by C. T. Adams
She let out a roar of victory. I could feel her hatred beating against my mind like a club. She ripped off the sling like it was tissue paper while I kicked at her back.
I kept blocking her as she brought down the syringe, but her speed was breathtaking. I’d never seen anything like it. It was taking everything I had just to avoid the blows she was aiming at me. I couldn’t free my arm. She was just too strong. Where in the hell was the cavalry?
You’ll be avenged, Queen Monica. I promised you she would pay. She spat each word directly into my mind and didn’t even realize it. She doesn’t have any psychic talent, but in that instant I found my weapon.
My hatchling had magnified my natural abilities. Lately it’s been a constant fight to not only shield out the Thrall, but also the thoughts of anyone. All I had to do was concentrate on a person and I knew where they were and what they were doing. But I’d never tried to do what Monica had done so easily. Could I influence a person’s actions? I had no choice but to try. Amanda would insert the syringe eventually. I was too far outmatched. Already I could see blood seeping through the thick bandage on my forearm. So I concentrated. I put every ounce of my strength and will into a sending directed at Amanda.
Amanda stiffened, her eyes glazing slightly. She staggered backward a half-step, her legs tangling in the broken foliage.
I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d wanted to, but I didn’t try. I just watched for that long, frozen second it took her to overbalance.
The crash of the window glass breaking was deafening. I threw my arm in front of my eyes, protecting my face from the flying shards. Her scream ended with a sickeningly wet thud. I dragged myself upright and staggered over to the window. I expected to see her horribly dead on the pavement three floors below. What I saw was far worse. There was blood, lots of blood, but no body. And in the distance, nearly out of sight, I caught a glimpse of something ducking into an alley.
Tom burst into the room at that moment in wolf form with Rob at his heels.
“What happened? Are you all right?” Rob asked as he dashed across the room. There was a shimmer of light that illuminated the fur of the huge gray wolf just before it shifted shape and Tom stood naked in front of me.
“What in the hell?” Rob’s glance went from the shattered foliage to where the syringe had fallen, and from there to the shattered window.
“It was Amanda.” I was still out of breath, panting from the mental and physical exertion, so the words came out oddly. “She fell”
He stepped up to the window ledge, looking down with something approaching awe. “It’s three stories down to flat concrete. I’m not even sure one of us could survive that fall.”
“I know.”
Tom stepped up, pulling me close. Heedless of my bloody arm he held me tight. I could hear the pounding of his heart, feel it beating hard against my chest. “You’re all right.” He whispered the words into my hair. “Thank God you’re all right.”
Rob didn’t notice. He just kept staring down at the bloodied pavement. “I’m going down there to take a sniff. She should not have been able to walk away from that. It’s not possible.” He turned and unlocked the window. I heard the rattling of metal as he bolted down the ladders.
Tom and I were alone. For a long moment he just held me. I felt him take a shuddering breath before he pushed me to arm’s distance.
“Why didn’t you let one of us stay up here with you? We were almost too late. Damn it Katie!” His arms dropped away from me. He turned away so that I couldn’t see his face. “You could’ve been killed.” His words were soft, but there was an undercurrent of anger that I didn’t know how to deal with. What could I say? This was new to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone in my life who’d want to protect me. In truth, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be protected—even if at the moment I probably needed it.
The silence was stretching on too long. I had to say something. “Tom . . . I—”
He interrupted me before I could say anything more. Probably a good thing, since it looked like anything I might say would be the wrong thing.
“I love you, Katie.” He stared at me, his open heart in those big brown eyes, “I know we haven’t been together long, but I love you, and I don’t want to lose you because of your damned stupid pride. I know you’re tough. You’re as much of a predator as I am—I get that. But can’t you unbend just a little? Can’t you let me in?”
“I love you, too, Tom.” My voice was hoarse, my throat tight with tension and fear as the sunlight glinted off the metal syringe on the floor. “I want to let you in. I’m just not sure I know how.”
His laugh was almost a sob, and painful to hear. “Can you at least promise me you’ll try?”
“I promise.” I brought my hand up to touch his face. His gaze stole my breath as surely as the kiss he laid on my lips.
“I love you, Katie Reilly. God help me, I do.”
“I love you, too.”
We kissed again, sealing our bargain. I reveled in the gentle probing of his tongue and lips, knowing that he wanted me, and that he could accept me, even when I couldn’t accept myself.
He led me into the bathroom to dress my arm and check the damage to my shoulder and elbow.
“I think you should go to the doctor tomorrow. You’ve torn at least two stitches, but it doesn’t look too bad otherwise. But Joe will want to look at them. The swelling is definitely up, but I don’t have the tools here to do much good.”
He was right. I’d be calling the doctor, both for my injuries and to figure out what in the hell was in that syringe. Could she really have figured out some way to make a queen without another queen? The room felt chilled, or maybe it was my blood that was running cold. Even Tom’s touch couldn’t seem to warm me completely.
Monica may be dead and gone, but that didn’t mean I was safe. Not by a long shot. I have Tom, and I have friends, but I also have a brand new enemy. And she won’t rest until she sees me dead—or worse.
Coming from Tor Romance in August 2006,
a new tale of the Sazi . . .
CAPTIVE
MOON
BY C.T. ADAMS
& CATHYL L. CLAMP
0-765-35401-2 / $6.99 ($9.99 CAN)
The sweet stench of rotting flesh on the breeze assaulted Antoine’s nose, even before the buzzing of flies reached his ears.
“We are nearly at the site, Herr Monier. We are fortunate that it was cold last night. The carcasses have apparently been here for several days. The smell isn’t nearly as bad as it could be.”
Antoine stepped over a log hidden under the melting slush, and stopped just short of a clearing. He could see uniformed officers and even a few members of . . . the harbor patrol?—taking photographs and measurements under the towering beech trees outside of Stuttgart, Germany. The sun was about to crest the top of the nearest peak, but the shadow of the full moon still lingered on the opposite horizon. The gentle, sultry pull reached for the animal under his skin. His senses were still intensified by the invisible magic that played over his body. Any other time, the forest scents would be too intense to remain near prey long. But the death smell that permeated the valley stilled his natural urges.
The uniformed officer behind, the weighty tang of his blood sausage and porridge breakfast still hovering on his breath, couldn’t smell the log under the snow as Antoine had. He tripped and dropped hands-first against a tree.
Antoine stopped, his nose sorting out the history of what had happened here. He caught Simon’s scent and knew he was dead. The two-year-old tiger had been one of Antoine’s favorites. A stab of pain and sadness rushed through him I failed him. What sort of Rex can’t protect one of his own cats?
Kommissar Reiner turned and raised one bushy brow, which disappeared under the brim of his cap. “Herr Monier? Are you well? We do not have to continue if you do not wish?’ The man’s English was heavily accented, but far better than his French.
Antoine squared his shoulders and tuck
ed a few loose strands of long blond hair behind one ear. If Simon could endure his fate, then I can stand witness. “I’m fine, Kommissar. Please show me the animals.”
He entered the clearing and could only stare in shock and rage at the carnage. Big cats of every description lay in bloody, decaying heaps around the edges of a makeshift slaughterhouse. Bits of flesh, black with slow-moving flies, were splattered haphazardly over the ground.
Officers wearing mask-and-glove photographed the area. Crows watched from the branches of trees overhead. Their raucous caws, combined with the constant buzzing, set Antoine’s nerves on a knife edge. Thankfully, the scent of fear and pain from the animals’ final moments had dissipated. He wasn’t sure how he would have responded to that.
“We believe the poachers were trafficking in tiger organs for the Far East black market. But we are not sure about the other great cats. Perhaps they could not find enough tigers to meet the demand.”
Perhaps. But there’s more here than meets the eye. A Sazi was here, I can definitely smell an injured female weretiger. While Antoine’s nose wasn’t nearly as sensitive as his twin’s, the female shapeshifter who had been in this clearing had left her mark. Sandalwood and tiger musk, with a hint of patchouli. A quick sniff. No, she’s not among the dead. She was taken from here, very much alive.
He’d identified as much as he could with his nose. Now his eyes began to take in details. Fiona and the rest of the council would want to know everything he saw, heard and smelled. If necessary, one of the Sazi seers could touch his mind and describe it at the meeting.
“Were you able to apprehend any of the poachers, Kommissar? How did you come to find this place?”
One of the police officers, looking a bit green around the gills, approached Reiner as they carefully skirted the bloody makeshift tables. He removed red-stained latex gloves before saluting.
Antoine could tell the Kommissar was going to ignore Hermann in favor of him—their annoying, high-profile visitor, but one look at the officer’s face dissuaded him. He made a small motion of his hand. “One moment, Herr Monier.” Antoine nodded politely and wandered a short distance away.
Was ist los, Hermann? Reiner lowered his voice and turned his back on the visitor, he couldn’t know that it didn’t matter. Antoine’s supernatural senses would have been able to hear a conversation back inside the squad car.
Ich habe gerade Nachricht erhalten von Dietrich and Shapland, Kommissar. Sie sind ein wenig nervös wegen des Tigers auf dem Revier. Sie haben Zweifel, ob der Kaefig haelt. Sollen sie das Tier betaeuben?
Antoine stiffened as he listened to the conversation, while struggling to appear not to understand: “I have just received a report from Dietrich and Shapland, Inspector. They are nervous about the tiger at the station. They are worried that the cage will not hold it. Should they tranquilize the animal?”
It was so much easier to eavesdrop when the police believed he didn’t speak German. Playing the part of the haughty Frenchman had been a useful idea of Margo’s. But the Inspector’s words dropped with the weight of lead. They had a tiger at the station? Could it be the female Sazi? If they tranquilize her and the moon sets . . . Merde!
Das waere ratsam! Wir müssen den Antrag stellen, urn das her zu entsorgen. Bitte bring meine Nachricht zu Dietrich. Er hat die Lizenz für die Tranquelizer!
Antoine deliberately wandered around the far edge of the scene, being careful to take in every word. “Yes, that would be wise. We’ll have to file the proper paperwork to dispose of the animal. Please relay my instructions to Dietrich. He is qualified with the tranquilizers.”
Putain! What to do now? This could easily become a diplomatic incident. He began to tap his fingers on the front of his designer slacks. Hardly the appropriate clothing for today, but best for the image. Who should he call? He wasn’t qualified to handle this. But he knew of no were tigers to contact in Germany, or even other species of were-cats, for that matter. No, I need proof that the cat is Sazi—
The Kommissar’s voice, louder now, startled him. “Herr Monier, I am sorry for the interruption. What was your question?”
It was hardly a plan—reckless and bold. The council would never approve. Antoine took a deep breath and spoke quickly so he wouldn’t lose his nerve. “I was asking about the cats. These all appear to be male. There are no female cats here. Where have you put those bodies?”
The Kommissar frowned and his eyebrows knitted into a single formidable line across his forehead. “Female? But no—you distinctly said you lost a male cat. It is in my report.”
Antoine rose to his full six feet three height and crossed his arms over his chest. He pushed the tiniest bit of his Sazi power toward the other man. The Kommissar visibly shuddered. It was a risk, and it could go badly. Humans seldom reacted well to powerful Sazi, and those in authority sometimes treated them as threat. He would hate to wind up behind bars himself. “Non! I most certainly did not say it was a male. My lost tiger is female—mother to a pair of kittens who will die without their mother. Why on earth else would I get up at such an ungodly hour to follow you through a forest to see . . . this?” He swept his arm out wide, and set his face in tight, angry lines.
Without a word, the inspector stepped over to one of the men and grabbed a clipboard. He stalked back to his former position and turned the clipboard so that Antoine could see it. The powerful scent of his anger filled the air. Actually, it does smell a bit like burning coffee. How very strange I’ve never noticed before. He fought not to sneeze.
“You see, Herr Monier? It distinctly says male in my repor—”
Antoine waved his hand airily in the general direction of the clipboard without bothering to look at it. He knew full well what it said, but that didn’t matter. “Your report doesn’t interest me, Kommissar Reiner. Whoever took the details was mistaken. I am missing a female. Do you have a female tiger for me to view or not?”
Reiner looked at his report again and frowned deeply. Antoine sent out tendrils of magic, to eavesdrop on Reiner’s thoughts. The report says male. But I am to “cooperate.” “It’s a diplomatic courtesy,” they told me. He says a female was lost. There is a female, and she has been especially difficult to handle. An oddly amusing thought crept into Kommissar Reiner’s mind. There would be less paperwork to fill out if the Frenchman took the cat. Wilhelma Zoo has not yet opened . . . perhaps the tiger and our guest deserve each other.
“Very well, Herr Monier, if you would like to see a female tiger, we were able to rescue one. It is at our station house, awaiting transport to Wilhelma Zoo. If you can identify this cat as yours, you are free to take it.”
Antoine frowned. “Identify it? What would you consider identification? I certainly don’t brand or tattoo my cats.”
Reiner shrugged. “You said it was nursing. That should be obvious, at the very least. But any particular feature you remember—a missing claw, or damaged ear. A distinguishing feature that we can verify before you see the cat.”
The words were very clear and seemingly innocent. But Antoine understood the inspector perfectly. Now he would just have to decide how to make good on his puffery. How in the world would he be able to positively identify a cat he’d never seen? Well, Fiona always said I was the creative one in the family . . .
Antoine turned on his heel and started back to his van, shaking the snow from his designer linen slacks after each step. Over his shoulder he shouted, “As you wish, Kommissar. I will meet you there and we will collect my cat.”
Tahira woke to heat burning her skin. She tried to lift her front leg, but the drug still coursing through her made it difficult. Again she pushed against the door of the wire cage. It was weakening; bending outward, but she struggled against unconsciousness with each attempt. At least she’d been able to remove the dart quickly and had only pretended to be unconscious until the men left. But she’d never tried to hold her form beyond dawn, and it was already long past. Sunlight was slowly crawling up the wall, throwing shadows of hersel
f, and her prison, across the floor.
I can’t pass out. I must hold my animal form or they’ll kill me. Well, they or her family. It hardly mattered which. She drew in a painful breath, snarled lightly, and searched ever more desperately for the waning moon magic. Every muscle was in agony and she could feel her bones straining to break and reform to human. The heat was unbearable and she looked longingly at the bowl of water just a few feet away. But I don’t dare move. If I concentrate on anything but holding this form, I’ll lose control. I’ve risked us all with my recklessness. Rabi wouldn’t have wanted this, no matter what his fate.
She scanned the room again for the hundredeth time since she’d been brought here. There must be something she could use to free herself. If only the cage wasn’t wire mesh. With bars, she could turn human and slide between them to free herself. If she was at full strength, she could easily break open the door, but the drugs from the policemen, combined with whatever her original captors had given her made that impossible. She could barely open her mouth enough to pant to cool herself.
Why had she planned this so stealthily that nobody knew where she was? If she had just told Grandmother, or Uncle Umar, they would have supported her. It was only stubbornness that had caused Grandfather to refuse to send a rescue party for Rabi in the first place. Apparently Tahira had inherited that stubbornness.
She readjusted her paw and winced. The light tingling under her fur was turning into prickling—stinging pinpoints like thousands of tiny ants were crawling and biting every inch of her body. The heat was increasing too. The constant whir of the exhaust fan buzzed in her ear. An abrupt crunching, grating sound sounded like it was directly overhead. She jumped when two sharp metallic slams echoed through the room, and she suddenly recognized the noises. She must be in a basement and the parking lot was directly above her. Voices now, in that harsh language that she didn’t recognize. She wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. What was she going to do?