Chino smiled. “Yes, my cat is dying to stretch his legs. I’ll be by to wake you when I finish with the askari Takemoto brings me.”
“Good. Until then.” Damiano gave his friend one final nod and let the door shut, turning to stare at the bunk. It was calling his name.
Chapter Four
T he night was beautiful in the desert. The heat of the day no longer choked Damiano as he and Chino walked out of the warehouse where Base Camp was located. Before letting the door close behind them, they asked an askari where the training pit could be found. Captain Bennett hadn’t told them about it and it wasn’t something they’d thought to ask at the time, but Damiano had seen pictures of it hanging on the wall in the outer office where she’d first greeted them with Takemoto. The askari at the back door had told them to run northwest, so that’s where they headed after moving through their rapid shift.
Damiano’s metamorphosis to a tiger in the blink of an eye was something he’d become so accustomed to over the years, it happened almost before he’d imagined it. One second he was standing at the back door as a man and the next he was in shifted form, bounding away from the building, knowing that his best friend, a sleek golden panther, was following in his wake. Nevertheless, out of habit, he glanced over his shoulder to confirm what he already knew. The large cat was eating up the sandy soil right behind him.
Chino was gorgeous in his shifted form. He was all rippling muscle with golden hair covering his entire body, except for a lighter collar reaching from his back around his panther’s shoulders to cover his chest in a V which was hidden from view unless he was leaping directly at Damiano. His own tiger was only slightly larger than Chino in shifted form. The fact that his cat was bigger than Chino had always surprised him. Chino towered over him in human form, his chest and shoulders much wider with hands that were as big as saucers. Damiano had watched in amusement countless times when someone shook Chino’s human hand only to have their own swallowed up in his huge mitt.
Damiano’s tiger was more handsome than pretty. He knew it as fact, but it wasn’t vanity that made him aware of himself. He guessed that most shifters must be aware of their own bodies when shifted. The stretching of muscle and snapping of bones transformed him so quickly that had Damiano ever done it in front of a human; he knew it would be perceived as only a blur. One minute a man would be standing there and then the man would be gone, replaced with a massive tiger, six feet long from wide head to tail. When shifted, he stood so tall that he could stare a full-grown human right in the eye—and no doubt make them crap their pants.
Damiano’s light golden eyes stayed that color when he shifted but thick black lashes made them stand out prominently. His entire body was covered with a thick coat of striped fur, heavily golden beneath, with wide black and white stripes—his markings only slightly paler on his underbelly. His paws left massive eight-inch-wide tracks in the dirt where he ran, his stride, when running, twelve to fifteen feet long.
They took off across the desert and as they ran, Damiano felt the wind on his face, rippling past his whiskers which could pick up every slight change in the wind speed or direction. He felt his fur flatten on his body as he headed northwest, experiencing freedom he only felt in cat form. When he shifted, Damiano felt alive. When he ran, all was right with the world. He ran harder, tireless as he tore across the desert sand, leaving Base Camp and any trace of human scents behind him. The only sound he heard other than the wind was the pounding of Chino’s paws behind him. They rarely ran side by side; Chino wasn’t as fast as Damiano but that fact didn’t mean he held himself back. When in cat form, Satriale let himself go, fully and completely committed to his animal, setting him free to experience the world in ways nothing else even came close to.
They ran for about twenty minutes, going deep into the desert, exuberant in what it felt like under the stars which seemed to burn much brighter away from the floodlights of the Base Camp buildings. The moment he saw an indentation in the ground ahead, Damiano reduced his speed, letting Chino catch up. They stopped on the edge of an oval pit, probably a hundred feet across including several rows of crudely cut rock steps leading down to the arena. The center of the arena was made of hard-packed earth, about seventy feet across and fifty feet wide. A cinderblock building with several doors was located on the opposite side from where they stood.
Damiano bounded down the steps, leaping out into the arena which was sunken an additional ten feet from the last step. Chino followed close behind him as they circled the arena. Damiano put his nose to the ground several times, scenting fresh blood. It had pooled in large quantities and run into the sand in places. That happened often during training so it wasn’t unusual for the scent to remain. A pair of double doors were located on one wall of the pit and he assumed that was where injured cats could be removed to receive medical assistance. Training was often dangerous and cats had been known to die in the pit, though that happenstance was a rare and tragic occurrence.
Damiano looked up, staring at the rock seating above, seeing what it looked like to shifters from that angle. He’d been in many arenas all over the world. This one was a crudely fashioned training arena, obviously cut into the desert sand with training troops in mind. This was where the men who desired to become an askari would continue their post-boot camp training in cat form, pitted against cats of their own species and those of other species as well.
Actual arenas where the king would go to watch matches between his subjects or his askari, paladin, and their enemies, were much grander. They’d often have a pavilion where the king would sit to stay out of the blazing sun or pounding rain. Damiano didn’t know anything about King Fain’s origins and he wondered where he had spent his life. The fact that he’d been found after Pasha Raab’s death and brought to the palace was nothing short of a miracle that the entire cat shifter world had echoed far and wide.
Damiano glanced back at Chino and then faced forward, taking a run, picking up speed for his leap out of the pit. Twenty feet from the steep side of the pit, he planted his back feet and used the powerful rippling muscles of his thighs to propel him into midair, feeling the ground fall away beneath him as he took flight for a few precious seconds. When he landed on the hard ground of the aisle between the first set of steps, he dug his long claws into the dirt to find his footing. Without looking back, he propelled himself higher up the side of the stadium. He’d crossed the thirty feet to the top in a few long strides and short seconds.
He reached the top and turned, hearing Chino behind him. The large golden panther stopped beside him, huffing out a breath as he panted. Damiano rippled through his shift, and only a second later stood beside Cortez as a sweating, naked man. They’d run for miles and he was invigorated by the effort it had taken crossing the desert. He’d barely blinked an eye before Chino took human form beside him. His entire body was covered head to toe with a sheen of sweat and he smelled clean and all cat.
“The askari said there’s water inside the building,” Damiano panted.
Chino bent at the waist and planted both of his big mitts on his knees for a few seconds as he panted. When he straightened, his hair flopped into his face, covering one eye. Chino reached up and brushed it back. He nodded.
“Let’s find it then. I’m dying.”
Damiano headed to the cinderblock building and reached out, trying one of the doors. It opened with ease and he stepped through. There was no electricity out this far, but an oil lamp was sitting on a wooden table beside the door. He reached for the box of matches beside the lamp and slid it open, picking up one of the wooden sticks and striking it. It flamed immediately and Damiano reached for the hurricane lamp, pulling up the glass shade and lighting the wick inside. He twisted the brass handle and the lamp instantly flared to life, lighting the room where they stood. A cupboard on the other side of the room revealed a store of high-protein drinks including several flavors of Isopure, Gatorade, and bottles of water. Satriale reached for the water and cracked the lid, drin
king half before he turned to Chino who was drinking his own water. Damiano grabbed a second bottle as Chino lifted the oil lamp. They took off, walking out of the room through a doorway.
It led to another room which was empty except for a whiteboard and several desks with attached chairs. On the whiteboard, Damiano recognized a depiction of a page like that from a football coach’s playbook. Several Xs and Os were sketched on the board along with arrows showing directions where the players should move. He realized that it was a guidebook of sorts, one he’d helped to partially write because the movements sketched on the board were all his own.
Months back, while still in Jerusalem, he and Chino had been approached by paladin leadership at the behest of Mossad’s paladin in charge, Meir Admoni. They’d come from Tel-Aviv to speak to Damiano directly about pit strategies that day and he’d often wondered whether his help in creating the playbook had contributed to King Fain’s choice of him to become the next paladin primero. He’d been surprised that the king would want anyone less than a general commanding the paladin, but life was strange like that. Apparently, Damiano was a fucking badass field commander. He knew that he had skills but he’d had no idea anyone had taken notice. They’d apparently been watching him for a while and that was good enough to have the king promote him.
Damiano had always been a warrior and though he’d never moved beyond the paladin rank of colonel, it had been fine with him. His own rank was never important to him except in the fact that as he rose in the Corps, it gave him greater freedom to develop military strategy. Colonel was a field-grade rank and that was where Damiano had felt most productive, helping to develop good men and teaching them how to defeat an enemy. The eagle insignia on his dress uniform epaulets were a source of great pride.
“Right from your playbook,” Chino said from beside him, having walked up on him without any sound. Damiano turned his head to look at his best friend as he took another long drink of water before crushing the plastic bottle and pitching it toward an open bin.
“Yeah. I didn’t realize they’d been teaching this. It’s good to know though.”
“Well, Bennett’s been doing something right,” Chino said.
Damiano frowned. “What do you mean?”
Chino glanced at him. “Dunno. I wasn’t that impressed with the askari Takemoto brought me today. They say the right things but something’s off, buddy. None of them know what happened to Nelson or where he’s been for the last few days. It’s hard to believe no one noticed one of their own askari brotherhood missing for days. I just don’t know whether they’re covering for her lack of leadership, or their own failings.”
“What did you scent?” Smells were telltale signs of emotions that the Almighty had endowed shifters with. Damiano had always thought them blessed as a race to possess them.
“Oddly enough, other than trepidation and concern, I didn’t scent any deception. Then again, I didn’t scent deception on Takemoto either, as I told you before.”
Damiano shook his head. “Yeah, that’s weird because if I had to suspect anyone at Base Camp of deceiving us about Nelson’s body, it would be him.”
“Yeah. I don’t fucking get it. How can someone vanish for days without being missed?” Chino asked.
“I have no fucking clue, Chino, but one thing is certain…” Damiano looked back at the board, staring at it for a few seconds before pinning his best friend with a serious glance. “We’re gonna get to the bottom of this shit.”
****
“Hurry up, Paget! He’ll be here any minute.”
Paget turned his head and saw Rahnnie standing at the door of the king’s chamber. The pretty servant looked flustered. He smiled and shut the door of the wardrobe where he’d been standing and walked across the enormous room to where she stood. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a little squeeze.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so shaken, Rahnnie. He’s just another man.”
She gaped at him. “He certainly is not! He’s the paladin primero and the palace’s senior staff is expected to meet him under the portico.” She tugged on his arm and he closed the door, following her out into the hall.
“I don’t know what everyone is excited about. He’s just another paladin. Big deal.”
“Jeez, Paget. You know he is a big deal. He’s the king’s senior paladin and you know what that means?”
“Senseless beatings, extreme punishment for every perceived wrong, and in some cases torture just to make him feel better?” Paget bit his lip so he wouldn’t smile as he watched her eyes widen comically.
“Give him a chance at least. He has a good reputation.” She pulled him down the wide corridor toward the front door to the castle portico where the senior staff would be lining up to meet the newest brute in the king’s army of brutes.
“I swear I don’t know where you get your information. The kitchen staff certainly isn’t a good source. Whatever would make you think this one is any different than the last one or all his minions? The man was a beast.”
She huffed in frustration. “You need to give him a chance. I hear he’s absolutely beautiful. Besides, you should try to stay on the king’s good side and befriending the primero is just the ticket.”
Paget rolled his eyes. They walked down the hall of statues that showcased the history of large cat shifters, some in shifted form as panthers, tigers, lions, cheetahs, and leopards, and some in human or half-shifted form. He’d always loved this hall. He loved his history. As a panther shifter, Paget was proud of his heritage. Even though he was nothing more than a servant in the king’s palace, when he was in shifted form, he was as strong as King Fain or any of the others in his court. The caste system in the palace, as with all kingdoms he supposed, was strict and finite. Perhaps this was because there was only one cat shifter king in the world. Paget had often wondered how the hierarchy of other shifters, like the wolf or bear tribes worked.
In the big cat world, serfs, peasants, and common serving slaves made up the lowest class of shifter in the palace. They were permitted only to fraternize and breed amongst themselves. Ranked above them were those like himself, subalterns, also known as subordinates. They were equivalent to the askari, common soldiers, though the two types of servants to the king rarely mingled. Next up the line in rank were the paladin who were the king’s warriors, also known as his guard or knights. And finally, ranking just below His Majesty, were Miruna Grey, the king’s councilor, and the new paladin primero, his champion. Damiano Satriale had the whole palace buzzing.
“What do you think he is?” Paget asked out of the blue.
“You mean… oh, what is the primero when shifted?” she asked.
“Nevermind. He’s probably a domestic tabby.” Paget grinned.
“Ha!” She squeezed his arm and gazed up at the painted ceiling high above them while they walked. “I bet he’s a tiger like the last king or maybe a panther like you, Paget.” She glanced over at him and grinned. “Wouldn’t it be something if he was a panther. Then the two of you could take your runs together. Under the moonlight.”
Paget chuckled. “You are a hopeless romantic, Rahnnie. Maybe that’s why I love you. Besides, even if he isn’t a panther, there’s no law about running with other cats. They run with each other all the time but you know servants don’t run with paladins, nor do I know any who’d want to. All the ones I’ve met are mean jerks, too full of themselves to even speak to a lowly subaltern much less a servant of the lower classes.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her silky blonde head.
They were close because she was one of only two cats in the palace who knew his secret and that’s the way it would stay. Paget Jureaux was gay. Because of that, he’d pretty much given up on ever taking a run with another cat. He did his running and hunting alone. He’d been outed after his first shift when the other cats—his childhood friends—had scented it on him. All of them had pretended to be his friend for a little while but one by one, as their hormones began to go haywire in pube
rty, they began chasing females and had drifted away from Paget. Soon, he hadn’t had any friends and he’d left his modest home and his parents in Nevada and moved west, finally settling in Los Angeles. When a position in the king’s palace opened up, he’d been lucky enough to be hired as a subaltern and had been working for the king ever since.
Paget didn’t mingle with other staff of his station, not because they didn’t want to run or hunt with him, but because he’d made it that way. In shifted form, other cats could sense his true nature. The females would be able to figure him out damn fast and that’s the last thing Paget wanted. Paget’s bubbly personality made him very popular among the palace staff and that’s the way he needed things to stay. In the six years since he’d come to work at the palace, Paget had formed attachments among them. After Pasha Raab, the previous tiger king, had been dethroned and his cousin, King Christos Fain, had succeeded him on the throne, it had been a rocky time but things had eventually leveled out and become routine again. Though Paget desperately missed Pasha Raab’s rule, he’d learned to serve a new king with total loyalty.
They walked to the end of the hall of statues and Rahnnie let go of his arm and turned to face him. She smiled sweetly and reached up, touching a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes.
“You are beautiful, Paget… breathtaking in fact. I know you’ll find your mate.”
“Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, there’s probably not another gay cat out there for me and definitely not in the palace. Trust me. I would know.”
She smiled at him almost sadly and then glanced away when she heard someone coming.
“You need to go now, Paget, before Miruna comes looking for you. You don’t want to be late or she’ll throw a fit.”
“Let her. I’m itching for a good cat fight,” he said, chuckling.
The Tiger King (Paladin Shifters Book 1) Page 5
