The Way of the Tigress 1-4

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

  She grimaced. "Yes—but with the aid of herbs and time."

  "I am as strong as your Ru Shan!" he growled.

  She sighed, and his eyes fell to her breasts.

  "Ru Shan was never mine—"

  "Enough!" He shoved to his feet despite pain that nearly crippled him. He would stand on his own two legs like a man, though he nearly broke his teeth as he clenched his jaw.

  His wife remained silent. He felt her gaze upon his back. It was a tangible presence that spread in his mind as he imagined her hands elsewhere, her lush mouth—

  With a howl, he threw himself at the door, gripping the bars as he bellowed. He had no words. His mind had completely deserted him. He simply screamed. But it was all to no avail; the guard didn't even respond.

  He slumped against the bars, his sanity shattered. Who knew that his wife's religion could be so difficult?

  "Come back to bed," said Shi Po, her voice a gentle caress.

  He knew what she intended: She would seduce him, force him to release his seed, and thereby end his pursuit of Heaven.

  And he almost allowed it. Almost. But then he stopped himself for her. Well, not for Shi Po specifically, but for an image of her. He recalled the moment she had laughed, her body flushed with a joy that went beyond physical. According to the sacred texts, she could only achieve such felicity with the aid of a pure and capable partner. Which meant him. And with such a duty, he could not allow her to touch him. Not until he regained some measure of control.

  "Leave me alone," he muttered wearily.

  Shi Po shifted on the pallet but did not stand. He couldn't see her, but he had become attuned to her slightest sound, her smallest change. He knew what she did by the shift in the air, and so he knew she accepted his ill temper in the way of all good Tigresses—with meek acceptance, even as she quietly plotted his undoing.

  "Do you remember the last time we paced a room together?" Her words drifted past, and he struggled to make sense of them.

  "I only remember this room," he said. Each word was spat like a curse.

  "I remember a different one. In our house many years ago." His wife paused, and Kui Yu narrowed his eyes while trying to read her expression in the half-light. She smiled, her eyes distant with memory.

  "Our daughter was ill. She had the gasping cough."

  He flinched, the memory all too clear. But his wife continued.

  "My herbs did nothing. The balancing of her qi—nothing. I was sure—"

  "Stop!" he interrupted. "It was not your fault. We have been most fortunate to have three children, all grown healthy and strong. What other family can say they have lost no one? We cannot expect they would never have grown ill, either."

  She nodded, but he knew she was unconvinced.

  "She survived," he reminded her. "That is all that matters."

  Shi Po's eyes were unfocused. She looked at the wall, around the cell. And then she spoke, her words distant, as if they came from the bottom of a deep, dark hole.

  "You joined me in our daughter's bedroom. What Chinese father goes to his daughter's bedside? None. Auntie Ting thought it a perversion, but I knew it was that you cared for her. You valued your daughter."

  "No child is worthless," he snapped. "No woman either." But he knew his was a rare opinion. Fathers often ignored their daughters. Some didn't even remember their names.

  His wife shrugged. "You visited all our children; Li Shi no less than our sons. Then she became ill."

  Kui Yu crossed the room and settled beside Shi Po, despite the way her nearness fogged his mind. "Our daughter is strong, like you. She fought the illness and is whole."

  Shi Po shook her head. "I remember, Kui Yu. I remember the way you paced that night. You and I walked around her bed, praying, pleading—"

  "Crying. I remember your tears most of all."

  "You held her. You wiped her face and shuddered whenever she coughed."

  He reached out and held Shi Po's hand, wishing to be rid of this conversation. "She recovered. She is strong," he repeated.

  Again she nodded, but this time Shi Po turned to him, her eyes dark echoes of the emptiness in her voice. She didn't speak. Instead, she drew words on his arm.

  I know what you did, she wrote.

  He felt his breath stop in his chest. She couldn't know. She had been sleeping.

  He shook his head. "I prayed. As you did."

  "Of course," she said aloud. But on his arm, she wrote something different: You bought medicine from the barbarians.

  He had no answer. She was right. And still Shi Po wrote, her scrawl cutting into his spirit.

  You took our sons, too.

  "I was desperate. She was dying."

  She smiled. "I know," she whispered. "You were desperate. For our daughter."

  He sighed, at last understanding. He had broken the law, ignored the policies against interaction with Barbarians, and risked his reputation on a secret mission for white medicine. And it had been all for a female child that most other fathers would consider worthless.

  "Your potions cured her," he said aloud. "And the ancestors."

  The white medicine cured her, she wrote on his arm.

  He shook his head. They didn't know that for sure; it had still taken many days. But the possibility was there. As was his fear, for he had taken his boys to the whites as well. He had stolen them away from their studies for an afternoon's play, or so he had claimed.

  Secretly, they had gone to the whites for "inoculation."

  He had no idea if there was any power in the injections, but his desperation had been enough to convince him to try, in the hope that he would never pace at one of his children's bedside again. And Shi Po had known all along.

  Is that why they hold us here? she wrote on his arm. Because we took the white medicines?

  He frowned at the thought. Was it possible? Could General Kang know?

  How did you pay for it? she pressed into his flesh. What did you give them?

  He stared at her, nonplussed. Money, he answered.

  Shi Po shook her head, disbelieving. Li Shi lived, she wrote on his arm. No men—not even whites—give away such magic for simple gold.

  He straightened in horror, the air thick in his chest. She thought he had betrayed his country. She thought he had done something immoral to save their daughter's life. She thought he was capable of such a thing?

  "Just money," he said aloud. "Only money." Then he pushed away from her, pain squeezing the breath from his lungs.

  She followed, and when he turned from her, she stroked new words on his back. I understand. I agree there are sacrifices worth making. But I must know what you did.

  "Nothing!" He whirled around. He grabbed her arms and raised her off the ground in his fury. He was careful not to bruise her, but he would make her listen.

  "The ghost people only care for money," he stated loudly. Firmly. "I have no other dealings with them, except in the taking of that." It was a lie. In truth, he had many conversations with the whites, and there were many business possibilities. There were so many thoughts about improving China.

  But he'd never betray his country! Unfortunately, there was no way to prove his innocence to anyone. So he paced the tiny cell, stomping in frustration from one corner to another. His wife's eyes followed him, her doubts plaguing his every breath.

  "I have done nothing wrong," he moaned half to her, half to himself. He dropped back onto their pallet. "Nothing."

  "I know," she soothed. And she seemed to mean it.

  He let his head roll back against the wall, questions clouding his mind. Did General Kang know the extent of his dealings with the foreigners? Were he and his wife imprisoned because Shi Po had dared to keep the General's son, or because Kui Yu's fortune was based on commerce with the whites? Who was to blame? And how could they escape?

  He banged his head back against the wall, wishing he could knock away his confusion. If he were free, he would have ways to discover the truth. He had resources and
friends. But in here he had nothing but questions, a half-naked wife and a starving dragon.

  * * *

  A brilliant sun, a crystal-clear sky, birds, trees and the crisp bite of autumn in the air. The scent of newly harvested fields. The sound of children laughing in a game of tag. The fullness of peace and great joy. Kui Yu inhaled deeply. He let the air of the open field fill his lungs, even though he knew this was a dream. Especially because it was a dream. How else could he be here? And with Shi Po.

  She came to him from a dark cavern. Even in his dreams, she wasn't completely free. But she was happy and open and robed in clothing fit for a goddess: a silver gown shot through with gold thread, trailing ribbons of glory.

  But he barely even noticed. His eyes were on her face. Never before had she seemed so relaxed. Her skin was smooth, her smile so warm that it brought tears to his eyes. And her gestures were as wide and expansive as her gaze, which seemed to encompass the entire world, welcoming it all. Accepting. Loving.

  She looked at him. What had been accepting in her, now shifted to something more. What had been a general focus, narrowed to encompass only him. She saw only him. Even the radiance that expanded from her heart, the light of love that overflowed from her center, it too contracted, drawing into her, focusing like a beam on Kui Yu. It curled even tighter into his wife, slipped away from him, drew down and in. He could see it compress. Indeed, as the light curled into itself, its brilliance increased. It became whiter, brighter, folding into a blaze that should have blinded him. It remained there inside her, a tiny gem of the most amazing beauty, secreted deep within her. He could see it, but barely. Mostly, he remembered and felt and knew.

  As for Shi Po herself, her celestial clothing folded away. It became one with the light, absorbed into a part of her as integral as the jewel. Which left her standing before him in all her earthly glory. Her naked skin gleamed pearly white. Her lush red mouth glistened. Her firm, rounded breasts bobbed. And her sexuality called to him. She tilted her head back, and her dark black hair, pinned high, slipped free of its restraints and slid down her back like an onyx river.

  She looked at him and smiled. There was no artifice in her face, no fear or even any understanding of the world in all its ugliness. She was completely innocent, and she held out her hand for him. He took it.

  How could he not? As they touched, his own clothing slipped away. Such was the magic of his dream and the glory of her caress.

  She did not know what to do. She trailed her fingers along his chest, not out of coyness, but from curiosity. She smiled like a child when his muscles quivered, and she giggled at his gasp when she spun a tiny circle with her finger around his nipple.

  He didn't move. He let her explore at her own pace. She traced his chest, the width of his shoulders, then slid her hands upward. She grinned at the slight roughness of his jaw, then poked at the tip of his nose, making them both laugh like toddlers. Then she stepped forward and pushed her fingers into his hair, letting it slide through her hands while her sweet breath heated the underside of his jaw and set his mouth to tingling.

  She was so close, and he could not resist. He reached up, spanned her tiny waist, then drew his hands to her breasts. She stilled, her eyes wide with surprise. But he caught curiosity in her expression, too, especially when she looked down to watch his hands lift her breasts and thumb her nipples.

  She shivered, and that made her breasts dance. Then she lifted her arms. He had no idea why she would do such a thing, but it was an elegant motion nonetheless. One which made her body long and sleek, and showed off her youthful grace. She was stretching, her spine arching, her head tilting backward, and he ached at the sweetness of it all.

  He lowered his lips as though worshipping at an altar. But this wasn't an altar, it was his wife's sweet skin, her trembling heart, her full breast. He drew that into his mouth, rolled his tongue around it and suckled at wonder and joy.

  She moaned in honest delight, her breath already coming in gasps. Kui Yu wrapped his arms around her and supported her weight as she lifted her breasts to him. Soon, he laid her down on the grass. They were in the pathway between fields. On the one side, lotuses grew rich and full, spreading wide green leaves to the bright sun. On the other, rice grew in emerald abundance, its spring scent lingering even now.

  But in the center of his vision lay his wife, her eyes open in trusting innocence. Her legs slipped wide as well, and the smell of her arousal mixed with the heady perfume of life all around.

  She looked at him, her hand extended in interest as she compared their two forms. His dragon was thick and eager, and it quivered in delight as she stroked its head and fondled its long underbelly. Kui Yu's muscles quivered, and he panted, but he remained still. He would do nothing to interrupt her exploration. This caress was completely untutored, and it aroused him to a pounding hunger.

  Don't move. Not yet. Not yet.

  His silent orders to himself were nearly impossible to obey, but somehow he managed. Until Shi Po leaned down, her tiny nose twitching as she sniffed at his chest.

  Don't move, he told himself as she slid down his abdomen.

  She tilted her head and flashed a happy smile. Then she extended her pink tongue to lap at his dragon as a kitten might a plate of cream.

  Don't move. Don't—

  He couldn't stop himself. He threw her backward and spread her thighs with his knees. She went willingly, her expression trusting, her lips curved in a smile that was equal parts wonder and delight.

  "This might hurt," he said, hating to bring truth into even this dream.

  "You could never hurt me."

  He winced. She was so young, so untouched. And yet, he gloried in that as well, taking solace in her faith. "I won't mean to—," he began, but she stopped him with her fingers against his lips.

  "There will be no pain," she said firmly. Then she arched into him, pressing her yielding flesh against his dragon.

  There was no stopping now. Not when he was surrounded by heat, his dragon reveling in her body's wet caress. He had no restraint, especially as he felt her heels slide up the backs of his legs. She drew him to her and gripped his hips with all the strength of her young thighs.

  Kui Yu thrust. He buried himself as completely as he could, and if he could have climbed inside her sweetness, he would have. As it was, he could only shudder at the exquisiteness that was Shi Po.

  She surrounded him in her warmth, her beauty, and her absolute purity. Even as she gazed at him with wide-eyed surprise.

  "Did it hurt?" he whispered.

  She smiled. Drawing his mouth down for a lingering kiss, she whispered into his ear, "You could never hurt me. You're too good."

  And when she said it, he could believe.

  She arched her hips into him, and he knew true happiness. Not because this felt amazing. Not even because her body was his most luscious and willing pillow. But because he was buried deep inside of something wonderful, a sweetness that rubbed off on him. Shi Po's goodness became his, her strength infused him.

  Her strength...?

  Since when had innocence implied strength? Even in a dream, he struggled with that truth, unable to accept its illogic. There was no strength in innocence. Only cruel experience gave strength.

  And since he struggled, the dream dissolved. He tried to pull back, wanting to keep this young Shi Po, this untouched virgin, but he couldn't. She was gone, dissolved into the mists that had created her.

  He woke, finding himself between his real wife's thighs, thrusting deep inside her cinnabar cave. And his stunned gaze met hers, which was open and vulnerable.

  "No!" he gasped, and tried to pull away. He would not abandon his work. He would not—

  But Heaven itself could not feel as sweet as what he now experienced. Even if he had possessed the strength to break her grip on his legs, he did not have control of his dragon. It was inside her, reveling in her rhythmic grip and release. His yang bellows began to pump, his breath caught and held as his dragon prep
ared to roar.

  He had enough focus to hold back one moment, no more. Enough time to ask a single question.

  "Why?" he gasped.

  "Because this matters," she answered.

  He had no time to demand explanation, and she had no interest in giving one. Instead, she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him with a hunger that startled him.

  She wanted him. She wanted this. Even though she had refused him for the last twelve years, since they had conceived their last child.

  It made no sense that she would change here, in this situation. But he had no more time to think, only the steady increase of his yang fire and the hard pounding of his dragon's demands.

  Not yet. Not yet, he begged himself.

  He needed to know that her contractions were not false, that her pleasure was not faked. So with an unsteady hand, he slid a finger between their bodies. He pushed and stroked and fumbled in his need. But then he knew the moment of her true release. Her eyes shot wide, her body stretched and she screamed in shock and joy.

  Now! he told himself.

  The yang roar rolled through his system, tearing out every measure of his body and spirit while pouring from him. His release was all-consuming, a flash fire that burst free of him, and into her.

  Always and forever, her.

  And then the fire was gone, his dragon spent. With nothing to support it, his body collapsed. Kui Yu barely managed to roll to the side so as to not crush his wife. He was boneless. Mindless. Soulless.

  He knew true bliss.

  Then he began to cough. It wasn't bad, just a rumble in his chest and a little tightness. He had felt it coming for the last few days, was as familiar with the onset of the illness as he was with judging a bolt of fabric or pretending to drink with a white ship captain. He'd been free of it for a decade now, but had always known it would return when the situation was ripe. When he was imprisoned in a dank cell and served food that vermin refused. Indeed, given the situation, he was surprised it had taken so long.

  He thought nothing of it, until he looked into his wife's face. She had gone pale, her jaw slack with horror. Even her skin had turned cold.

  She had heard the cough, though he'd tried to hide it. Indeed, pressed so intimately to him, she had probably felt the hitch in his breath as he fought the restriction in his lungs. She knew. She remembered. And in that moment, all his hopes died.