Love of a Tiger

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Interviewer: What was the first thing you noticed about Anastasia’s snow leopard?

Caleb: Her scent. She had this wonderful, sexy scent. It pulled me into her instantly. It’s difficult to explain to someone who is not a shapeshifter, but to us, our sense of smell… it’s everything.

Interviewer: Why did you pursue her? You were in the middle of a dangerous hunt. You were exposing her to danger.

Caleb: [Sighs.] I tried to keep her at arm’s length. I tried not to indulge my desires. But I couldn’t. The pull was too strong. Anastasia was, well, she was my ma—

Anastasia: [Interrupts Caleb.] I’m glad that you didn’t.

Interviewer: What is this ‘pull’ you two refer to?

- Excerpt from Interview with a Shapeshifter, Monster Magazine 03, by Circe Cole. Printed with expressed permission.

CALEB

They say cats have endless patience, but it’s a myth. Frustration frayed Caleb’s patience, even in his Bali tiger form.

He sat between two huts that lined the length of Brighton beach in the upscale suburb of Melbourne, Australia. The lazy slurping of the sea against the shore had cast upon him a welcome spell of weariness, and his tired eyes were drooped heavy, and his breathing was relaxed and deep.

The trail had ended; he had no leads, and there were no more breadcrumbs. There was nowhere to turn. For now, his hunt was stymied, but he would get the sick bastards sooner or later. That was a promise.

But he couldn’t explain why he had ended up at the beach. His tiger had just guided him there, as if of its own volition. He liked the seaside, sure, just as anybody ostensibly did. There was something more, though, a calling, a pull. He felt as if he had to go to the beach.

His Bali tiger yawned, and the great jaws of the beast for a moment cradled the setting sun which burned an orange identical to his fur coat.

The beach was empty but for his tiger, but even if there were people, he felt little need to worry. Nestled in the shadow between two small boat huts, he knew he wouldn’t be seen. People rarely peered into cracks and crevices.

To his right, the wooden hut was painted after a tropical jungle, thin bamboo stalks and shades of lush light green and brown. It reminded him of his tiger’s home deep in the jungles of Indonesia, and helped to temper his annoyance at his lack of progress. To his left was a hut that was patterned after a tiger. Though it was rare he indulged in vanity, he was happy to make an exception this time.

His tiger lounged, idly groomed himself until he smelled something new, something fantastic. He pricked up his ears, lifted his nose, and inhaled deep lungfuls of air.

He could smell another cat… not some domesticated pet, but a big cat like him. The scent belonged to a female, and was intoxicating. He rolled over in the sand, lifted his boxy head toward the source of the scent, and saw on a raised grassy bluff a snow leopard peering down at him.

She was gorgeous, her brilliant off-white fur coat puffed up by instinctual paranoia. He sought her eyes, stole her gaze, and was jolted. This snow leopard was amazing. He heard it then, on the wind. The snow leopard was purring.

He had to meet her.

With unthreatening slowness, he climbed to his feet, but when he saw her head dart back behind the ridge, he moved toward her quickly, climbing the jagged, rocky rise of land easily. Butterflies raged a storm in his stomach, and his heart pounded with a nervous and curious anticipation.

Who was this cat? What was she doing here?

He approached her, continuously sniffing at the air, smelling her heady scent. He drew up close to her, felt the static field between them, and then he touched her nose with his.

She jumped back, a small hiss escaping her mouth, and he licked his nose, shaking his head, his whiskers tingling. That was the first time he’d ever gotten a static shock as his cat!

He approached her again, padded paw over padded paw, and smelled her at her scent glands, where she exuded her seductive and unique aroma. He rubbed his own glands against her body, claimed the beautiful snow leopard as a cat was wont to do, before rubbing his entire body down the length of hers, honing in on the place where she would emit her most potent smell.

But she turned, denying it to him. Human modesty. This was definitely a shapeshifter.

His own purring rumbled in his bones, and he brought himself alongside her, and their tails twirled. She watched him from the corner of her eye, hair still bushy. She had every right to be suspicious. How rare it was to run into another shapeshifter!

The snow leopard started to smell him then, and her ears flapped unconsciously as his whiskers tickled them. He might have laughed if he was his man.

He might have laughed.

How long had it been since he had last laughed?

He felt a great warmth rise up within him, a stirring of desire that had lain dormant for far too long. He moved to rub his scent glands that lined his snout along her body again, but this time she evaded him, and pulled away.

She dropped low to the ground, wiggled her hips, and chirruped loudly, a quick and playful burst of sound, before turning and sprinting away.

The snow leopard wanted him to chase her.

And so he chased her.

ANASTASIA

She darted in and out of trees, ran into the seaside car park and hopped on bins and bonnets, before taking to the roofs of the brightly-painted huts on the beach, leaping between each with grace and ease.

He followed, his momentum-filled movements lacking her elegance and bouncy agility, but his paws padded with deft balance, and in his pursuit of her she saw desire in his eyes, joy in his steps, and laughter in his body language.

Anastasia chirped back at him, a sharp, high-pitched and playful noise, before turning and leaping into the sand. She sprinted across the beach, kicking up pebbles and seashells, and the tiger chased her still. Her heart pounded, and she was laughing on the inside. This sudden play was fun and freeing; an elation she’d never experienced before. This was her very first time playing with another shifter as her snow leopard, and it made her swell with a childlike energy.

She was quicker than him, able to change direction with greater ease, but he had better straight-line speed, and running along the shallow curve of the beach, he caught up to her quickly.

He fell into a gallop with her, and he rubbed his head into her, spreading his scent on her. It was a signal that he thought she was his, and Anastasia bridled with indignation, but secretly felt a rise in her belly, a storm in her thoughts.

Who was this tiger? Who was the man behind this tiger?

Anastasia stopped, sending the tiger lurching forward as he struggled to correct. She blasted a sharp meow at him, and would have grinned if she were her woman as she watched the enormous beast pivot clumsily, the beach offering no purchase, giving way easily to his paws. He sprayed a wall of yellow sand into the air, and then was facing her, huffing, sparkling silver and hazel eyes fixed on hers. He had such odd eyes for a tiger.

She paused for the space of time between two heartbeats, and blinked, suddenly self-conscious. It was like he was looking at her woman, and not at her cat. It was like he was gazing into her soul, her depths… as if he was looking right through her.

Anastasia broke eye-contact, and the chase was on again. She ran back up the beach, ducking beneath waterlogged wooden pillars that held up a small, rickety pier, before hopping onto a crossbeam and staring down at the tiger. Her tail curled, completely unconscious to her, but it looked like a beckon. He had stopped beneath her, breathing hard, and still his speckled eyes were on hers.

What was this tiger doing here?

Her own breath was coming quickly, and her back rose and fell with each gasping inhale. Running on the sand was difficult, and, she remembered grimly, she wasn’t in the best shape of her life.

The tiger hopped up onto the beam she was on. Above them the planks of the pier lay flat, but he was too large for the space, and so he had to duck. On his belly, he scooted toward her, and she wanted to laugh for in that moment he had lost all his majesty, but could only release a drawn-out moaning sound. His tiger understood; it was conveyed by his eyes. Embarrassment was not an emotion he indulged in. If he were his man, Anastasia got the distinct impression he might just offer up a shrug.

He brought himself face to face with her again, and again their whiskers touched, and again her senses were overwhelmed by his potent scent. It was particularly distinctive and held in it nuance that only her cat was able to detect. This tiger had been to many places. On him, he had tracked the scents of lands far more exotic than upper-class suburban Australia.

The beam shook with the force of his purring, and his eyes never left hers. It was only a few moments before she felt put on the spot, sensing that a shift was inevitable. She had little doubt that he would happily shift before her, turning into his man, n***d, without a hint of shame. His tiger exuded a confidence that bordered on carelessness. His play had been a little rough; he had not always kept his claws unsheathed.

But Anastasia was not so confident. She would not be so comfortable. She was not that kind of person. At least, that was what she told herself, but she knew there was a more painful reason for her reluctance: He might not like what he saw.

It dimmed her mood, the elation of playing with this tiger. She looked up the beach, wondering if anyone had seen their ebullient session, but saw no humans, and much to her relief. The world didn’t know about shapeshifters, and damned if she was going to be the one to break their existence because she was flirting.

The tiger came closer still, and he rubbed his head against hers. She returned the gesture, more automatic than anything, before she realized with a start what she had done.

A little shaken, she leaped down from the beam, and dashed back up the steep slope of stone and grass, disappearing out of his sight.