A Lion's Heart (11 page)

“Long enough, “ Lormar replied. He turned and slipped back into the shadows of the approaching darkness. Shakra followed reluctantly. When they were some distance, Lormar said, “He is going back to his home, willingly. He will be where he belongs.”

“The weretigress is lying to him,” Shakra growled. “I don't know what the lie is, but I do know that she was willing to kill to get Tamarind.”

“She is an assassin,” Lormar agreed. “One does not hire them to bring young weres back home.”

“What could be the reason for sending her then?” Shakra whined as he sank down dejectedly.

Lormar sat beside him, thinking. “Her success proves that the decision to send her was a good one, and it could be that she was to be Tamarind's executioner only if he refused.”

Shakra made a low noise of frustration.

Lormar sighed. “My Prince, I know that you care for Tamarind, but you must see that there isn't anything we can do now? We are outnumbered and in danger. Tamarind is going with them willingly.” He paused and then dared, “It's also possible that he will give us away if he thinks that you will try to stop him from returning home.”

“He's right,” Kyrill limped from the darkness and settled by them. His large ears were moving and twitching, keeping track of their enemy. “Tamarind has decided.”

Shakra growled. “Are you suggesting that I leave him? Allow them to carry out whatever plans they have for him?”

Kyrill replied quietly, “Shakra, it was good that you pursued him, that you made certain that Tamarind was safe. Now, he has made his decision. It's time to make yours. Will you follow him to the Savannah or return home to your duty?”

Duty. Love. Rejection. Shakra's heart ached. The image of Tamarind leaping on the goat and bringing it down played through his thoughts. Tamarind was wild, untamable. Shakra was convinced that there was danger for him, but, he had seen Tamarind stand, rebellious, against Mordara's size and strength. He had not been cowed. He had not seemed foolish. He had not seemed to need rescuing. Tamarind had made his decision. He was going home, to a place where he could hunt and live in open spaces with his own people.

“We have a saying in the desert,” Kyrill told him sympathetically. “If it was meant to be, it will be.”

Shakra laid back his ears and then nodded, jaw clenching. He stood, his tail down and shoulders slumped. “As soon as you can travel, Kyrill, we'll go home.”

His home, Shakra thought, not Kyrill's, not Lormar's. Once again he would be alone. Once again he would dance to Kol’s whims and fight for what was his birth right.... only he had a wife now, he realized with a chill, and they would expect him to have a child with her; an heir. He had a duty to his people and to his wife. He had a duty to his land.

All of that seemed nothing against the memories of the feel of soft fur, warm, purring breath, and a scent that called to his innermost soul and told him who his mate was. He was in love with a werelion; a male werelion. Letting him go would be like allowing a part of himself to be torn away, Shakra thought.

Shakra curled up and sank into misery.

Time passed. The moon sailed overhead. Shakra hadn't slept at all, imagining the enemy weres sleeping around his Tamarind and wondering what thoughts were going through the werelion's mind right then.

“You have such a great heart,” Lormar whispered.

Shakra stiffened but the werewolf wasn't speaking to him.

Kyrill's tired voice replied, “Mine is nothing compared to Shakra's.”

“He is young,” Lormar said with a sigh.

“So are we,” Kyrill teased.

They settled into sleep after a few more endearments. Shakra turned his head to look at them and found them curled up contentedly together. He would never have that, he thought. Not if he went home now.

Shakra rose silently. He would leave them, he thought, and not burden them any longer with the madness of his heart. He would follow Tamarind to the Savannah alone.

Shakra began to slink into the darkness, going towards the camp, but then he stopped, sensing danger and not certain where it was coming from. He pricked ears and held his breath, trying to catch any hint of trouble. Mordara came then, materializing out of the night as stripes of deeper darkness. She was followed by her bandit weres.

“Don't try to resist Prince,” she warned. “I can kill you before you can twitch. Tie him.”

The weres moved forward. Shakra's ruff rose and he barred his teeth. “How?” he demanded loudly, trying to alert Lormar and Kyrill. “How did you know I was here?”

“I smelled your scent near the camp when we returned from hunting,” Mordara told him. “And then I noticed that my little werelion was acting strangely.”

Mordara sniffed the darkness. “I smell others, but no one is coming to your rescue, Prince. Did you trust your life to those useless Keep guards?”

Shakra refused to answer.

“No matter,” Mordara said arrogantly as Shakra was tied securely with rope. “They are not any match for us.”

“Your mistake,” Shakra sneered.

Mordara smiled and it was a smile full of glittering, sharp teeth. “I think not.” She turned and began walking back to camp, throwing over her shoulder, “Bring him.”

Chapter Eleven

“If you harm him-” Tamarind began but one of the mountain werewolves laughed outright.

“What do you have to threaten with, kitty?” he mocked. “Your teeth have been pulled.”

Shakra didn't waste time struggling as he was carried between two weres. The ropes were too tight to escape. Tamarind walked beside him, head down, and tail almost dragging. What was there to say? He was in danger through his own foolishness, Shakra thought, not through any fault of Tamarind's.

Shakra had a long time to contemplate his fate as they climbed the rough mountain road and consider what Lormar and Kyrill were doing about his capture. He doubted that they had decided to leave him to his fate. Kyrill had too much heart for that and Shakra suspected that Lormar's air of unconcern was at least partly false. Shakra doubted that they could do anything but watch, though. There were too many weres for them to fight and his own experience with trying to reach Tamarind had taught him that they were not so careless as to give him a chance for escape.

They rested midday. Shakra was dumped into a patch of shade and his two bearers sprawled next to him. Tamarind settled close by, face tight and unreadable.

One of the mountain weres stroked a hand along Shakra's flank. Shakra shivered despite himself. He saw the look the two mountain weres exchanging over his body, laughing leers, and then one said to Tamarind, “You have a taste for werewolves, eh, kitty?”

Tamarind's round ears flicked, but he didn't look at them.

“Not so soft or so supple as werelions,” the mountain were continued, “but maybe you like that roughness; the course fur, the strong scent, the powerful, thrusting hindquarters...”

Tamarind snarled suddenly and turned on them, ears flat and teeth barred. “Shut up or you die!”

It was then that Tamarind saw the hand on Shakra's flank, a possessive hand that was running back towards Shakra's tail. The mountain werewolf grinned at Tamarind. “Die? Mordara is looking at you, kitty. She's ready to rip you limb from limb. Are you ready to die to have a piece of me?”

The mountain werewolf was sure of his safety. When he saw Tamarind hesitate, he snickered.

“Maybe our prince likes mounting werewolves instead?” he continued as he stood up and pulled at Shakra. “Is he that good? Is he tight? Do you like that bushy tail against you when you do him? Maybe I should try him for myself?”

The werewolf suddenly grabbed Shakra and mounted him, his teeth going into the nape of Shakra's neck. His hips began to thrust crudely. It might have been an ugly joke, a sick dry hump, just to lighten the boredom of vicious weres, but Shakra was only aware of that bite, that attempt at dominance. Shakra discovered then, that he was completely dominant. He reacted instantly.

One of the ropes broke as Shakra twisted violently, using every muscle he possessed to throw the mountain were off of him. He needn't have bothered, though. Tamarind was on the werewolf, catching him before he landed. There was a high, cut off cry and a crunch. Tamarind's entire body covered the fallen werewolf, his long tail lashing.

“Fool,” Mordara grunted from nearby. “He deserved that. Someone toss him over a cliff. I don't want to smell his stench.”

The mountain weres closed on Tamarind.

“I meant Tamil’s body, you idiots!” Mordara snarled. “Touch one hair of Prince Tamarind and you will join Tamil's fate.”

Tamarind backed off of the body. Like the mountain goats, his victim had been killed swiftly and cleanly. As they dragged the body away, Tamarind retreated to Shakra, eyes concerned. “He didn't...?”

“No,” Shakra replied through gritted teeth. He felt shame and hatred at himself. He had been helpless. A werewolf had tried to dominate him. If they would do that, what else might happen to him?

“I won't let anyone hurt you,” Tamarind promised him with pain in his voice. “I... I was too slow this time. It won't happen again.”

There was blood on Tamarind's mouth and on his claws. Were blood. Tamarind was looking at those claws in a daze now, coming down from his adrenaline rush and shivering a little.

Still half bound, Shakra inched over and nuzzled what he could reach, Tamarind's knee. Tamarind bent over almost at once and rubbed against his face, his breath hitching. Shakra was so glad for his touch; he didn't care about the blood being smeared on him.

“We'll get out of this,” Shakra vowed almost under his breath.

Tamarind nodded, but  said in a trembling voice, as if needing the distraction very badly, “I-I guess this proves you're... dominant.”

“Yes,” Shakra replied, a mere whisper. His eyes searched Tamarind, but he already knew the answer to his question. Tamarind, in his own manner, had submitted to him by the lake before he was kidnaped. They were a match at least in that and Shakra sighed, feeling warmth in his heart. Unmatched, there would have been fights, reluctant compromises and- but he was thinking as if they would eventually be a mated pair, Shakra thought, and didn't want to acknowledge that it might never happen.

Mordara was wrinkling her nose as she glared at them. “Get Prince Shakra tied up again. Separate the love birds before they stink up the entire area! It's time to move out!”

The weres didn't know the meaning of loyalty. Tamil was dumped unceremoniously and no one seemed overly upset by his murder. In fact, as Shakra was bound tighter and carried, he heard dirty jokes about the werewolf and his preference for a prince's backside. It made Shakra seethe with anger, but there was nothing he could do.

Tamarind kept by Shakra's side while they climbed. The weres carrying Shakra were afraid for their lives, and they made sure not to hurt Shakra in any way, but he was still suffering from being bound so long and being taken into unfamiliar heights. He struggled to breathe and he felt as if the leather ropes were biting through his arms and legs.

Mordara was suddenly there, pacing on the opposite side of Shakra from Tamarind. She gave Shakra a sideways look, her stripes making it difficult to read her expression. “You have two options,” she said as if she were having a pleasant conversation with him. “You can continue to fight us and, perhaps, become permanently damaged, or you can cooperate, bow to the inevitable, and walk only lightly bound.”

Shakra ignored her, willing to suffer rather than admit complete defeat.

“Let him go,” Tamarind begged. “You have me. If you are telling the truth, and I will be a prince, then you must obey me.”

Mordara said with a sigh. “I am not one of your subjects. I belong only to Katze.”

Tamarind suddenly faced her, coming around Shakra with his short mane stiff with temper. His silver eyes were glowing. She looked down, her much larger body making his confrontation almost comical. One of her clawed hands was larger than Tamarind's head and her claws were razor sharp. She tensed for a fight, her tail lashing.

“I won't go another step like this,” Tamarind threatened.

She eyed him, looking Tamarind up and down slowly. “Are you so willing to die for this spotted dog? If you are loyal to Katze, he and all his people will soon be your enemy.”

“I will ask Katze for his life,” Tamarind replied.

Mordara sneered. “So naive,” she said and shrugged. “Untie him, but keep a tether around his neck,” Mordara told Shakra's guards. She showed her fangs and they cowered. “If he escapes under your watch, you will both die, understand?” She called ahead to the other weres. “Take a rest while Prince Shakra regains the use of his arms and legs.”

The weres didn't complain. It was obvious that they were reluctant to reach the plains and leave their mountain home. Mordara glared at them as they all found comfortable places and fell asleep, some of them snoring.

When Shakra was untied, he could hardly move. A whimper escaped his lips, despite his attempt not to. An agonizing pins and needles sensation preceded the return of his circulation. Tamarind rubbed at his limbs anxiously and the feel of his hands on him was almost worth the pain to Shakra and the humiliation of having a lead tied around his neck.

“Do as she says,” Tamarind urged Shakra as he crouched next to him, warm fur and scent. Shakra burrowed into it. Tamarind stiffened in surprise and then relaxed, growling at Shakra's guards to step back and not interfere. Tamarind licked one of Shakra's ears as if unable to help himself, his rasping tongue strangely soothing. His breath thrummed in his throat.

“I'm following you, not her,” Shakra breathed, eyes closed as he relaxed against Tamarind and tried to ignore the enemy watching from all around them. He was too tired and in pain to think sexual thoughts. He was in a place of contentment instead.

“If Katze wants me to be his son, he will have to set you free,” Tamarind told him. “He will have to bargain.”

“You will not sell yourself for me,” Shakra growled, but then didn't want to discuss it any longer. He was too weary. He fell asleep with Tamarind cleaning his other ear and had a fleeting image of a mother and a furry cub that was himself. He almost chuckled at the ridiculous image, but it gave him so much warmth that it was better to let it lull him into resting.

He wasn't given long. “Shakra,” Tamarind said in his ear far too soon. “We have to go. Can you walk?”

Shakra shivered at the cold. The temperature had dropped sharply. He felt slightly ill as he opened his eyes and realized that Tamarind was almost wrapped completely around him.

Tamarind's eyes were concerned. “You don't look well.”

Shakra shook his head. It didn't matter how he felt. He had to walk. He levered himself slowly to his feet and felt his arms and legs protesting. They held him, though, and he took slow steps to prove to himself that going further was possible. Tamarind hovered anxiously. Shakra rubbed his cheek against Tamarind's briefly and then turned to face Mordara. She was watching him appraisingly. She nodded as if in respect and then called to her weres.

“Move out!” She took the lead, tail like a banner behind her.

Shakra limped and ignored when one of his guards tugged on his lead when Tamarind wasn't looking. He braced himself to endure the humiliation. There would be retribution, he promised silently.

It was then that he smelled it, faint, but familiar. It was the smell of a faint hint of musk that had nothing to do with either Tamarind or himself. He kept himself from smiling. Lormar was out there somewhere, following them.

**************

“You are not going anywhere,” Lormar said through a mouthful of ruff fur. His arms and legs were wrapped around the smaller werefox's body and he was holding Kyrill down. Despite their danger, Kyrill's wriggling and bucking attempts to dislodge him and rescue Shakra were beginning to have their effect on him. He wasn't an untried werewolf Prince, but his arousal scent was still on the air despite his best efforts. It was hard to ignore that he was so close to the tantalizing underside of Kyrill's bushy tail with a part of his anatomy that was more than willing to take advantage of it.

“Lormar!” Kyrill whined. “He's hurt! I have no honor if I let him suffer!”

“You sound like that werelizard,” Lormar grumbled. “You should have as much sense.”

“At least enough sense not to mount each other within a stone's throw of the enemy,” Shang's angry voice said from behind them.

Lormar stifled a yip as he sprang from Kyrill’s back and whirled defensively on the werelizard. He blinked in surprise. Shang looked haggard and he was covered from head to toe in furs.

“You're alone!” Lormar snarled, sensing no one else. “Why did you come yourself? You were never meant for high places like this.”

“Tales of Prince Shakra's preference for a werelion are known now,” Shang replied dryly. “Warden Kol called the council together and Armandu backed him up. As soon as I realized that they were suspending Shakra's title until the sex of his heir is known, I knew that a rescue party would not be mounted. He has made himself expendable.”

“There isn't any heir,” Lormar growled.

Shang snorted. “Tell me something that I don't know, mountain were. Even if Shakra were attracted to females, he wouldn't have chosen Tikena as a consort.”

“Shakra is still the only heir,” Lormar persisted. “You should have argued that.”

Shang glared as if Lormar were very stupid. “Tikena rules, as does Warden Kol and the council. They are in the middle of a power struggle. None of them are concerned about a Prince who has shown himself unworthy of the title.”

Kyrill shook himself as he sat up and said, “Shakra never really wanted to be Prince. He just didn't want Warden Kol to rule.”

“His people suffer,” Shang replied angrily. “They wait in unrest for someone to lead them and protect them. If we stand divided, arguing over a throne, then Katze will find it easy to conquer us.”

“Then shouldn't you be there instead of here?” Lormar snarled. “Shouldn't you be leading the army? What about your duty?”

“My duty is to Prince Shakra,” Shang replied, but then he looked almost anguished as he said, “My loyalty to all factions was questioned. None of them trust me not to betray them. My leadership of the army was suspended. Armandu has full command now.”

Kyrill suddenly cut in, “Shakra is hurt! Let's not argue any longer and rescue him.”

Lormar tensed as if to jump on him again, but Shang's voice was enough to keep the werefox from running to help Shakra. “We bide our time,” he said strongly, his long rows of teeth showing in a fierce expression. “We get Shakra out when they grow lazy and complacent.”