“Hey!” he called, grinning a stupid, human grin. “I saw you walking, and I thought I’d give you a lift. You live northside, right?”
It was so strange how I regarded him, now. Before, back in that club, he was Jacques, a nice-looking guy with a sweet car, someone who was way out of my league, the kind of guy who’d be nice to you just so he could sleep with your hot friends. Even if you knew he was doing it, you put up with it because, well, he was nice and there was no clear reason to tell him to piss off.
Now, though, he was just a transparent and pointless human whose every mannerism bored me. “Actually,” I said, “that’d be nice. Thanks so much.” I preferred to walk, but I had to keep up the appearance of normality.
“Great,” he said, running around the other side to open the door for me.
Transparent niceness. I slid into the seat, smiling and clipping on my seatbelt out of habit, even though I doubted I needed it anymore.
“So why were you out walking?” he asked as he pulled back onto the highway, accelerating to keep pace with the other cars. “Just out for the exercise?”
“I just wanted to run, that’s all.” I shuffled my feet further forward, hoping he wouldn’t notice I had no shoes.
He nodded, though, and I figured he wasn’t really listening to whatever I said and just wanted to talk about himself. “Yeah, that’s cool. I just came back from shooting.”
The car drove down the highway towards the city, keeping pace with the other cars on the road, but I felt like it was travelling extremely slowly. A quick glance at the speedometer revealed it was moving at a little over the speed limit. To me it seemed to be crawling along, time barely passing.
I found his life, his existence, entirely meaningless, but I wanted conversation to drive away the boredom. “Shooting?”
“Yeah. Competition trap. Basically, they have this machine, right, it throws little clay disks into the air, and you shoot ’em—”
“With a shotgun.” I yawned, stretching in the seat. “I know how it works.”
He laughed, nodding as he turned a corner towards the city. “You shoot?”
“No, I read,” I answered, a little more acidic than I meant.
“Sorry. I know chicks aren’t usually into guns.”
“It’s okay.”
We made polite conversation until the car pulled up outside my apartment. I stepped out, giving him a polite smile. “Thanks for the lift.”
“No worries.” He smiled, unclipping his seatbelt. “Hey, you mind if I come in for a bit?”
Seriously? The guy slept with my best friend, now he was trying his moves on me, too? “Actually, my boyfriend is coming over.” Well, it was the truth. “And I still have to clean. The cops made a huge mess of everything. Sorry.”
“No worries, no worries. Maybe next time.”
“Maybe.”
He gave a little mock salute, then I closed the door.
Jacques’s car turned and went back the way it came. As it did, I saw a fat stray cat on the other side of the street, its coat a mix of black and white, look at me and then dart into a nearby storm drain, disappearing in moments. I stared after it as it went, thinking of Clintonette’s newly born kittens—orange like her, but with patches of white and black.
“Yeah, you better run,” I said, groaning to myself. I wondered how he had gotten into my apartment. That sneaky bastard.
I shook my head and began the long climb up the stairs.
10
Drawn from a Single Pool
My apartment seemed so stale and lifeless now, even with the sound of Clintonette and her horde of mewing kittens filling up the small, cramped hallways. I remembered my excitement at finding this place, a place to call my very own, something that was mine. My place, where I could be myself.
Yet the person I used to be wasn’t me anymore. The apartment was the home of someone else, now, and reflected that person’s life. The red dress I’d worn that fateful night in the nightclub, the pictures of a person I barely recognised doing things I hardly cared about, talking to people I found empty and dull.
I didn’t have my keys with me but Ishan had thought to leave my front door open. This was good; I didn’t want to break another window, even though one of the other Rakshasa had apparently fixed it. Fortunately the apartment hadn’t been burglarised… not that anyone could tell from the absolute pig sty inside.
Katelyn had reported me missing and the cops had searched my apartment. I sighed, regarding the mess. It was time to clean up. I picked up my phone, then remembered it had been soaked through. I guessed calling Katelyn would have to wait, and I’d have to do the cleaning myself. I set to work, pulling my heavy bookcase back into place with surprising ease, scooping up the contents and shoving them haphazardly back into drawers. My stuff, once my neatly organised pride and joy, seemed worthless to me now.
The fridge was dented, but the seal seemed intact. The rest was just stuff, papers and knick-knacks, that needed to be put back where they had come from.
I’d just finished getting things clean when the doorbell rang. Taken by a surge of eager anticipation, I darted over to the door and pulled it open.
A young Indian man in his mid twenties, hands in the pocket of his jeans, gave me a curt nod. My face fell; I was expecting Ishan, but this one’s face seemed familiar.
“Sorry, can I help you?”
“Stay away from Ishan.”
The moment he spoke I recognised him. His human form was very different from his Rakshasa one, but his voice had barely changed at all.
“Hailstone?”
He leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes at me. “Yeah. Stay away from Ishan. Move out of the city and never see him again.”
I stared curiously at him, trying to process what he was telling me. “But I thought…”
“Forget what you thought, okay? Look. He’s Rewa. You’re Altaican. You’re from different worlds. You don’t understand—you can’t understand—because you’re just a fledgling. But I’m telling you now… whatever bond, whatever link you think you two have with each other, it’s not going to amount to anything. It’s impossible.”
I had no idea what to say, so instead I just stared at the guy. Finally I found my voice. “I… I can’t do that.”
“You can,” Hailstone said, “and you will. This happens sometimes, a bond formed in error. It will go away in time, sooner or later, but listen very carefully. You can’t see Ishan again.”
My stomach hurt, suddenly, a pain that mimicked the emotional impact of what he was telling me. I shook my head emphatically. “No. No, I will. I have to—”
Suddenly, faster than I could see, Hailstone’s hand flew up to my throat. He gripped me tightly, hoisting me off the ground as he stepped forward into my apartment. He pulled his face down to mine. “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear, Altaican. You will never see Ishan again. Do you understand?”
I choked, gasping, kicking at his thighs. He relaxed his grip on my windpipe enough for me to gasp in a half-lungful of air. “N-No! You told me you accepted our bond!”
Hailstone growled and shoved me back. I stumbled but kept my footing, my agility surprising me.
“Don’t mistake what I say before my coven for what I truly feel, fledgling. This comes from me. Ishan is a good man with a strong heart. He cannot be corrupted by you and your kind. You Altaicans are all the same; you cannot be trusted.”
I rubbed my bruised throat, coughing. “What have we ever done to you?”
Hailstone fixed his gaze upon me, staring unblinkingly into my eyes. I matched his stare with one of my own. “The Champawat Tiger is one of yours,” he growled, “and he killed my brother. He’s killed fledglings, Rewa more than Altaica, and he’s an aberration. A monster. His actions threaten to expose us. If our kind are discovered and word gets back to India, they will come for us, and their vengeance will be swift and terrible. None of us will be spared.”
“The media don’t know what he is yet.
The humans think he’s one of them.”
He scowled, giving a dismissive snort. “For now.”
I coughed again, but already the bruises on my throat were feeling better. Already my body was healing itself. “Why does he kill fledglings?”
“The Champawat Tiger believes that the power of the Rakshasa is all drawn from a single pool. The more of us there are, the weaker we all become. The converse is also true. He wants power, plain and simple, nothing more.”
“I’m not like him.” I tried to make my voice as confident as I could. I needed Hailstone to believe that I would never, ever, be like the Champawat Tiger. “That monster tried to kill me, too. I’m not like that.”
“I can’t take that risk,” said Hailstone. “Not now, not ever.”
I held my arms out wide. “So just kill me, then.”
He stared at me, flexing his muscled arms. “Fine,” he said. “If you want it that way.”
In a flash he was upon me again, and I didn’t resist as he pressed my windpipe closed. I stared directly into his brown eyes as the seconds passed. I felt myself become lightheaded, and remembered what Ishan had told me. We needed less air, we were stronger…
But we had limits.
The world became darker and my hands shook at my sides. I still didn’t fight back. My body struggled for air, my brain pleaded with me to breathe, but I forced myself to be still, to let him choke me. Slowly the world began to go grey as though all the colour had been drained out of it.
And then I was on the floor, panting and heaving, clutching at my bruised, aching throat.
Hailstone regarded me, scowling darkly. “Leave town tonight,” he said, then turned his back to me.
Fighting for air I stared up at Hailstone’s back as he closed the door of my apartment and left me alone on the cold tile floor.
Epilogue
How To Hurt A Rakshasa
It took me several minutes to get my breath back. My neck, sore and bruised, still felt tender after Hailstone had injured it again. Still, I could feel the power of the Rakshasa bloodline within me, healing me. A human would have died, their neck snapped in an instant.
But that wasn’t my fate, not now that I was what I was. I wet a cloth from the sink and pressed the cool wetness against my bruised skin, letting the sensation ease the pain. Clintonette and the kittens mewed incessantly, so I poured a nice big pile of food into my shoe closet then left the door open enough for them to get out if they wanted.
Then I figured I should feed myself. I walked back into the kitchen in time to hear a knock on the door. Warily, I crept up, peering through the peephole.
Ishan.
I threw open the door, falling straight into his arms, grabbing him and holding him close. I felt his strong arms around me, holding my middle, pressing me close to him. I rubbed my cheek against his upper chest, squeezing him tightly.
“I wasn’t sure you would come,” I said, fighting to keep myself from bursting into tears.
Ishan stroked my back, gently guiding me inside. “I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted to do. You were in my thoughts all day.”
“And you in mine.” I laughed, letting the stress of Hailstone’s visit evaporate.
I told Ishan what had transpired as we stood in my kitchen, and I could see the displeasure grow over his face as I recalled the visit from Hailstone. Especially that he had ordered me away.
“Hailstone is wrong,” Ishan said, holding me tightly. “He is wrong, and I will make the others see. He’s out of line, don’t worry. We’ll make this right.”
“I hope so.”
Our lips met, and he held me tightly, squeezing me against his body. I melted into his arms, casually slipping one of my hands up the back of his shirt, rubbing gently over his bare skin. “How long can you stay?” I asked.
“Mmm, a few hours,” Ishan said. “Any more and your coven will start asking questions.”
“Let them ask,” I said, grinning coyly, brushing my nose to his. “I like holding you for real. It’s… nice.”
“Just holding?” he asked, his hands sliding down to my backside, squeezing.
I kissed him again. “Okay, I confess. I’m planning a little more.”
We were enjoying a quiet moment, kissing in my small kitchen, when the phone rang. The landline.
I’d honestly forgotten I had a landline. I used my mobile for everything. I disentangled myself from Ishan, giving him a curious shrug, then lifted the receiver and put it to my ear. “Hello?”
There was a brief silence, broken only by a faint crackling on the line as though the signal were coming through uncleanly. Then a familiar voice, low and gravely like a purr, came through the tiny earpiece.
“Do you know how to hurt a Rakshasa?”
The Champawat Tiger. I gripped the phone tightly, turning to Ishan. I could tell he knew exactly who it was. “How did you get this number?” I asked.
“Answer the question.”
I let him sit in silence for a moment, but Ishan nodded for me to speak, so eventually I said, “Yes. Silver.”
“Wrong. That is how you kill a Rakshasa. You kill them with silver or powerful firearms, or drowning, or flame. Hurting them takes something more. You see, I respect the power of the Rakshasa, but not in the way you might be expecting. You see, the Rakshasa are the greatest predators on this planet. They have no fear. But a life without fear is a life spent believing that your power is unlimited. That, itself, is a weakness.”
I glanced around, reflexively, behind me, and put my back up against the dented fridge. Ishan moved beside me, slipping a hand against mine, squeezing tightly. He put his ear close to the receiver, listening as well.
“I don’t feel like my power is unlimited,” I said.
“And you are wiser for this. So my riddle for you, little fledgling, is this. How do you hurt someone who doesn’t fear death? Someone who shrugs off pain and suffering, who lives amongst their lessers, someone who is demonstrably better than the mindless cattle who make up the human species? How do you hurt those who cannot be hurt?”
I shrugged, holding the receiver to my ear with my shoulder. “I don’t know, but I figure you’re about to tell me.”
I could hear the noise of a phone being passed from one person to another, then a quiet sob.
“Libby?”
My blood ran cold. “Katelyn?!”
“LIBBY!? L-L-Libby, Libby, l-listen, there’s a monster, a-a tiger monster, don’t come looking for me, he knows you, it’s a trap, it’s a—”
Silence, then the Champawat Tiger again. “You hurt their friends.”
I gripped the receiver so hard the plastic creaked and I had to stop myself before I broke it. “Let Katelyn go. She’s just a human. She has nothing to do with this. It’s not her you want.”
“You’re right,” the Champawat Tiger purred down the line. “It’s you. She means nothing to me, nothing at all, so don’t think for even a second that I won’t tear this little friend of yours to shreds and mail her remains to you piece by piece.” A pause, then, “If you want your friend to survive, you’ll do exactly as I say.”
I looked into Ishan’s bright blue eyes. I could tell he wanted me to hang up, to let the Champawat Tiger do whatever he wanted to do Katelyn, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
“Okay,” I said, inhaling slightly as I steadied my nerves. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
To be continued in Tigress: Beating Hearts!
Part III
Beating Hearts
A Paranormal Romance Serial
with a little hint of spice.
Foreword
“When the moon crosses the sun, all shall come to its end.”
- Cinder the Rakshasan Prophet, 1699.
Author’s note: A section of this piece was written as I watched the total solar eclipse on the 14th of November, 2012. Cool, huh?
Prologue
You Hurt Their Friends
I gripped the receiver so hard
the plastic creaked and I had to stop myself before I broke it. “Let Katelyn go. She’s just a human. She has nothing to do with this. It’s not her you want.”
“You’re right,” the Champawat Tiger purred down the line. “It’s you. She means nothing to me, nothing at all, so don’t think for even a second that I won’t tear this little friend of yours to shreds and mail her remains to you piece by piece.” A pause, then, “If you want your friend to survive, you’ll do exactly as I say.”
I looked into Ishan’s bright blue eyes. I could tell he wanted me to hang up, to let the Champawat Tiger do whatever he wanted to with Katelyn so I didn’t endanger myself, but I couldn’t do that. I just couldn’t.
“Okay,” I said, inhaling slightly as I steadied my nerves. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
A low chuckle through the speaker. “Excellent.”
Ishan’s silent gaze told me he did not approve. ‘Hang up’, he mouthed, but I shook my head.
“What I am proposing,” said the Champawat Tiger, “is very simple. I wish to exchange a life for a life.”
I frowned at that. “I’m not going to rush to my death,” I said, “and I’m not going to kill someone else.”
“Well, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You are going to kill someone else, either the person I name, or your friend by your inaction. Your fate has already been decided. All I’m asking you to do is choose.”
It wasn’t a choice I could make easily, but when it was put in such black and white terms the decision was obvious.
“I’m not a murderer.”
A low chuckle from the speaker, throaty and deep. “Oh, silly fledgling, we’re all murderers. We kill every day with inaction. A child starves in Africa, a mother dies in childbirth from easily preventable complications, a man contracts HIV for lack of a fifteen cent condom, and what do we do? We drink fine wine at dinner, grumble about the cost of petrol, and our biggest health complication is obesity.” The Rakshasa’s tone became venomous. “Obesity. These humans created a society where they have so much excess that they gorge themselves to death, wilfully ignorant of those who have none. The humans are a species without compassion.”
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