A Lion's Heart Page 2

  “Damn he's fast!” Shakra swore and took off after him. He wasn't sure what his plan was or why he was even bothering running after the werelion. If Shang found out that he was running out of the city and into the surrounding forest after a very angry, savage, savannah werelion, he was certain the werelizard would have heart failure.

  As Shakra suspected, the weakened creature didn't get far. Shakra found it collapsed near a river bank and lapping greedily at the water. “Not too fast,” Shakra warned, “You'll make yourself sick.”

  The chain was trailing behind it and the iron collar looked cruelly tight. The dirt, the fleas, and the weariness of the werelion, was at odds with the molten challenging silver eyes glaring at Shakra. They said, clearer than words, that he wasn't beaten and that he was ready to die rather than allow it. Yes, he, Shakra thought with satisfaction. Those eyes told him this was an intelligent were, not a mindless animal.

  “It's all right,” Shakra soothed and lowered himself down on his haunches to show that he wasn't a threat. He kept his ears up and his tail relaxed, hoping that the werelion understood werewolf body language. “I freed you, remember?”

  The werelion clearly didn't think much of that fact. He was suddenly bolting again, chain dragging behind him until it caught on tree roots and brought him up short. Shakra expected a savage display of panic. Instead, the werelion raced back to the end of the chain to free it. It was more proof that he could reason, Shakra thought, and took advantage of the werelion's exposed neck and back to pounce on him.

  It was like jumping on steel springs. The werelion was hard to pin down and he almost escaped, almost lashed Shakra with its claws, but then Shakra's jaws were closing on the werelion's dirty neck and his greater strength was holding him to the ground.

  It was a show of dominance and Shakra couldn't help doing it. He was part wolf and a crouched creature exposing its throat was a prime trigger for his instincts. He held on, growled, stood over the werelion, and demanded its submission.

  A werelion didn't have any such instincts. It held still, waiting submissively, as it had in the cage, for someone to make a mistake. Shakra did. He thought that he had won. As soon as he loosened his grip, though, the werelion twisted, drove clawed feet into his gut, and threw him off with a powerful shove. Twisting around again, as if he were boneless, he took off running once more.

  Shakra swore, even as he tried to get oxygen back into his bruised lungs, and staggered after him deeper into the forest. He was so intent on his quarry, that he didn't notice the mountain werewolves following behind.

  Chapter Two

  Nothing could outlast a loping wolf. Unfortunately, Shakra had been confined to city walls and small practice yards. His wind was good, but not as good as his full blooded cousin. Luckily, the werelion wasn't a runner either. He was stumbling and panting early on. It was obvious that the deep forest, with its treacherous roots and undergrowth, was confusing him. When he stopped and flopped down on his side in exhaustion, Shakra was yards away. He cautiously closed the space between them. Shakra didn’t fool himself this time into believing that he had won. The werelion's deadly claws were capable of tearing Shakra open in a flash.

  “I'm not going to hurt you,” Shakra soothed. “I want to help.”

  “He wants to help,” a laughing voice mocked behind him. Shakra whirled, ears going back and his small ruff bristling. His nose caught the scent of mountain werewolves; mountain air, dung campfire smoke, and pine forests. There were five of them, ranged loosely to block any escape back to the city. Their black and white markings made them looked sinister, their black banded faces defying any accurate reading of their intentions.

  “Look, it's a hound,” another werewolf laughed. “Black legs, a black paw... definitely a hound.”

  “I thought we were hunting a prince?” another snickered. “Maybe we should cut this HOUND up for our dinner?”

  Shakra weighed his skill against their numbers. Mountain werewolves were larger and stronger than forest werewolves. They were trained with the sword and often hired themselves out as mercenaries and assassins. Shakra didn't doubt that he could handle one, maybe two, but not five trained weres altogether.

  “My warden will pay any ransom,” Shakra tried, head lowering in shame. He thought about Shang, about what his best friend and guard would say to him when he arrived back at the city as the prisoner of mountain weres.

  “Too bad,” one of the werewolves replied, cutting his hope off at the knees. “The man who wants you dead has paid us already. Mountain weres never double-cross.”

  Shakra backed up, ready to make a run for his life in the other direction. They grinned and tensed, expecting it, tails up and ready to enjoy the chase.

  A body leapt past Shakra towards the werewolves. The werelion, he thought, but the creature seemed to have doubled in size. Paws outstretched and claws extended, it roared, a sound Shakra had never heard before in his life. He crouched to the ground, terrified, trying to make himself small as the reddish brown creature roared again. The sound throbbed through the air and vibrated through Shakra's body.

  The mountain weres were as startled as Shakra. They were all gone in a flash of silver tails, fleeing the unknown. Shakra looked after them, whimpered, and wanted to follow, but his body was trying to melt into the ground to hide.

  Clawed hands grabbed Shakra's arm suddenly and hauled him up. He yelped in panic as the werelion shouted, “Run, hound!”

  The werelion was gone then, his tufted tail and dragging chain trailing behind him as he disappeared into the forest at a run. Not terrifying, not larger than life, but smaller than Shakra himself and weak from confinement. Shakra shook himself all over, forced his ears up, and ran after him.

  They slowed to a walk after a short time, the werelion staying ahead and panting. Shakra paced behind with his head down in shame. His pride had taken a blow and he wondered if he would ever recover from it. The strong, brave Prince had offered ransom for his life to mountain weres. He had cowered and almost wet himself in fear of a scrawny werelion, a creature who could barely put one paw in front of the other. Remembering his assurances to Shang that he could take care of himself, and how Shang had felt confident enough in his abilities to let him go, Shakra wondered if he could ever face the werelizard again. It was hard enough facing himself.

  “Go,” the werelion said without looking back at him.

  “Where are you going?” Shakra wondered. “If you’re going home, you're going in the wrong direction.”

  The werelion stopped. With an expression of anguish, he looked back the way they had come.

  Shakra wondered, “Can't you tell where your home is?”

  The werelion’s silver eyes narrowed at him angrily.

  Shakra had a sense of smell that was as good as any map. Every scent told him where he was in his world. The scent of jasmine and wood smoke told him where his home was. The smell of fern and mushrooms told him the path to the next city. If he concentrated hard, he could even catch on the breeze a very faint echo of the brown grass scent that still clung to the hairs of the werelion. He guessed that it was the scent of the Savannah.

  The werelion turned and began walking back. He snarled in warning as he passed Shakra.

  Shakra started to follow, but then barely avoided a slash of the werelion's claws. They faced off. Shakra told him, “My home is that way too. Where else do you expect me to go with mountain weres after me? You frightened them, but it won't be long before they get over that and come back.”

  The werelion stared at him, panting. It was clear that he didn't want to go back to the place where he had just escaped and it was very clear that he didn't trust Shakra. Shakra lowered his head, looking at the werelion in what he hoped was an understandable sign of friendship.

  “I freed you when I didn't have anything to gain,” Shakra reminded him. “I didn't ask you to pay me back by saving my life. I didn't make a bargain. I just... I don't like to see anyone suffer. They were treating you as i
f you were a full blooded lion, as if you didn't have a mind or a voice. That's wrong.”

  The silver eyes didn't soften with sudden trust. They hardened with skepticism. When the werelion turned and began walking again, though, he didn't slash at Shakra when he followed.

  The werelion was beautiful, despite the dirt and the fleas, Shakra thought as he followed the creature. Flowing muscles under thick fur, legs that were long and springing, hair on his head that was brown and tinted with streaks of fire from the sun, and those eyes... Shakra found himself following the swing of the werelion's tail, trying to see the tantalizing hint of maleness buried in the thicker fur underneath it.

  Shakra felt a hot flush. He had liked baiting Shang, insinuating that he wasn't going to mate with females, but it was the first time that Shakra began to wonder if his teasing didn't have some truth to it. He'd never been tempted to look under a female’s tail.

  Shang, he thought, would not only have his hide for thinking such things in a dangerous situation, but he himself should be volunteering for one of Shang's patented training sessions from hell. Not one decision that he had made that day had been a good one. If he continued on in that vein for the rest of the day he'd be dead for certain by sundown.

  “You're all alone,” Shakra said.

  Rounded ears cocked back at him and then flicked in annoyance.

  “There's nothing like you in this land,” Shakra continued. “You can't blend in. You can't hide if those werecheetahs decide to take you again.” He licked lips nervously and then offered, “I'm a prince. I can protect you.”

  The werelion was unimpressed.

  “You are being a fool,” Shakra growled. “I'm offering you safety.”

  The werelion laughed and flicked his tail insolently. Shakra heard him say under his breath, “Hound.”

  “I am not a hound,” Shakra seethed. “I am a werewolf!”

  The werelion glanced back at him and then ahead again. Shakra laid back his ears and growled deep in his throat. Why was he bothering? He had done the right thing by letting the werelion go and he had been repaid for his kindness. If the werelion wanted to make his own way, why should he argue? Shakra knew he could make much better time alone and he could certainly slip through the forest quieter than a werelion dragging a chain behind him.

  Shakra's chin was hitting the ground before he realized that the werelion was suddenly sitting on him. The wiry body was pressing him flat and his voice hissed in Shakra's ear, “Be still!”

  Shakra almost rebelled, almost sank teeth into the hand nearest his face, but then he heard the sounds. The barest rustle above the normal sounds of the forest alerted him that the mountain were wolves had recovered from their fright and were hunting him again, expecting him to try and return home.

  The werelion was a great deal heavier than he looked. He smelled of sweat, dirt, and savannah grasses. His fur was a pile of softness against Shakra's body and his body warmth was intense. The throat, so close to Shakra's face, made a slight purr sound as the werelion breathed.

  The sound of the werewolves faded. The werelion moved off of Shakra and continued walking. Shakra quickly picked the chain off the ground. The werelion stopped and glared a warning. Shakra cautiously followed the chain to the collar, as close as he dared to those fangs and claws, and then flexed muscles. The links separated very slowly and those silver eyes widened in amazement as Shakra softly put the separated chain down. Though a foot of chain was still attached to his collar, the werelion was free to move quietly.

  “Thank you for saving me again,” Shakra said.

  The werelion snorted. “Cub.”

  Shakra found himself grinning, “I think that's better than hound.”

  “Yes,” the werelion agreed.

  Shakra followed the werelion again and he was allowed to walk closer. His small act had gained him some trust. He decided to press his advantage. “I am Shakra, Prince of Krellan.”

  “Tamarind,” was the werelion’s short reply.

  “Tamarind,” Shakra repeated. “That's your name?”

  No reply. Shakra had to assume that it was.

  “Do you have princes on the savannah?” Shakra wondered, intrigued by the werelion's lack of respect for his title.

  “Kings,” Tamarind replied and sounded sad.

  “Ah,” Shakra said.

  The werelion glared at him and put a finger to his lips. Shakra felt even more foolish. He nodded and kept silent as they ghosted through the forest towards his home.

  “Kiyaaah!” a reptilian figure catapulted out of the ferns ahead of them and twin daggers aimed for the werelion's heart. Green scales and skin, flaring head crest of black spines, and a long tail; Li’Won Shang looked deadly and furious as he came to his prince's defense.

  “Li’Won!” Shakra shouted and sprang forward to the werelion's defense, just as the werelion backpedaled into him in panic. They tangled and went down in a pile of flailing limbs and tails while Shang hovered and tried to make sense out of the situation.

  “Don't kill him!” Shakra managed to gasp out as he avoided a slash of claws. “He's under my protection!”

  Shang frowned and sheathed his knives. He glared down at them with an arched eyebrow as Shakra attempted to stop the werelion from running away by shoving down on every point of the were's body he could manage to reach. Finally, they ended up locked together on their sides, panting in exhaustion.

  “Shang is my guard,” Shakra told the werelion. “He won't harm you.”

  The silver eyes were fierce, but there was a scent of fear on the air. It seemed the werelion wasn't as fearless as he was pretending to be.

  “I'm going to let go,” Shakra said cautiously.

  Shang warned, “Cat, if you harm my Prince, I will slice out your heart.”

  The scent of fear grew heavier. The werelion was looking at the werelizard now, wide eyed and obviously not sure what kind of creature Shang was. He relaxed his claws, went limp, and Shakra felt safer about letting him go. He moved away and shook himself, feeling bruises everywhere. The werelion stood up, ears down and hunched as if ready to spring away.

  Shang observed as he looked over the werelion and saw the collar and the small length of chain, “My Prince, I am very certain that you did not leave my presence with enough coin to buy a werelion.”

  Shakra flushed to his tail. It was time to face the music and he was suddenly tempted to run away. He bowed his head. “I... I freed him from the werecheetahs. They were mistreating him.”

  “I doubt that unless there was good reason,” Shang shot back. “They won't purposely damage merchandise.”

  “They had him in a cage, a small one,” Shakra protested.

  “Captives rarely go willingly to servitude,” Shang replied. “My Prince, you cannot go about freeing every creature in the market. Since I doubt this creature was purchased with coin, I must assume that you freed him illegally?”

  Shakra said under his breath, “He escaped.”

  “While in your presence, my Prince?” Shang asked skeptically.

  “Yes. The werecheetah opened the cage,” Shakra explained. “The werelion ran away.”

  “Into the forest,” Shang growled, furious, “and you followed him to... what? Capture him for the poor werecheetah?”

  Shakra's ears went down and he replied sullenly, “No.”

  “My Prince!” Shang exclaimed in exasperation. “Do you have such little regard for your own hide? This werelion is young but their claws are formidable weapons. If he decided to kill you, I doubt there would be much you could do to stop him.”

  “He saved me!” Shakra protested and then cringed with a whine, knowing that he had said the wrong thing.

  “Saved you?” Shang jumped on that. “From what, or whom, did he save you?”

  Shakra tried to think of an explanation that didn't include mountain weres, but he knew he couldn't lie to Li’Won Shang. “Assassins,” he tempered.

  Shang's claws went to his knives. “What?
Where are they?”

  “Back there,” Shakra replied. He felt safe in Shang’s presence. He couldn't imagine the werewolves going against a werelizard, a werelion, and a forest werewolf trained to battle. Shang wasn't so confident.

  “We will discuss all of this back at the city!” Shang snapped. “Come!”

  The order didn't include the werelion.

  “Tamarind's coming too,” Shakra protested.

  “Tamarind?” Shang was looking around them anxiously. “The werelion? He is of no concern to us. You will have to compensate the merchant. Your warden will not be pleased to be out that much coin for a creature he will never see a whisker of.” He glared at the werelion. “Go. You are free.”

  The werelion twitched his tail, looked from Shakra to the werelizard in indecision, and then turned to go. Shakra bounded after him. “No, wait!”

  The mountain werewolves chose that moment to attack.

  Chapter Three

  Shakra heard Shang's shout of warning. Both he and the werelion turned, with ears laid back, to see the werelizard leaping towards their attackers. The black bands on the silver werewolves were confusing, making them hard for eyes to follow. It also made their numbers seem greater than they were. The mountain weres were expert at ambush and they clearly understood the effectiveness of a pincher movement. They came from two sides at a rush, leaping, bobbing, and putting their black bands to good effect. Shang attacked, undaunted, and Shakra, after a moment's hesitation, felt his training engage.

  “Run,” He told the werelion and put the creature from his mind. His mentor needed someone to shield him on the left and he took up that position. The werewolves circled them, laughing, but Shang regarded them disdainfully and awaited their next move.