Tiger Eye (17 page)

“Dragon Woman,” he mused quietly.

“Does that mean anything to you?”

Hari shook his head. “I do not know.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe in coincidence. She sells me your box, and the next day she’s dead? Too weird for my tastes.”

“The Magi could have killed Long Nü in retaliation for selling you the box.”

“Or she’s gone into hiding because of him. I prefer that possibility. I kind of liked her.”

When they arrived at the hotel, Dela stopped at the front desk to check for messages. Several businessmen who thought they were the height of cool cast surreptitious glances at Hari. The extremely young women dangling from their arms did the same, except they were far less discreet.

“They want you bad,” Dela teased, gesturing at the girls smiling coyly in Hari’s direction.

Hari barely glanced at them. “They are shallow imitations of what women should be. You, however, are the real thing.”

Whoa.

The desk clerk coughed, and Dela struggled to focus on his amused face.

“You have a package,” he said, handing her a nondescript brown box with her name printed neatly on the label. No return address or postage stamps. Hand-delivered.

Dela smiled as she turned the box over. Scrawled on the bottom was a crude drawing of a skull and crossbones, nestled in the middle of a giant heart. Roland’s signature method of expressing affection. Dela wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had the same image tattooed on his ass, with the word ‘mutha’ inscribed at the bottom.

“What is it?” Hari asked, as they made their way back to the room. His gaze did not rest long on Dela. He scanned the lobby, scrutinizing everyone, his body coiled tight. He seemed determined not to let her move more than a pinky’s length away from his side. Which suited Dela just fine.

When they reached the elevators, Hari’s jaw clenched so
tight Dela imagined it might snap off his face. She squeezed his hand as they waited. He stared at the closed doors, looking ill.

“Your papers.” Dela watched him worriedly. “Everything you need to function in society. Social security number, birth certificate, that sort of thing.”

“I will take your word on it,” he said a minute later when he ran off the elevator with her in tow, his ability to speak in coherent sentences restored. “This … family friend of yours was able to acquire all that for me?”

“Yes, but don’t
ever
tell anyone. For all intents and purposes, you were born and bred in America, and got your papers the good old-fashioned way.”

“Ah,” he said, as they arrived at the room. “You deal with criminals.”

“Nooo,” she said, sliding the card key into the lock. “They’re just extremely good at getting difficult things done.”

“So am I, but my methods usually involve killing people.”

Dela had a pithy reply on the tip of her tongue, but Hari pushed her aside as she opened the door, stalking into the room with an I-am-Going-to-Hurt-Someone attitude.

A moment later, Dela understood why.

The room had been torn apart, rock-star style. She was surprised the curtains weren’t on fire. All their clothes lay scattered and cut to shreds, the bed covers were torn, the pillows cruelly de-stuffed. Every piece of furniture not nailed to the floor now pointed at the ceiling in weird angles, modern art at its worst.

Dela checked the closet. Hari’s sword and knives were still there, although it was clear they had been the instruments of destruction. Bits of cloth clung raggedly to the blades. Guilt by association. Dela touched the weapons, but whoever had used them had not left an imprint. She was getting a lot of that lately. Very frustrating.

“Well, I’m officially irritated,” Dela said. “Magi or mystery man?”

Hari’s nostrils flared. “Magi. I am sure he was looking for the box.”

Dela patted her purse, comforted by its slight bulge. “Bully for him.”

Dela called the front desk and explained that someone had broken into her room. By the time the hotel manager arrived—the same gentleman who had so nicely provided the van and driver—Dela and Hari had packed his weapons and armor into her suitcase. Which, thankfully, still remained unscathed.

The bright side of the situation was that they were promptly given a luxurious three-room suite with two featherbeds, a whirlpool the size of a swimming pool, and views of the city that almost made Dela weep—but only because she didn’t think they were going to be staying long enough to enjoy any of it.

At least she wasn’t paying for the room—or any other expense accrued during her stay at the hotel.

You just saved me more than a thousand dollars, you son of a bitch. And Hari and I get to buy new clothes, all on the hotel tab.

Yes, the silver lining was all hers.

“How did the Magi find us?” Dela asked, when they were finally alone.

“Perhaps he is tracking
me,”
Hari said moodily, arms folded over his chest. He leaned against the window, staring at the city. “The Magi invested much of his own magic in creating my prison. It could have produced a link, of sorts. A scent he can follow.”

“Hmph. But why look for you now, and not before?” There seemed no good answer.

Dela used one of Hari’s daggers to cut open Roland’s box. Inside, she found a thick envelope and a typed letter.

Yo, babe—

My sources finished this faster than I thought (money really
can
buy anything), and since the work was done on your side of the world, the package should get to you before the afternoon. Hope the proxy got my signature all purty.

I’ve got you and “Hari” seats together on an evening flight back home. First class, of course. Try not to abuse the privilege by dropkicking any bitchy flight attendants or drunk CEOs.

Call if you need anything.

Ro

That guy looks scary. Are you sure I can’t have him?

Dela grinned, setting aside the letter. She tore open the envelope and gestured for Hari to join her. She showed him his passport, but scowled when she saw the last name Roland has chosen.

“Why am I called Hari Dasypygal?”

Dela growled. “That’s the last name Roland gave you. It’s an obscure Greek word that means … having hairy buttocks.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Well,” Hari said, very carefully. “When I am in tiger form, I actually
do
have—”

She swatted him, laughing.

Chapter Six

Four hours later they checked out of the hotel. It was not the way Dela had envisioned the end of her vacation—though nothing about this trip had turned out the way she expected—but she was taking home a new best friend, and perhaps more, which almost made up for the last two days of murder and mayhem.

Plus, Dela had new clothes. Always a good thing.

Dela currently wore designer jeans, a trippy little blue t-shirt with daisies scattered on the bodice, and soft leather boots that added a sexy inch to her height. Hari was back in jeans and white shirt, this time dressed up with a simple navy jacket. He also wore a new hat. Dela did not like covering Hari’s beautiful hair, but she was afraid to advertise its rather unique hues in case the police had posted a description of the morning fiasco at the Dirt Market.

Not that he wouldn’t attract attention anyway. He looked devastating.

No one tried to kill them on the way to the airport, nor were any knives thrown in their direction during check in. Hari’s armor and weapons were packed snugly in Dela’s suitcase. His displeasure at the arrangement was eloquent and severe, but Dela didn’t care. One
bing
from the metal detector, and airport security would be on them like fleas to fresh meat.

Thankfully weaponless (Dela mentally “searched” Hari, just to be sure), they crept through security and customs without mishap, Hari’s passport holding up to strict scrutiny. Dela felt something hard in her stomach dissolve the moment they passed the last of the security personnel; if any of them had pulled Hari or herself aside for questioning about the morning’s events at the Dirt Market, she had no good plan to save them. It seemed to her, though, that Chinese bureaucracy had won out—that, or the witnesses to the attack had lousy memories.

With time to kill before their flight, they relaxed in the first-class lounge, sipping tea and snacking on dim sum. Dela watched Hari fuss with his teacup and chopsticks, his large hands engulfing both with graceful aplomb.

Hari had perfect manners; Dela could not remember a moment when he had demonstrated anything but class and elegance, even when eating with just his hands. She wondered where he had learned such things, or whether it was just innate.

“How much time did you usually spend out of the box after you were summoned?” The lounge was not crowded; she and Hari were sitting in the furthest corner. Still, she whispered.

Hari’s gaze turned inward. “The longest I ever remained free of the box was a period of ten years. That particular master was a minor warlord of the steppe who used me against enemy clans. He eventually managed to unite enough of them to create an army against China. He did not live long after the initial invasion.”

He spoke casually, but Dela tried to imagine all that Hari
had experienced, the events he had witnessed with his own eyes—places and people modern historians could only dream about—and she felt the lure of the unknown, of mysteries solved. It was difficult not to pepper Hari with questions. His memories were unpleasant—she knew this, could see it in his unhappy face—but still, that hunger.

“Ten years is a long time,” Dela finally said. “Was it always awful?”

“Not always, but I spent much of that time in battle. My master was no different from others in that he believed I did not need food or rest. I was a spirit to him, the essence of power. If I ate or slept, that would indicate vulnerability, weakness. So I learned to do without for as long as possible, eating when I could, sleeping when I was unneeded. For ten years I did that, and it hardened my body and mind. A good thing, I suppose. After him, life became more difficult.”

“And that’s all it’s been?” Dela asked, appalled. “Fighting, being used as a weapon? In all the time you’ve been summoned, haven’t you ever known joy?”

“They could not break me,” Hari whispered. “And so I remembered joy, and took it where I could. In a bite of food, in blue sky, the wind. I found joy in protecting my masters’ children, who were innocent. I lived, moment to moment, and that is how I survived. Me,” he said, touching his chest. “Not just my body.
Me.”

Dela grasped Hari’s hand. She felt power coil in his grip, immense strength, but his fingers were achingly gentle as they wrapped around her wrist, stroking skin.

“And now?” she asked softly.

“I still live moment to moment,” he said, “but now I live in joy.”

Dela’s breath caught, warmth engulfing her, desire making her slick with hunger for Hari’s body, his heart. She had never
wanted anyone so much, so fast. Electricity filled the air; stunning and hot. For now they were just holding hands, but Dela’s mouth went dry as she imagined their hands holding other parts of their bodies.

The sounds of screeching metal cut through her ears, her head—so close both she and Hari bolted from their chairs. Hari squeezed Dela’s hand as she struggled for breath, dazed, trying to understand how the decorative railing beside their table could have come off the wall, warped and crushed like an iron ribbon.

A lounge attendant hurried over. Dela felt the stares of everyone in the room. She met Hari’s eyes, heard his unspoken thoughts.

You did this.

She wanted to protest, to tell him it was impossible, that she was not so strong, but the words died in her throat. There was no other explanation. Her affinity was tied to metal. She had destroyed the railing without thinking of it. Her mind had expelled an excess of energy without focus or intent.

Fear shivered down Dela’s spine. She had dealt with the effects of uncontrolled telekinesis during her adolescence, but even then she never had been able to break or lift things. Bend spoons, maybe—dent her dad’s car or scratch up all her jewelry.

As an adult, she had to concentrate to make things move, and even then she was limited to metal—her art, her weapons. Which was good. Very good. Dela did not want to think about the trouble spontaneous telekinesis could get her in.

There was no good explanation to give the lounge attendant. Dela pretended stunned amazement—not very difficult, given the circumstances. She and Hari quickly left.

“I suppose that was unintentional,” he said, as they walked to their gate.

“Uh-huh.” She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone
had left the lounge to watch them. All clear. “I’ve never been able to break things like that. Even if I could, it shouldn’t have happened without actually focusing on the railing.”

“There was power between us. I felt it surround me.”

“Oh,” Dela said weakly. “I’m sorry.”

Hari stopped walking and drew her close.

“Do not ever be sorry for who you are,” he told her, the coarse tone of his voice softened by the genuine concern in his eyes. “This power is part of you, just as the tiger is part of me. You would not expect me to be sorry for the things I can do, would you?”

“No,” she said immediately.

“Then look at this as a gift.” Hari’s affectionate smile turned devilish. He leaned close, breath hot against her ear. “Just imagine, Delilah, what you might do if we kissed like mates.”

Dela didn’t know how “kissing like mates” would be any different from regular kissing, but she couldn’t wait to find out, erratic powers be damned. Let the entire airport come down!