Tiger Bound

by Doranna Durgin

  Akins’s shot rent the air, a spike of sound.

  Katie barely felt the impact—high against her back, where it would have shattered her spine. She barely heard the rogue’s escalating anger. She felt only Maks, the rough warmth of him through the fading shields, the thickness of his fur, the muscles gone limp. The amulet pulsed malevolent darkness inches from her nose, a thick and gathering malaise.

  Katie didn’t think twice. She slipped her still-shielded hand between Maks and the amulet—shoved—and flipped it away with violent disgust.

  “Maks,” she whispered, resting her face against fur. “I know you’re in there. I know...” For the shields still slipped between them, paper thin and growing thinner.

  “What the fu—” Akins’s voice had gone up an octave. “Eddie, whatever the hell this thing is...get it off, get it off—”

  Katie’s fingers sank deeply into fur—too deeply, the hard outer coat making way for the soft undercoat, the sensation of it both luxurious and alarming...the shields were fading fast. And she mourned the biggest irony of all, that she couldn’t reach him for healing until the shields were gone and it was too late—and then this rogue and his men would snatch her up and leave Maks to his death.

  “Off!” Akins shrieked. “Ohmigod, get it off!”

  She saw it, then—that he’d followed her to Maks, that he’d been close enough—no doubt reaching for her—that he’d been directly in the path of the amulet as she flung it away.

  That he, human in all ways, had neither the great strength nor reserves of a Sentinel. He went to his knees even as she looked, his face contorting with pain. “Eddie! Eddie, get it—” His words degenerated into a panting howl; he writhed as Maks had writhed, going down to the rocks.

  The rogue stood over him. “Eduard,” he said coldly. “You may call me Eduard. And then you may die.”

  And the shield between Katie and Maks, the shield whose very presence meant that Maks was still there...

  The shield slipped away, and Katie buried her face in the tiger’s fur and keened bitter grief.

  * * *

  Maks hid from the pain, hid from loss, hid from the truth. Broken tiger, unable to protect that which he loved. Again.

  Not that he’d stopped trying—still pouring the last of himself into that shield.

  And there, in that deep place, he felt a warm breath. Barely perceptible, a steady and calm wash of peace. A tug of comfort. It came with an insistence—a little bit pushy, a whole lot persistent. It came with a taste.

  Katie.

  Katie Rae.

  The love of Katie Rae.

  The healing of Katie Rae.

  If he let her.

  Let someone else take care of you, Maks, she’d told him, and the undercurrent of it ran through the this new connection. Let it be me. Now.

  Maks breathed of her.

  The darkness grew less dense. His ear flicked at a ragged sound—an intake of breath. Fingers clenched in the fur over his shoulders. He smelled the salt of her tears and of his blood, and the raw nature of her stress, but the bitter corruption of the Core workings could not reach them here.

  Shields, Maks. He poured of himself into them, just as Katie poured of herself into him, and he pushed them out—no longer skimming along their bodies, but retaking a buffer space.

  Eduard’s voice intruded into the healing. “You should have died,” he said, oddly reproachful. “You would have saved me some trouble, and saved yourself a lot of pain. The woman will be mine; I have need of her.”

  “Maks,” Katie breathed, and she made his name sound like a caress. “You’re still there. But the shields...”

  And because there was nothing between them any longer, he could show her, even from his struggling-to-consciousness state, what she hadn’t understood.

  For the shields had never gone. Once she buried her fingers in his fur and reached out to him with her heart—once they were touching—the shields had seen them as one, flowing back around Maks to protect them both.

  And now, with Katie protected, with Maks protected...they no longer needed the tiger, exposed out here in the rocks...risking Sentinel secrets.

  Maks shivered back to awareness, enough to see the inside of his eyelids instead of the deep recesses of a fading soul. It meant leaving the peace Katie had given him and returning to what Eduard and his creature had wrought—to a strained and broken body that, once human, would be more broken yet.

  But it was time.

  He reached for the human, and when he opened his eyes, he found Katie already adjusting, kneeling beside him so as to spare his body her weight.

  “Now you’re just showing off,” Eduard said, casting an impatient glance toward the bottleneck of the approach to the outcrop and its modest clearing. “And I’m running out of time. The woman will be mine, Maks, just as your mother was mine. If those hunters come back before you relinquish her, they will die—is that what you want? One life, or many?”

  As if Maks had a voice, jammed up against the rocks, blood streaming from his flank and his shoulder, the jagged pain of it battering against his ability to think, his vision teetering on the edge of gray sparkles, he struggled to draw breath, the bite of hot metal at the back of his tongue.

  He used his eyes instead, as Katie looked over her shoulder at Eduard, her hand on his arm—Katie, the only reason he was conscious and breathing at all. You can’t have any of them.

  “Maks,” she whispered in protest, and left it at that—it was enough. The healing would keep him alive; it wouldn’t put him back into a fighting fettle.

  “Everyone all right back here?”

  That was the hunter, still out of sight—the big guy who had ignored the impossibility of what he’d seen to do the necessary things—fighting an impossible creature, eyeing an impossible tiger. He, too, would die at Eduard’s hand if he joined them—or at the hands of the Core minion even now coming around the outcrop to join them.

  “Akins was always meant to die,” Eduard said. “As were you, Maks. But if you do the smart thing, Katie will survive; she is a resource to me, and I will keep her safe. If you do the smart thing, then the remaining hunters will survive, also—and I’ll make sure that Katie’s disappearance is blamed on Akins, as I always planned.” The man shrugged, shifting the entire morning coat. “If not, then you all die. And the blame will rest on you. I can make sure of that.”

  Katie who had protected him...healed him...awoken him.

  Katie who held his heart, every bit as much as she now clutched his hand.

  Maks lifted his chin in a silent defiance, and for once he didn’t feel the lack of words. He had his expression. He had his eyes. He had his intent.

  And he had his shields.

  He pushed—and he pushed hard. He gave no warning, and he gave no quarter. The shields enlarged, a shockwave of energy slapping through the clearing and smacking up against Eduard—no longer a protection, but a weapon.

  Eduard staggered back, his hubris punctured by surprise—and then a second, more horrified reaction, as he slapped at his coat—first one pocket, then another, and finally understanding as the amulets detonated. He shed the coat as fast as he could even as he stumbled away, patting at himself like a man afire. The coat hung up on one arm and he flailed at it, tugging and yanking until a tearing sound heralded his release.

  Katie sucked in a breath, her hand tightening around Maks’s, daring to glance away from Eduard to catch Maks’s gaze—to ask, wordlessly, if he was seeing what she did.

  Yes.

  Eduard, looking older by the moment. Eduard, stripped of workings and protections and deflating before their eyes, his posture hunching, his legs bowing slightly, his pants sagging.

  He looked down at himself; his hands touched his leathery face, clawed desperately at his eyes. He made a sound more animal than any tiger, a gurgling cry of anguish—and then he fled. Not fast, not steady...but the only person chasing him was himself. In the silence that followed, a shocked curse mutt
ered through the air—Eduard’s minion, just around the lower point of the outcrop and about to make his appearance.

  He changed his mind.

  “Hey!” the hunter yelled, just coming into sight and stopping in confusion—not finding the creature, not finding the tiger, not finding Akins or Eduard. He eyed them warily, taking it all in...buying time to sort it all out—or to try.

  Finally he said, “Jay’s hiking up to get a signal, get a rescue team in here. You guys good for now, or...well, hell, buddy, you gonna make it?”

  Katie took a deep breath, her hand once more closing over Maks’s—a reassurance this time. She’d be okay. He’d be okay. They could do this. They were.

  “We’ll manage,” she said. “It looks worse than it is.”

  “Hell if it does,” the man muttered. And then, a puzzled and healthy skepticism on his face, “But what—I mean, did you see—” He shook his head, apparently deciding just not to say the words. “You sure you’re good?”

  “Oh, yes,” Katie told him. “We’re good.”

  And Maks, sprawled on the rocks with far too much of his blood leaking out, found that he hardly cared. He looked up at her disheveled hair, her torn shirt, her tear-streaked face, her brown eyes bright with the awareness of what thrummed around and between them, and discovered that, as usual, he simply didn’t have the words he needed.

  And that this time, it didn’t matter at all.

  Chapter 22

  Healer, heal thyself, Katie thought as she sat on the front porch rocker with her hands tucked up on the edge of the seat, her hand steadying a tumbler of ice water and the other hand running across the remaining swelling in her ankle.

  Self-healing turned out to be a tricky thing, at that.

  From her perch, she watched a tiger limping heavily around the yard—just inside the treeline, and on occasion completely obscured.

  There were others here now—examining Eduard’s discarded coat and the ruined amulets within it, attempting and failing to track him to the lair that Maks could describe from ancient memories but for which he’d never known a location. The entire area was absent of any scent other than that of Core workings.

  Even the scent of the javelina had faded.

  Katie could still smell it in her memory; she’d always smell it in her memory. She’d always remember Maks, struggling to stay conscious once the hunters returned, his eyes gone confused...his hand reaching for hers as an anchor. She’d tried to tell him they were safe, that he could rest...

  It had been a blessing when he’d finally passed out.

  By then, brevis had been well on the way, healers in tow. Not Ruger, the bear healer who could have done so much for Maks, but the best they could scoop up along the way.

  By then, the hunters had been packing out with their wounded, looking for a high spot that would give the rescue chopper access. The two who remained—the woman and the biggest of them—

  Katie closed her eyes against the sudden sting of tears, her hand closing around her ankle as if she, too, needed an anchor.

  “Please,” the woman had said. “The dogs...they’re suffering—they need mercy. And we heard...”

  We heard what you did with the cat. We’ve heard the rumors. Angel of mercy.

  She’d only looked at them, wary and withdrawn, her ankle puffed to twice its size and taking all the attention that Maks didn’t already have. She’d shaken her head. “You have the tools to do the job,” she told them, and meant it. An expert bullet, a sharp knife. The dogs were beyond fear or understanding.

  It was the man who’d said it, his expression full of all the things he was asking—forgiveness for believing or participating in those rumors, forgiveness for allowing Akins to be part of them. Forgiveness for leaving her with the man, for it hadn’t taken them long to understand who had shot Maks, after all, and from there to understand the game Akins had been playing.

  All those things. And then he’d said, “But that would just be ending it. You can give them peace.”

  So she’d done it. But there was always a price.

  Whiskers tickled her face, inspecting the tears; the tiger behind them gave a chuff-chuff-rattly purr, and then rubbed his head against her face. The chair rocked back; the ice water went flying. Katie flailed for balance as the chair went just...nearly...too...far—and her hands closed around a strong neck, a steady arm. She opened her eyes to Maks, and to the smile in his eyes. He brushed his knuckles across her cheek.

  “Fine,” she grumbled. “Be adorable. Deprive me of a perfectly good scold.”

  “You were thinking of the woods.” He didn’t have to explain how he knew. Either he’d seen it in her face or he’d felt some trickle of it. It had been hard to hide such things, since his initiation. Since their initiation.

  “The woods,” she agreed. “And other things.”

  Such as the vision she’d had...the one that went beyond what had happened at the clearing. Its grief tugged at her, profound and wearying...an entire people in mourning. Her people, prey and predator alike. That aspect of the vision still hung over her like a pall...still unresolved.

  Maks sat on the top step of the porch, easing himself down with care. His bare toes stuck out in the sunshine and the rest of him in shadow. His jeans weren’t snapped and his shirt wasn’t buttoned, and it couldn’t have been more obvious that he’d rolled out of bed—their bed—and into a minimum of clothes before he’d taken the tiger to prowl the perimeter.

  Brevis had withdrawn from the area—back to regroup, with a new team already forming to return and cleanse the area of Core bolt-holes. Maks had only stayed in Brevis Medical long enough for them to plate his collarbone back together, stuff him full of antibiotics and healing brews and put him through a few strong, hard sessions of healing. Then he’d come back to Katie. Limping, wounded, still healing...but whole again nonetheless.

  The yellow cat yawned from his corner basket, made a token conversational noise, and went back to his nap. Minus his tail, minus one leg...still king of the cabin. Katie reached down to rub a knuckle over his forehead, and joined Maks on the stairs.

  “They’ll want you back, you know,” she said, and then leaned against him, twining her fingers through his.

  “Sometimes,” he agreed. He resettled his hand around hers, firm and warm and matter-of-fact. “Sometimes not.”

  “Maks,” she said, squinting out into the bright morning sunshine. “Tell me you didn’t bother to put anything on under those jeans this morning.”

  “Didn’t,” he agreed.

  “Hmm,” she said, a sound of both contentment and speculation. “First client’s not for two hours.”

  His hand tightened around hers, and though he looked out on the yard, it was with a smile.

  They heard the car at the same time—a car achingly familiar to Katie, and familiar enough to Maks that his initial reaction settled into a wariness—and a question.

  The last time Marie had come up that driveway, it had been to fling the worst of accusations.

  The hell of it was, she hadn’t been totally wrong. Her Rowdy had finally eaten the wrong thing, and Katie would never fully be able to explain the truth of it.

  Marie’s car rocked to a stop; Maks’s free arm slipped around Katie’s back, his hand resting on her hip and snugging her in with only the faintest hint of pressure. An effort, that was, with the shoulder still healing, and only still a working shoulder at all because of his Sentinel nature.

  “It’s okay,” she told him, her voice very low. It didn’t matter that the hunters had sung her praises, or that her business was as it had always been, or that people greeted her with cheer in the shops and on the street. There were some things that couldn’t be fixed.

  She didn’t get up as Marie exited the car, closing the door with a firm, matter-of-fact shove and then heading to the back hatch of the sturdy little Outback, where she rummaged briefly.

  When she emerged, she had a young dog under her arm—a brindled thing with wh
ite socks and a blocky head and thin, happy tail. As she grew closer, it was easy to see that the animal had healing scrapes and far too many visible ribs, but its tail never stopped wagging.

  Marie looked at them both, taking in not only Maks’s presence, but his obvious claim on Katie.

  “I found this guy by the side of the road,” she said, in something of a determined rush. “The vet says he’s fine, but...I thought if you had time...I was wondering if you’d look him over.”

  Katie drew a sharp breath, bit her lip on the renewed sting of tears. It was easy to feel Maks stiffen, ready to protect her, even in this small way. “It’s okay,” she told him, squeezing the hand she still held. “It’s good.”

  He was slow to let go of her hand as she rose, but as she reached out for the young dog, his fingers slipped from hers, if only to trail down her calf for one final squeeze.

  “I’ll watch for you,” he said.

  And he did.

  * * * * *

  Sentinels Mythos/Glossary

  Long ago and far away, in Roman/Gaulish days, one woman had a tumultuous life—she fell in love with a druid, by whom she had a son; the man was killed by Romans, and she was subsequently taken into the household of a Roman, who also fathered a son on her. The druid’s son turned out to be a man of many talents, including the occasional ability to shapeshift, albeit at great cost. (His alter-shape was a wild boar.) The woman’s younger son, who considered himself superior in all ways, had none of these earthly powers, and went hunting other ways to be impressive, acquire power. He justified his various activities by claiming he needed to protect the area from his brother, who had too much power to go unchecked...but in the end, it was his brother’s family who grew into the Vigilia, now known as the Sentinels, while the younger son founded what turned into the vile Atrum Core.

  Sentinels An organization of power-linked individuals whose driving purpose is to protect and nurture the earth—as befitting their druid origins—while also keeping watch on the activities of the Atrum Core.