Captive Moon
Page 12
Perhaps talking would help. “So, you have questions?”
“Bunches. But I don’t know where to start.”
Antoine started to open his mouth to reply when she tossed the still-damp suit over the top of the screen and continued speaking. “Let’s start with—how did you just happen to show up at a German police station looking for a tiger on the same day that I happened to have been taken to one?”
That’s right! She hadn’t been in the room when he’d explained the day to Matty and Margo. Naturally, she would be suspicious of his motives. He certainly would be.
For a few minutes, he explained how the day transpired—from Simon’s disappearance to his visit to the woods, scenting her and finding out she was still alive.
“So,” she said, stepping from around the screen and doing a quick pirouette. “It was just good luck on my part that your day sucked?”
He smiled a bit, but it was filled with sorrow. “You might say that. Simon was one of my favorites, and I’m very sad about his death. He was young and talented, and his loss will upset the whole troupe when they learn of it. But I’m certainly glad that I arrived so the Kommissar didn’t discover a naked young woman with streaked hair in a cage in his basement.”
Her expression was rueful and her scent was awash with embarrassment. “Oh yeah. That would have been a terrific image. Especially with one black eye from being kicked right where the guard kicked the tiger.” She pointed to the outfit. “Yes? No?”
Antoine snorted and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s lucky it wasn’t me in the cage. I would have taken his foot off—at the knee. Fortunately for him, German food gives me indigestion.”
She exploded with laughter that carried the sweet, tangy odor of happiness. “Yeah, they all smelled like cabbage, and that gives me gas.”
He looked Tahira up and down slowly, admiring the play of strong muscles that flexed under the cloth. How sleek and dangerous she looked in her animal form, and how lovely that the image carried over to her human side. “Skirt yes, but not the shirt. The shoulders sit wrong. Fiona has very long arms.”
Tahira smirked, held out her arms and wiggled her fingers, showing that the sleeves extended well past the unpolished nails. “Ya think? What kind of cats are you guys, anyway—cheetahs? I thought tigers were the biggest cats. And trust me, I wanted to take off the cop’s foot. But then they would have just up and shot me.”
Putting his boots up on the desk, he watched her lithe form disappear behind the screen once more. “Definitely a point. They weren’t exactly the poster children for quiet restraint.” This time he didn’t turn away from the exquisitely curved shadow as she removed the top, but he noticed that she was missing a few accessories, so he stepped to the wardrobe and rummaged through the drawers below the closet area. He selected several possible items and tossed them over the top of the screen. He could see her pick them up, and then turn toward him with hands on hips.
“Hey! Can you see through this thing? How did you know I’m not wearing a bra?”
“Not at all,” he lied smoothly, grateful that Fiona had left some of her Wolven cologne in her room for him to use. As head of the Sazi police force, Fiona had access to the secret cologne that masked the scent of emotions to other shapeshifter noses. Normally, it was forbidden for council members to use it, but he decided it wise to partake while the challenge might still be averted. “But you arrived in a bathing suit. Even if you had been wearing underclothes, they would be wet. Yes?”
The shadow tilted its head and shrugged. “Oh. Forgot about that. Well, I’m not too big on wearing other people’s undies, but they still have tags on…so, okay, thanks. And you didn’t answer—what kind of cat are you and your sisters?”
“Cats,” replied Antoine, “Plural. Fiona and I are twins, and we’re half lion and half cougar. My sisters Amber and Aspen are also twins, and they are half lion, half bobcat. The traits of our fathers seemed to determine the type of cat we turn on the moon. From our mother, who was a lioness, we inherited size and strength. So I suppose the answer is that I’m a cougar; but a really large one. And I can roar like either a lion or cougar depending on my needs.”
“But you’re French. Are there cougars in France?”
“Again, my father was the cougar. He was American. Mama was French. Our family arrived in France long, long ago from what is now Algeria. Our estate in Strasbourg has been in the family for centuries.”
“So you’re pretty rich then, huh? Matty said downstairs that you’re some sort of councilman. Does that mean you’ve got pull with your people? Do you have any resources that can help me find my brother?”
Antoine took a deep breath. Here was the question he had been dreading, and he still wasn’t sure how to answer it. He still disagreed with Ahmad and Giselle about this, but perhaps there was a way to spin the discussion to get the responses they needed.
After a long moment, he finally said, “I am indeed the representative for the werecats on our council. I’m hardly rich through family connections, though. The estate was quite run-down when it was deeded to me. It’s why I started the show. The upkeep is a tremendous financial burden, but I get by. Whether I have pull to help you depends on what you need, and whether you would be willing to help me in return.”
She peeked her head around the corner of the screen, eyes narrowed and dark with suspicion. Her nostrils were flared, seeking some sign of his intent. “How would I be able to help you? I’m just an ordinary shifter from California and am in no position of authority in the kabile. Hell, even my grandfather thinks I’d be better off dead.”
Now came the delicate stage. Antoine steepled his fingers over his chest. “What you have to offer isn’t within your family, but within yourself, Tahira.”
Her expression stilled and her eyes glittered with a growing anger. She ducked back behind the screen and yanked another outfit from its hanger. The movements pushed the burned caramel scent over the screen. “I see. It’s like that. I’d read that about you.”
Antoine furrowed his brow because he didn’t understand her comments. Her actions behind the screen were quick and sharp as she buttoned and hooked a new outfit into place. He heard jingling of metal, like tiny bells. “I’m not sure you understand what I’m trying—”
“No, no,” she replied with fire edging her words. “I understand perfectly. Is this more what you had in mind?”
She stepped out from behind the screen and Antoine gasped. It was the outfit from his vision in the tunnel! But how could it be? His feet dropped from the desk with a solid thump that rattled his jaw. He stood and realized his mouth was open. How she had found a belly dancer’s outfit in his sister’s closet was a mystery, but there was no question about the purpose of the outfit. Thin, nearly transparent black netting heavily embroidered with a gold and red flower pattern clung low on her hips. The red beading caught the light from the window until it was the exact color of her hair stripes. The top was a halter—and tight. It pushed and raised her chest to its full potential. The fringe on the arm coverings, top, and veil swayed as she walked closer.
She was easily the most sensuous woman he’d ever seen in his life.
“So, I suppose you’ll want me to dance for you and then have a quick roll in the hay? Is that the price for helping me find my brother? Is that why this outfit was conveniently in the wardrobe?” Her voice was terse, each word spit with venom. “I’m quite good at dancing the karshilama.”
Antoine shook his head. He was trying not to be distracted by the outfit, while still trying to decipher what she was implying. When it finally hit him, it was between the eyes, and all he could think to do was let out a vicious roar that vibrated his chest. He raised his leg sideways and kicked the nearest object, which happened to be Fiona’s favorite mahogany desk. The massive roll-top slid across the floor and crashed into the opposite wall hard enough to turn it into splinters. Another item to pay for on this visit, in more ways than one.
“Merde! Putain! Surely my visions can’t have degraded to something so absolutely frivolous! This is not about sex, Tahira! The future of our kind is at stake. This is not a fucking game!”
His anger and the utter destruction of the desk cut through her attitude like a knife. Suddenly, her face was unsure, confused, and more than a little frightened. He stepped toward her and she backed away from him. “But you said—”
He fought against his own pounding heart, let out a harsh breath, and ran his fingers through his hair until he was calm enough to speak. “Yes, I know what I said, and I understand how you could take my comment as you did. But do you actually believe what they say about me in the press? Do you truly think that I’m some sort of a rake and a rogue who beds a different girl each night and has left a dozen women crying at the altar?”
All he could see of her face were her eyes and forehead above the veil; her confusion at his outburst was obvious. “I…I mean—”
He sat down on the bed and pressed fingers to his temples to try to relieve some of the pressure behind his eyes. He didn’t quite know why, but it was suddenly very important to him that she understand. He lowered his hands and inhaled slowly. “Tahira, I haven’t had an actual date in more than a year. I don’t have the time! My publicist arranges my escorts to events. Sometimes they’re starlets, sometimes up-and-coming singers—whoever will be helpful to get my name in the papers. But we usually leave in separate vehicles, and I’ve seldom asked one for a second date, much less invited them to marry me.”
He stared into her eyes until he was certain by sight and scent that he had her full attention. “Do you understand? If and when I wish to date or sleep with you, it won’t be by coercion or by trickery. I will simply ask you.” He stood up and took a deep breath. “But for what it’s worth, I am glad you put on that outfit, because it makes me realize that there’s more to our chance encounter than meets the eye.”
He stepped toward her and lifted up her arm so the fringe would swing. “You, and that outfit, have been the stars of several visions of mine lately. I don’t know why, or how, but it’s time I began to explore it before we all die because of my stubbornness.”
The eyes above the veil were wide and showing too much white. “You mentioned earlier you were a ruhsal. What things have you seen of me? Have you seen Rabi in any of them?”
Antoine lowered her arm but kept hold of her hand. He frowned. It wouldn’t be appropriate to tell her that he saw himself having sex with her after just telling her it wasn’t about sex. “I certainly hope he wasn’t one of the people in my visions, because they haven’t been pleasant. I’ve been trying to suppress them for months now, because the few that have concluded ended badly—very badly. One of the visions was in the van. It’s why we wrecked.”
“But with the veil, how would you know it was me?”
He tried to think of a way to say it without giving away everything. “Even with the veil, there is no mistaking that you were part of that vision.” His gaze flicked over her, taking in every detail. “The amazing hair, your lips that taste of cherry jam and sandalwood, the hair, the clothing, and your…exquisite body—they were all in the vision. It could be no one else. I’m just hoping that you’re part of the solution that I must find to stop the snake, rather than one of those in danger.”
She reached up with her free hand to unbutton the veil from the headdress and he noticed she was blushing furiously. “Sorry. It’s hard to breathe with this thing on. What snake?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head and studiously ignoring her discomfort at his compliments. While all true, he had been a bit overenthusiastic. “But there’s something going on. Your brother’s disappearance, your capture, our being in Stuttgart. They’re connected. I just don’t know how. Perhaps it’s about your gift. Maybe that’s the key.”
“My gift? I don’t have one. I’m just a normal everyday Hayalet. Nothing special.”
He squeezed her hand and turned, leading her back to the bed. He sat down and patted the spot next to him. “It appears you do have a gift. It’s very rare, nearly a myth. Giselle is a sensitive, a type of—what did you call it—a ruhsal? We Sazi call them seers. She believes that you are a power well. The man downstairs, Ahmad al-Narmer, is the representative for the snakes of the Sazi. He is also one of the few people who have ever been in contact with a power well.”
Tahira held up a hand and reared back a bit in surprise. “Wait. You say his name is Ahmad al-Narmer? That’s not possible. ‘Al’ means ‘of’ and there is no such place as Narmer. That was the name of an Egyptian pharaoh, like the Scorpion King.”
Antoine nodded and he tried to convey both amusement and warning in a small smile. “All true. But his name is not my story to tell, and you might change your mind about asking after you meet him. Just know that he and his father before him have held their seats on the council since Babylon was the seat of civilization. From what I’ve gathered, Ahmad was born somewhat over a millennium ago.”
The reaction was fairly common, but he always got a small amount of amusement to see the slack jaw and wide, slightly panicked eyes.
“I’m the youngest of our council, a mere cub. The owner of this house is so ancient that he was once worshipped as a god by his people. When I spoke with Ahmad earlier, he told me he believes you have the ability to pull magical energy from powerful shifters. It’s why when I held you in form, you continued to pull from me and I couldn’t break free. He feels that without training, you’re a danger to yourself and others.”
“But…but this has never happened to me before. Why would the first time I pulled power be with you?”
He shrugged. “Stress can bring out new talents. Or perhaps you simply haven’t encountered any other alpha shifters until now.”
She shook her head and the scent of frustration fought with a dozen other emotions for prominence. “No, that’s not true. Both Grandfather and Rabi are—” She let out a small laugh that was filled with realization. “Hold on! Maybe that’s the answer Rabi and I were looking for. It’s why they trained us separately. Grammy didn’t have potential to be a sahip, and the first time I met Grandfather, I hugged him and then felt dizzy and hot. He looked worried and never hugged me again. But Grammy never explained why. She just started to train me personally and talk about lots of metaphysical stuff.”
“So,” Antoine said with a sigh, “it appears that your people at least understood that you had some unique ability that required special training. Perhaps they wanted to learn the extent of it before they told you. Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.”
* * *
TAHIRA PULLED HER hand away, stood, and walked toward the divider screen, holding herself to keep from shaking. “No, we don’t. I didn’t…well, I didn’t tell you everything that Grammy said when she told me to follow Rabi.”
“Indeed? She had a vision of her own?”
Stepping behind the screen helped her focus. She wanted desperately to lie to Antoine, but she just couldn’t. It was starting to not matter about the Hayalet versus the Sazi, or the cats versus the snakes. Her brother’s life, and the lives of the people she had met in this house, were all on the line.
She slipped off the belly dancer outfit and put on the undergarments that Antoine provided. They fit reasonably well, although the underwire on the bra would make her miserable if she had to remain in it too long. She took a deep breath and let it out slow as she hooked the bra. “After I’d been looking for Rabi for nearly a day, Grammy sought me out. She pulled me into a small storage hut and told me to stay silent. She kept her voice very low so that nobody would hear her, but it was really hard to understand what she was saying. Besides, I was so freaked out with Rabi being missing that I didn’t really think much about wh
at she said until we were downstairs earlier.”
There was no reply from Antoine, so she kept talking as she pulled the outfit she intended to wear over her head. There was no reason it shouldn’t fit and promised to actually look good. “She said that the great war was beginning again—between the Hayalet and the Sazi. But more than that, it would be species against species and if Rabi were to be killed by his captors, even the humans would learn of the Sazi’s deceit, and blood and fire would rain down on the world.”
The buckle on the ornate jeweled belt to the outfit wasn’t cooperating. Tahira kept her head down while she tried to figure out how to attach the pieces.
Antoine spoke during her pause. “But the Sazi have nothing against the Hayalet. In fact, we’ve been trying to establish friendly relations, possibly even trade between our people.”
Tahira sighed. “I know. That’s what gets me. Margo told me when she brought wine up to the bedroom that the Sazi council tries really hard to maintain a balance with the humans, keeping shapeshifters from breaking laws and such. Since I’ve never heard anything in the press about the possibility of were-animals—well, other than the occasional bat/boy hybrid in the cheesy tabloids—you guys must be doing a pretty good job of it. But someone who knew about our abilities took Rabi. How else would they have come up with a drug that could keep me out of it for a whole month?
“I had to have turned at least once for them. I was in animal form when they captured me. By their scent, I know the captors weren’t Hayalet. Until I met you, I didn’t know any Sazi. But Grammy said that snakes were involved and insisted they were Sazi. When you said that you had visions of snakes, I decided there must be some sort of connection. But finding Rabi has to be my primary goal. Apparently, his life or death will be the thing that starts the war. And I don’t doubt it from the Hayalet perspective. Rabi is the first sahip born in two generations. He’ll take over the tribe from Grandfather. If he dies, our people will respond.”