flicked open, she was dazed and bewildered. The woman looked out at them through the cat’s eyes, and immediately she began to transform. Sitting back on his haunches, Seth watched, giving a great cat’s purr of contentment.
Catspell Page 20