Tamarind's tightly knit muscles ripple and the primal ease of his kill . The werelion's tail balanced him, swinging up and wide, and his knees were springs in cinnamon colored fur with razor sharp claws digging through thick carpet. One snap of jaws, Shakra knew, and Tamarind would taste Kyrill's blood.
“Deadly, isn't he?” Lormar murmured appreciatively. “We're made for the long chase and for group kills. This creature... he is death, all by himself, every part of him meant for one thing.”
Shakra blushed hotly as some voice inside of him replied, “Not every part.”
Lormar didn't miss his agitated state. The mountain were's nose wrinkled. “My Prince, you are reeking.”
And that was the problem. Shakra couldn't help the scent of sexual interest. How long would it be before Tal, Tikena’s warden, or other enemies, noticed that it was strongest with Tamarind?
Tamarind released Kyrill and settled back on his haunches, looking pleased. Kyrill sat up as well, rubbing at his throat. He was grinning and his blue eyes were sparkling, large ears pricked excitedly. “That was incredible! Thank you, Tamarind, for showing me how a werelion hunts. I was often told about it, but I've never been graced with the sight myself.” He almost went nose to nose with Tamarind, his banded tail waving. “You really must come home with me to the desert. My people aren't so close minded to strangers, or provincial. You would be an honored guest.”
Tamarind looked nervous and overwhelmed and then he backed a few steps away and settled again. “I don't have any manners or civilization, I'm told. I would be lost there, I think, just as I am here. I want to go back to the Savannah. It's all I know.”
Tamarind spotted Shakra and his playfulness disappeared completely. He approached eagerly and Shakra noticed that his full belly was gone and that he was sleek and slim again. “Prince,” he said seriously. Shakra felt the burn of jealousy. Kyrill had been shown a side Tamarind that Shakra hadn't. It seemed that he wasn't going to be granted it now. Tamarind went to the door and looked back at Shakra. “I wish to go now, into the forest. I've fed and I've rested.” He added, unsure and with a hint of wariness, “You did promise that I could go.”
“It's dangerous,” Shakra replied, unable to keep his disappointment out of his voice.
“Very dangerous,” Lormar agreed, “especially for a young cub who barely knows how to hunt.”
Shakra and Kyrill looked at Lormar in confusion, but Tamarind hunched in on himself and lowered his ears.
“You attack very fiercely,” Lormar said, “but you clearly lack true hunting skills. You must have been driven from your pride before the females could fully teach you, am I right?”
Tamarind gave one, small nod, but he said with conviction, “I can do it.”
Lormar snorted. “And how well were you hunting before the werecheetahs enslaved you?”
Tamarind turned away and looked very angry and embarrassed.
“Tamarind,” Shakra was afraid now, afraid that Tamarind was about to make a very bad decision. “I know this place bothers you, but out there... You don't know anything about hunting in a forest or what dangers live there. We've found something that you can eat. It's warm and comfortable here. I can keep you safe-”
“Can you?” Tamarind hissed and glared at him, silver eyes almost glowing with temper. “And what difference is there in this than in being in the cage of a werecheetah?”
“Here, you're promised a chance to return home, under escort, and alive,” Shakra argued. “Out there, I can't help you.”
Tamarind was suddenly very close, all warmth, soft, purring breath, and Savannah scent. His eyes bored into Shakra's and he said distinctly, “I am going. Will you stop me?”
Was it a threat? Shakra heard one, but Tamarind's body language said something else. It was pleading, wanting him to give in without a fight. Shakra let out a long breath and closed his
“Deadly, isn't he?” Lormar murmured appreciatively. “We're made for the long chase and for group kills. This creature... he is death, all by himself, every part of him meant for one thing.”
Shakra blushed hotly as some voice inside of him replied, “Not every part.”
Lormar didn't miss his agitated state. The mountain were's nose wrinkled. “My Prince, you are reeking.”
And that was the problem. Shakra couldn't help the scent of sexual interest. How long would it be before Tal, Tikena’s warden, or other enemies, noticed that it was strongest with Tamarind?
Tamarind released Kyrill and settled back on his haunches, looking pleased. Kyrill sat up as well, rubbing at his throat. He was grinning and his blue eyes were sparkling, large ears pricked excitedly. “That was incredible! Thank you, Tamarind, for showing me how a werelion hunts. I was often told about it, but I've never been graced with the sight myself.” He almost went nose to nose with Tamarind, his banded tail waving. “You really must come home with me to the desert. My people aren't so close minded to strangers, or provincial. You would be an honored guest.”
Tamarind looked nervous and overwhelmed and then he backed a few steps away and settled again. “I don't have any manners or civilization, I'm told. I would be lost there, I think, just as I am here. I want to go back to the Savannah. It's all I know.”
Tamarind spotted Shakra and his playfulness disappeared completely. He approached eagerly and Shakra noticed that his full belly was gone and that he was sleek and slim again. “Prince,” he said seriously. Shakra felt the burn of jealousy. Kyrill had been shown a side Tamarind that Shakra hadn't. It seemed that he wasn't going to be granted it now. Tamarind went to the door and looked back at Shakra. “I wish to go now, into the forest. I've fed and I've rested.” He added, unsure and with a hint of wariness, “You did promise that I could go.”
“It's dangerous,” Shakra replied, unable to keep his disappointment out of his voice.
“Very dangerous,” Lormar agreed, “especially for a young cub who barely knows how to hunt.”
Shakra and Kyrill looked at Lormar in confusion, but Tamarind hunched in on himself and lowered his ears.
“You attack very fiercely,” Lormar said, “but you clearly lack true hunting skills. You must have been driven from your pride before the females could fully teach you, am I right?”
Tamarind gave one, small nod, but he said with conviction, “I can do it.”
Lormar snorted. “And how well were you hunting before the werecheetahs enslaved you?”
Tamarind turned away and looked very angry and embarrassed.
“Tamarind,” Shakra was afraid now, afraid that Tamarind was about to make a very bad decision. “I know this place bothers you, but out there... You don't know anything about hunting in a forest or what dangers live there. We've found something that you can eat. It's warm and comfortable here. I can keep you safe-”
“Can you?” Tamarind hissed and glared at him, silver eyes almost glowing with temper. “And what difference is there in this than in being in the cage of a werecheetah?”
“Here, you're promised a chance to return home, under escort, and alive,” Shakra argued. “Out there, I can't help you.”
Tamarind was suddenly very close, all warmth, soft, purring breath, and Savannah scent. His eyes bored into Shakra's and he said distinctly, “I am going. Will you stop me?”
Was it a threat? Shakra heard one, but Tamarind's body language said something else. It was pleading, wanting him to give in without a fight. Shakra let out a long breath and closed his
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