Sleek Comes the Night

by S E Holmes

He’d considered abandoning Sam, but his blasted sense of duty won. Tramping to fetch him, rage boiled. It was not the only thing. Red smudged Nic’s palm, each puncture an exquisitely stinging reminder of failure. The rib wasn’t much better, nor his aching shoulder. He prayed any damage was superficial and would not interfere with rowing. He’d collect his brother and get out, banning further involvement with this strange dysfunctional bunch. Sam had seen the cats. That proved sufficient for several lifetimes.

  Tall hedges guided him to the enclosures. The Arkadys, minus the charming Sasha, Kolb and Sam congregated by stout wire-mesh fences, all four animals safely ensconced in individual long runs that formed a corridor at a right angle to the clearing. Katya lay by the double ingress of the far pen, obviously tranquilised.

  Entry was gained through an outer gate, closed behind a keeper before the inner unlocked. It reminded of a shark’s cage intimate with the cat’s lair, rather than the ocean. The other three gnawed a huge haunch of deer each, fangs crunching bone and rending tissue. Nic imagined he could smell the coppery taint of fresh blood. Maybe, his own.

  “Nic!” Sam enthused, bounding over. “Guess what?”

  The Arkadys swivelled as one, Kolb offering a brief nod hello. Hanna waved and beamed, teeth glaringly white, hair and outfit immaculate. In collection, they appeared as if they belonged in an advert for the Serengeti, sipping cocktails at dusk on the terrace after an accomplished day on safari.

  Nic had no chance to respond before Sam continued. “Anatoly has given me a job here. Caring for the cats.” He dropped his voice. “The pay’s awesome! I told him I’d do it for free, but he insisted.” Of course he did. Sam looked at him and his face fell. “What happened to you?”

  Nic peered down at himself, his pants grass-stained and grubby, blood on his shirt where he’d wiped his hand. He hid the guilty limb at his back. “Nothing, Sam. I need to speak with you. In private.”

  Mira inspected him, eyes narrowed. She issued a curt comment and the rest snapped back in a babble of what Nic decided to call Russian. Hanna rushed to him before he’d reacted and dragged his arm out for all to see, unfurling his fingers. He struggled to pull away, but her spidery grip was firm and any opposition ineffective. He sighed and conceded, not prepared to show further weakness. A circle of expressions mirrored outrage.

  Hanna inspected the damage. “Sasha bit you!”

  It was Nic’s turn to frown. “How do you know?”

  “It is his modus-operandi,” Mira snorted from several steps away.

  He blinked astonishment. She’d never deigned to engage him with anything other than vinegar.

  “How may we earn forgiveness for this disgrace, Nicholas?” Anatoly asked, joining his wife, both too earnest for comfort.

  Nic squirmed, the honesty and attention an unforeseen distraction. The fact Mira loitered so close heightened the discomfort. “Don’t worry about it. It’s really not necessary. I need to chat with Sam. If you’ll excuse us?”

  He snatched his hand from Hanna and tugged Sam further down the path. They’d moved from Sveta’s pen passed Anya’s and on to Irina’s, before Nic deemed it far enough. The jaguar eyed him disdainfully, black muzzle clotted crimson, then returned to the feast.

  “We’re leaving and I don’t want a speck of trouble.”

  “Just because you’ve had another fight with Sasha,” Sam hissed. “I have to suffer? I’m staying for lunch. Elmas is cooking me a special chocolate cake.”

  How could Nic outscore cats and cake? It was as if the Arkady’s indulged in a competition he had no hope of participating in, let alone winning. He couldn’t match the bribe. Nic appreciated the appeal. This was a home where females reigned, proxy mother-figures in abundance. But it was also the house that Sasha built; a lethal construction of malice and jeopardy. And Nic had very conveniently added to the armoury.

  “We’ll grab a slice to go. Please, Welly. It’s not a simple fight. There’s much more to it. I’ll beg if I have to.” A throat cleared politely. Nic whirled. “What?! Have you people no personal boundaries?”

  Mira planted before him, unabashed. She raised an eyebrow. “I promise. We will take care of Sasha. This act shall not go unpunished.”

  “And if you recall, I promised I’d steer well clear of you. Now, if you don’t mind, Samuel and I have a prior engagement.” How much of the thirty minute buffer had slipped through the hour glass? Was wretched Sasha stalking them even now, pistol cocked?

  “I’m not going!”

  The chance to avoid an embarrassing outburst snapped shut. Sam stood his ground, arms crossing his chest, features defiant. A girl Nic had dated for a while, a kooky astrology nut, claimed there was no negotiating with an Aries. He was familiar with the look, the only way he’d extract Sam at this point, bodily. Enjoyable though the thought of tackling his pig-headed brother was, time trickled rapidly.

  “You have twelve minutes remaining,” Mira said. “In that time, Sam can collect his cake and I shall dress your wound. Bites are notorious for infection and who knows where Sasha puts his mouth. You see, he is terribly indiscriminate.”

  Dumbstruck, Nic could think of no response. Had Sasha told her? Perhaps he’d taken a short-cut, but then they’d all seemed genuinely horrified on sighting his hand. There were mysteries here that twisted his tired brain in knots. And the memory of explaining the meaning of ‘abscond’ to someone with an obviously sophisticated vocabulary made him feel a pompous prat.

  “Whatever.”

  The trio traversed a generous covered back terrace several moments later, garden furniture reminiscent of grand English resorts of old dispersed amongst huge potted palms. Inside, Sam huffed for the kitchen with no further instruction from Mira, already too knowledgeable of the floor-plan.

  “Meet me out front as soon as you’re done,” Nic said. Sam flashed him the finger.

  Attuned to his reluctance, Mira squandered nothing on small-talk. Nic trailed her through richly decorous halls, all polished dark wood, tapestries and art, which lead to many closed doors, several sun-drenched parlours, a library, billiards bar and finally a bathroom better suited to communal Roman spas. A verdant enclosed courtyard seen through wall-to-ceiling glass washed black-and-white marble in rainforest hues. The sunken spa could ably accommodate thirty. He required breadcrumbs to find his way out.

  “Take a seat.” Mira gestured to a bench and disappeared into a partitioned alcove, returning with a bottle of spirits, swabs and crepe bandages.

  She sat next to him and arranged the first aid. Her perfume enveloped him in Spring and a seductive musk he’d never encountered. Nic realised too late he should have refused. This scenario had the potential to push Sasha to a psychotic melt-down.

  “Your cousin’s unhinged,” he blurted.

  “Yes. He desires to possess that which he can never have.” She rested his hand on her thigh and uncapped the bottle. Her warmth met his through fabric. This morning’s fantasy of bare, creamy skin surfaced and he quickly throttled it. “This will hurt. Rather a lot.”

  He went to pull away. “You’ll get your pants soaked.”

  She held tight. “Very thoughtful. Chicken!” Mira grinned at him. It changed her face completely, as if sunbeams broke through a storm cloud. Nic was so used to her flinty demeanour, he baulked at this playful double. She mistook him. “Wow! What a baby.”

  Nic clamped his jaw, the action so common since meeting her, a trip to the orthodontist to seemed warranted. This day, starting with the ease of mucking out stables with his brother, had surely devolved into an ongoing joke at his expense. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Cool liquid flowed, a peroxide fire spreading. His teeth, already conveniently clenched, ground together. A chemical tang invaded the air. Moisture sprung to his eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Her brow dipped in sympathy.

  “Awesome,” he choked out, appearing to cry. She dabbed the tears streaming his cheeks with a pad of gauze. “It’s the alcohol!”


  Mira nodded robustly. “Of course it is.”

  Time to depart. “Thanks.” He extricated his hand and swatted his irritated eyes. God! He looked like such a pussy -- and not the big predatory Arkady type either. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be late…” He lurched vertical.

  She gazed up at him, piercing sliver-blue eyes fringed in thick black lashes. Shadow and light veiled her face. She was simply the most radiant, beautiful girl he had ever seen. He looked away, lest flushed cheeks compounded his unsalvageable reputation as a pansy.

  “The situation with Sasha will resolve itself. You merely have to endure for eight weeks. I journey then and shall never return.”

  Nic couldn’t help a pang of disappointment. “Why eight weeks?”

  “I leave on my eighteenth birthday.”

  Weird! “November twenty-first?”

  “Yes,” she smiled. “How did you know?”

  Nic felt certain this was old news to the wily Arkadys. He just wished he knew what they were up to. “It seems we were born on the same day.”

  ***

  Chapter Eleven