by N. D. Jones
“Remember,” Stormbane yelled at her, as far away from the lions as he could get, “you brought this on yourself. Last chance to sign. Silence, huh? Fine. Your funeral.”
Two male lions broke free of their handlers. From the look of them, they weren’t older than two or three years. Likely birthed in captivity, the lions had no more clue what it meant to exist as a lion in the wild than Asha knew how to communicate with a natural lion in her human form.
Not Asha’s funeral. Stormbane hadn’t accomplished his mission. He needed her alive to sign the addendum. However, there was an undeniable gulf between being alive and being whole.
The young lions charged down the steps, their bodies gangly in a way mature lions were not. They ran right past Asha as if they hadn’t seen her seated in the chair. They explored the lower level of the warehouse, and Asha remained very still.
No matter that felidae could transmutate into cats, their minds were always that of a human. She couldn’t read the mind of a natural animal—lion or otherwise. Natural-born big cats couldn’t tell the difference between themselves and a transmutated felidae. She had run, played, and hunted with wild lions.
But in human form, Asha was prey. This Stormbane understood.
Asha heard the soft tap, tap, tap of approaching paws. She had two options, but neither bode well for the young male lions, not if the Rogueshades’ guns held something other than animal tranquilizers.
Asha closed her eyes and reached for her inner lion. Her lion spirit whined at her approach, anxious to run and hunt. She knelt in front of her lion spirit—nose to snout. I cannot bring all of you out. I’m sorry. Matching golden-brown eyes watched each other—different sides of the same proverbial coin. These lions need a lioness to tame them. Both are too young to do more than fight each other. But here, with us, we can give them purpose.
She spoke to herself, she knew. The year before her first transmutation spasm, her mother had taught her a “game.”
“Think of your change into lion form as having a special spirit friend inside of you. To show your friend your world, you must speak with her, get to know her, and permit her to get to know and trust you. When you do, when you and your special spirit friend are in harmony, she will visit your home whenever you ask.”
Transmutation was the ultimate display of a felidae’s harmony of self. Not self-control. Not skill or knowledge but harmony.
Beside her, a lion growled. On her other side, the second lion did the same. A paw slashed her chest, sending her and the chair crashing to the hard floor. Pain seared and blood oozed. The chair creaked, whined, and then broke under her.
Sharp teeth clamped onto a thigh, biting down but, thankfully, not ripping or pulling. A second set of teeth sank into a shoulder, dug deep, and broke bones.
“Come out,” she whispered. “Let these males know you rule this pride.”
Claws escaped hands. Muscles stretched and broke chains. The upper half of Asha’s face contorted, her lioness peeking through her eyes. Pushing her lion’s pheromones through her still-human skin, Asha cried out. The lion at her shoulder yanked her from the other lion, setting off white-hot pain from fangs sliding from thigh to ankle.
A growl rolled from Asha like a snowball at the top of a mountain, picking up momentum and mass as it careened down the hill. When the growl burst free, her human throat and mouth ill-equipped to handle the tremors it created, the lions stopped.
Asha opened eyes gone moist from tears. She’d torn something in her throat. A partial change had been ill-advised, and not at all an act practiced by felidae. But Asha had needed to maintain some of her human features. If not, she risked a pissing contest between the young males. As it was, they circled her as they circled each other.
Asha pushed off the broken chains, groaning in pain with each unavoidable movement. Tossing the chains aside, she used her unharmed arm to push herself off the mangled chair. Her right leg hadn’t fared any better than the chair. Blood stained her dress and the floor.
The lions snarled, and Asha had had enough. She filled the air with more of her feminine pheromones—not sex but a clear display of the pecking order of their pride of three. Even if Asha had been inclined to have sex in lion form, which felidae certainly did, she wouldn’t do so with natural-born lions. An image of Ekon in lion form came to mind, but she swatted that image away. Thoughts of Ekon would produce the wrong scent.
Dragging herself away from the shards of wood, Asha looked to the upper level. The soldiers were as they had been, their weapons pointed at the lions. Their fear reached her nostrils. They should be afraid. With her blood in the air, the lions’ predatory instinct to claim prey was strong. Any available prey, although she made for the more vulnerable of their food options.
Asha’s trembling arm gave out, and she collapsed to the floor. The attack to her chest must’ve cut deeper than she’d thought because it hurt like nothing she’d ever felt before.
“There’s no pride when an ass-kicking is the price.”
Asha lifted her hand to Stormbane and flipped him off.
He laughed, and she hated him all the more because there was truth to his mocking words.
A lion positioned himself overtop her—she flat on her back and he above her on all fours. The sound that rumbled from him wasn’t a snarl or a growl but an odd mewing. His face, like that of her imaginary lion spirit, was very close to hers. Close enough to kill. Close enough to . . .
Asha lifted her nose to the lion’s snout and her hand to the side of his face. “I am the sekhem of this pride. I do not rule you. I am your faithful servant.”
Asha felt the hot breath of the second lion above and behind her. She craned her head backward to see if he was friend or foe.
He licked her face. Disgusting. Beautiful.
The lions dropped to the floor beside her—one on each side, their heads competing for space on her lap. Their weight and jostling did her injuries no favors.
Asha scratched their ears. “You belong to me, and I belong to you.” She hadn’t said that sentence loud enough for anyone to hear. The lions hadn’t killed her, but their acceptance of her as the superior lion wasn’t a happy ending. It couldn’t be because torture was more than physical.
She didn’t hear the bullets leave the guns’ chambers, but she felt the unmistakable jolts when they entered the bodies of the lions.
More bullets followed. Overkill. The first round had done the terrible deed. But still they unleashed round after round, their skilled marksmanship and Stormbane’s order all that kept them from shooting Asha too.
Blood splashed in her eyes and mouth, the metallic taste of another lost life, another innocent soul to avenge.
“Pride is a bitch, isn’t it Sekhem Asha? I bet you’re ready to sign those papers now.”
She spat blood, wiped her eyes, and then used what strength she had left to slide from under the lions’ big heads and to her feet. Blood ran, unencumbered, from her deep puncture wounds. She would heal, but it would take time because felidae strength, healing, and stamina increased with age. Compared to her parents and Mafdet, Asha was no older than the male lions who’d been used then cruelly discarded—an adult but years from her prime.
Asha hurt all over but wasn’t too prideful to let the pain show on her face. Honestly, she didn’t think she had much choice. The wound to her leg alone, if it didn’t close soon, would lead to a terrible case of blood loss.
“I have one good arm left for signing, Mr. Stormbane. Would you like to bring me your manila folder now? Be warned, though, because you may find this human idiom to be quite true. There is nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal.”
Stormbane’s bullet whizzed past her head. “Fuck you. Fuck. You.”
Yes, well, by the time this was over, they would all be fucked.
Chapter 9: Powerful of Heart
“I can’t believe you’re wearing a dress.” Mafdet shook her head at Tamani’s attempt to appear more human and less the imposing Shona g
eneral everyone back home knew her to be. “I didn’t think you owned one.”
“I don’t. Ms. Choi had the garment delivered to my hotel room this morning, along with makeup, heels, and other accessories.”
The green knee-length dress matched Tamani’s eye color and flattered her fit form and golden tanned skin.
Arms crossed over chest and back leaned against the closed hotel room door, Mafdet waited while Tamani rechecked the results of an hour’s worth of primping and prepping.
Tamani spun away from the full-length mirror and toward Mafdet. “Help me with my hair?”
“Because I know so much about hair?”
“Just because you’ve chosen to keep your hair cut ruthlessly short doesn’t mean you can’t help me with mine. But fine. A good brushing but nothing fancy it will be then.”
“We don’t have time for games.”
“Not games, my friend.” Tamani strode to the other side of the room, pushed back the steel-gray blackout curtains and let in the bright rays from the morning sun. “Our sekhem is somewhere out there. I doubt they took her beyond the city limits, but the barbarians very well may have.”
“It’s been thirty-six hours. They could’ve done anything to her in that time.”
“How does that make you feel?”
Mafdet glared at Tamani’s rigid back as she looked out at East Minra’s metropolitan skyline—brick buildings as far as the eye could see. “I feel like shit.”
“Good. You should. Our khalid and sekhem were murdered on your watch and our hafsa sekhem kidnapped. If it were me, I would feel the same. But it wasn’t me. It was you, and you’re going to have to learn how to deal with your guilt. She won’t blame you, by the way.”
“Knowing that doesn’t help. Asha should blame me. I survived. Her parents are dead. She would rather have them than me.”
“Of course she would.” Tamani turned to face Mafdet, gaze firm and lips thin. “But Asha loves you. She would never wish for your death, not even in exchange for the lives of her parents. You know the girl’s heart. As do I.” A hand ran down the front of her dress. “This is strategy. We don’t have time to run all over this worthless city hunting for our young sekhem. I believe they haven’t killed her. So must you.”
“Not killed but hurt.”
Tamani waved her closer.
Mafdet didn’t budge.
“Suit yourself. But this self-deprecating funk you’ve been in since I arrived isn’t helping. In fact, it’s just pissing me the hell off. From Ekon, I get it. Between his age, inexperience, and the fact that he is completely in love with Asha, I wouldn’t expect more from him. But you . . .” Tamani stalked toward Mafdet, pointing a finger in her face. “Cut it the fuck out or go the fuck home.”
“They were my responsibility.” Arms dropped to her sides—the weight of her failure having pulled them down. “My responsibility.”
“Did you do your best? Fight your hardest? Give your blood and your claws?”
Mafdet couldn’t answer because all she could see were Zarina and Bambara running into a crowd of armed humans. There had been nothing she could do to prevent the soldiers from unloading their weapons into her friends. Stunned, Mafdet had scrambled to her feet and, having failed them, she had gone in search of Asha and Ekon, finding neither. But Ekon had later found her, but not before she’d stumbled upon a small group of soldiers who thought themselves alone in the hotel. She’d made them pay for the oversight, unleashing her fury and sorrow in every slice. They’d bled, but not as much as Mafdet’s hemorrhaged heart.
“I know you did all of those things because I know the cheetah within the stubborn woman.” Tamani poked her chest. “And you had me dig bullets from you instead of taking your ass to the hospital like a normal person.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. Not even close. Neither is Ekon, and neither will Asha be if our plan doesn’t work. I’ve already dealt with the police commissioner and the governor. They both will stand down.”
“You threatened them?”
“Not a threat. I explained what would happen to their city and state if they interfered with our plans to retrieve our sekhem. In exchange, I promised we would all return to Shona without violence once Asha is safely in our custody.”
“Leaving without bloodshed is Asha’s decision to make, not yours.”
“I know that, and you know that. We will stay, fight, or leave this wretched country at the sekhem’s discretion. My honor is to our country and leader. I will suffer no remorse if I must break my vow to the police commissioner and governor.”
Tamani’s plan hinged on too much beyond their control, much of which relied on local, state, and national leaders’ fears of a war with Shona.
“The plan has to work. If it doesn’t, I don’t . . . I don’t . . .”
Tamani yanked her into a bruising hug. “We won’t lose Asha too. The gods wouldn’t be so cruel as to take them all from us. We must have faith.”
Tamani was wrong. Sometimes, the gods took too much. Whether that made them cruel, Mafdet didn’t know.
She hadn’t cried in years. But she had cried over the deaths of Zarina and Bambara and she cried at the sickening possibility of having to lay Asha to rest along with her parents.
“Shit, you got me tearing up too.” Tamani pushed Mafdet from her. “Did I ruin my mascara? It’s a pain to get just right. Tell me, is it fine?”
“It’s good enough. You’re a soldier of Shona, not a runway model.”
“You’re absolutely no help. None. When will the reporter and his crew arrive?”
“Twenty minutes. Enough time for you to do something about the raccoon your face has become.”
Tamani’s middle finger shot up.
“I knew you were the one who taught that to Asha. You’re a bad influence on her.”
“Like you’re one to talk. You started filling her impressionable brain with gory movies when she was seven.”
“Asha never cried, looked away, or threw up. She’s the toughest kid I know.”
“Me too. Remember that. She is her parents’ hafsa. But she is also Asha. We know what they want from her, and we also know she won’t give it to them.”
“Which means they’ll hurt her.”
“Which means they’ve already hurt her. But, oh, trust me, Mafdet, she’s going to hurt them so much worse in return.”
Mafdet nodded, but she didn’t want blood and violence for Asha. They were acceptable for movies, but Asha’s life shouldn’t mirror a horror film from her childhood. “Did you remember to bring the pictures?”
“Don’t worry, I’m prepared. So are the others.” Tamani hugged her again. “Zarina and Bambara chose you for a reason. Don’t you dare insult them in death for the choice they made in life. Will you and Ekon be joining the others?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect.”
Every staffer and headquarter employee Silas encountered since arriving to work responded to his presence in one of two ways—with smiles and nods of approval or with frowns and headshakes of disagreement. He ignored both reactions as he made his way from the underground garage onto the floor where his office was located.
Everyone knew the royal family of Shona had met with him and London a few hours before they were murdered. Everything else they may have seen or heard would’ve been speculation and gossip. He didn’t appreciate being the focus of either.
Silas rounded the corner. Spotting him, his secretary scrambled from behind her desk, nearly tripping over a potted plant in her haste to open his door before he reached it. “I have messages for you, sir.”
“Not now, Margaret.”
“But . . .” She looked from what appeared to be a dozen pink message notes in her hand and back up to him. “Commissioner Aguilar called three times. Governor Billings four. The lawyers for Mr. Lyle Rhodes—”
Silas snatched the message notes from Margaret. “Who in the hell is Lyle Rhodes?”
“He’s the owne
r of Sanctum Hotel. Where . . . where . . .” Margaret’s face turned a shade of red unbecoming on a woman with color-treated auburn hair, giving her the unflattering effect of a sour strawberry. “Where those poor people were killed. The lawyers from Mr. Rhodes’s law firm would like to speak with you about damages and liabilities. Mr. Rhodes’s employees were among the dead, sir.”
It hadn’t occurred to him when he’d agreed to Frank’s plan that people other than the felidae would be at the hotel. Of course there had been human employees there to see to the needs of the Shona delegation, and he had sanctioned the raid that had resulted in their deaths. The stain on his soul kept growing.
“There are other messages, too, but those are the priority ones. Whom shall I call first?”
“No one.”
“No one?”
Margaret’s frown reminded him of his wife’s when they’d watched the morning news coverage. “Oh my god, Silas, that’s heartbreaking,” Claire had said. “But I don’t like the implication that the deaths and kidnapping are connected to you and our party. I’m sure you’ll be able to set the record straight once you’ve had a chance to speak with the Shona representative.” Claire had scooted to the edge of the barstool, her face inches away from the kitchen television on the counter. “Look at the photos. What a beautiful family they were. My heart goes out to the Shona princess.”
Silas hadn’t bothered correcting Claire. Asha wasn’t a princess. She was the one and only sekhem, and her people wanted her back. He didn’t need to speak with Aguilar and Billings to know the Shona had gotten to them. Silas wouldn’t find help from those quarters.
“I’m not to be disturbed.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me, Margaret. I have a splitting headache and a pile of paperwork to get through. Make sure I’m not interrupted.” He slapped the message notes back into her hand. “Get rid of those. If Governor Billings or Commissioner Aguilar call, tell them I’m out of the office.”
Her face turned that awful shade of red again. “You want me to lie to the governor and the police commissioner?”
