“Calm down? Jeeeezus, Del. Who the hell is trying to kill you?”
She told him about her attacker, giving him a full description. She also explained the knife and her fears regarding the agency.
“We haven’t been compromised,” Roland said. “I would know. What about you, though? Enemies?”
“None I can think of, and most of the people I meet are at fancy social gatherings. I’m perfectly charming at those things.”
“Which means you’ve probably got a dozen people who want you dead, and who could afford to do it right.”
“Only a dozen? I’m hurt, Roland.”
“Sarcasm will get you everywhere, babe. Don’t worry, Dirk & Steele is officially on the case.”
“Lovely.” She meant it, too. “When is the earliest you can get me those papers?”
“Tomorrow evening, or the morning after. I’ll twist some fingers, pour in some cash. I’m worried about you, though. I can send some locals to watch your back.”
“I’ll be fine, Roland. No extra help needed. Or wanted. And don’t tell the family. Please. The last thing I need is them freaking out.” Or getting involved.
“Give me Max, at least. I answer to your family if you croak, Del. Your grandmother alone will nail my hide to the wall.”
“Not before she shaves off your balls with Grandpa’s antique razor.”
He sucked in his breath. “You’re evil.”
Dela smiled.
She asked Roland to send someone to check on her personal assistant, Adam—it stood to reason anyone close to her could be a potential target—and after sharing her contact information at the hotel, they ended their conversation with a simple ‘bye.
Still grinning, Dela looked up to find Hari studying her. A simple thing, but she forgot how to breathe.
In the shadows of the hotel room, his tawny skin seemed to glow warm and golden. His deep scars did not mar the perfection of his body, covered only by a towel wrapped around his lean waist. Hair still wet, slicked away from his face, Hari’s cheekbones appeared higher, more pronounced, and Dela could see the tiger in his face, in the flush of his sun-drenched eyes. Water beaded on his chest and shoulders, and for a moment, she felt the insane urge to press her mouth against the hollow of his throat, to taste his wet body with her lips and hands.
Down, girl.
Dela wanted to laugh. This was all too absurd. Still, she could not take her eyes off him. It occurred to her that Hari would be completely at ease walking in public with just that towel. Not because he was arrogant or vain, but because he was so comfortable in his own body. Hari might have been a slave, but it was in name only. He still owned himself where it counted. He owned his soul.
“You look like you’re thinking of stalking me,” she tried to joke. Her heart hammered.
A slow smile spread across Hari’s face. “Who were you talking to?” His voice was light, deceptively so. Dela tilted her head, curious.
“An old friend of the family. His name is Roland. He’s going to get you all the papers you’ll need to leave this country and enter America. Borders are a lot more restrictive than what I’m sure you’re used to. You can’t just come and go as you please.”
“I assure you,” he said dryly, “I am quite used to restrictions on my movements.”
Dela flushed, squirming. Before she could apologize, Hari said, “You are close to this man who is helping me?”
“Close enough,” she said, surprised by his question. “He’s practically family.”
Hari grunted, eyes slightly narrowed. Dela almost laughed. Was Hari fishing for information about her private life? Could it be … did he wonder if she had a boyfriend?
Amused, wondering if her ego was running rings around her vanity, Dela hopped off the bed and grabbed her purse. The past few hours had been a nightmare of uncontrollable circumstances, demanding strict reactions. Now, it was time for equally rigorous action.
“I have a plan,” she said. “But first, we need to find you some clothes.”
“I have clothes,” he said.
“Look at the way I’m dressed,” Dela said. “Then think about what you arrived in.”
Hari frowned. “I would rather think about your plan. Whatever it is.”
Dela sighed. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to leave this country by tomorrow or the day after. If someone really wants me dead”—she fought down a shiver, swallowing fear—”he or she will find it more difficult to accomplish in America, where my home is. It’ll still be dangerous, but there just aren’t as many people. It’s easier to keep track of who’s around you.” Not to mention, Dela had friends there to help watch her back. Dirk & Steele always took care of its own.
“Either way,” Hari said, “you do not seem terribly concerned. I find that strange.”
“I find you strange,” Dela retorted. “And for your information, just because I’m not tearing out my hair or gnashing my teeth, doesn’t mean I’m not afraid. I just handle it better than the people you’re obviously used to dealing with.”
“Obviously,” he said.
Dela gritted her teeth. “Even if we’re able to leave tomorrow, we still have time to ask some questions. I want to return to the Dirt Market and find the old lady who sold me your box. She knew what she was giving me, and I want to know why she did it. Maybe she even has information about your curse, or something that could help you.”
It was already after three P.M., and the Dirt Market had closed at one. She and Hari would get there early tomorrow morning, hunker down, and wait for the old woman to show up. Simple.
Hari shrugged. “I, too, am curious, though it is likely to be a waste of time. The curse cannot be broken. My skin is gone.”
“Negativity will get you nowhere.” Dela rolled her shoulders. “I’m going back to the Dirt Market, and I’m going to pick that woman’s brains.”
Hari blanched, and Dela shook her head, holding out her hands. “No, I don’t mean that literally! It’s a saying we use. I just meant that I want to find out everything she knows.”
Hari still looked haunted. “There was a time when people truly did … pick each other’s brains in order to divine information. The best way to do it was while the individual was still alive.”
“Ew. That’s just … ew.” Dela shuddered. Disgusted, she nevertheless wanted to ask him more questions, but the pale white line of his mouth, the tight skin around his eyes, shriveled up her curiosity. Perhaps there were some words better left unsaid, some memories better left unremembered.
“Tell me something about the shape-shifters,” she said instead, hoping to make him forget whatever horror her words had summoned. “You said they were numerous two thousand years ago?”
Hari took a deep breath, his face softening. “Some kinds were numerous. Creatures of the water and air lived in great numbers, but the land-dwellers were beginning to feel the press of humans. Tigers were still plentiful, although we rarely interacted with anyone outside our family clan.”
“A lot has happened since you were put away. Normal tigers are … well, tigers in the wild are almost extinct.”
“Extinct?”
“Gone forever. So few tigers are left that, if some of them are shape-shifters, I’m sure they’ve left the forest. It wouldn’t be safe for them anymore.”
Hari did not question her. He sank to the bed, staring at the floor, his eyes cold and empty. It was a painful thing, seeing such a vibrant man reduced to such heartbreaking dismay.
“I cannot imagine it,” he whispered. “We had no rivals in the forest. Humans believed us to be gods, though that was something we never encouraged. To kill a tiger was simply not done.”
Dela sat beside him, fighting the urge to hold his hand. “Man grew bold. There must be others, though. Shape-shifters would be smarter than regular tigers; they wouldn’t let themselves get killed off so easily.” She hoped that was the case, anyway. It had been two thousand years since Hari had seen his people. A lot could have happened.
“Would you recognize a shape-shifter if you saw one?”
“Yes,” he said, straightening. “It is in our eyes, our blood.”
“Well, then. We’ll just take a walk. See what we can find.”
Hari looked at her then, a measuring gaze full of power. His eyes were the color of burnished gold. Beautiful. Dela felt bathed in heat, awash in the intensity of his presence.
“Why are you helping me, Delilah? I have been alive a very long time, and no one has ever done for me what you have.”
Her cheeks grew hot. “I haven’t done all that much. Fed you, bathed you, yelled a little. Well, a lot—”
A long, strong finger touched her lips, instantly silencing her. Hari’s gaze burned with both hunger and curiosity. Dela could not decide whether he wanted to kiss her, eat her, or just talk. Probably all three.
“You have made me feel like a man again. You have made me remember the beauty of compassion. I simply want to know why you have done this. Why you are so kind. You say my presence makes no sense, but to me you are the mystery.”
Dela pulled away from his touch. “I am not that kind. I am not a mystery. I’m just … me.” A woman who preferred solitude to a crowd, who kept her distance from strangers—from anyone who would be afraid of her secrets. She was a woman who crafted art from weapons, and weapons from art, who sometimes felt as cold as the steel she listened to—but not empty. Never empty.
“I already answered this question,” she said. “I’m helping you because it’s the right thing to do. Isn’t that enough?”
“For now,” he said. Dela heard the promise in his voice. For now it is enough, but later … later we will speak of this again. She did not look forward to it. Self-reflection was not her strong suit.
Dela swung her purse over her shoulder. “I’m going out to get you something to wear. You still won’t entirely fit in—which isn’t a bad thing—but at least I can get you into the twenty-first century.”
As long as there was a big and tall section in the shopping mall below the hotel. Doubtful, but Dela was a firm believer in miracles.
“You are not going anywhere alone,” Hari said, standing. Dela refused to back away. Her neck creaked as she struggled to maintain eye contact.
“Excuse me? When did you become my boss?”
Hari’s jaw tightened. “It is too dangerous for you, Delilah. Or have you forgotten the recent attempt on your life?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, but I’ll be in a public place. Lots of people, witnesses. Besides, you can’t go out dressed in a towel. Women will have spontaneous pregnancies. Hairy men will go bald. Dogs will start wearing clothes and smoking cigarettes. Chaos everywhere.”
Hari folded his impressive arms over his equally impressive chest. “If I do not go,” he said, in a deadly quiet voice, “then you will not be permitted to leave this room.”
Yes, the caveman cometh.
It occurred to Dela, in that particular instant, that she could just order him to let her go. The box supposedly gave her that power over his body. Dela also knew if she ever commanded Hari, he would hate her for the rest of his very long life, and that was something she could not tolerate. Ever.
Nor would she be able to stand herself for becoming the master to his slave. Some sins, once committed, could never be forgiven.
“You’re very stubborn,” she said, “but so am I. This is the twenty-first century, and women go where they please without the say-so of men. I am leaving this room, Hari—without you—and there isn’t anything you can do to stop me.”
Which resulted in a demonstration of Hari’s ability to do just that.
When he finally lowered her to the floor and let go of her ankles, they worked out a compromise. Hari would wear his sandals, leather pants, and linen tunic, leaving his weapons and armor in the room, tucked under the bed.
He did not want to leave his weapons, but Dela was adamant. One simply did not run around in public armed with swords and knives—not without a certain amount of insanity involved.
Besides, with his size, strength, and speed, the man was weapon enough. His every movement sang with dangerous grace, some ancient primal element of the predator. Rabbits would probably shed their skins for him on command—as might certain individuals of the human variety.
Hari quickly dressed and waited for her beside the door, smoothing down his sleeveless linen tunic. It looked rough, stained with blood (which Dela hoped would be mistaken for red dye), the edges frayed and torn. Still, it suited him, as did the leather pants. Everyone in the mall probably would think he was some über-cool, somewhat eccentric supermodel.
“Are there any particular customs I should be aware of before we leave?” Hari flexed his fingers.
“Don’t kill anyone, and don’t start a fight.”
His lips twitched, and Dela held up her hand. “I’m serious.”
“Of course you are.”
She scowled at him, exasperated.
Dela, however, had little time to contemplate Hari’s newly emergent sense of humor. As soon as they left the hotel room, questions began rolling off his tongue—questions about the lack of guards, the repetition in design, the great height at which he knew they stood. More, and more.
Technology fascinated him. Hari had already quizzed Dela about electricity and plumbing, but his reaction to the elevator reminded her of a marooned alcoholic finding a stash of whiskey on a deserted island: pure, unadulterated pleasure. Not that Hari was completely demonstrative; there was just something about his eyes, bright and quick-moving; the pitch of his deep voice, the coil of his fingers—all conspiring to tell a story of deep curiosity and excitement.
That, and more—until the elevator doors closed in front of him, and Hari’s face shut down into a blank mask. The transformation was stunning; seven feet of man, standing absolutely still, breathless. Perhaps, even, unable to breathe. A light sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.
Alarmed, Dela touched Hari’s hand. He’s claustrophobic, she realized, as a fine tremor raced through his arm. Dela lightly squeezed his hand; the doors slid open and he stepped through, dragging her with him. His chest expanded, a rush of air.
“Hari?” Dela asked tentatively.
He blinked, and surprise shimmered through his face as he glanced down at her. He looked at their joined hands. Silence, and then: “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Dela nodded, releasing him.
The hotel lobby’s walls cascaded marble and gilt engravings, enormous columns rising with dignified grace from floor to faraway ceiling. Leather chairs and sofas littered the yawning expanse, intimately arranged for the illusion of privacy, surrounded by potted trees with wide, shadow-casting leaves. Hotel attendants served tea and snacks, slipping from one area to another, clad in slender, high-slit chi-paos.
Dela and Hari swept through the lobby, heavy stares and stopped conversations dogging their heels. Dela lifted her chin, going for attitude. Not so difficult, with Hari at her side. He was like an instant shot of I’m-Too-Sexy, mixed with Mine-Mine-Mine.
You’re ridiculous, she told herself sternly, but could not help herself. When had she ever been in the company of such a compelling man? And so what if Hari wasn’t really hers? Though, if she wanted to get technical, she supposed he was, in an I’m-stuck-with-you-until-you-die sort of way. More permanent than most marriages, what with the magical voodoo linking them together.
Still, the intense scrutiny made her skin prickle. She rubbed her arms.
“Are you cold?”
It would have been easier to say yes, but instead she said, “I prefer anonymity. I always get a little nervous when I’m the center of attention.”
A curious smile flitted over Hari’s lips. “Does that happen often?”
Dela shrugged. “Sometimes. I’m a well-known artist in certain circles.”
Hari glanced around the glistening marble lobby, taking in the curious, unabashed attention of the men and women watching them.
�
�I once felt as you did,” he said. “It took me many years to grow accustomed to being a novelty, a prize to behold. Now I am used to scrutiny.”
“Sounds as though you were treated like a piece of meat.”
Hari made a low sound. “I have never heard it described in such a way, but yes. Walking, talking, fighting … meat.”
Meat. That was all he had been to those people. It made Dela ill, but she swallowed down her disgust as they descended into the cavernous mall beneath the hotel. The mall itself was not as large as the one within the Oriental Plaza, located deeper in the city, but Dela had no time to be picky. She was just glad her credit limit was huge, and that she had enough money in the bank to pay off the damage. Bargain shopping was impossible—Bill Gates himself might have fainted at some of the prices.
Dela watched Hari’s face as he took in the wide expanse of white tile winding a curling path before them. She led him to a glass balcony, and he gazed across the chasm at the floor beneath them, and then up at the high ceiling with its tear-drop lights. Glass was everywhere, sparkling. Storefronts full of mannequins, clad in shocking scraps of color, lined the broad, well-lit corridors. If the hotel lobby impressed Hari, he had not shown it. Here, he stared like a child, open-mouthed.
“So much has changed,” he murmured, as Dela led him deeper into the mall. People, everywhere—the China World mall was the place to be seen, and Dela felt positively dowdy compared to some of the long-legged gazelles who sauntered past, trying their best to cast seductive, come-hither gazes at Hari.
It pleased Dela to no end that Hari did nothing more than glance at them, as though they were simply part of the environment he was beginning to explore.
Possessive, yes? Dela asked herself, wondering at her strange behavior.
As they walked, the first rush of amazed awe left Hari’s face. Something more serious took its place.
“Delilah,” he said. He did not touch her, but his voice left a print on her body. Her stomach tingled. “We should not stay long,” he continued. “I did not imagine such crowds. It will be difficult to keep you safe.”
Tiger Eye Page 7
