Her heart did a little tango in her throat, her cheeks flushing. Embarrassed, she glanced up at Hari’s face and found him wearing the focused expression of a dangerous man. Deliberate, deadly.
He is really serious about protecting me.
The revelation startled her, heightening her sense of awkwardness. When Dela recalled the way Hari first looked at her—his profound disdain and revulsion—it seemed a miracle that scant hours could change so much. Or had it? Was her safety just a way of staying out of the box?
The possibility stung, but Dela knew she would not blame him if self-preservation was a motivating factor in his new solicitude. Still, that would make Hari a big fat fake, and nothing of him—especially his quiet echo still lingering inside her head—smacked of shallow deception.
And his kiss …
This is all too confusing. One thing at a time.
Yes, one thing at a time. No matter how Hari felt toward her, Dela had offered her help, her friendship—a wildly rare act on her part—but the carrying on, in some way, of a family tradition. Only, the stakes had never felt so personal.
“Never you fear,” she finally said, trying to sound upbeat. “We’ll be quick.”
Which was a complete and utter lie.
The problem was this: Men as tall as Hari were almost never built as he was—all thick muscle and sinew. It was easy for Dela to imagine Hari as he must have been before the curse: gliding through a forest of rippled shadows, one moment man, in the next, tiger. Formidable, uncanny.
Very dramatic, but not at all practical when buying clothes. Salespeople took one look at Hari, drooled and then ran. Dela was beginning to think that perhaps ratty linen and leather were good enough, when they finally found a men’s store that had—and here the bells of heaven rang in her ears—clothes that actually fit.
They escaped more than an hour later. Hari looked faintly dazed, but firmly in the twenty-first century. He wore blue jeans, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and had variations of the same in the bags he and Dela carried. Sleek muscles, long and fine, slid beneath the fabric of his new clothing. If anything, Hari looked even more handsome.
He was, however, very quiet as they walked through the mall to the hotel, and Dela—feeling rather secure—poked him in the ribs. Hari jumped, and stared at her with some heat.
“Do I never scare you?”
Dela raised her eyebrows. “I think we already had this discussion.”
Hari grumbled something under his breath. Dela, still bold, tugged on his sleeve. “What’s wrong?”
Dela’s question was met with profound silence. Finally, Hari said, “I have been a slave for more than two thousand years, Delilah. Many of those years were spent asleep, but the time I spent awake was enough. I learned to ask for nothing, and I was given nothing.” He paused, shaking his head. “Before, I thought you were being extravagant when you said I needed new clothing. Food, shelter—that is all I require. All I have ever wished from my masters.”
“Besides a little kindness,” Dela added.
The look he gave her was grave. “I stopped wishing for kindness a long time ago, Delilah. Looking for the impossible became too painful.”
He tore his gaze from her face. “I was wrong,” he said softly, and for a moment, Dela thought he meant something else. But then he said, “Out here, among these people, I can see I was wrong. You were right. I do not quite … fit in. But then, I never have. Still, this world has changed more drastically than I dreamed possible, and I do not know my place in it. I am completely dependent on you—more than I have ever been on any of my masters. It makes me uncomfortable. I do not know how to repay you.”
Dela stopped walking and placed herself directly in front of Hari, so close her neck ached from looking at him. He was, quite simply, enormous—a mountain of muscle and bone. His new clothes did nothing to mute his breathtaking physique, the shine of his tawny skin, his eyes. Passersby stared, but Dela paid them no mind. Hari had her entire attention.
“I am not looking for payment, and it is not my intention to make you feel dependent on my good graces. Listen, Hari—I’m going to teach you everything you need to know to survive in this world. In the meantime, though, you’ll just have to bear with me when I provide you with extravagant gifts such as clothes and food.” Her voice sounded sharper than her intent, and Dela sighed, begging Hari to understand.
“Swallow your pride, Hari. I’ve got plenty for both of us. Worry about taking care of yourself after we break your curse.”
It was almost funny, watching his awkward bewilderment. “How can you be so confident of our success?”
“Because the alternative is unthinkable,” she said with simple honesty.
There was a response on his lips, in his eyes, but movement to Hari’s left caught Dela’s attention. She stared, stomach lurching, vision burning. Her hand ached, a sympathetic echo.
Perfect face, coifed hair, crisp clothes. But no smile, not this time.
Dela was dimly aware of Hari turning, following the direction of her gaze. Bags crashed to the floor. She heard him make a sound—a terrible, strangled gasp—and knew instinctively that Death had come.
Time slowed. Moments caught in glass, sheer and solid.
“Magi,” Hari snarled.
Chapter Four
No way. There is no way in hell that is the Magi.
It didn’t make any sense. None whatsoever. But as Dela stared into the stranger’s eyes, she felt the brush of cool fingers against her mind. Memories from morning washed over her, and she saw a shadow creep beneath the dusky skin of the stranger’s handsome face.
Stomach clenching, Dela gritted her teeth and thought, Yes, maybe he is the Magi.
A low growl rumbled from Hari’s chest, a sound that was more animal than man, and Dela’s next thought was, Oh, shoot.
Dela prided herself on being the kind of girl who never ran from a fight. It was like SuperChick Deluxe, from the comic book—she looked like a pushover, but rub her the wrong way and she’d rip you a new one. Literally.
Still, there were times even in SuperChick’s life when it was a Good Idea To Walk Away. Like now. It didn’t take a genius to figure that Hari wanted to kill this man with his bare hands— and probably would, given the chance. If this was the Magi—impossible, impossible, but she was beginning to believe—then Dela wasn’t too keen on stopping him.
Murder, however, in the middle of a crowded shopping mall was generally a bad idea. Especially in China.
Dela latched on to Hari’s arm, holding him with all her strength. It was like embracing a volcano—all heat and certain violence. Hari trembled, face contorting with such fury that everyone who looked at him paled, instinctively back-pedaling in the opposite direction.
“Hari,” she whispered urgently, shaking his arm. She glanced over her shoulder. The Magi smiled like a playboy—all sex and ugly charm—and began ambling toward them with a careless, arrogant grace that was both invitation and threat.
Hari shuddered, easily jolting free of Dela’s grasp. She stumbled, caught her balance, and stubbornly threw herself in front of him, palms flat against his chest. Real fear pricked her skin—not for herself, but for Hari.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said. “Hari! You have to listen to me. Hari!” He didn’t seem to hear; his entire focus was on the man observing them. His eyes flickered from gold to blood-flecked copper, burning, burning.
You could order him.
The thought came unbidden, desperation momentarily clouding Dela’s judgment. She discarded the idea with disgust. There had to be another way. What Hari needed was a good shock. Scenes from movies crowded her mind, absurd and awkward. Slapping, shaking, kicking—oh, but there was one she was willing to try.
Dela jumped up against Hari, scrambling to wrap her arms and legs around his hard body. It was like climbing a tree—solid, unmoving—except she had never clambered up an oak that had lips.
It was a clumsy kiss—desperate,
hurried—but she managed to muster a little passion. Enough, anyway, to snap Hari out of his unthinking rage. For one moment she felt him kiss her back, his lips pressing hard as fire-warmed steel against her mouth. Dela savored his scent, his heat. Tears burned her eyes.
And then he stumbled, pulling away. Not far, only a breath, his eyes unveiling a story of pain, inhuman resolve. Rage. Longing. Dela felt Hari’s soul echo inside her heart, the bond that had gone quiet unexpectedly humming, electric and pure. She breathed in the memory of his golden light.
“I need to kill that man,” Hari whispered, pleading.
“I know you do,” Dela breathed, hating herself. “But if you kill him now, with so many witnesses, you will throw your life away.”
His lips compressed into a hard white line. “Delilah, please. I have no life. Nothing but this. Let me go. I do not know how it is possible, but the Magi is here, now. I may not have another chance.”
Dela shook her head, stubborn. She was not going to let him do this. Not now, no matter how much it hurt.
“Hari, no. He must have been waiting for you at the Dirt Market. Think about it. He wanted the box. He wanted you. This isn’t over. This is just the beginning.”
Dela knew she was right. This was not over. Not for Hari, and not for her.
Something passed through his face; a spasm, a trembling in his firm lips. For a moment, she was sure he would refuse, that she would find herself flung down, but then, slowly, carefully, he nodded.
Shaken, Dela pressed her forehead against his cheek and brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth. She could not guess what this was costing him.
“Thank you,” she breathed, humbled. “Thank you for trusting me.”
Dela heard clapping, and glanced over her shoulder. The Magi was smiling, applauding like a particularly smarmy wind-up monkey.
“A wonderful performance. Quite touching, considering the length of time you’ve been acquainted. And to think, I actually believed you did not like men.”
“You’re not a man,” she said, thankful for her strong, sure voice. Her body felt like jelly. Hari helped untangle her limbs from his body, displaying gentleness completely at odds with the anger she felt sieving through his pores. His tenuous control, balanced on a razor’s edge.
The Magi smirked. “That is not what Hari’s sister said.”
Dela almost forgot her own warnings, overcome with revulsion and the sudden desire to beat the Magi’s brains to pulp. Instead, she clutched Hari’s hand, eyeing the rapid pulse below the shape-shifter’s locked jaw. If Hari committed any violence, there would be no hiding—not with so many witnesses, not with such a memorable face and form. Nor would the American government be any help—Hari simply did not exist yet. The Chinese legal system would never let him go.
Hari met her gaze, and she let him see her anger and grief, a sympathetic twin to his own apparent heartbreak. Emotion roared in his eyes and then was gone, drawn behind determination. He looked at the Magi.
“I thought you were dead,” he said, unlocking his jaw. Dela heard it pop, crack. His voice was terrible to hear, low and visceral. “Dust to the ages. It was one of my few pleasures, but even that … even that you deny me. How many did you sacrifice in order to survive?”
Hari might have asked the time of day for all the reaction he received. The Magi tilted his head. “Would you believe me if I said none at all?”
“No.”
The Magi smiled. “I am not here to fight you, Hari. Not yet, anyway.”
Again, something slid against Dela’s mental shields: thick, oily, persistent.
“Stop it,” she snapped, unconcerned if she revealed herself. Hari suspected, and it was clear the Magi already knew and was testing her. She hated the feel of his mind, prying at the surface of her own like a thick crowbar. He made her feel dirty.
The Magi chuckled. “You are a very interesting young woman. A surprise, and I encounter few of those. Did you know, Hari, that your new mistress is herself a Magicker?”
The term was unfamiliar to Dela, but she could guess its meaning. Hari did not seem to care. “Leave her be, Magi. Do not even think of harming her.”
“Or what?” His teeth were too white, sharp. They seemed to click when he spoke.
“Or I will kill you.” It was a soft promise that made Dela shiver.
The Magi laughed, holding out elegant brown hands, fingers curled like claws. “You will do that anyway, Hari. But not today, in front of so many strangers. Not with so much left to do. No, no. Your mistress is right. Today, you and I will talk.”
Dela glanced around; no one seemed to be paying attention to the substance of their conversation, though several elderly Chinese men grouped against the glass railing were watching avidly, whispering to each other.
Fine entertainment, as long as no one pokes out any eyes or plays tug-of-war with entrails.
“Talk.” Hari’s lip curled. “What could we possibly say to one another? You broke your oath, murdered my sister and her unborn child, and condemned me to spend eternity as a slave.” He threw back his head, his throat working convulsively. A strangled gasp passed his lips. “You are a fool to show your face, but to expect more? Insanity.”
The Magi glided close. It was disconcerting watching him, his shoulders relaxed, his smile lazy. His eyes betrayed him, though—they were cold glass, sharp and bright, completely unafraid. Even with Hari at her side, Dela felt isolated under that gaze, vulnerable. She had escaped this man once before, but looking into his face, she wondered if she had been lucky—if simple surprise had been her only savior.
Dela searched his body with her mind, seeking steel, any kind of metal. She found nothing. He was completely unarmed. No less dangerous, though—she remembered his strength, his inhuman rage. The hollow void of his eyes. He frightened her, and she did not trust him. Not one bit.
“I have been searching for you, Hari,” said the Magi softly. “For nearly two thousand years I have walked the earth, hoping to tell you this: I am sorry. I was a different man then. Time has taught me the error of my ways.”
To anyone else he might have sounded as sincere as the Dalai Lama, but Dela could taste his deceit like a squirming worm in her mouth.
“Bullshit,” she said, angry. She felt Hari stir, but refused to look at him, instead staring deep into the Magi’s frightening eyes. A deep calm descended over her mind. “Why are you really here?”
He did not try to pretend. His contrite mask evaporated like a noxious fume. A horrible, startling, transformation. “Can’t you read me?” he asked, tapping his forehead, his smile sly.
“Do not speak to him,” Hari warned. “Do not tell him your name, do not stare too long into his eyes. Anything you give him, he will use against you. He is a master manipulator.”
The Magi lay a hand over his heart. “I am a survivor, Hari. Just like you. Perhaps our methods differ, but in the end, we are still both animals. Ruled by instinct, hunger—” He looked at Dela. “—lust.”
Hari’s muscles bunched, and again Dela squeezed his hand. The Magi’s smile widened, and he said something in a musical language she did not understand. Hari stiffened, and a moment later spat out a tangle of incomprehensible words.
“Oh, he likes you,” said the Magi, once again turning his cool gaze on Dela. “How very interesting.”
Hari tucked Dela behind him. She began to protest, but one look at his face and the words died on her tongue. This time, it was Hari who squeezed her hand, a gentle fleeting pressure, warm and solid.
“Say what you must,” Hari said, his voice low, rough. “I am tired of these games. I can ignore you just as easily as I can fight you.”
“You were always a terrible liar.” The Magi tilted his head. “There is too much history between us, Hari. Too much blood and pain. We are the tragedies myths are made of, bound together until some final end. You can no more ignore me than you can die.”
“Very dramatic,” Dela said, peeking around Hari’s arm. �
�Do you have a point?”
The Magi’s smile was fleeting, forced. “Indeed. I have a task for Hari. If he completes it, I will set him free.”
“Only my skin can set me free.” Hari narrowed his eyes. “Or so you told me, once upon a time.”
“I have your skin. Help me, and I will return it.”
Dela stifled a gasp as Hari threw back his head; his bark of laughter was sharp and cold, so cold. “I would rather remain a slave than help you. Oathbreaker. Murderer. I will have nothing to do with you, unless it is to cut your throat.”
Something tightened in the Magi’s eyes, a bright cruel hunger. “A life for a life, Hari. Was that so hard a bargain?”
“The kind a devil might make,” Dela said.
The Magi’s careful mask fractured. Real anger contorted the fine lines of his face, which suddenly appeared hollow, sunken: a breathing cadaver. Dela again smelled garlic, the spice of hot pepper. The Magi shook his head, backing away. Profound menace shadowed his eyes.
“I am done,” he said softly. “Remember this day, Hari. You as well, mistress. I tried pleasantries. I should have stayed with pain.” He looked at Dela. “I would have asked you for the box. I am sure you can guess how I will claim it now.”
Hari growled, but Dela shook her head. “Bite me.”
A cold smile, full of teeth. “I just might.”
For a man who purportedly possessed the power to screw with reality, the Magi’s departure was decidedly ordinary. Without a backward glance, he strolled down the corridor past a crowded Starbucks, and pushed open the great glass doors that led out to the taxi circle.
A strangled cry spilled from Hari’s throat, and he began running after the Magi. The shape-shifter moved incredibly fast—a golden-eyed inferno—and Dela tried to follow, dodging startled shoppers left reeling in his wake.
The Magi, halfway through the doors, glanced over his shoulder and smiled. He raised his hand.
Dela screamed as something hard impacted her stomach. Crippling pain contorted her body. She crashed to the floor as claws raked the insides of her ribs, cutting bone.
Tiger Eye Page 8
