Night of the Tiger (Hades' Carnival)

by N. J. Walters

  Roric agreed. The warrior in him wanted to go on the offensive, to take the fight to the enemy. But the man in him, and the beast, wanted to protect Aimee. “You could stay here…” He trailed off as she shot him a look that wasn’t pleasant. His Aimee had a core of steel within her.

  “I repeat—do I look stupid? Everyone knows that if the woman stays behind the bad guys attack and kill her. That’s a given in any bad horror flick. And that’s what my life has become.”

  She must have seen his quizzical expression because she gave a frustrated huff. “You know, movies. Made-up stories with actors shown at the local cinema or on television?”

  He nodded, even though he wasn’t quite certain what she was referring to. He’d heard of television, but he’d never seen one. He understood the concept of movies. They were much like a play except the people weren’t really in the room to perform. It was quite fascinating actually. He was suddenly filled with the need to experience one of these movies with Aimee.

  She stalked toward him. Stopping in front of him, she poked him in the breastbone. “The best chance I have of living through this nightmare is to stay by your side. There’s safety in numbers.”

  Roric could hear the fear beneath the bravado. His heart clenched. His chest ached. He made a vow to himself that he would somehow get Aimee out of this alive. No matter what it took.

  He captured her index finger, which was currently trying to drill a hole in him. “We will stay together.” He turned her hand so that their palms were touching. Their fingers twined together. It was a bond and a promise.

  “Okay then.”

  “When this is over, you’ll have to tell me more about these bad horror movies and why you watch them,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Better yet, I’ll show you some. I think you’ll like them.” Aimee grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. For a moment, the worry was driven from her eyes. “It’s a date,” she promised.

  Roric tightened his fingers around hers. He searched his mind for the meaning of the word. It was a social engagement between a man and a woman. He’d never actually done anything like that before. In times gone by, if he wanted a woman he simply crooked his finger and she came. He was a warrior of a goddess, and all women had been pleased by his sexual attention. And that was all it had been. He’d never had the time or inclination for anything more.

  Now he found he was intrigued by the idea of spending time with Aimee. A date. He wanted it badly, but knew he’d probably never be able to have it. Another grievance to set at Hades’ door. Still, he nodded in agreement. “A date.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Whose brilliant idea was it to come this way?” Aimee scooted forward on her belly, ignoring the chill of the ground as it seeped through the legs of her jeans. Her brown wool jacket was covered in dirt and twigs and God only knew what else. She was trying not to think about bugs. It was such a girly thing to worry about, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’d rather face a demon than a spider any day.

  “Shhh,” Roric admonished as he shifted closer, his body not making a sound as he moved. She wished she could be half as quiet as him. He seemed to glide through the undergrowth, a gift from his inner tiger, no doubt.

  “It was yours, if I remember correctly,” he whispered. He was so close she could feel his breath against her ear.

  It hadn’t taken them long to get here, that is once Roric had let her leave the yard. He’d been fascinated by her car. It was an ancient, beat-up silver Volkswagen Beetle that had seen better days, but she liked it. He’d wanted to know what every instrument did and had played with all the buttons like a little kid. The sense of wonder on his face had made her heart turn over.

  It brought home to her once again just how long he’d been trapped in the prison of his own body. He’d been able to absorb information from the world around him, but knowing something and seeing it were two different things. She’d insisted on giving him a brief driving lesson, just in case they had to make a quick getaway and, for whatever reason, she couldn’t drive.

  They’d jolted around the yard as he tested the gas and then slammed on the brakes. He’d almost sent them into a ditch, but managed to swerve away at the last second. Aimee had given silent thanks that her car was an automatic. She couldn’t imagine trying to teach him to use a standard on such short notice.

  They’d taken the road to the fairgrounds, with her firmly in the driver’s seat, but stopped about a half mile away. Aimee had pulled the car off the road, but she’d turned the vehicle around first. If they had to make a run for it, she wanted to be headed in the right direction.

  That was an hour ago. Since then, they’d walked and then skulked through the woods. Roric had made a complete perimeter check of the carnival. The man moved like a ghost. He’d left her on several occasions, disappearing and returning without a sound. She sounded like an elephant clunking through the woods in comparison.

  The carnival grounds were quiet, with only the occasional person wandering around. Aimee didn’t know if they were all demons or not. Roric said they were and she trusted him. He was an immortal warrior after all, with all kinds of super senses she didn’t have.

  “When are we going into the tent?” Waiting around wasn’t going to make it any easier. In fact, it was doing just the opposite. The longer she had time to think about it, the less of a good idea it seemed. Yet they really didn’t have any other option.

  Roric brushed a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. His touch was incredibly gentle, so at odds with such a large, rough man. “There’s still time for you to return home.”

  She shook her head. “I told you how that story goes—single woman, home alone, eaten by demons. Not pretty.” Aimee admitted to herself that she was scared to death. It would be stupid not to be. But she’d rather be here with Roric than home alone, waiting and wondering.

  “Okay. Stay close to me.” His blue eyes searched her face as he waited for her agreement.

  “Believe me, I have no intentions of wandering off on my own.” No way was she going to be one of those TSTL—too stupid to live—heroines, like some she’d read about in a few of the graphic novels and comics she’d illustrated or watched in the movies. She had an immortal warrior on her side, and she was sticking close.

  “Good.” He stared at her until she started to squirm. Even lying in the dirt and bugs, the man turned her on. How sad was that?

  He leaned forward and kissed her. Unlike the last kiss he’d given her in the kitchen, this one was hard and deep. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tasting her, devouring her. Aimee couldn’t breathe as Roric sucked the air from her lungs. She clutched his shirt—another one of her father’s—and slid her hands slowly up his chest until her fingers dug into his shoulders. She was gasping when he pulled away.

  “Stay behind me,” he whispered before turning away and moving stealthily toward the edge of the woods.

  Aimee thought about shucking her jacket. She was suddenly way too hot. The urge to hit him was overwhelming. How could he kiss her senseless and then just slip away like nothing had happened?

  Muttering a few unpleasant things under her breath about men, and immortal warriors in particular, she crawled after him. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to keep up without making too much of a racket. She also managed to think only once about the bugs she was probably dragging her body over. Okay, twice. She was only human.

  Roric came to a halt behind the tent she’d pointed out earlier as the most likely one to contain the carousel. She’d gone over the layout in her mind repeatedly until she’d retraced her steps as best she could. If it wasn’t the exact spot, it should at least be close.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Whether for confirmation or just to check on her, she wasn’t certain. But she nodded anyway. Without a word, he swiveled back around and crept swiftly over the open ground to the edge of the canvas tent. A dagger appeared in his hand, and he silently used it to slit through the material. P
oking his head through the hole, he checked out the interior.

  Once again, Aimee was reminded that he was special. He moved with a fluid grace that was mesmerizing. The tiger was hunting.

  He turned and beckoned her forward. Glancing to the right and left, she left the dubious protection of the trees and shrubs when the coast looked clear. The dry grass crackled beneath the soles of her boots, and her pulse whooshed in her ears so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else around her. Roric held the material apart and she slipped through the opening.

  The dagger disappeared and was replaced by a sword. Aimee recognized it as one of the four-foot-long weapons he’d used to dispatch the demons earlier. Apparently, decapitation was the only sure way to kill a demon. A gunshot might slow it down or incapacitate it for a while, but it wouldn’t kill it. Roric had been very clear about that when she’d asked him earlier.

  She’d wanted to bring her splitting maul with her. Roric had argued that it would be too cumbersome for her to drag through the woods. Plus, he’d manifest her a sword if there was fighting. She wanted to ask him for one now, but didn’t dare speak. She knew the basics on how to use one, thanks to a seminar she’d taken on medieval sword fighting at a comic book convention her agent had talked her into attending. Not that she was actually skilled with a sword, but she wasn’t likely to harm herself with one either.

  Her eyes were gradually becoming accustomed to the dark, but Roric was already moving. His eyes were narrowed, but she had no doubt he was seeing every square inch of the space. His superior vision was yet another reminder that he was a predator, something very different from her.

  The inside of the tent looked much as it had the night she was here. It smelled slightly musty, permeated with a layer of grease and spun sugar from the concession stands.

  “Which way?” His voice was almost a soundless whisper.

  She glanced right and left, trying to get her bearings. She felt a distinct pull to the left. “This way.”

  Rather than letting her lead, he went ahead of her, sword held high and ready. The ground was hard-packed beneath her feet, allowing her to move soundlessly. She stayed close to Roric. It was so dark in the tent it would be easy for her to become disoriented if she lost sight of him.

  She felt something in the air. Expectation. Anticipation. Someone or something was there. Aimee placed her hand on Roric’s back. The muscles tightened, but he didn’t turn around. She knew he had to be feeling it too.

  Silently, he stalked forward. She heard the light brush of canvas and then they were in another room. A dim light reflected eerily off the dark walls, casting grotesque shadows around the room. There in the center of the room sat the carousel. Only this time, the tiger was no longer there. Roric had been set free.

  The reality of the situation slammed home. They were really going to try to find a way to free the other three warriors. The bear, wolf and lion all waited. Aimee could feel the swell of anticipation, of anger, of fear. So much pain and emotion swirled around her.

  She wanted to run, to leave this all behind her. She wanted her boring life back. She wanted to spend the day working on illustrations for her latest project. Instead, she took a step toward the carousel. She’d freed one of them by climbing on the ride. She was willing to try it again.

  Roric was staring at the carousel with such a look of longing and fear that it broke her heart. So many centuries imprisoned. He knew what the rest of them were going through, had lived through it himself.

  “Which one?” She kept her voice low.

  He walked toward the lion and rubbed his hand over the creature’s head. He did the same for the wolf before coming to a stop beside the final one. “Marko.” He pointed her toward the bear.

  Adrenaline raced through her system. She rubbed her damp palms against her jeans. This was it. Stepping up onto the base of the ride, she patted the bear’s flank. It felt cold and lifeless, not at all like the tiger had the night she’d freed Roric. Frowning, she threw her leg over the animal, settling herself on his back.

  Nothing.

  She didn’t want to look at Roric, didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes, but she forced herself to do so. He was watching the bear, sadness darkening his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, my friend.”

  For a brief moment, she thought she felt the ripple of muscles beneath her thighs. Then it was gone and the creature was solid once again. Aimee slid off the animal’s back and placed her hand on Roric’s arm. “I’m sorry.” The words did nothing to convey the depth of the sorrow she felt at being unable to free his friends.

  He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. We knew this probably wouldn’t work.”

  “Yet you had to try.” The female voice rang out from the shadows. “You warriors are so predictable.”

  The lights came up, temporarily blinding Aimee. She shaded her eyes with her hand and blinked to clear her vision.

  Sandra strode from a dark corner of the tent. “Stavros tried to do the exact same thing. Except we didn’t let the jaguar get quite this far. Just in case, you understand. But the boss wanted to know for sure if one woman could free all of you or if a specific woman was really needed for each of you. I guess we know the answer to that question.” The demon frowned and shook her head, clucking her tongue. “I expected better from you,” she chided Roric. “After all, you’re the leader of this motley group.”

  The blonde, blue-eyed demon slowly circled the carousel, stroking her hand over the three remaining animals. As always, Sandra looked good, better than good. She was wearing a skin-tight red dress that plunged to her navel, exposing more than a hint of her bountiful breasts. The sides of the dress were slit all the way to her waist, parting with each step she took, showing off her long, supple legs to their best advantage.

  In her jeans, shirt and brown jacket, Aimee felt like a frump next to her. At least now she knew that those looks came from unnatural means. It made her feel slightly better. Not much, but some.

  Roric kept his sword raised, but said nothing. Waiting. Watching.

  Sandra stopped beside Marco and ran her fingers through his fur. The muscles beneath his skin rippled. His jaw opened, revealing long, white teeth. The bear emitted a low growl that made the demon laugh.

  “Such spirit you all have. A pity it’s been caged all these years.” Sandra lifted her hand and the bear turned solid again, but this time Aimee swore she could see anguish in its eyes.

  “What a horrible thing for your goddess to do to you after all those years of faithful service.” Sandra raised her hands above her head, catching the edge of the carousel top. The move stretched her lithe form, lifting her ample breasts for better viewing. “But in the end everyone always looks out for themselves.”

  Aimee had no doubt the movement was a calculated one. She glanced at Roric and was pleased to note he was watching the demon’s face and not her boobs. Then again, he knew what she looked like without her glamour, and it wasn’t pretty.

  Undaunted, Sandra slowly lowered her arms, running her hands over her breasts as she did so. “She imprisoned all of you for more than five thousand years.”

  “She saved us from Hell.” Roric’s voice was hard and deep.

  The demon shrugged. “That’s a matter of opinion, I suppose. I wonder what your friends would say if they had the chance. Would they turn on your goddess?” She gave the wolf a speculative glance. “Would they turn on you?”

  “Never.” There was not a single shred of doubt in Roric’s voice. Aimee admired his conviction even as she wanted to shake him for his pig-headedness. She knew he still didn’t believe that she’d talked to Mordecai. But deep in her heart, she knew she had.

  Sandra laughed. The shrill sound sent shivers down Aimee’s spine. The air seemed to thicken around them. “So stubborn. So sure,” she taunted.

  Roric’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the hilt of his sword. Aimee noted that, unlike the demons that had attacked them in her back yard, this one stayed j
ust out of the reach of the razor-sharp blade. Smart demon.

  Sandra smiled, her ruby-red lips tilting upward. She looked pleased. Like the proverbial cat who’d just eaten the canary. Aimee searched the area around her for a weapon, wishing now more than ever she’d insisted on bringing her maul.

  “Phoenix wasn’t much fun. He went up in a ball of flames, taking the woman who’d freed him along for the ride. Not very nice of him,” Sandra pouted.

  Aimee quickly glanced at Roric, not wanting to take her eyes from the demon for more than a split second. She was planning something. It was in her eyes, the way they were filled with malevolent glee. Roric could have been carved from stone. Except for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he didn’t move a muscle.

  Sandra hopped onto the platform of the carousel, standing where the jaguar used to be. “Now Stavros was more of a challenge.” She licked her lips.

  Aimee gasped when she saw the demon’s tongue. It was forked like a serpent.

  “What about Stavros?” Roric took a step toward Sandra. Aimee wanted to grab onto the waistband of his pants and pull him back. The demon was distracting him on purpose, but he was too emotionally involved to notice.

  “Mmm.” Sandra undulated her hips. “Now he would have been a challenging creature to ride.” Laughter rippled in the air as the demon twirled in a circle. “He did his best to protect the poor creature who freed him. Such a frail little thing she was.”

  Aimee was getting sick to her stomach. All the women who’d freed the warriors had come to a bad end. She wasn’t sure which was worse, going up in flames or death by demon.

  “But Mordecai was smarter.” Sandra hopped off the carousel, the slit of her dress falling back to reveal a shapely thigh and part of her bare buttocks. “He sacrificed the girl. Killed her himself as an act of good faith.”

  “You lie.” Roric’s voice was rough as though the words were torn from his throat.