Her stomach growled, and Hari opened one eye.
“Sorry,” Dela said sheepishly. “I guess I’m hungry.”
“We should eat. Do you feel well enough to sit up?”
“To be honest, I forgot I was hurt.” Dela grinned, and Hari shared her smile with a heat that made her scalp shiver.
He helped her sit up, slinging one strong arm around her shoulders. She barely had to use her own strength; he carefully watched her face for any signs of discomfort. Dela breathed long and deep; her ribs and stomach did not ache. Still, memory: sharp fingers inside her body, digging against bone, clutching flesh. Her breath caught.
“Delilah.”
“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just a bad memory.”
Hari remained silent, but his eyes were dark and knowing. With one long arm, he reached around her for the room service menu on the bed stand. Dela stared at it for a moment, caught between fear and longing.
“I still haven’t taken you on that walk I promised,” she said, deciding to jump into the void. “There’s a lot of world outside this hotel you should see.”
“It is too dangerous,” Hari said, glancing across the room out the window. Night had fallen; the lights of the city twinkled silver, dashed with a rainbow of neon.
“Even this room is dangerous,” Dela said, desperate for fresh air, for something more than four walls, caught like a mouse in a trap. “No place is safe. Not now.”
“You are reckless,” Hari told her, but without malice. He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. Dela’s smile felt tremulous, and he sighed. “All right. We will go for a walk, and our meal.”
They stood from the bed, and while Hari used the bathroom, Dela turned on some lamps, and the television.
“I must apologize,” he said, when he returned. “When I carried you back to the room, I left behind all the clothing you bought me.”
“I figured that. I’m not sure how I would have felt if you’d had the presence of mind to remember your shopping bags at a time of crisis.”
He began to reply, but noticed the images on the television. Dela explained the concept, and began flipping stations. Gladiator was playing on the hotel’s movie channel, and Hari leaned close as Maximus appeared in the coliseum.
“Rome?” he asked, eyes intense upon the scene playing out before him.
Dela blinked, reminded once again of Hari’s strange life. “A re-enactment of Rome; a play, a story.”
“Except, very lifelike.” Hari watched, troubled, as the gladiatorial games began. “I see some differences, but it is much the same. I was there, Delilah, early on in my captivity. I was quite popular in the arena, but my master made too many enemies with his gambling, and was gutted in his home.”
He hesitated, still staring at the screen. “I do not know how much time passed, but by my next summons, the Goths and other barbarian tribes had begun to invade Rome. My master was the emperor himself, Valens. He was desperate for some good fortune. When he summoned me, I acted as his bodyguard, but most often fought with his army. We were finally defeated at Adrianople by the Goths, who attacked our flank while we were concentrating on some Visigoths. It was a terrible battle. So much blood. The ground was slippery with it. My master died. I returned to the box.” He finally looked at Dela, the skin pulled tight around his mouth. “The irony is that my next master was a Goth. He did not live long, either.”
Hari did not want to watch any more television. They went to dinner.
Night cast a cool breeze over the city. They ambled from the hotel down the wide sidewalk running parallel to Jianguomenwai, the main road leading to Tianamen Square and the Forbidden City. Under the giant towers of their hotel and the trade center, the neon glittering signs of Haägen-Dahz and KFC lit their faces in shades of imported red, white, and gold. Cars raced illegally down the wide bicycle lane beside them, honking and veering. The air smelled like grease and exhaust. Hari scrunched up his nose, clearly unimpressed by certain aspects of the modern age.
Bad smells, however, could not prevent Hari from observing his new surroundings with acute, awe-stricken interest, and he asked careful questions about everything he saw. Skyscrapers, vehicles, roads, politics, culture—nothing was off limits. He was hungry for knowledge, and Dela felt an exhilarating rush as she talked to him, explaining her world.
But there were some things that remained unforgettable.
“I still do not feel comfortable with this walk,” Hari said, for what felt to Dela like the hundredth time. He watched, through narrowed eyes, everyone near them. “It is not safe, Delilah. There are two different groups of people who want to hurt you.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Dela groused, although since leaving the hotel room she had been scanning everyone near them for suspicious amounts of metal—anything that sang of gun or blade. It was tiring work, opening herself to so many. She felt a headache coming on as rings and watches gossiped in her mind, a golden wedding band revealing a particularly sordid story involving cucumbers and whipped cream.
Less than a mile from the hotel, Dela led Hari down a well-lit alley to a little restaurant she had found earlier in the week. The kitchen itself, a tiny space the size of a closet with glass for walls, sat beside the front entrance. Every diner had a perfect view of the frantic cook, a slender man surrounded by steaming pots and greasy pans, his delicate hands flashing like pale knives.
Almost every seat was occupied, but Dela and Hari found a table in the far corner under a rasping air conditioner. The shape-shifter managed to fold his body into a chair that was much too small, even by Dela’s standards. He reminded her of an elephant—or rather, a tiger—perched on a bar stool.
Over the clamor of loud diners and slamming pots and dishes, Hari and Dela talked about food. Hari was, at first, tentative about his choices, and not simply because the food was unfamiliar. It seemed to Dela that the novelty of not being deliberately starved hadn’t yet worn off.
They finally agreed on steamed dumplings: shrimp, tofu, and pork. As the pimply waitress shuffled away, Dela caught Hari sizing up everyone in the restaurant. He faced the entrance, his back to the grease-stained cracked wall, his wide shoulders blocking much of Dela’s view. When she tried to move her chair to see the kitchen, he shifted, angling her closer to the wall. She realized, then, that he was shielding her.
“I don’t want you to get hurt protecting me,” she told him.
Hari raised an eyebrow. “If that were completely true, we would not be out in public.”
“Ouch,” she said. Hari held up his hand.
“I have insulted you, and that was not my intention. Simply put, Delilah, I cannot die. You can. It is logical you would assume I would protect you with my body.”
Dela stared, open-mouthed with dismay. She wanted to protest, to get angry, but she thought very carefully about what he had said. Had she really been so thoughtless, so selfish? Had she truly taken Hari’s new protectiveness for granted?
Yes, and yes.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, profoundly ashamed. She could barely stand to look at him.
“I am not sorry,” Hari said, and his voice was as soft and firm as his gaze. “You trust me to protect your life, and that trust is a gift. Do you understand, Delilah? You have faith in me. It never crossed your mind to ask if I was willing—you trusted me to take care of you.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Hari. I abused your trust. You suffer the same as everyone else and I don’t want you hurt. I promised you that, and I’ve gone and broken my promise.”
“You’ve broken nothing,” he said, “Pain is a small thing, compared to the alternative.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he stopped her with the gentle press of his finger against her lips. “No, Delilah. You have no idea what it means to me, what it is like to be allowed the freedom of choice—to be trusted enough to be given that freedom. My life was a series of commands until I met you. Commands to obey, to protect. Commands, because no one tru
sted my free will. And my masters were right not to trust me. I would have betrayed them—and I did, when I had the chance. But you do not think like that. You assume I will do the right thing. You assume I am good.”
“You are a good man.”
“You are the first to say so in two thousand years,” he said. “You are the first to believe. That is an honor worth any pain. Worth even death.”
“No,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “If you trust me enough with your life, Delilah, then trust me to tell you my true feelings. I want to protect you, and the only way you will stop me is with a command.”
Hari’s golden eyes were fierce, and he cupped her face in his large hands, kissing her forehead. Chaste, and yet a warm tingle rushed down Dela’s spine to her toes.
“You’re going to make me cry,” she said.
“Then cry,” he said, and kissed her again, this time on the lips.
Their food arrived: three bamboo steamers full of dumplings. Hari surprised Dela by being quite proficient with chopsticks; apparently, it had been the utensil of choice in many of his summons. He seemed quite relieved, and Dela watched him polish off his dumplings with a single-minded intensity that made her grin. He looked up in time to catch her smile, and asked a question with his eyes.
“It’s nothing,” she said, and then, “I think I like watching you eat.”
It was a strange thing to say; she knew it the moment the words passed her lips, but it was too late. Embarrassed, she waited for his response.
Hari gestured toward her plate, still half full. His meaning was clear, and Dela looked away, shaking her head and smiling. Hari leaned close, large and fierce, but with a strangely tender light in his eyes that was utterly mesmerizing. Dela forgot how to speak as he picked up a dumpling and lifted it to her mouth. He brushed the pearly dough against her lips.
“Eat, Delilah. Let me watch you.” His voice was low, sensual; she felt his breath warm her face, wrapping her in delicious folds of air and power. Dela loved hearing her full name roll off Hari’s tongue. He made it sound exotic, sexy. The kind of name that belonged to a woman who poured herself into silk loincloths and bejeweled bras. Not sweats and old flannel shirts.
Dela opened her mouth and took a bite of dumpling. Meaty juices from the filling ran down her chin. Mortified, she began to wipe away the grease. Hari caught her wrist. He leaned forward and licked her chin. His tongue was firm, careful, and utterly erotic. Dela had no idea having her face licked by a man could be such a turn-on, although she suspected the low-level inferno blazing through her belly had more to do with the man himself than the technique.
She stifled a moan as Hari pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth, and she opened herself to him, searching for the sweet comfort of his kiss, burying herself in the delicious, heady sensation of her mouth joined with his, making love with nothing but the lips and tongue.
When he pulled away, she caught glimpses of people staring, their expressions a mixture of outrage, embarrassment, and interest. The restaurant was very quiet.
They paid the bill and left. It was late, but neither of them felt tired. When they entered the mall below the hotel, Dela pulled Hari into Starbucks—the same one they had gone careening past earlier that day. She forced herself to look at the patch of floor where she remembered collapsing, facing down the fear her memories resurrected. If going for a walk and dinner had been one act of defiance, then this was another: Dela was not going to let the Magi—or anyone else—rule her life with terror.
The coffee shop was filled with young foreigners and locals, all trying to act super cool while sipping their lattes. Classical music played softly over the speakers. Dela ordered a mango frappuccino. Hari, understandably, had no preference, so she got him hot chocolate. Cats, milk, and all that.
Her drink was in a clear plastic cup, sweetly perspiring. Golden, chunky with ice. Tasty. She smacked her lips around the straw as the two of them found a small table in the corner where they could sit with their backs to the wall. Dela sent out a trail of thought, scanning for weapons. She found nothing, but kept her mind open for the hint of anything that could be knife or gun.
Go back to your room, she told herself. Take the drinks and go. It will be safer.
But no. Stupid, selfish—maybe Dela was all of those things for wanting to stay out—but if she began running now, hiding, then what good would she be? Just another victim, cowering.
Hari sipped his hot chocolate with reserve.
“Well?” she asked. He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips.
“It is very good.” He drank some more, watching the flow of the murmuring crowd. Dela idly tapped her cup on the smooth tabletop, and Hari glanced at her with a question in his eyes.
“The Magi, I understand,” she said, by way of explaining her thoughts, “but why anyone else would want to hurt me … or how they even managed to track me down …” She frowned, thinking carefully. “They must have gotten hold of my travel plans … but no, that doesn’t make sense. I didn’t write anything down, and the only people who knew where I would be staying were Adam, my parents, and my brother.”
“Adam?”
“He’s my assistant. He runs my gallery, contacts my suppliers—everything I don’t have time for. He’s actually from China. Adam immigrated to the United States around five years ago. I was one of his first employers.”
“You trust him?”
“Absolutely. The crazy knife guy didn’t find me through him or my family. Which means they either tracked my credit card or have a contact in the Chinese government, someone who could trace my passport number when I checked into the hotel.” Dela dug into her purse and pulled out her little blue passport. She showed it to Hari. “I’m getting you one of these. It’s the only way you can move freely between countries. In China, it’s especially important. If you want to stay at hotels like the one we’re at, you have to register, give them your identity number.”
“In my time, when a man wanted to travel, all he needed to concern himself with were bandits, hunger, and disease.”
“Thrilling. I prefer shuffling paper, if it’s all right by you.”
Hari inclined his head. “It was not such a hardship for shape-shifters. As a tiger, I could cover great distances. Food was plentiful. No one ever tried to harm me.”
“Gee, I wonder why.” Dela frowned. “How did you carry your weapons and clothes when you shape-shifted?”
Hari smiled. “Clothes are so very human, Delilah. Shape-shifters have very little use for them. As for my weapons, I did not acquire those—or my clothing—until after my first summons. By that time, shape-shifting was no longer a possibility. I had to learn how to live as a full human.”
Ah. Hari’s comfort with his nudity suddenly made sense.
“Okay,” she said, after a moment spent contemplating a naked Hari running through the jungle, “so when you were still a full shape-shifter, where did you travel?”
“Everywhere.” His eyes grew distant with memory. “Sometimes I visited neighboring clans—I did so more frequently as I grew older, looking for a mate—but often I traveled by myself, simply exploring. Going places where men had not yet trod.”
Dela imagined Hari as a tiger, sleek and wild, traversing hidden worlds beneath the canopy of his forest home, traveling for no reason but simple curiosity. That and perhaps joy in his ability to do so.
“It sounds wonderful.” She sighed, and then steeled herself for the question she had to ask, that had been nagging her for hours. “Did you … did you leave behind anyone special? Like a … a mate?”
Hari shook his head. “I never found anyone who suited me. Just before my sister was taken, I considered traveling farther south into the great jungles, to see what other clans I could find.”
“I suppose if you had found someone, it would make your predicament much worse.”
“Yes,” he agreed, pinning her with his heavy gaze, as surely as if he had used his hands. “Shap
e-shifters mate for life.”
“Oh,” she said weakly, unable to understand why that particular revelation made her stomach flutter wildly. She wanted to ask him if his preferences were species-specific, but that was too much. Crazy, insane. Besides, weren’t his kisses answer enough? And why did it suddenly matter so much? Idiot. One make-out session and she was losing her mind! But, no, she’d begun losing her mind the minute Hari appeared in her hotel room. The next time she told herself to embrace possibility, she was going to have to remember not to embrace all possibilities.
Hari swallowed, opened his mouth to say more, and abruptly froze. Lifting his chin, he cast his gaze around the scattered tables, sniffing carefully. He tilted his head, and muscles moved in his shoulders and neck, liquid smooth and graceful. She could see the tiger in his eyes, his exotic face, and could not bear to look away.
“What is it?”
“I thought I sensed another like me. A shape-shifter.” His voice was hushed, strained.
“A shape-shifter?” Dela rose from her chair. “We should go look.”
And they did, but only for a short time. Hari caught scent of something wild and familiar, but the trail—which led in a short circle around the hotel—petered out at the end of a service alley.
Hari stared at the wall in front of him, the end of the concrete path. There was no way out but up.
“Wings?” Dela asked. Hari nodded, his expression bereft.
They returned to their room.
The phone was ringing when Dela opened the door, and she dashed to answer it, hoping she wasn’t going to hear some ominous voice whispering, “I’m gonna kill you!” on the other end.
But it was Adam, and he sounded almost as uneasy as she felt. Dela checked the clock. It was early morning on the U.S. west coast.
Tiger Eye Page 10
