Night of the Tiger(33)

“The only good dreams I had were the ones with the white tiger.” Roric grew still next to her. She glanced down at him. “Yeah, I know. It’s weird.”

He chuffed as though to encourage her to keep speaking. She shook her head. Now she was an expert in tiger sounds and body language. Not. “I’d catch glimpses of the tiger in my dreams. I always felt safe then. Like I knew I wouldn’t have any nightmares if he was there.

“Ironic, isn’t it? If what you’re telling me is true, then you’ve brought my worst nightmares straight to my doorstep.” That wasn’t quite true, and she was honest enough to admit it. “Or maybe I’ve been a pawn in this thing since the beginning. Just like you. Mythology shows that most of the ancient gods and goddesses really don’t care much for humans. We’re nothing more than collateral damage in their petty fights and wars.”

The tiger reared back and jumped off the bed, clearly offended by her words. She didn’t care. Somehow, through no fault of her own, she’d become stuck in the middle of some ancient feud between Roric and his fellow warriors and Hades, Lord of the Underworld. Whichever way you looked at it, it wasn’t good for her.

“No one ever said life was fair,” she muttered as she watched the tiger pace from one side of the room to the other. She slid off the bed, anchoring the sheet tighter around her once again. Aimee really wished she had some clothes on. Having this kind of conversation half naked wasn’t the least bit comforting.

The tiger froze her with a stare. His blue eyes mirrored his frustration and anger, but smoldering beneath that, she sensed his arousal. No matter what he felt about what she’d said, he still wanted her.

She could relate. The same madness seemed to be consuming her. “Not good,” she whispered under her breath. She had to remember that Roric had an agenda. This was no time for her to lose her head, or her heart.

The tiger threw back his head and gave a mighty roar before he began to change. His arms and legs shifted, muscles and bones reforming, reshaping. He pushed upward, coming to stand on two legs.

For a moment, his body was that of a man except for the long claws that tipped his fingers, the broad forehead and the sharp fangs that protruded from his gums. Fur receded, leaving tanned flesh in its wake. A thin line of hair bisected his chest, narrowing down to his groin.

Aimee wanted to glance away, but couldn’t tear her gaze from the impressive erection spearing up from between his legs. His heavily muscled legs were spread wide. His hands were resting on his lean hips.

His striking black and white hair brushed against his broad shoulders, and his features took on their normal, fierce cast. Roric was back.





Chapter Eight

Muscles tensed and cock throbbing, Roric morphed back into his human form. He couldn’t take his eyes off Aimee. Aimee. Just the sound of her name made him want to purr with contentment. There was something special about her that reached out and touched the bedrock of frozen emotions buried deep in his soul.

That wasn’t good. Emotions weakened a warrior, caused him to make mistakes. He needed to be cool and analytical, making whatever difficult choices needed to be made.

He frowned as he thought about what she’d told him. She’d dreamed of him long before she’d seen him. Was that part of the curse? Had the Lady sent her dreams of him to encourage her to trust him, to reach out to him when she saw the carousel? Without the dreams, would she have freed him? Would she have been able to?

Maybe she was on Hades’ side, a temptation sent to test his resolve, to steal his soul with soft touches and honeyed words. He couldn’t sense anything evil about her, but he couldn’t take the chance.

His frown deepened as her words came back to haunt him. Perhaps she was simply an unwilling pawn between Hades and the Lady. Certainly she hadn’t asked to have her life ripped apart and be dragged into a war where losing meant an eternity in the bowels of Hell.

There were no easy answers. What he did know was that he would not fall victim to her feminine lure. He could sate his body with hers and protect her from the demons without allowing her to touch him on an emotional level.

He had no other choice.

After five thousand years trapped a living hell, he wasn’t about to go to the real one. He was going to break the curse that had held him prisoner once and for all. When that was done, he would see about freeing his fellow warriors.

After that, if he was still alive, he would set his sights on saving the Lady of the Beasts, to whom he owed his allegiance. He would storm the very gates of Hell itself if he had to in order to rescue her.

“Are you okay?” Aimee walked toward him, her steps barely audible on the hardwood floor.