by Kracken
“Have been in a cage for too long and you need food and sleep,” Shakra protested. “You are not strong.”
Tamarind put back his ears and his eyes seemed to glow silver. “I could have killed you a dozen times in the forest, dog prince. My nose may not be able to find me home, but my claws and teeth are still sharp.”
“Tomorrow, at least,” Shakra said and couldn't help a tone of pleading. “Go in the morning. Sleep tonight, eat well, and you will be better for it.”
“Child,” Shang growled in warning. “You are in more danger than you know.”
Shakra glared. “I am not a child, Li’Won. You know what I am saying is reasonable.”
“It is your reasons that make me fearful,” Shang admitted.
Shakra laughed, short and sharp. “Not for the first time.”
“Child,” Shang growled again.
Shakra ignored him and turned to Tamarind. “Tonight,” he begged. “Just tonight. I'll get more chickens from the cook.” His stomach went queasy as he added, “live ones.”
Tamarind's ears came up and it was obvious that his hunger was stronger than his resolve to be free. He retreated back to the fire and crouched there. He glared at the too close walls and growled, “Just tonight.”
Shakra let out a breath of relief and couldn't help a smile. “I'll tell the cook.” He turned and came face to face with a scowling Shang. “Trust me,” Shakra begged him. “Stay loyal to me and my orders.”
Shang sighed. “Always, my Prince, whether for good or ill.”
**************
The cook brought four live chickens in a wire cage. He tried to peer past his prince to the werelion, but Shakra blocked his view. “This will do,” Shakra told him, an obvious dismissal.
“Anything my Prince wishes,” the cook said obediently and then, daring, “If I may say so, though, some fresh, uncooked meat might be to the lion's liking, your Highness. A creature his size can't live on chickens.”
“Thank you, cook,” Shakra replied, irritated at the man's mistake of calling Tamarind a lion and grateful for his suggestion about the food. “If you could prepare some meat for breakfast, we will see if it's to his taste.”
“Yes, your Highness.” The cook bowed low and left.
Shakra took his flapping and squawking chickens into an eager Tamarind. Tamarind grabbed hold of the cage, but Shakra dared sharp claws as he refused to let go.
“No, you are not a savage,” Shakra told him sternly. “You are not going to make my rooms into a butcher shop.” He thought for a moment and then went to the tiled bathroom. He put the chickens on the floor and then turned to Tamarind, who's eyes were glowing eagerly.
“Hungry,” Tamarind complained.
“I know,” Shakra replied, “But I expect you to follow rules of behavior. You will eat neatly and clean up the room, and yourself, afterward.”
Tamarind glared. Shakra glared back.
“We don't eat inside,” Tamarind grumbled. “That's bad behavior.”
“Where you're from,” Shakra said. “Not here. I don't expect any blood when you come out of here. There's a container for garbage over there. If you have anything left over from the chickens, put it in there. I'll have a servant take it away.”
Shakra shut the door on the werelion and his meal. The door opened again almost immediately. The werelion looked anxious and embarrassed. “It's too small... leave the door open.”
Claustrophobic. Shakra grimaced and nodded. As he turned his back and he began to hear the cries of the chickens, he decided to go out onto the balcony. It was a simple wooden platform overlooking a training area. Shakra didn't usually venture out because he always became the center of attention. A prince's only private moments were in his rooms.
After a length of time leaning against the wall of the Keep, and trying not to be seen, Shakra decided that the werelion had enough time to finish his meal. He went cautiously back into his rooms and found the werelion sprawled out over cushions on the floor in front of the fire. His entire body was lax, not even an ear twitching as Shakra approached. Tamarind's stomach was round, as if he were pregnant. The mental image made Shakra go hot and he turned to go into the bathroom.
A werelion could not eat chickens without making some mess. Still, the werelion had tried to be neat. Shakra sighed as he picked up errant feathers and one half gnawed chicken leg and tossed them into the garbage. He took it out of the bathroom and deposited it outside the door of his rooms for the servants to take.
Shakra couldn't help approaching Tamarind again. The werelion was definitely deeply asleep; complete exhaustion having over taken him at last. Crouching down, Shakra looked the creature over. Soft fur, smooth skin, supple muscles. Tamarind smelled a bit like chickens, but mostly of wild grasses and sunshine. His breath moved in and out of his throat with a very faint rumble, not a catlike purr, but a thrum of contentment that was unconscious.
Shakra stretched out beside the werelion, weariness taking hold of him too and the warm fire making him drowsy. His pet cats liked to curl up to him for warmth and werewolves liked to sleep in groups, craving the social interaction. If Shakra's family hadn't died, he would now be in a common room and sleeping with them and whatever siblings he might have had. His loneliness had always cut as keenly as any blade. No amount of pillows or warmth could replace the soft fur and pulse beat of companions. Sleeping even this close to someone else, even if Tamarind wasn't from the same species, was giving Shakra an odd feeling. It was easy to pretend that it didn't matter when he hadn't known better. He had kept himself aloof, spurned the company of others, and wrapped himself in Shang's self-contained philosophy to trust no one and nothing but his skill.
Tamarind let out a delicate burp His ears flicked, soft, tawny ovals sticking out of his short cinnamon mane. Shakra cushioned his head on a pillow and inched as close as he dared. He imagined Tamarind killing chickens, imagined Tamarind running through tall Savannah grass in sunlight, and imagined Tamarind laughing and happy with an entire pride of family. Now Tamarind was alone and, even when he returned to the Savanna, he would still be alone. They were kindred spirits now. Shakra almost thought, brothers, but something inside of him balked at that.
The candles burned low and the fire sank into coals. The warmth and the low light were too irresistible. Shakra fell asleep, listening to the rumble of Tamarind's breath and his strong heartbeat.
Shakra opened his eyes when morning came and found himself nose to nose with Tamarind. The silver eyes were open and regarding him calmly. That stopped Shakra's instant urge to recoil. He twitched, his tail bristled, and his ears lowered submissively.
“You won't... disembowel me, will you?” Shakra asked softly, a bare whisper.
The werelion twitched an ear and actually smiled. “Not if you feed me, Prince,” he replied, just as softly, as if they were sharing a secret. “Besides,” he added, “You make a good sleeping rug.”
Shakra snorted, but then retorted, “So do you; a soft one.”
Insults out of the way, Shakra was the first to roll away and come to his feet. He stretched, shook himself, and then went to call for breakfast. When he'd sent a servant scurrying, he turned back and saw that the werelion hadn't moved. In fact, he looked as if he'd gone back to sleep. Shakra returned to his warm spot, but not quite nose to nose. The werelion's tail flicked and Shakra had a feeling it was a warning.
“Are you well?” Shakra wondered.
One eye opened again. The werelion made a delicate yawn and then rolled onto his back, furry legs splayed and hands stretched above his head. His ribs stuck out as he elongated his body and then relaxed. Shakra found himself searching quickly between Tamarind's legs for proof that the long haired were was as other male weres. He could smell male musk, but something instinctive made him very curious about that place.
“If you stick your nose there, I will take it off,” Tamarind growled and rolled onto his stomach, claws raking the floor.
Shakra blushed. “I was curi
ous....” was all that he could find to say.
Tamarind looked him over. He frowned and Shakra could see that he had questions as well. “Are you... like a dog?” Tamarind asked hesitantly.
Shakra's ruff rose and he snarled, “No!”
Tamarind wasn't put off by his sharp reply. “You look like one...”
“Are you like a lion, because you look like one?” Shakra demanded in revenge.
Tamarind flushed. “No.”
They stared at each other below the waist. Very slowly, Shakra rolled onto his side and raised his leg. After a moment's hesitation, Tamarind echoed his move. They both looked, and then they both lowered their legs at the same time and were suddenly moving to opposite ends of the room, embarrassed.
“Satisfied that I am NOT a dog?” Shakra demanded in a choked voice.
A pause and then Tamarind replied, “Yes. Do you see that I'm not a lion?”
Shakra thought of the very masculine parts that he had seen beneath the thick fur and nodded shakily, his face burning.
A servant knocked on the door. Shakra scrambled to answer and to get them out of that difficult situation. What had possessed them, he wasn't sure, but decided to curse his instincts and the need it gave him to assess every male around him. It wasn't anything more than that, he told himself, but couldn't stop the heat from traveling from his face down to a very uncomfortable part of his anatomy.
The servant entered with a tray of food. There was one plate heaped with raw meat that looked sickeningly fresh. Tamarind was up at once and taking it from the frightened servant's tray. Tamarind retreated to a corner with it and began eating with more neatness than Shakra believed possible with his very large, clawed hands. Shakra took his own meal and dismissed the servant, who was happy to flee.
Shakra had cooked pheasant, cooked eggs, and a mug of clean well water. He sat on a low divan and ate slowly, watching his companion from under his unruly bangs. Before he was a fourth of the way finished with his breakfast, Tamarind was done with his, burping and curling up by the fire.
“Are you sleeping again?” Shakra wondered incredulously.
Tamarind muttered something incoherent and then did fall asleep. It seemed, in that respect at least, he wasn't any different from a house cat. Eat and sleep. That wasn't fair, he corrected himself, the werelion was exhausted. Shakra was a creature used to constant activity, though, and sleeping the day away wasn't in his nature. In fact, he needed to meet Shang for practice. That left Shakra with a dilemma. Tamarind needed a guard, for his own protection and for his people's protection against Tamarind.
Shakra went to the door and ordered a servant. “Bring me Lormar, the mountain werewolf.”
Chapter Six
“Prince?”
The mountain werewolf always made Shakra nervous. He was quiet, tall, and his black bands were distracting. It was also hard to forget that mountain weres were mercenaries and killed for a living. It was hard to believe that Lormar had turned his back on that lineage and had fallen head over paws for the hyper, sparkling desert werefox, Kyrill.
“Come in,” Shakra said, finding his tongue, and motioned Lormar inside. When the mountain were saw the sleeping lion, his hand went to the short sword at his belt. Ears forward and nose twitching, he said nervously, “I smell blood... chickens.”
“Dinner,” Shakra explained. “Tamarind isn't used to cooked food.”
Lormar didn't take his eyes from the werelion as he warned, “Your Highness, you do realize how dangerous a werelion is... how quick... This one is small, but their speed and claws are deadly.”
“He's a friend,” Shakra assured him, not certain whether that was true or not. “While he sleeps, I need someone to guard him.”
“Your highness, I have skill, but even I am not a match for this kind of creature,” Lormar protested.
Shakra looked over at the sleeping werelion. Tamarind had rolled onto his back and his bulging stomach and splayed paws were almost comical. Shakra couldn't imagine that lazy, sated, were suddenly killing them all. “I want you to keep anyone from entering my rooms,” Shakra told Lormar, “and to inform me if Tamarind leaves them. Don't harm him... unless it's necessary, of course.”
“And who else will be on guard detail with me?” Lormar wondered sharply.
Shakra lowered his ears, realizing that he was asking Lormar far more than he had thought. “No one, “Shakra replied. “I don't think I can trust anyone except you right now. The guards are loyal to Warden Kol.”
“I assume Warden Kol wishes this creature caged or destroyed?” Lormar replied as his green eyes glared at him.
“Yes,” Shakra admitted.
“And you don't see the wisdom of that?” Lormar wondered acidly.
Shakra stiffened and found his temper. “I am your prince and this is an order.”
Lormar dared a lifted lip and a very faint growl. “I will not die for your order.”
“I don't expect you to,” Shakra retorted.
“As long as we understand one another,” Lormar grunted and moved to leave the apartment. “I will stand outside the door. That will lessen my danger.”
“Acceptable,” Shakra agreed.
“Lormar!” Kyrill came in like sunlight, his bracelets and anklets of gold chiming together and his earrings tinkling. He pressed unashamedly against the tall mountain were, smiling happily as Lormar bent briefly to touch noses. Kyrill gave Lormar's nose a brief lick. Kyrill's tail twitched straight up and bristled and the gold band at the base seemed even more outrageous.
“Kyrill,” Shakra warned and pointed to the werelion. Shakra had a strong feeling that Tamarind was well aware of their presence, but that he was ignoring them. He couldn't imagine that a creature with the senses of a cat, could still be sleeping through their noise.
“He's sleeping?” Kyrill asked. His tail drooped contritely, but his sparkling eyes didn't lose an ounce of excitement. He stepped a little away from Lormar, though he kept a small hand on his chest as he peered at Tamarind. That intimate touch made Shakra blush. Shakra had only a sketchy knowledge of sex, and none of it dealing with two males, but he had enough imagination to have a sudden mental picture of the much larger Lormar... and the bright, excited Kyrill... mating...
Shakra turned suddenly for the door, pushing past Lormar. “Now you have someone to keep you company,” he managed to say. “I'll be at practice with Li’Won Shang.”
The heat that was coursing through Shakra's body was almost unbearable. He began to walk away, embarrassed and confused, but his sharp ears could hear Kyrill asking, “What's wrong with Shakra?”
Lormar's reply was amused, “Where is your nose? Your little prince is not a cub any longer.”
Kyrill sounded confused,” What?” and then exclaimed as realization hit, “Oh! With you? I don't share,” he growled fiercely. “Not even with my friend.”
“Not with me, I think,” was Lormar's knowing reply before Shakra was out of hearing range.
Shakra blushed, which made the heat in his body that much worse. Lormar's words were making his mind reel. Shakra was finally feeling adulthood, he realized, but... not with females... and not with... wolves. With...
Shakra made his hands into fists and drove his claws into flesh. He was attracted to Tamarind, to a werelion? As soon as he thought it, he knew that it was true. What else explained his reaction to Tamarind; his unreasoning fascination? Shakra thought of Tamarind sleeping beside him, his warmth, his soft fur, his gentle rumble, and his pleasing scent. The heat within Shakra grew and it centered in those places luckily covered in thick fur.
Shakra found a quiet, shadowed corner behind a roof support and crouched tightly around his discomfort. What was the cure for this? Lormar and Kyrill were barely tolerated, but at least they could claim to be cousins of the same species. If the people found out that a werewolf and a werelion were... lovers? Two males? Two males from two clans who were on the verge of war? Outrage at the perversion would hardly cover their reaction. Shak
ra wasn't sure how he felt about it himself.
A combination of the fear for his situation, and the cold floor, took away the heat at last and Shakra was left feeling hollow and strange. He needed to talk to someone, someone he could trust with his secret, someone who might scoff and insult, but listen, too, and give him some sort of advice. Shakra sprang up from his hiding place and went in search of Li’Won Shang.
Li’Won Shang was stretched out in a sunlit bay window, eyes closed. A myriad of window panes made the spot very warm. Shakra stopped a respectful distance and waited, knowing that the werelizard was well aware of his presence. The werelizard's crest spines went up, twitched, and then Shang opened his dark eyes.
“You've finally decided to leave your new toy?” Shang's voice was curt. He wasn't expecting an answer as he slowly rose.
“Tamarind isn't a toy,” Shakra replied, keeping his voice calm and not showing his anger. “He's...”
Shakra sat down and sighed, ears drooping. Shang stared, never having seen that dejected look on his prince before. “I need to talk to you,” Shakra told him darkly.
“You do,” Shang agreed as he stretched out again and closed his eyes. “So, my Prince... speak.”
Shakra watched the light sparkle over Shang's dark scales, wondering how a creature near his own age could seem so much older... and wiser. He had always wanted Shang's respect and had worked hard to become his equal. Lessons with the werelizard had been his only real pleasure in his strict and lonely life. To jeopardize that now by admitting perversion, weakness, and a tremendous failing of his teachings...but who else could advise him? Who else could he trust?
Shang's tongue flicked out and tasted the air. His face grimaced and he sighed deep in his chest. “So, it's come to that? Am I supposed to teach you how to court a female now?”
Shakra ducked his head, ears going lopsided as he struggled to explain. “Not... females...”
“No?” Shang said. “That Tikena has come of age too. I smelled her when she went by with her pack of fawning attendants. Shameless.” The last he hissed disapprovingly. “It’s someone else?”