Night of the Tiger(29)

“Salvation.” He said the name slowly and his entire body seemed to relax slightly. It was hard to tell for certain because his muscles were still rock hard. It was more an impression she had than any physical change in him.

“The carnival?” she questioned, wanting him back on track. She needed to figure out what was going on.

He came to his feet in one swift movement and slashed his arm out in front of him. She flinched away, scared by the sudden violence she sensed in him. He slowly lowered his arm back to his side. Aimee wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. There was too much sadness, too much desperation mirrored in his eyes.

Roric went to one knee beside the bed and laid his right hand over his heart. “Everything that happened at the carnival was real.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “I would never hurt you, Aimee. I am one of seven warriors of an ancient goddess. It is my sworn duty to break the curse that has held me captive for more than five thousand years. You have set me free, and I must protect you from the demons that are coming for us both. Then I must find a way to free the remaining warriors and find my Lady.”

“Demons? Curse? Five thousand years?” Her head was spinning. Roric was obviously confused. She didn’t want to say crazy, but the word was there in the back of her mind, taunting her. Just her luck to bring home a guy who thought he’d been cursed for several thousand years and she’d set him free. He might be gorgeous, but he obviously needed help.

Not that she was in any position to criticize. There were a lot of folks in town who thought she needed help too considering the type of artwork she’d produced over the years for the comic company. No flowers and fuzzy bunnies for her. No, she’d mostly illustrated scenes of the apocalypse, vampires, werewolves and paranormal stuff. Not to mention the hellish stuff she’d been producing lately.

He shifted slightly, drawing her attention once again. “You don’t believe me.” His voice was flat and hard. His muscles tensed and his lips thinned.

She had to keep him calm. “Of course I believe you.”

Roric narrowed his eyes as he stood and placed his hands on his hips. Damn, the man was big. He had to be at least six and a half feet, and all of it solid muscle. He was also crazy. Still, for some strange reason she wasn’t afraid of him. Not really. She could sense the violence and anger swirling within him, but deep in her heart she knew it would never be turned against her.

“No, you don’t.” He turned and strode to the window, bracing one arm on the frame as he peered out into her backyard and the forest beyond.

Aimee sat on bed, unable to move, held captive by the vivid tattoo of a white tiger that covered Roric’s entire back. How she’d missed it last night, she’d never know. Of course, she’d been busy last night. But still. This was incredible.

The beast stared back at her, familiar vivid blue eyes, broad nose and proud bearing. White fur striped with midnight black. Thick muscles and pure power, all controlled by a vast intelligence.

It was the tiger from her dreams, the one from the funhouse. The animal she’d ridden on the carousel. None of it was a dream. All of it was real. Either that or she’d completely lost her mind.

Without taking her eyes off the tattoo, Aimee slid off the side of bed. On silent feet, she padded toward him. His back muscles tensed. He knew she was behind him.

Reaching out, she tentatively touched the tattoo and stroked the tiger’s head. Roric tilted his head to one side as if it were his head she’d touched. Butterflies danced in her stomach. What she was thinking was impossible. But she was beginning to believe in the impossible.

Slowly, she raked her nail across the tiger’s belly. Roric groaned. She moved her nail lower. Roric growled and whirled around in a blur of motion. Catching her hand with his, he flattened it against his stomach. Aimee curled her fingers inward, feeling the brush of fine fur-like hair against her fingertips.

“You’re the white tiger, aren’t you?” She held her breath, barely even able to believe what she’d just asked him.

His pale blue eyes stared into her very soul. She could sense the tensing of his muscles beneath her hand. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.”





Chapter Seven

Her lips parted and she licked her lower one. It was a nervous gesture, but it made Roric’s cock throb with never-ending ache, a relentless need. He could all too easily imagine her sweet tongue licking his erection, sucking the head into her warm mouth. He barely suppressed a groan.

Her eyes widened as she felt the nudge of his shaft against the edge of her hand. There was no hiding the fact that he was aroused. Nor did he want to. It made him feel alive—a living, breathing man—after being held inanimate for more centuries than he cared to remember.