Beastly Passions (3 page)

Illusions. Asha had none. She’d killed them all upon stepping off the plane and into the city of Vladivostok. Primorsky Krai would be her home now, away from all she’d come to know and love in the culturally rich environment of India. The streets of Bangalore would only know her steps two to three times a year from this point on. The vendors and the hagglers would be missed, along with the children who found joy in simply having a ball to kick about. There would be no more warning poachers off of the local wildlife or risking the wrath of pachyderms that she’d unintentionally stumbled upon while searching for her next meal. The tall grasses and wondrous sun on her belly would now be abandoned. The Kerala Temple Festivals
would be left behind and a great deal of her charity work in the areas stricken with poverty would be stilted. The beauty of Udaipur in Rajasthan… All of it, snatched away.

Asha searched for rage, for anything that would pelt away the numbness inside but she could find none. Like her illusions, it had dissipated, leaving her with reality. She made her pride uncomfortable. Her parents, her brother, them
all.
Her interests had never simply lain within lazy decadence and theatrics set on a stage of her pride’s making. Asha was enamored with
more.
Her desires weren’t uncomplicated nor explicable but she enjoyed transparency. She enjoyed deals that benefited more than just herself. She enjoyed diplomacy and politics. The issues of her community became her own because, in her rationale, cries gone ignored could mean the approach of an enemy that you didn’t heed warning about. If you closed your eyes to the plight of others, it could just as soon be your plight on the very next day.

And so, Asha began to study their government, their people, lessons taught by the elders and the contributions different entities amongst shifters had made for the betterment of their safety and secrecy. She sat in libraries for days on end, reading and searching, taking notes on the alliances that had come and gone between polars and wolves; between lions and black bears: between dragons and other shifters that the world remained blissfully unaware of. She’d studied these things and had tucked away each bit of information for later use and at sixteen, Asha aided her father in negotiations with a local pack of
dhole
—wild dogs native to Central and Southeast Asia. The Misra family’s territory, at that time, had been wonderfully close to the Kaveri River, a major source of power for the four territories spread out across it. Her father had desired to have access to that river so he could lay the groundwork of purchasing and expanding one of the hydroelectric plants resting there to coincide with his business of imports in Chennai. The issue of it was, the
dhole
didn’t see how granting the Shankurs access to their lands would be advantageous and Nirav had begun to flounder, unaware that his youngest cub had already gathered every bit of information they needed. But Asha hadn’t intended to hand it over easily. No, as per usual, she’d already had her terms of agreement drawn out and placed in a contract.

Sending one of their helpers in that could be trusted, Asha had her father called away from his office. He’d been annoyed at her interruption, telling her that he had no time to play her games but she’d stopped him in his tracks as she’d done everyone who underestimated her. Easily enough she’d explained how he could convince the Misras to allow him leeway…
after
having him sign an ironclad contract that said upon high school graduation she’d be allowed to leave Bangalore and attend Oxford University in London without any watchful eyes or pride members “concerned” with her safety. Grudgingly, he’d done so and just two short years later, Asha had found herself enjoying everything England had to offer; the food, the eclectic mix of lives, the train rides over into France.

Upon returning home she’d had a four-year research degree in Politics and International relations that she’d proceeded to put to good use, working as a freelance archivist and market research analyst, going where she was requested. Learning, that was what she’d spent her time doing. Perhaps too much time. Because with every trip taken, every piece of ground gained, and every nod of respect she received, the heat of resentment was felt. Nirav found himself fielding calls from packs, prides and sleuths that were not for him. Ishana, Asha’s mother, was no longer the socialite amongst them, no longer the one that others chose to seek out at events. Karan, her brother, had been indifferent and happy to continue on as the indulgent whore-hound with a lovely smile and infamous charm up until it was insinuated that Asha could easily lead the pride when it was time for their parents to step down. With an astounding quickness, her worth, her work, and all she’d done to advance them was flushed.

Nirav took full hold of finances and business dealings, pushing her out. Her mother no longer allowed her the opportunity to speak to other affluent forerunners and soon, all that they had begun to die. The matings stopped, the corporate inquiries stopped, and without Asha to bridge the gap between the Shankurs and the rest of their society, economic detriment reigned. However, rather than admitting defeat and listening to the complaints of their pride, her parents found a different solution—marketing
her.

Where could she go and what could she do without a pride? Sure, Asha had been smart enough to take a bit for herself with every deal and yes, she had shares in several different businesses along with a home of her own on the beaches of Arabia but no family, no pride, meant vulnerability; it meant becoming prey to anyone who saw fit. It meant possible death or even worse…a forced mating. They very rarely occurred because predatory females were frightening in their own right when cornered, and yet there was only so much one could do with several dominant males baring down on her, watching for the slightest window of opportunity. So she’d settled for this lesser of several evils. She’d settled for Taras.

A jumble of voices yanked Asha from her thoughts and she followed them down a corridor and just to the left until she realized she’d been extremely close to the first floor outdoor patio that wrapped around the entire perimeter of Taras’ home. Moonlight and the glare of electric lanterns strategically placed about forced its way through the large bay windows, giving her a view of miles of greenery, flourishing gardens and a few of her husband’s pride members.

Two males and a female walked the grounds, a large rug wrapped weight carried by the men as they all snapped at one another in broken English.

“Heavy,” one tiger complained. “Fucking heavy. I blame large head. At least twenty pounds in weight.”

“I want to drop him,” the other replied. “I want to drop him and kick. Why do we even owe him burial? He was asshole. Awful, stupid asshole.”

And then Asha knew they carried Igor.

The female stopped and turned to both, a shovel in her hand. “Believe me. Nothing would be better than simply feeding big headed idiot to things lurking in water on other side of property, but Taras asked for burial and so we give burial.”

Both males deflated.

“But,” the she-tiger relented. “That does not mean we can’t hit him with shovel several times
before
burial.”

It was horrendous and quite disturbing. The desecration of a body was a reprehensible act and yet the way the men crowed and dropped Igor, taking turns with vigor in slapping him with the flat of that shovel…it made Asha’s lips twitch in amusement. Why, she didn’t know, but something told her the now dead tiger had earned those slaps and the few kicks thrown in. It was still awful and she was still horrified, but the eagerness made a snort slip out. Gods, she was losing her mind. The longer she watched, the funnier she found it—which did nothing for her general sense of morale. Hysteria was the only reasonable explanation.

“You said you wouldn’t be long,” a gravelly voice accused just behind her.

Asha swung around without much thought and let her hand fly. It quickly recoiled in absolute
agony.
What she’d hit had to be cement; cement crafted by construction workers of the underworld. She released a curse in Kannada and grasped her obviously broken hand with her free one, holding it to her chest.

“Why are you skulking about?!”

Taras frowned at her—nothing new considering he didn’t really have many more expressions in his repertoire—and rubbed his chest. “You hit me.”

Tucking in her lips, she flexed her fingers and fought a wince. “Because you are skulking.”

“Was not skulking. Feet are far too big for skulking,” he told her, pointing downwards. And yes, they
were
too large for skulking but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been! “Was following your scent and found you here, watching idiot pride members hit corpse before you assaulted me.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t assault you. I was defending myself.”

“Against what?” Taras challenged.

“Your. Skulking.”

“You want measurements? Because again I say, feet are too big for skulking.”

“As you have so kindly pointed out already,” she retorted; annoyed at how close in proximity he was, annoyed that he was interrupting her quiet time alone and annoyed at the sight of his entirely too lovely face!

Christians say Lucifer is also beautiful, remember this.

His lashes fanned and he suddenly announced, “You hit like brown bear to be so tiny.”

“How,”—Asha closed her eyes and exhaled—“how do you know what a brown bear’s hit feels like?” She would regret asking that. She
knew
she would regret asking that.

Taras shrugged and she wondered if somewhere in the world a small island had just experienced a tsunami. “Used to fight them as cub.”

Her mouth opened briefly and despite her resolve made earlier in the day to not exchange more words than necessary with him, she couldn’t help her fascination. “Shifters like us?”

He shook his head. “No. Actual brown bears. I went on many hunting trips and they would try to sneak into camp and take food so,”—Taras rocked back on his heels slightly—“I would fight them.”

She regretted it. She regretted everything.
This
. This was who she would be having cubs with!

Rather than respond to that disturbing proclamation, she asked, “Could you please lead me back to the dining room? I got lost.”

If at all possible, his brows lowered even further. “And you did not simply follow scents as guide?”

Asha gritted her teeth. “I’m not familiar enough with your home yet to separate the smells so no,” her voice dropped as she mocked his accent. “I did not simply follow scents as guide.”

The curl of his mouth made her take a step back. Lovely, he found her amusing; probably in the same way he found rabbits amusing right before he pulled their back legs off with his canines.

“I get the sense that you imitate me often.”

She turned away from his glowing gaze and caught a glimpse of a shovel—which had been used recreationally moments ago—being thrown into a trunk along with a now abused cadaver. “Do not flatter yourself.”

Taras was silent for a pause. “I upset you.”

The words made her focus return to him.

“That,” he pointed just outside the window. “It upset you.”

Asha swallowed, found the intricate designs of her sari with her eyes and followed them. Words spilled from her before she could reconsider them. “I’m sure
all
young girls dream of watching someone die on their wedding day. It makes for a wonderful memory.”

Stop talking. Stop talking right now.

“Want apology?” he queried softly.

Her head lifted and she blinked slowly. An apology? From Taras?

“Should have killed idiot in private,” her husband told her. “Should have had him taken on boat and dragged down by bricks instead.”

Sighing, she rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes and shook her head. “Could you please just take me back to the dining room?” Why had she even let herself hope? The man was a bastard, he’d always been a bastard and he would
always
be a bastard.

A cool hand reached out and tugged away one of her own. Taras stared down at her. “Still upset?”

She stepped around the question. “Dining room?”

“I would rather stay with you. The others…they annoy. I fear they will only anger you more and that will anger
me
…again. This I do not want. So we stay away for a while. Together.”

He was right. It irritated her that he was right. Returning to the table, behaving as though she wasn’t choking down resentment, held no appeal for Asha. She wanted to be as far away from them all as possible; Taras included. The latter didn’t seem to be an option because once again, he was the lesser of several evils.

Complicated. Her life had grown so complicated and she couldn’t fix this. She couldn’t talk herself out of a fate shaped in the opposition to moderation. There were no contracts, no knowledge she could pick from. She simply had to do as American girls often said and “deal.” Who did she hate more? The ones who had forced her into this corner or herself for allowing it?

The flex of Taras’ fingers around her wrist drew her away from her despondency. He was still touching her. How many times had he done that now? Touched her? How many times had she felt a burning from the simple brush of his palm? Gods help her, but he made her feel things aside from an all-consuming rage and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like that someone so dark could tickle a physical response from her.