Tiger Eye

by Marjorie M. Liu

  “Come on,” she said, when he hesitated. “You haven’t eaten in six hundred years. Pig out.”

  Hari was not sure what the last two words meant, but her intent was clear. He used his hands to pick up a slab of steaming meat, and had his mouth set to tear when he noticed Dela, eating delicately with fine silver utensils.

  Dela saw him watching, and something passed through her eyes. She set down her utensils, plucked a vegetable from her plate, and popped it into her mouth. She licked her fingers. Her invitation was clear.

  “Eat, Hari. Nothing you do will offend me.”

  Warmth rushed down his spine, pooling in his stomach. So much time alone, suppressing dreams of simple kindness, and here—finally—a woman who showed him effortless compassion over something so small as a meal. It was almost too much to bear.

  He did not mean to, but hunger of an entirely different sort suddenly flowed through his veins. He imagined Dela stretched amid the food, splayed upon the table, creamy skin exposed to his hands and mouth—a consumption of the senses, filling, being filled, her legs wrapped around his waist….

  A flush stained Dela’s cheeks, and Hari wondered what she saw in his eyes, whether his desire was so transparent. He found he did not care if she knew how much he wanted her. Shame had left him long ago. Though he had lost his skin, the beast still lived—and both the tiger and the man suddenly wanted this woman with shocking, aching intensity.

  She might betray you.

  Hari pushed aside fear. He had to taste her—thought he might die if he did not. In one step he was by her side, dropping to his knees. She stared, wide-eyed.

  “I am going to kiss you,” he said, more for his benefit than hers. Before she could protest, he wrapped one large hand around the back of her neck and pressed his lips to hers. He tried to be gentle, to give her that much courtesy, but she surprised him by leaning into his body, opening her mouth for an even deeper kiss that sent ribbons of lightning through his flesh.

  Her tongue darted past his lips and he took her invitation, stealing the breath from her lungs as he sank himself into her body, tugging her close, exploring the sweet, hot curves of her mouth. He had never tasted anything so wondrous, and the beast responded, turning circles in his chest as it, too, drank in the scent and flavor of the woman. Sunlight, piercing the dark heart of the forest: that was how she felt to him—and he wondered if he would ever let go, if he would be able to stop.

  But he did stop, with great difficulty, and it was Dela who pulled away. Her eyes were glazed, lips swollen with his kisses, her breathing ragged as a spring storm. His heart pounded, blood rushing down, down, though there was enough left to heat his face.

  “I don’t even know you,” she whispered, brushing her fingertips against her lips.

  Those were not the words Hari had been expecting to hear, not with the musk of her desire scenting the air, the heat in her eyes. Truthfully, he had not been expecting anything, especially the still-vibrant rush of her presence sinking sweetly beneath his skin. His bones felt cushioned by velvet, his body much too warm.

  All from a kiss.

  He saw uncertainty seep into Dela’s eyes, and the sharp edge of panic made him slide backward. He dropped his gaze, and suddenly his chest was tight for a reason other than arousal.

  “My apologies,” he said. “I was too forward with you.”

  “Yes,” she said, but softly, without anger. “Why did you kiss me?”

  It was the first time he had ever been asked such a question, and he blinked, wishing he was better with words. Loneliness roared deep inside his chest, striking him hollow, stripping away his new warmth with the force of a blunt mace. How could he share the terrible need that had arisen in him? There were no words to describe his desire that would not sound obscene against the air they breathed, and his compulsion was nothing so base or dark. It felt full of light, stunning and sweet.

  “To do otherwise would have been difficult,” he finally said.

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  “I will not touch you again without your permission,” he promised, regretting his words even though he knew they were necessary. The urge to touch her still threatened to overwhelm him, but his instincts urged caution. This was not a woman he could press too soon, nor did he want to. His own heart was still too fragile. He did not understand what Dela was doing to him.

  I am vulnerable. Starved for kindness, and when I receive it, I lose my mind.

  “Thank you.” Dela rested her hands in her lap, quivering, some strange energy humming against her skin, flowing out to touch him. Hari quickly stood, trying to hide his conspicuous arousal. He suspected Dela noticed. He did not look at her, afraid of what he would see in her eyes.

  “So,” she said, after he took his seat, “I hope you’re still hungry.”

  Relief, and some strange wistfulness, coursed through him.

  “Yes,” he said, although his low voice, the heat in his face, most likely revealed his hunger had little to do with the food set before him.

  Dela, sipping water, coughed. Her cheeks grew even redder. Hari took pity on her and lowered his gaze to his meal.

  I have said and done too much. I will make her afraid.

  His food had grown cold, but he did not care. He attacked it with single-minded intensity, trying to concentrate on something other than the woman seated across from him. He ate and ate, and after a time began to taste his food, the rich juices, flavors vibrant on his tongue. Only when he was done scouring meat to bone, and fruit to hard pit, did he stop to look at Dela.

  She had barely touched her meal, and was watching him thoughtfully. No one had ever studied him so openly, without fear. It was a curious sensation—her eyes searching his face—and he felt himself laid open as if before a pure flame.

  Even at their cruelest, his masters could never stare long into Hari’s face. He frightened them, even when on his knees, guts strung out under the sun. He made them uneasy. The razor edge of captivity—a slave in name only, never in spirit. They could feel his power, and it was threatening. No one ever forgot that.

  But Dela was not intimidated. She looked deep into his eyes, as though she could summon the secrets of his heart. Hari could not fathom what lay revealed. He did not want to know.

  When she spoke, he thought she might address their kiss, but she surprised him.

  “I should have told you earlier,” she said slowly. “This morning, before I opened the box, someone else attacked me.”

  Dela explained the market, the old woman who had sold her the box, and the strange man who had watched the transaction and then tried to kidnap her.

  “It is a simple thing,” Hari said, feeling ill. “Someone knows you have me. If they kill you, I return to the box, ready for a new owner.”

  Dela frowned. “Surely the same person can’t be responsible. That knife was stolen months ago. Who could foresee …” She paused, and then, “I mean, it just doesn’t make sense that the two events are related. Killing me with my own creation is way more personal than just trying to knock me off so the box changes hands. Besides, I don’t think this morning’s bad guy knew who I was.”

  “Then you have two problems. My apologies, Delilah. I have added to your difficulties.”

  “Hari, you saved my life.” Her voice was low, serious and earnest, a match to her stubborn frown. “Listen, we’ll find a way out of this. Every problem has a solution. Even your curse.”

  He laughed, but it sounded cold, hollow. “I suppose you could destroy the box.”

  “Would that set you free?”

  “I do not know. It might kill me, but I think I would prefer to die, rather than continue on in darkness, enslaved.” It was a choice he had never dared voice before now.

  Hari saw her consider it. He also saw her falter.

  “Seems to me fighting is the better option.” Dela’s voice gained strength. “You can’t give up, Hari.”

  “And what do you know of fighting?” he asked, deliberately ha
rsh. “I have spent the past two thousand years as a belonging, enduring humiliation, torture, committing atrocities. You have no idea what that means.”

  “Maybe not.” Dela narrowed her eyes. “But I know cowardice when I see it.”

  Hari stiffened. “Are you accusing me of dishonor?”

  “If you ask me to kill you without even attempting to find an answer to your problem, then yes. I am.”

  Her words stung. Hari stood, but the room suddenly felt far too small. He ended up at the window, arms braced on either side of the thin glass. The city sprawled beneath him, unspeakably alien, strange objects moving at miraculous speeds. People, tiny at this great height, traveling in numbers greater than he had ever imagined. In that moment, he hated it all.

  “What would you have me do?” he growled.

  “Live,” she said, rising to stand beside him. He glanced at her.

  “Live for myself, you mean? Everyone I know is dead. I am alone.”

  He expected anger. Instead, Dela looked down at her hands, quiet and thoughtful. Which was almost worse.

  “I once knew a girl,” Dela finally said. “An orphan. She was completely alone, as much as you. A very bad man kidnapped her, and hid her in a hole beneath his home. She stayed there for a week, in the darkness, and he did terrible things to her. Just terrible.” Dela swallowed heavily. “But do you know how she survived? She fought. She fought every time he came to her, and one day she got lucky and was able to escape.”

  “Delilah,” he breathed, appalled. “Tell me you were not that child.”

  Her smile was infinitely sad. “No, but Amy was my best friend. She’s dead now. After all she went through, she contracted some rare brain cancer. Didn’t last six months. But she fought that, too.”

  Silence descended. The moral of her tale was painfully clear, and Hari could barely stand to look at her as his anger leaked away, down his belly through his toes.

  “You shame me.”

  “I play dirty.” Dela touched his arm, her fingers gliding down his skin. “And I’m not ashamed of it, especially if it keeps you going. You’ve lived for two thousand years, Hari. What’s a couple more, especially now, when you’ve got a friend?”

  “Friend?”

  Dela pointed at herself. “If anyone needs one, it’s you. Unless, of course, you prefer to go it alone.”

  “It is what I am used to,” he said, finding it difficult to speak.

  She smiled, and it was too much. Their kiss had been powerful, but Dela had a way of overwhelming him with her actions and words that was completely terrifying. Hari was twice her size, but he knew, even without the curse, that this woman could bring him to his knees with her voice alone. With a smile.

  Hari made room for Dela at the window.

  “I bet this looks strange to you, huh?” And then, when he did not immediately answer, she said, “You told me the spell can only be broken by finding your skin.”

  Hari sighed. “It has been two thousand years, Delilah.”

  “Well, what is it? Fur?”

  Hari had to laugh. “No, not fur. When the Magi stole my skin, he stole a piece of my heart. A piece of my heart, in the shape of my sister. To find my skin, I have to find my heart, and I do not know how to do that with my family dead.”

  “Would it help if you found others of your kind?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Dela quirked her lips. “At least we’re not looking for some mangy piece of hide that’s been buried for two thousand years in some godforsaken jungle.”

  “There is that,” he said dryly.

  She smiled. “Everything has an answer, Hari. Even your heart.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “In the meantime, I show you this world. I take you home.”

  “And if there are no answers?”

  Dela touched his face. Her fingertips were cool, light as butterfly wings. He wanted to kiss her palm. “Then you live, Hari. You live, with all the time you’ve got, and the life you want.”

  Dela turned away from him, and it took all Hari’s willpower not to wrap his large hands around her waist, to hold her against his body. He wanted to share something intimate, if only for a moment. He was so hungry for such things, for some soft touch. Before, when he kissed her, he’d thought one taste would be enough, but he now realized his mistake.

  Be careful, whispered his mind, a litany not powerful enough to suppress the emotions and desires he thought long dead, shrugging free of the places he had buried them. Dela’s presence was the key. She made him want more. She made him believe freedom was a possibility. She made him want to live again.

  Stories and lies, he told himself, but he did not care.

  How beautiful, he thought, his doubts and fears falling silent as he watched Dela rummage through her bags. Perhaps I do have a friend.

  I am losing my mind, Dela thought, watching Hari disappear into the bathroom to finish the soak that had been interrupted by both assassin and meal. He seemed clean enough; she suspected he just wanted to put some distance between them, a bit of breathing room.

  Fine by her. It gave Dela more time to contemplate her burgeoning insanity—a first-rate madness in which a kiss was suddenly more important than inexplicable assassins, magic boxes, and immortal shape-shifters.

  I am losing my mind, she thought again.

  But oh, her lips still burned, her entire body flushed with desire. Dela had never been kissed like that. Just the press of Hari’s mouth, his taste and scent, and fire had roared through her body, shearing muscle and bone, convulsions twisting her lower stomach.

  She had been so prepared to box his ears—if she ever recovered from the smoldering, devastatingly erotic way he looked at her—but once he touched her neck, her mouth, all coherent thought had fled screeching into the dark recesses of her mind.

  Dela wanted him. Bad. And it shocked her, how wanton she felt. Priorities, priorities. The only thing that had kept her from falling from her chair into his lap like an overeager poodle had been the knowledge that Hari was still a stranger. A stranger who might push, interpreting her desire as an invitation to do more.

  But Hari had not insisted. He had pulled away, apologizing. Hearing him speak, she wanted to hold him, lay her cheek against his throat. Make no promises, she wanted to say, and yet, she was glad for them—thankful for the vow of distance. Her control around men had always been perfect—distant, even cool—but Hari was a completely different force to be reckoned with.

  She blamed the echo of his spirit still resonating inside her head; he was a part of her in a very intimate way, his presence as familiar as her own, as though she had known him her entire life.

  Disturbing.

  She shook herself, and opened the address book she had just retrieved from her luggage. Using her phone card, Dela placed a call to Roland Dirk in San Francisco.

  Part bear, part lumberjack, and part GI Joe, Roland had been a member of Dela’s inner circle and family for almost ten years. He was dirty, twisted—a criminal mastermind of the lowest order—and one of her favorite people in the entire world. He was also the perfect person to help her.

  It was midnight there (or as her night-owl brother Max liked to say, “freakishly early”), but this counted as an emergency. The phone rang once, twice, and Dela fought panic.

  Come on, you big pussy. Answer the damn—

  “Yo,” Roland groaned. “Whassup? Better be good, ‘cause I was having the best wet dream.”

  Dela rolled her eyes, knowing he could see her and inviting his commentary.

  “Stop that, Del.”

  “I hate you,” she groused affectionately. “Cellulite has more personality.”

  “Especially yours. Now, what d’you want? Must be good, calling from China—unless you finally decided to give in to my demands for phone sex.”

  Ah, pleasantries. “Papers for a friend,” she said, getting down to business. “I need a passport, social security number—the whole works. Plus, an airline
ticket out of China. I need to be on the same flight as this individual, so I’ll give you my confirmation number, let you work out the details.”

  A moment of silence. “For a minute there, you sounded like my mother.”

  “No wonder you’re so screwed up.”

  “That’s your brother’s fault. He drives me nuts. You know what crazy shit he’s into this week?”

  “Does it have anything to do with South America?”

  “Right on, babe. He’s down there like some Rambo wannabe, stirring up rival guerilla groups, trying to get them at each other’s throats so he can ferry some kidnapped tourists out of the Amazon. A distraction, he calls it. He’s going to start World War III, just for a simple snatch and grab.”

  “Hmph,” she grunted. “Max can take care of himself. What about those papers?”

  “Jeez. Okay. You needed them yesterday, huh? Something about this friend I should know about?”

  “Nope.”

  “Sure? You know I’m always looking to extend invitations.”

  “Oh, God, no.” The thought of Hari working for Dirk & Steele horrified her. He was dangerous enough, without having the Kamikaze King on his back. “This guy is a friend. I promised to help him out.”

  This time it was Roland who grunted. “Just a friend?”

  Dela blushed, and he instantly sighed. “Okay, babe, no problem. You know I got your back. What’s his name?”

  “Hari. H-a-r-i. No last name. Feel free to make one up. And thanks, Roland. You’re a sweetheart. I’ll take a picture of him with my digital camera and send it to you.”

  “Whatever. Anything else?”

  She hesitated, but Roland had to be told. The attack might have been personal—but if not, then the target was much greater, more important than just herself. Everyone in the agency might be at risk.

  “Someone’s trying to kill me.”

  The result of that particular announcement required Dela to hold the phone away from her ear while semi-inarticulate gurgles emerged from the earpiece.

  “… AND DON’T YOU HOLD THAT PHONE AWAY FROM YOUR HEAD! I CAN SEE YOU, AND IT DRIVES ME CRAZY!”

  Dela grimaced, and returned the receiver to her ear. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you don’t calm down. You know what the doctor told you.”