The Way of the Tigress 1-4

by Jade Lee - The Way of the Tigress 1-4

  "It is not enough," she gasped, only now realizing that she had arched again, seeking his fingers. She used her legs as well, drawing him closer with her upraised leg and wrapping the lower one about his waist.

  "The river is stronger now. It will rush upon you soon, Lydiah. Be ready to direct it."

  She nodded, trying to hold her focus, not even sure for what. And then he began pushing into her cave. Not deeply. Just in and out, in and out, with both thumbs. And she felt each press, each slide of his fingers like the breath of a great bellows stoking the heat inside her. The yin river was strong now, like hot lava flooding her body, invading her blood. Perhaps it was her blood as it rushed about inside her, seeking an outlet.

  "Your rain is most sweet, Lydiah. And it flows so easily." She heard awe in his voice, even a kind of reverence, but it wasn't enough. She squirmed beneath him, barely registering that he had shifted positions. Where before he had knelt between her legs, now he lay down, placing his face closer to her cave.

  "What..." She meant to ask what he was doing, what would come next, but she had no breath, and so she simply closed her eyes, giving herself up to the yin.

  "Now, Lydiah. Control the yin now."

  She barely heard him, so loud was the rush of blood in her ears. But when his meaning at last penetrated her consciousness, she made one last-ditch effort to corral her thoughts.

  And then he touched her. One thumb pressed into the spot above the cave. It wasn't a hard push, but it felt like a bolt of lightning, destroying her control. Then he began to circle his thumb slowly, clockwise, while the yin lava took over. Her body convulsed, surging upward from just that spot. It was as if her entire body were controlled from there. One circle of his thumb, and she became a whipcord of power, flying out of control.

  She cried out in shock as power and joy warred for full expression. It was uncontainable—this immense feeling—and her mind went numb from the power of it all.

  But it did not end there. Ru Shan's hand slipped forward, holding down her bucking hips. She clung to him, her only bulwark in this tumultuous sea. And as her legs gripped his back, he bent his head.

  She could not see what he did, but she felt it. Hot and wet, stroking once then twice in the same first pattern as his thumbs had. She fought to move away from him, needing less, not more. But he would not release her. Instead, he pressed into her, extending inside, then withdrawing. She barely felt it, though some part of her registered his thrusts. Ten of them, in and out.

  The stormy yin sea was just beginning to calm when he changed the pattern. This time he pushed not inside her, but above, on that one spot. Ten pulses, each one finished with a tiny circle.

  Again the power crashed down upon her, tossing her body about. Her mind floundered, trying to find sanity in this explosion, but there was no safe haven, no place to regroup. These feelings would not be contained, and so she gave up, allowing herself to be carried along into the bliss that awaited.

  Over and over the pattern repeated. Ru Shan would return to thrusting into her cinnabar cave, and she would gain breath and strength... but only for a moment. And then his tongue—for that's what he used—would press back to that spot. Ten tiny circles that shattered what little control she'd established. Ten tiny circles that spiraled through her body, convulsing her muscles however they willed while her mind reveled in the wondrous power of it all.

  She had no control. Only joy.

  On and on and on it went. In fabulous rhythm, in glorious abandon.

  No control.

  Only circles of bliss.

  More!

  * * *

  She came back to herself slowly, by inches, and with a languid contentment that would have made her smile if she'd had the energy. The most she could do was catalogue her own body and her surroundings with a slow laziness.

  She was lying flat on her back, her coarse blanket tucked over her naked body. Beside her lay a person—Ru Shan—his face and body beautiful in sleep. Odd that she had never thought him beautiful before now. Awake, he had too much vitality for her to think about beauty. He was strong. Powerful. Dominant. And oddly gentle. But never anything so passive as pretty.

  But asleep, his entire being settled into a most pleasing aspect. His skin turned a kind of golden yellow and his jawline softened to handsome rather than stern. Like her, he was naked, and so she could see the definition of muscles in his upper back and arm. And though the hard cording of his neck did not stand out, she knew it was there, as well as the impressive girth of his shoulders.

  She stretched out her hand, wanting to touch him, to feel the pulse of the sleeping Ru Shan. Did it beat gentler now? Or was his heart as thunderous as when he was awake?

  She froze, her awareness spinning back to her. Not just of her surroundings, but also of her situation. She was a prisoner. Not just a prisoner, but Ru Shan's prisoner. It made no difference that he was a kind master or that his culture accepted everything he did as perfectly normal. She was still a prisoner.

  She had no business touching her master with any kind of tenderness at all. In fact...

  And that was the moment she remembered. She remembered just how much she'd touched Ru Shan. And how much he'd touched her. And that she'd wanted him to. That she'd wanted...

  So much. Too much.

  Why had she allowed it? Because she thought she could become an Immortal? If such a thing existed, it would not happen for her. She would never be able to direct that incredible yin tide. That Ru Shan had come close was a testament to his incredible force of will. That she had even conceived she could do something that he had not attained in years of study was patently ridiculous.

  But now she knew the truth. She would never become an Immortal. Not anytime soon, at least. Which meant it would be forever until she could regain her freedom.

  It took less than a moment to make the last leap of logic. That last step was to realize her jailor was asleep. Heavily asleep, by the looks of him. And Fu De was still gone. She had become so used to accepting their complete power over her, she had nearly forgotten to look for opportunities.

  Her heart began hammering triple-time, urging her to move quickly. After all, the outside sky was gray, not black. It was probably an hour or so before dawn. Fu De could return at any moment. Or Ru Shan might wake. Either way, she had to leave now if she had any hope of escape.

  Still, she forced herself to move slowly, easing out of bed. There was little to choose from by way of clothing. Her peasant garb was better than her silk robe, so she quickly pulled that on. The key to both doors—her inner room and the exterior door—was in Ru Shan's clothing, so she quickly searched there, finding the hard metal soon enough.

  She was in the act of pulling it from an in-sewn pocket when Ru Shan stirred. He murmured slightly in his sleep and his hand extended, as if searching for her. She quickly dropped his clothing, tucking the key into her palm. She had an excuse ready if he were to wake. She was simply going to the necessary, she would tell him.

  But there was no way she could explain having the key to her room. So she waited in tense silence while Ru Shan quieted again, his breath coming in gentle snores.

  She had no shoes, but that couldn't be helped. So with silent steps, she crossed the room and slipped the key into the lock. Moments later, she unlocked the front door, moving with increasing speed as she flew down the stairs and out of the tenement building.

  From the letters of Mei Lan Cheng

  23 December, 1873

  Dearest Li Hua,

  Do you remember Mr. Lost Cat? The man the captain brought with him to translate? He IS smarter than I thought, and he has caught me in a lie! I told Sheng Fu that the Mongoose Captain was not interested in our better designs. I did not want my beautiful stitching on the bodies of those smelly apes! But I lied. The Mongoose does want my best work and will pay very well for it.

  If Cheng Fu finds out, then he will have me working day and night for the Starving Mongoose! I will never be able to do anything
else ever again!

  I can already guess what you are thinking. If Mr. Lost Cat caught me in the lie, then Cheng Fu must know. But that is the strange thing. Mr. Lost Cat did not say a thing! Not to his captain or to my husband. But he knows, Li Hua. I could tell by the way his eyes narrowed and he looked hard, straight at me. I turned my head away, hiding behind my fan, I was so flustered. And then everything went on just as if nothing had happened.

  Cheng Fu and the captain made their trade—all those bolts of badly embroidered cotton for some English gold and enough opium to last my mother-in-law nearly all year. To be fair, it is not a bad trade, but I still do not like the ghost people at all. I warned Cheng Fu not to give him anything until we were paid. In advance. He called me a stupid woman and would have hit me, but he could not with the ghost people right there.

  And that is when Mr. Lost Cat proved he understood. He suggested—in his ugly, halting Chinese—that he and I meet to finish the details. He even suggested such tasks were beneath my husband's attention, and Cheng Fu—the fool—agreed!

  Now I am to meet with Mr. Lost Cat alone. Li Hua, I am afraid he will murder me! I know that Cheng Fu will be in the room. I am to see Mr. Lost Cat in the store. It would not be seemly otherwise. But we will be in the back at the old table while Cheng Fu talks with customers. A world can change between the space of two heartbeats. How much more can happen before my husband notices anything that has happened to me?

  —Mei Lan

  A man's career here is in his own hands, and he makes or mars his fortunes unaided and unrestrained by those petty restrictions of class and caste and the jealous rivalries which are so rife in convention-ridden, sham-loving, Mammon-worshipping England... Here are prizes waiting to be won... All is for the quick eye, the stout heart, the strong will.

  —Edward Bowra, a young junior clerk writing of his hopes in Shanghai

  Chapter 10

  Lydia ran, her heart pounding in her throat. There was garbage everywhere in the tight, narrow streets, but she didn't dare think about what she was stepping through. She moved quickly, barely even stopping to catch her breath. There were signs all around, but they were in Chinese. Thanks to Fu De, she could read some of them—GOOD FISH, HAPPINESS GARDEN, LUCKY FORTUNES TOLD—but they didn't help her find her way.

  At last she found a few sharp-eyed boys playing in the street. They were startled by her looks, and two even ran away when she spoke to them. But one stayed, and he pointed the way to the international settlements.

  It wasn't far, and soon Lydia merged with the line of domestic servants crossing into the French concession. From there it was a couple of miles to the English district of the foreign settlement, but with her understanding of French, English, and now some Shanghainese, she found her way easily enough.

  Not so easy was enduring the frightened stares of the Chinese or the outright laughter of the Caucasians, but she lowered her head and kept quietly repeating Maxwell's address. She had no money for a rickshaw, even if she dared risk one again after her last experience, so she continued doggedly on, wincing with every step on her bruised and cut feet.

  She tried to hold Maxwell foremost in her thoughts. She would finally see him. They could at last get married and this whole strange nightmare would finally be over. But even as she kept repeating that to herself, she found her thoughts drifting back to Ru Shan. What would he do when he woke and found her gone? Would he be hurt, or just angry? Would he send Fu De after her? Was she about to be caught again? Or did he understand that keeping her imprisoned was wrong?

  She didn't know. She didn't know if she imagined his tender side, the part of him that was learning to accept her as a person and not a pet. Maybe he was just a monster, but she didn't believe it possible. And yet...

  Always at this point, she discovered her thoughts were centering around Ru Shan again, not her fiancé, and so she ruthlessly redirected her thoughts. Maxwell was her future. Ru Shan was in the past. Gone forever. If only she could get to her fiancé.

  Then she was there, right in front of Maxwell's building.

  The door was locked, of course, but she pounded and called and wrenched at the door until a woman came to open it. She was a young Chinese woman with tangled hair and blotched lipstick, and as she released the latch, Lydia pushed through, nearly toppling the tiny woman over.

  "Maxwell? Maxwell Slade," Lydia gasped.

  The woman gestured upstairs. "Third door. Right side." Then she turned sleepily back to her flat while Lydia scrambled up the stairs screaming her fiancé's name.

  He met her at his door, his eyes bleary and bloodshot from sleep. He wore pajamas and a silk robe, but his face was still indisputably Maxwell. Lydia took one look at his rough jaw and his pale blue eyes, then threw herself into his arms, at last releasing the torrent of sobs she had been suppressing from the moment things had begun to go bad that very first morning in Shanghai.

  "Lydia? Lydia!" He pushed away from her, wincing as he held her at arm's length. "What are you doing here?" His gaze took in her attire. "And what are you wearing?"

  Lydia couldn't speak. It wasn't her tears, which were still flowing without stop. It was simply that too much had happened for her to explain. She simply wanted to be safe in Maxwell's arms. Safe.

  The mere thought had her knees collapsing, and she crumpled, reaching out to him to support her. He didn't. Or his reactions were too slow. Either way, she wound up on the floor of his hallway, still sobbing.

  "Good God, Lydia. Pull yourself together! And come inside. People are staring."

  Lydia tried to do it. Indeed, she hadn't even realized that the other renters were standing in their doorways watching her display. But Maxwell was obviously keenly aware of it as he half carried, half dragged her inside his room.

  She clung, not releasing him even as he tried to shut his door.

  "For God's sake, Lydia, let me close the door!"

  She came more to herself then. This was Maxwell. This was his voice, his attitude, his very English propriety. Oddly enough, she found that reassuring, though she would have found his arms around her more so. In any event, he was forcibly removing her from his body, and so she released him, wrapping her arms around herself as he quickly closed the door behind him.

  Then he turned to stare at her while she hiccupped and did her best to control her sobs. She managed eventually, but she could not stop from shaking. Just shaking. The best she could do was wrap her arms around herself and focus on breathing.

  In. Out. Just as Ru Shan taught.

  But that thought brought on a fresh bout of tears. Why, she couldn't fathom. But they just kept coming while Maxwell stood and stared at her, obviously feeling awkward. In the end, he dropped a blanket about her and patted her shoulders. Twice.

  "There, there," he said, in time with each pat. Then he straightened. "Come now, Lydia. Buck up and tell me what is going on." He frowned at her. "Your letter said you weren't coming until today."

  She swallowed back her tears, doing her best to calm her ragged nerves. "I took an earlier boat. It was cheaper. I thought I would surprise you."

  "Well," he drawled, "you've certainly done that. Oh my, your feet are bleeding. Did you walk through the whole of Shanghai like that?"

  She nodded, then watched him pour water into his washbasin. Setting it on the floor beside her, he grabbed a towel and handed it to her. Then with a sigh that came from his bones, he dropped down onto the settee across from her. He watched, his chin in his hand, as she released her hold on the blanket and awkwardly tried to look at her feet. The only way to do it, of course, was to bend her knee, but as soon as she did so, Maxwell shot up from his seat.

  "Good God, Lydia! Those pants! They... they... cover yourself, woman!"

  It took some moments for her to understand what he was saying. Fortunately, Maxwell's extended finger was there to explain, pointing at the juncture of her thighs. Even then it startled her to realize what he meant. She had been wearing these coolie pants for nearly a we
ek now and had forgotten that pants without a crotch were unusual.

  Embarrassed, she quickly pulled the blanket from her shoulders, dropping it into her lap. And yet, Maxwell remained nearly purple from head to toe. "You cannot say you have been wearing those pants throughout Shanghai? Without... they are... they are indecent!"

  Lydia stared at her fiancé, tears filling her eyes. After all that had happened to her, could he not just let her explain? "They were all that were available," she finally said.

  "Where are your clothes? Your dresses? Your mother!" he practically squeaked.

  She sighed, weariness overcoming her. "Mother is home with Aunt Esther. My clothes and luggage have all been stolen." She looked up, wishing he would just look at her. But he had collapsed backward again, holding his head in both hands. Well, she would just have to say it out loud and get the worst over with. "Maxwell, I was sold to a brothel. I have only just now escaped."

  His head snapped up, his face ashen. "Good God," was all he could say. And then his gaze dropped to her lap. "Is that why...?" He swallowed. "I mean, I should get you a doctor." He stood, but did not move for the door.

  "No, no!" she gasped, not wanting anyone to see her, not even a doctor. "I am fine."

  He looked again at her lap and she drew her knees together, wrapping her arms around the blanket that swathed her lower body.

  "I am fine, Maxwell. I'm not hurt at all. Except my feet, that is. And I expect they will heal in time."

  "But the brothel..." He practically choked out the word. "Were you...? I mean, what...?" He snapped his mouth shut, then opened it again, only to gape at her like a fish. Then, once again, he sank down on the settee. "Bloody Chinese."

  "It's over now," she said, as much to herself as to him. "I'm here with you now. And we can get married. And everything can be how it's supposed to be." Then she looked up at him, another bout of tears threatening. "But I'm tired, Maxwell. So very tired. Can I please just go lie down?"