by H. D. Gordon
Samson raised his head, the fur on his back standing on end. He decided it would be best not to respond to that. It might just come out in a growl.
She whipped her head back around and began to move forward again. “Fine. Have it your way.”
Mila led him into darker, thicker vegetation, and at a few points, Samson had to crouch low to pass under thick tree branches that scratched at his back in a sort of pleasant way. The sunlight was muted to a dim glow in these places, where the green above was so thick and heavy it seemed as though you could walk on it.
Samson’s heart kicked up in pace with each step he took. But Mila didn’t know what she was talking about. Reno may have grown up in the jungle, but just in the past week Samson had battled demons and a Great Eagle for his Sorceress.
Living with Surah, protecting her and loving her, were not easy things. Over the years he had faced things more terrifying than even the jungles could offer. And his mind was sharp. Dealing for so long with people had made it so. Beasts were fearsome creatures, with sharp fangs and claws and deadly strength; what you saw was what you got. But people plotted and deceived and cheated and covered it all with smiling masks. People were far more dangerous. The true Kings of the Jungle.
Samson could handle this.
He hoped.
At last, the vegetation thinned, and Samson stepped into a large clearing where the sunlight managed to reach the earth. The ground was a deep, healthy green, spotted with the most vibrant red and purple flowers in all the lands. Straight ahead, relaxing in the daylight, was a pride of twenty large felines, whose heads perked up as Samson stepped forward.
Above them all, staring down from a large rock near the stream running through the center of the open place, sat Drake, Mila’s father. The cat who called himself king of this land. The one who had offered his daughter’s hand in marriage to Samson’s father so long ago.
Samson lifted his head, amber eyes watching both the king and his followers, thinking he would be lucky if he got through this with only having to face Reno in battle. If Drake had his lot attack, Samson wouldn’t make it out of here alive.
Mila led him forward, silver eyes also watching her father, who was now standing atop the rock, his ears perked forward, nose testing the air, sampling the scent of the newcomer.
The sunlight caught in his dark fur and revealed hints of midnight blue amongst the black. His eyes were round and silver, like his daughter’s, and by the time Mila came to a stop only fifteen feet from the rock on which her father stood, Samson could tell that Drake knew exactly who he was.
He hadn’t heard the voice in all these years, but as soon as Samson heard the king speak in his head, the memories came flooding back to him. Drake’s voice was a deep, rumbling, almost chocolaty sound. He said one word.
“Samson?”
Samson lowered his head respectfully. “Yes, my king.”
Drake’s eyes flipped to his daughter. “What is this, Mila?”
Mila’s tail swished low, back and forth. Samson could tell she was nervous, despite her having said she didn’t care what happened to him. But her voice sounded clear and strong when she spoke.
“He has come for our help, father,” she said.
Drake looked back at Samson. “Really? How is it that a dead cat can need help?”
Samson said, “As you can see, my king. I am not dead.”
Drake’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Then I am not your king. You have not been living among us.”
Samson raised his head, bringing himself to his full height. To show weakness here would be a death sentence. “No, I have not. But I come willing to prove myself worthy of your assistance.”
“What is it you want?”
“I believe there may be a Sorceress held prisoner in your land. If I’m correct, I’m sure you know about it. I just want to know where she is.”
The king was silent for a moment, silver eyes staring down at Samson, who held his gaze steadily. Then Drake laid back down atop his rock again, lowering his head between his paws. Samson held his breath.
“So be it,” Drake said finally, his eyes flicking to the group of huge cats that were watching with keen interest to the left.
He called out Reno’s name, just as Mila had predicted, and Samson had to admit he was impressed with how much his old friend had grown. He was no longer a scrawny cub, but had become a large alpha, matching Samson in weight and size. Reno moved toward the rock where they were standing, his wide chest out, dark head held high.
Samson met his stare. Reno’s voice was edged with a growl when he spoke in his head. “We thought you were dead.”
Samson sighed internally. “I’m not.”
“Enough,” Drake said. “Move out into the clearing and get on with it before I get bored and decide to kill you both.”
Mila went to stand beside her father, flicking a nervous look between Samson and Reno, who were walking side-by-side toward the open place that served as the arena for just such a competition.
Reno’s head tilted as he looked over at Samson. “Where have you been?” he asked.
Samson didn’t want to answer, but he did anyway. He didn’t see any point in lying now. “Living with a Sorceress.”
“The one you’re looking for?”
“Yes. Is she here?”
“You haven’t earned that information yet…A Sorceress, huh? You always were a big dumb cat.”
“And your talk was always bigger than your bite.”
“Not anymore, my old friend.”
“Let us see, shall we?”
“Certainly.”
The two cats separated and moved to face each other, powerful muscles bunched and heads held low between their shoulders. Samson saw his own excitement reflected in Reno’s black eyes. Without signal, Reno pounced, sharp claws extended, deadly teeth bared.
Samson leapt to the side, his paw lashing out and scraping Reno’s side as he sailed by him. Reno growled, low and deep and rumbling, and it was answered with roars from the other cats on the sidelines, filling the quiet clearing with their calls.
Samson was already charging forward. He caught Reno in the side, the two of them crashing to the earth and rolling in a terrible display of teeth and claws. Blood and chunks of fur flew as fangs found purchase again and again.
Samson disentangled himself and charged again, his amber eyes narrowed and glittering. His ears were flat on his head, his heart racing and thumping in his chest, blood pumping hot and fast.
Reno’s paw lashed out and caught him across the face, and Samson returned the blow with one of his own, shaking his head at the stars bursting behind his eyes.
Mila had been right. Reno had learned a thing or two in Samson’s absence. He needed to end this, and quickly.
He stepped back, calculating his next attack the way people calculated theirs. It was a thing that had taken Samson years to master, being able to step out of his animal instincts in the heat of battle and use his mind. Surah had taught him to do it.
Reno was doing no such thing, he pounced forward again, and Samson crouched low and leapt upward, locking his powerful jaws around the underside of Reno’s thick neck. Reno growled and snapped, trying to knock Samson free with all four paws as the two of them tumbled to the ground again.
Samson tightened his hold, locking his jaws just short of crushing capacity around the other cat’s throat, his huge claws digging into his thick fur for even more purchase.
He held Reno trapped beneath him. Reno went still. Samson had him in a death hold and they both knew it.
When Reno chuffed in surrender, Samson released him slowly, back-pedaling and not taking his eyes off his opponent. His head was still low, his mouth bloody and his body scratched and battered and bleeding in various places. Reno looked even worse off, but he found his feet, his head and tail lowered in defeat.
Samson watched him closely, knowing that some beasts had a way of not accepting loss. But after a moment of hard staring Reno turned
and limped his way back to the other cats, licking at his wounds.
Samson felt like doing the same, but this was not over yet, and there was simply no time for weakness.
He slowly approached the rock on which Drake was still perched, his chest pushed out and head high, tongue flicking out and tasting the blood still ringing his mouth. He bowed again to the king, his massive head coming down between his shoulders.
Drake’s deep voice sounded in his head. “Still as fearsome as ever, I see.”
Samson said nothing, only watched the king with wary eyes.
“I will make a deal with you, Samson, and if you agree, I will provide the information you have asked for.”
Samson’s heart sunk. He had been expecting something like this.
“What deal?” he asked. “I want only to know where the Sorceress is, and then I will leave your land and I will not return.”
Mila shook her head once, but Samson didn’t look at her.
Drake stood now and hopped down from his place on the rock, approaching Samson boldly. Drake was the biggest cat Samson had ever known, and the most people-minded of the bunch as well. Samson supposed he had to be to rule over the beasts of the Southlands jungle for so long, but it also meant that Samson was probably about to be faced with an unfavorable decision.
Drake held his head above Samson, looking down at him with sharp eyes. “I will tell you where the Two-Leg Sorceress is if you agree to the arrangement that your father agreed to fifteen years ago.” His head swiveled as he looked back at where Reno was still nursing his wounds.
“You are stronger than my strongest, as you have just proven, and that makes you the only proper suitor for my daughter. The only cat fit to rule this land following my demise.”
Samson’s eyes flicked to Mila, who looked slightly horrified, which was comical on her feline face. But there was absolutely nothing comical about this situation.
Samson didn’t like to do it, but there was another thing he had learned from living with people for so long, and that was how to lie.
“You have a deal, my king,” he said.
Mila looked at him now, her silver eyes round and shimmering. He could tell just by the look there that she knew he was lying, that she was thinking of what he had told her to get her to bring him here.
“How much do you love her?” she’d asked.
“Like the moon loves the night and the sun loves the day.”
Yes, Mila knew he was lying, and for a moment he feared she would share this information with her father, but she didn’t. She just tore her gaze away. The hurt look behind her eyes made Samson’s chest ache, but he was beyond grateful for her silence.
Drake didn’t even consider the possibility that he was being fooled. Why would he? One did not lie to a King of Beasts.
“A couple of two-legs in all black led your Sorceress through the jungle early this morning,” Drake said, accepting the matter as done. “He had a dark power radiating from him, so the beasts let him be. He stashed her on the far edge of the land, where the sun rises in the morning, in a small space behind a wall of water. I have been told you can follow the trail once in the area, but have not been out to check myself. Two-legs yielding dark powers are dangerous creatures.”
“Thank you, my king.” Samson said, and turned to leave, anxious to get to where he was going now that he had a location. He knew this land, and he would find his princess. He just hoped he wouldn’t be too late. The eastern side of this jungle was at least an hour’s travel from here. More running. He wondered if he would ever just get to nap today.
“I expect you to uphold your end of this deal, Samson,” Drake, the King of Beasts, called after him.
Samson turned his head and looked back, but his eyes found Mila’s and held them. He did not feel at all good about his next words. “And so I shall, my king.”
Then, he left, racing eastward to save the person who his allegiance was truly to, feeling damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.
Tired and hurting and worried and just damned.
Chapter 26
Surah
Her hands hurt. They throbbed and pulsed and felt ten degrees warmer than the rest of her body, which was covered in sweat.
Her fingertips were blue and her mouth felt dry. The left side of her face hurt where the back of Black Heart’s hand had struck her. She stared into the waterfall, listening to the sound of the rushing liquid and wondering how much time had passed.
Too much. That’s how much.
Surah shoved the thought away, careful not to move her throbbing wrists. Her back was beginning to ache from the slumped position, and she rolled her neck slowly, trying to work out the muscles there. It wasn’t really helping.
She was starting to really think about the possibility that she may not escape. She could perform simple magic without her piece of the White Stone, but none of it would be of use here.
She let out a long breath and looked up at the ceiling of the little cave. It wasn’t so much the thought of dying that pained her—though it scared her, admittedly—but rather the people she loved and how she might not get to see them again.
It was the probability that if she died, her father would die too. It was that she may never get to run her fingers through Samson’s thick fur again, or see his wide, amber eyes staring at her in that open way, a way he only had with her, and she only with him. It was Lyonell and Noelani, how she knew they would blame themselves for whatever happened. Even Theo would be sad, she knew.
No, it wasn’t so much the thought of her own death that pained her. It was the way they would all grieve. She knew the feeling well, the empty, aching feeling it would bring them. She didn’t want them to feel that. She didn’t want to die.
A single tear sprang from her eye and rolled down her cheek, hot and wet. She’d been restraining them for the past twenty minutes or so. She wished so badly she could reach up and wipe it away, because she didn’t want it to leave a trail there that would be visible to her captors. They could kill her, but they would not see her cry. They didn’t deserve to.
Surah tilted her head to the side, trying to brush the tear off on her shoulder without raising it so the cuffs wouldn’t tighten any further. It was a more difficult task than one might think. Her wrists shifted. She bit back a cry of pain. It came out in a sort of grunt.
“Got an itch?”
Her head snapped up at the voice, her heart jumping into her throat. The urge to wipe at her face to make sure it was clear of salt water struck her. She resisted. Barely. Her mouth fell open, and she tried to quiet her suddenly heaving chest.
“Yes, actually, Mr. Redmine,” she said, finding her composure very quickly under the circumstances. She was proud of herself. “I’ve got an itch. I’ve had several of them in the past ninety minutes or so I’ve been chained here. Thanks for asking.”
Charlie was silent for a moment, green eyes staring at her. “It just looked like you were trying to rub your face is all.” He said, and paused. “And it’s only been about seventy-five minutes.”
Surah raised her chin, clenching her teeth so it wouldn’t tremble. “It felt like seventy-five hours.”
Charlie’s mouth pulled up a bit in that smirk, making a dimple appear on his right cheek. “I missed you too, honey,” he said.
Surah felt her anger come rushing back. “Did you see Bassil?” she snapped, ignoring his inappropriate address. “Did he know a way to break these restraints?”
Charlie nodded slowly. “Well… Yes, I guess.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You’re not going to like it, and you’re already mad.”
Surah looked indignant. “Ridiculous. I’m not mad. You haven’t seen me mad.”
His head tilted as he looked at her. “Sure I have, and you only curse when you get mad.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re wasting time, Mr. Redmine.”
“I know.”
She almost threw her hands up, but
remembered just in time that she couldn’t. Her teeth ground together instead.
“What is this?” she asked. “What have you to gain from tricking me this way? You already have me captive. Do you get some sick pleasure out of this, Mr. Redmine?”
Charlie sighed, running a hand over his short, dark beard. “Of course I don’t,” he said, as if that were the silliest accusation in the world. He pulled out a vial of silver liquid and held it up so she could see it.
Her lovely face lit up.
“Bassil gave that to you,” she said. “I recognize the vial.” Her violet eyes flicked up to his. “You really did go see him, then. He knew a spell that would break these.” She smiled, pink lips turning up at the corners. “Of course he did. Bassil knows more spells than anyone I know.”
“Yeah,” he said, and paused. “Something like that.”
Surah looked up at him, face wary again instantly. Charlie held up his hand before she could say anything.
“Let me explain,” he said. “Yes, Bassil knew a spell he thought could work…but he didn’t exactly explain very well how to get it to work.”
Surah laughed shortly, her shoulders relaxing when she hadn’t known they’d been tight. “I can perform the spell, Mr. Redmine. I have trained in all magics since I was a child. Just pour the potion over my wrists and tell me the words I need to know.”
Charlie moved toward Surah and took a seat in front of her, folding his large body to the ground. He was close enough that she could hear his slow, steady breaths, could smell the clean scent of him. His handsome face was as unreadable as ever, but Surah thought it was more carefully so than usual. She tried not to let the green of his eyes capture her as he faced her, but it seemed somehow inevitable when he was so near.
She fumbled for words, surprised anew every time he made her do so. “I don’t understand,” she said. “There must be words to the spell. Tell me what Bassil told you, word for word, if you can.”
