Treasured by a Tiger

by Felicity Heaton

Was the hut a sort of tavern?

  He crossed the village to it, pretending not to notice the way more people stared at him, their eyes tracking his progress. He didn’t care. He really didn’t.

  He bared his fangs at one male, a reaction he hadn’t been able to hold back. The male bared fangs right back at him, his pupils turning elliptical in the centre of his red irises.

  A vampire.

  Grey supposed Hell was probably fabulous in their eyes. No sunshine to make them go crispy. Just endless night.

  He flashed fangs at the male again, and stood a little taller as the male turned away and walked in the opposite direction to him. Easy win. Which was strange. Normally vampires liked to fight to claim top spot, to prove themselves the most powerful things with fangs out there. Which was utter bullshit.

  Dragons had to be the most powerful things with fangs.

  Maybe demons cut a close second, possibly a joint placing with the elves. Grey had heard all manner of things about elves, some of which made them sound dangerous and not as magical and wonderful as he had believed as a kid.

  Hellcats slotted in below them.

  Vampires barely ranked above the other feline shifters.

  Still, it was odd of the male to leave without a fight.

  Grey slowed his steps and watched the male walking away. He didn’t stop at the perimeter of the village. He kept walking, heading into the darkness, going south-east.

  High, bubbling laughter broke the silence.

  He shook off his curiosity about the male and returned his focus to his mission, shifting his gaze back to the hut that was possibly a tavern.

  Another female toppled out of it, a male following close behind her.

  “Excuse me.” Grey raised his hand to snag their attention.

  Both of them stared blankly at him.

  They looked at each other.

  Spoke.

  In a language he didn’t know.

  The female was rather animated as she prattled on, tossing her blonde hair over her bare shoulders, revealing a small top that was more strapless bra than corset. Matching black leather hugged her long legs. She was pretty too, a bright glow around her pupils that might have fooled him into believing her a shifter like him.

  Only she smelled of sex and sin.

  A succubus.

  Her partner stood behind her, giving Grey a death glare turned up to the max.

  Succubus sidled towards Grey, a wicked sway to her curvy hips and a smile tugging at her cherry red lips.

  Crimson bled into the male’s eyes, his pupils stretching thin in their centres.

  Another vampire.

  And this one looked as if he might fight to prove who was stronger.

  Grey held his hands up again and shook his head. “My mistake.”

  He hurried past the male, ducking into the hut. It was cramped inside and he had to remain bent over to avoid banging his head. With all the demons, dragons and elves in Hell, he would have thought someone would have had the foresight to build the walls higher so the roof trusses didn’t pose a risk of injury.

  He was barely pushing six-five and it was a struggle to reach the bar without knocking a few braincells out, or himself out with them. He didn’t want to see a demon pushing seven foot trying to move around in the cramped suffocating space.

  Wooden torches rested in metal sconces spaced around the walls and clustered behind the bar area opposite him. Their flames flickered wildly, casting shadows over the males and females seated around the tables that lined the edges of the room. As if it wasn’t hot enough already. He huffed and tugged at his damp t-shirt, trying to fan himself a little as the temperature rose. Still, it was nice seeing a colour other than endless black, and having light in his life again.

  He found a spot at the black stone bar, squatted there and tried to get the attention of the female serving. A very ample female. Her long mahogany corset pressed her curves inwards, and upwards, and tan leather encased powerful thighs. She poured a drink from one of the five huge wooden barrels stacked like a pyramid behind the bar and then turned back to the customer and set the clay mug down in front of him.

  Her eyes glowed as she spoke with the male, a pretty shade of blue with violet hints.

  Another succubus.

  Was this entire village made up of them?

  She brushed her fingers across the male’s jaw, and he visibly shuddered and sagged a little, his cheeks turning deep pink as he stared dazedly at her.

  Another beautiful and buxom female came to him and ushered him away, out of the door and into the darkness.

  The bartender finally noticed him.

  Her smile lit up the room and her eyes glowed a little brighter.

  Grey cleared his throat and schooled his features, his lips settling in a firm line and his silver eyebrows meeting hard above his blue eyes.

  “I just want information.”

  She looked disappointed.

  Possibly confused.

  The escorts Thorne had offered were looking more and more like they would have been a fantastic idea.

  The brunette blinked and leaned against the bar, her breasts threatening to spill out of her tight corset. She reached for him.

  He shook his head. “Just information.”

  He wasn’t interested in anything else. He shut out the mocking voices in his head. It was his choice. He was the one uninterested in her, not the other way around.

  “Infor… mace…” A little wrinkle formed between her brightly coloured eyes.

  “Information.” He pulled his pack off his back, unzipped the main compartment and fished out the papers he had brought with him. He set them down on the stone slab and pointed to the name of the village. “Is this here?”

  She stared at the word.

  Dammit. Thorne had warned him that the ragtag groups that called this area their home had probably never left Hell so were unlikely to know the mortal tongues.

  Someone peered over his shoulder.

  A black clawed finger landed on the piece of paper in front of him, close to his. “Here.”

  Grey jumped and growled at the male beside him. The warlock. Wizard. Whatever the hell he wanted to be called. He reeked of magic and death.

  Even the succubus backed off, her usual bright smile and sultry air turning cold and dark. She said something, and the male said something back at her, a bite in his tone.

  “You speak English?” Grey didn’t want to talk to the male, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere speaking with the bartender or anyone else in the joint.

  The male didn’t nod.

  Not a good sign.

  “This is here?” He pointed to the name on the piece of paper again.

  The male nodded and looked around. “Here.”

  It was a start.

  “You speak her tongue?” Grey pointed towards the bartender. “Speak. Her.”

  The male frowned, his icy green eyes darkening a shade, and looked at the female, and then back at him. “Yes.”

  Getting there.

  But the male didn’t really understand him. He couldn’t ask complicated questions and have him relay them to the bartender for her to answer, and the male wouldn’t know the answer to them himself since he was clearly just passing through and using the village as a rest stop.

  He needed to boil it down into something the male might understand.

  “Mortals. Humans.” It was worth a shot. He pointed to himself. “I’m looking for mortals.”

  The male’s eyes lit up. He pointed east. “Mortals.”

  Grey looked in that direction. East. The dragon realm and the Devil’s lands were east of here. He slid his blue gaze back to the male, his hackles rising and his animal side growing restless, prowling beneath his skin.

  Was the male telling him the truth?

  “Mortals?” Grey pointed east, along the length of the bar.

  The male nodded and attempted a smile. It came off twisted and disturbing rather than reassuring.


  “Definitely?” Because he was starting to get the feeling that the male was trying to get him killed. “Because dragons are that way.”

  The male shook his head. “No dragons. Mortals.”

  Grey pulled the map out of his trouser pocket, spread it across the bar top and jammed a finger against the area Sable had labelled as ‘here be dragons’ and had drawn what he imagined was meant to be a dragon, but it looked more like a snake fighting a spider.

  “Dragons.” He tapped the paper.

  The warlock shook his head again, his eyes darkening another shade and his thin lips flattening. He jabbed a black claw against a spot west of the dragons, and east of their current location.

  “Mortals. There.”

  So close?

  Was it possible?

  “Here?” Grey pointed to the map.

  The male looked as if he was going to kill him if he asked again, an inky sort of darkness growing around his pupils to devour the pale green of his irises.

  “Okay. Here it is. Got it. Thanks.” Grey bundled up his papers and his backpack in his arms and left before the male could even think about muttering a spell to flay his fur off his body.

  He breathed deep as he hit the village square again, shaking off his nerves and the sensation that the male was trying to get him killed. He just smelled of death, that was all it was. It had put Grey on edge.

  He looked back at the tavern. Even the succubi had avoided the male. He turned away from the village and headed east, glancing at the male’s tent as he passed it. It was set up a good distance from the rest of the tents and from the huts, placed right against the perimeter wall of the village.

  That struck a chord in him.

  The warlock had come to the village, but had separated himself from them, was keeping his distance even though he obviously wanted to be around others.

  The male had been helpful, but because he had looked different to the others, Grey had found it difficult to trust him. He had judged him on his appearance, and had believed he wanted to kill him because of that. He was no better than the others.

  He should have been.

  Experience should have taught him something, should have made him react differently to the male, but he had treated him with suspicion, just like the rest.

  Just like his pride had treated him.

  All because he was different to them.

  Gods, he was no better than them.

  He hated that.

  It weighed him down as he trekked east, following the lead the male had given him.

  It took him across the valley basin to the foot of a low mountain range.

  He looked along it in both directions, and then at his map. By his calculations, the quickest route would be over the mountains, because the range stretched in both directions for miles. If he tried to go around, it would take him at least another day to reach the destination the warlock had marked for him.

  By then, Archangel might have moved on.

  He adjusted his pack on his shoulders, huffed and started forwards, picking a path up the gently sloping side of the mountain. He crossed a trail around two hundred metres up and followed it as it wound through the sharp towering rocks and up through tall crevasses that sliced into the black mountain. The trail grew narrow near the top, heading towards a sweeping curve between two peaks.

  He brought his pack around to his front and pressed his back against the black rock as he edged sideways along the path, his eyes on the steep drop to jagged rocks below and his heart hammering against his ribs. No damn way he was going to fall. He breathed through the fear, refusing to let it get to him, and looked to his right, focusing on the path instead.

  It opened up a short distance ahead.

  Relief was quick to sweep through him when his boots hit the wider path and the trail led away from the edge, over the ridge.

  Gods, he was tired.

  He pulled a cloth from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow, and ran his other hand over his silver hair. He would rest on the other side. This high up the mountain, he was unlikely to run into any wild beasts. He could spare a few minutes to catch his breath and rest his legs. He unhooked the canteen from his pack, took a swig of the tepid water, and capped it and put it back again. He was getting low.

  Thorne had warned him not to trust the water in Hell.

  Apparently, some of it wasn’t water at all.

  Grey didn’t want to know what that meant.

  He figured it wouldn’t end well for him and that was enough to have him steering clear of hitting any stream he saw for a refill of his canteen.

  He reached the top of the mountain.

  His breath caught.

  Good gods.

  It was as if he could see the entire world.

  Or at least all of Hell.

  Beyond the valley far below him, steeper mountains rose, forming ridge after ridge into the distance, where the sky glowed bright gold. The Devil’s domain.

  Hell was bleak, grim, but had a strange sort of beauty to it from up here.

  He started down the mountain, his eyes leaping back to the view whenever they could, drinking it in. It was incredible. How big was Hell? He should have looked back in the other direction at the ridge to see if he could figure it out. Maybe he would stop there and drink it all in if he came back this way.

  He picked out a spot to rest as he scouted the route ahead of him, a nice flat space just a little over halfway down the mountain and only accessible from one side, giving him some protection.

  He was close to it when lights in the valley caught his eye.

  He slowed his steps and tracked them as they flickered and danced, a row of flaming gold spots crossing the darkness, heading to his left, deeper into the valley.

  Archangel?

  He looked in the direction they were heading, and frowned. More lights glowed there. Another village? Or a base of operations for a mortal hunter organisation up to no good?

  Thoughts of resting scattered and he marched down the mountain, intent on reaching the valley floor before the people walking towards the settlement reached it. He needed to find out if they were Archangel soldiers, and he needed to do it before they joined up with the others. He could handle a few hunters, but not an entire base of operations.

  His boots skidded on the loose black shale as he hurried down the mountain, and he fought for balance more than once, attempting a controlled slide that would get him down into the valley quicker than using the paths.

  When he hit the valley floor, he paused for breath, his eyes scanning the dimly lit world around him. He spotted the torches off to his left, about five hundred metres out from his current position. He drew down a deep breath, held it in his lungs to steady his heart and centre himself and exhaled slowly. His senses sharpened, his animal side rising to the fore, allowing him to see into the darkness ahead of him.

  Allowing him to see the people crossing the valley.

  Every inch of him stilled.

  And then a slow burn started in his blood.

  It wasn’t Archangel.

  He growled low in his throat at the sight of the large male figures, at the thick chains they gripped, and the captives they dragged along behind them.

  It was slave traders.

  He caught a flash of the two tiger shifter females he had found huddled naked and terrified in their cages, held against their will by Pyotr, the male Maya had been promised to as a cub.

  That burn grew hotter, fiercer, blazing white hot, and he curled his hands into fists, his emerging claws digging into his palms as his tiger side raged, battered his control and pushed him to react, to obey his instincts.

  To protect.

  No one deserved to be treated that way. No one deserved to be abused, mistreated, held captive and condemned to a life of fear.

  He snarled through his fangs.

  Dumped his backpack and stripped off his t-shirt.

  These bastards were going to pay for what they were doing.r />
  CHAPTER 2

  It was almost her turn on the stage.

  Sickness brewed in Lyra’s stomach and her legs trembled beneath her weight, but she refused to let fear overcome her. She tugged at the heavy metal collar around her neck, rattling the chain attached to it, and cursed. Her heart thundered at a dizzying pace that made it difficult to breathe.

  Gods.

  She needed to get away.

  It was pointless though. There was a huge gulf between what she needed and what she knew was going to happen. She needed to be realistic, and not allow her fear to consume her. She had to keep her head.

  Even if she did manage to get the collar off, and the shackles that bound her wrists, she wouldn’t be free. She would still be locked in a cage built of the strongest metal in Hell.

  Lyra paced the small space, struggling to breathe through the panic as it started to sink its claws into her heart and her mind, conjuring vile images of her future, visions that tore at her strength, making it easier for the fear to take hold.

  To strip away her control.

  She sucked down another trembling breath.

  She needed to be strong.

  It was hard when she was falling apart inside.

  The number of eyes on her grew, pushing at her fragile restraint, making her want to lash out at the other captives as they watched her.

  She hated the sense of expectation that laced the warm air and pressed down on her.

  These people expected her to be strong. Fearless.

  She might be a hellcat, one of the most powerful and vicious of the shifter species that called Hell their home, but she still had a heart.

  She still experienced fear.

  The thought of what was about to happen to her was terrifying.

  She clawed at her cuffs and her collar, her throat growing tight and her strength wavering for a heartbeat before she snatched hold of it and clung to it again, not letting it bleed from her.

  She cursed the collar.

  The magic in it sapped her strength, making it impossible for her to break free of her bonds, the drain it caused far stronger and more devastating than the one she felt from the shackles around her wrists. Those were just the back-up plan, a last resort in case she broke her collar somehow. They would inhibit her enough that she wouldn’t be able to break them open, but they wouldn’t stop her from snapping the chain and gaining enough freedom to sink fangs and claws into every male present.