Tiger's Curse

  He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “I missed you.”

  My mouth quirked up in a half smile. “I missed you too.”

  He leaned a shoulder nonchalantly against the doorframe. “Does that mean you’ll let me stay here? I’ll sleep on the floor and leave before daylight. No one will see me. I promise.”

  I let out a deep breath. “Okay, but promise you’ll leave early. I don’t like you risking yourself like this.”

  “I promise.” He sat down on the bed, took my hand, and pulled me down to sit beside him. “I don’t like sleeping in the dark jungle by myself.”

  “I wouldn’t either.”

  He looked down at our entwined hands. “When I’m with you, I feel like a man again. When I’m out there all alone, I feel like a beast, an animal.” His eyes darted up to mine.

  I squeezed his hand. “I understand. It’s fine. Really.”

  He grinned. “You were hard to track, you know. Lucky for me you two decided to walk to dinner, so I could follow your scent right to your door.”

  Something on the nightstand caught his attention. Leaning around me, he reached over and picked up my open journal. I had drawn a new picture of a tiger—my tiger. My circus drawings were okay, but this latest one was more personal and full of life. Ren stared at it for a moment while a bright crimson flush colored my cheeks.

  He traced the tiger with his finger, and then whispered gently, “Someday, I’ll give you a portrait of the real me.”

  Setting the journal down carefully, he took both of my hands in his, turned to me with an intense expression, and said, “I don’t want you to see only a tiger when you look at me. I want you to see me. The man.”

  Reaching out, he almost touched my cheek but he stopped and withdrew his hand. “I’ve worn the tiger’s face for far too many years. He’s stolen my humanity.”

  I nodded while he squeezed my hands and whispered quietly, “Kells, I don’t want to be him anymore. I want to be me. I want to have a life.”

  “I know,” I said softly. I reached up to stroke his cheek. “Ren, I—” I froze in place as he pulled my hand slowly down to his lips and kissed my palm. My hand tingled. His blue eyes searched my face desperately, wanting, needing something from me.

  I wanted to say something to reassure him. I wanted to offer him comfort. I just couldn’t frame the words. His supplication stirred me. I felt a deep bond with him, a strong connection. I wanted to help him, I wanted to be his friend, and I wanted . . . maybe something more. I tried to identify and categorize my reactions to him. What I felt for him seemed too complicated to define, but it soon became obvious to me that the strongest emotion I felt, the one that was stirring my heart, was . . . love.

  I’d built a dam around my heart after my family died. I hadn’t really let myself love anyone because I was afraid they’d be taken from me again. I purposefully avoided close ties. I liked people and had many friendly relationships, but I didn’t risk loving. Not like this.

  His vulnerability allowed me to let my guard down, and gently and methodically, he tore apart my well-constructed dam. Waves of tender feelings were lapping over the top and slipping through the cracks. The feelings flooded through and spilled into me. It was frightening opening myself up to feel love for someone again. My heart pounded hard and thudded audibly in my chest. I was sure he could hear it.

  Ren’s expression changed as he watched my face. His look of sadness was replaced by one of concern for me.

  What was the next step? What should I do? What do I say? How do I share what I’m feeling?

  I remembered watching romance movies with my mom, and our favorite saying was “shut up and kiss her already!” We’d both get frustrated when the hero or heroine wouldn’t do what was so obvious to the two of us, and as soon as a tense, romantic moment occurred, we’d both repeat our mantra. I could hear my mom’s humor-filled voice in my mind giving me the same advice: “Kells, shut up and kiss him already!”

  So, I got a grip on myself, and before I changed my mind, I leaned over and kissed him.

  He froze. He didn’t kiss me back. He didn’t push me away. He just stopped . . . moving. I pulled back, saw the shock on his face, and instantly regretted my boldness. I stood up and walked away, embarrassed. I wanted to put some distance between us as I frantically tried to rebuild the walls around my heart.

  I heard him move. He slid his hand under my elbow and turned me around. I couldn’t look at him. I just stared at his bare feet. He put a finger under my chin and tried to nudge my head up, but I still refused to meet his gaze.

  “Kelsey. Look at me.” Lifting my eyes, they traveled from his feet to a white button in the middle of his shirt. “Look at me.”

  My eyes continued their journey. They drifted past the golden-bronze skin of his chest, his throat, and then settled on his beautiful face. His cobalt blue eyes searched mine, questioning. He took a step closer. My breath hitched in my throat. Reaching out a hand, he slid it around my waist slowly. His other hand cupped my chin. Still watching my face, he placed his palm lightly on my cheek and traced the arch of my cheekbone with his thumb.

  The touch was sweet, hesitant, and careful, the way you might try to touch a frightened doe. His face was full of wonder and awareness. I quivered. He paused just a moment more, then smiled tenderly, dipped his head, and brushed his lips lightly against mine.

  He kissed me softly, tentatively, just a mere whisper of a kiss. His other hand slid down to my waist too. I timidly touched his arms with my fingertips. He was warm, and his skin was smooth. He gently pulled me closer and pressed me lightly against his chest. I gripped his arms.

  He sighed with pleasure, and deepened the kiss. I melted into him.

  How was I breathing? His summery sandalwood scent surrounded me. Everywhere he touched me, I felt tingly and alive.

  I clutched his arms fervently. His lips never leaving mine, Ren took both of my arms and wrapped them, one by one, around his neck. Then he trailed one of his hands down my bare arm to my waist while the other slid into my hair. Before I realized what he was planning to do, he picked me up with one arm and crushed me to his chest.

  I have no idea how long we kissed. It felt like a mere second, and it also felt like forever. My bare feet were dangling several inches from the floor. He was holding all my body weight easily with one arm. I buried my fingers into his hair and felt a rumble in his chest. It was similar to the purring sound he made as a tiger. After that, all coherent thought fled and time stopped.

  All the neurons were firing in my brain simultaneously and causing my system to go haywire and stop working. I had no idea kissing felt like this. Sensory overload.

  At some point, Ren reluctantly let me down. He still supported my weight, which was good because I was ready to fall over. He cupped my cheek and ran a thumb slowly across my bottom lip. He stood close to me, keeping one arm wrapped around my waist. His other hand moved to my hair, and his fingers began to slowly twist the loose strands.

  I had to blink my eyes a few times to clear my vision.

  He laughed quietly. “Breathe, Kelsey.” He had a very self-satisfied, smug grin on his face, which, for some reason, got my ire up.

  “You seem very happy with yourself.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I am.”

  I smirked back at him and said, “Well, you didn’t ask for permission.”

  “Hmm, perhaps we should rectify that.” He trailed his fingers up my arm, swirling little circles as he went. “Kelsey?”

  I watched his progress and mumbled, distracted, “Yes?”

  He stepped closer. “Do I—”

  “Hmm?” I wiggled slightly.

  “Have your—”

  He started nuzzling my neck then moved up to my ear. His lips tickled me as he whispered, and I felt him smile, “Permission—”

  Goose bumps broke out on my arms and I trembled.

  “To kiss you?”

  I nodded weakly. Standing on my tiptoes, I slipped my arms
around his neck showing him that I was definitely giving permission. He trailed kisses from my ear across to my cheek in achingly slow motion, grazing along a path of his choosing. He stopped, hovering just over my lips, and waited.

  I knew what he was waiting for. I paused only a brief second before whispering faintly, “Yes.”

  Smiling victoriously, he crushed me against his chest and kissed me again. This time, the kiss was bolder and playful. I ran my hands from his powerful shoulders, up to his neck, and pressed him close to me.

  When he pulled away, his face brightened with an enthusiastic smile. He scooped me up and spun me around the room, laughing. When I was thoroughly dizzy, he sobered and touched his forehead to mine. Shyly, I reached out to touch his face, exploring the angles of his cheeks and lips with my fingertips. He leaned into my touch like the tiger did. I laughed softly and ran my hands up into his hair, brushing it away from his forehead, loving the silky feel of it.

  I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t expect a first kiss to be so . . . life altering. In a few brief moments, the rule book of my universe had been rewritten. Suddenly I was a brand new person. I was as fragile as a newborn, and I worried that the deeper I allowed the relationship to progress, the worse it would be if Ren left. What would become of us? There was no way to know, and I realized what a breakable and delicate thing a heart was. No wonder I’d kept mine locked away.

  He was oblivious to my negative thoughts, and I tried to push them into the back of my mind and enjoy the moment with him. Setting me down, he briefly kissed me again and pressed soft kisses along my hairline and neck. Then, he gathered me into a warm embrace and just held me close. Stroking my hair while caressing my neck, he whispered soft words in his native language. After several moments, he sighed, kissed my cheek, and nudged me toward the bed.

  “Get some sleep, Kelsey. We both need some.”

  After one last caress on my cheek with the back of his fingers, he changed into his tiger form and lay down on the mat beside my bed. I climbed into bed, settled under my quilt, and leaned over to stroke his head.

  Tucking my other arm under my cheek, I softly said, “Goodnight, Ren.”

  He rubbed his head against my hand, leaned into it, and purred quietly. Then he put his head on his paws and closed his eyes.

  Mae West, a famous vaudeville actress, once said, “A man’s kiss is his signature.” I grinned to myself. If that was true, then Ren’s signature was the John Hancock of kisses.

  The next morning, Ren was gone. I got dressed and knocked on Mr. Kadam’s door.

  The door opened and he smiled at me. “Miss Kelsey! Did you sleep well?”

  I couldn’t detect any sarcasm and guessed that Ren had chosen not to reveal his night escapade to Mr. Kadam.

  “Yes, I slept just fine. A bit too long though. Sorry about that.”

  He gestured dismissively, handing me a rice cake wrapped in banana leaf, some fruit, and a bottle of water. “Not to worry. We will go retrieve Ren and drive to Durga’s temple. There’s no rush.”

  I headed back to my room and set down my breakfast. Slowly gathering a few personal items, I placed them in my small travel bag. I frequently caught myself daydreaming. I’d look in the mirror and touch my arm, my hair, and my lips, while remembering Ren’s kisses. I had to constantly shake myself and refocus. What should have taken me ten minutes took an hour and a half.

  At the top of my bag, I placed my journal and my quilt. I zipped my bag shut, and then went in search of Mr. Kadam. He was waiting for me in the Jeep looking over maps. He smiled at me and seemed in good cheer, even though I’d made him wait so long.

  We picked up Ren, who leapt out of the trees like a playful cub. When he reached the Jeep, I leaned out to pet him, and he reared up on his hind legs to nuzzle my hand and lick my arm through the open window. He hopped in the back seat, and Mr. Kadam got us back on the road.

  Carefully following the map routes, he pulled off on a dirt road that led through the jungle, finally stopping at Durga’s stone temple.

  18

  durga’s temple

  mr. Kadam instructed us to wait in the car while he checked the temple for visitors. Ren nudged his head between the seats and butted my shoulder until I turned around.

  “You’d better keep your head down. Someone may see you if you’re not more careful,” I said with a laugh.

  The white tiger made a noise.

  “I know. I missed you too.”

  After about five minutes, a young American couple exited the temple and drove off, and Mr. Kadam returned.

  I hopped out and opened the door for Ren, who started brushing up against my legs like a giant house cat waiting to be fed. I laughed.

  “Ren! You’re going to knock me over.” I kept my hand on his neck, and he contented himself with that.

  Mr. Kadam chuckled, and said, “You two go ahead and check out the temple while I keep watch for more visitors.”

  The path to the temple was lined with smooth terracotta-colored stones. The temple itself was the same terracotta color mixed with striations of soft sepia, spicy pink, and pale oyster. Trees and flowers had been planted around the temple grounds, and various walking paths led off from the main entrance.

  We climbed the short stone steps that led to the opening. The entry was open to the air and displayed tall carved pillars that supported the access way. The threshold was just high enough for a person of average height to walk through. On either side of the opening were amazingly detailed carvings of Indian gods and goddesses.

  A notice, written in several languages, warned that we should remove our shoes. The floor was dusty, so I took off my socks too, and stuffed them into my tennis shoes.

  Once inside, the ceiling expanded into a high dome carved with intricate images of flowers, elephants, monkeys, the sun, and gods and goddesses at play. The rock floor was rectangular, and four tall decorative columns connected by ornamental arches stood at each corner. The pillars showed carvings of people in various stages of life and occupations in the act of worshipping Durga. A likeness of the goddess was found at the top of each post.

  The temple was literally carved out of a rocky hill. A series of stairs led up from the main floor in three directions. I picked the archway on the right and climbed the steps. The area beyond had been damaged. Crumbled, broken rocks were scattered all over the floor. I couldn’t imagine from the state of the space what it might have been used for.

  The next area housed a stone altar of sorts. A small broken statue, now unidentifiable, rested on top. Everything was coated with thick sepia powder. Particles of it twinkled and hung the air like pixie dust. Beams of light descended from cracks in the dome and spotlighted the floor with narrow rays. I couldn’t hear Ren but every move I made echoed through the empty temple.

  The air outside was stifling, but inside, the temple was merely warm and even cool in some places, as if each step brought me to a different climate. I glanced at the floor and saw my footprints and Ren’s paw prints and made a mental note to sweep the floor before we left. We wouldn’t want people to think a tiger was prowling the grounds.

  After searching the area and finding nothing of consequence, we entered the archway on the left, and I gasped in amazement. A hollowed-out recess in the rock sheltered a beautiful stone statue of Durga. She wore a towering headpiece and had all eight arms arrayed around her torso like peacock feathers. She clutched various weapons, one of which was raised in defense. I looked closer and saw that it was the gada, the club. Curled around her legs was Damon, Durga’s tiger. His large claws were extended from a heavy paw and aimed at the throat of an enemy boar.

  “I guess she had a tiger to protect her too, huh, Ren?”

  I positioned myself directly in front of the statue, and Ren sat next to me. As we examined her, I asked him, “What do you think Mr. Kadam expects we will find here? More answers? How do we get her blessing?”

  I paced back and forth in front of the statue while investigating the walls, po
king my fingers gingerly into crevices. I was looking for something out of the ordinary—but being a stranger in a strange land, I wasn’t quite sure what that might be. After a half hour, my hands were smudged, cobwebby, and coated with terracotta dust. What was worse was that I’d gotten nowhere. I wiped my hands on my jeans and plopped down onto the stone steps.

  “I give up. I just don’t know what we should be looking for.”

  Ren came over and rested his head on my knee. I stroked his soft back.

  “What are we going to do next? Should we keep looking or head back to the Jeep?”

  I glanced at the supporting column next to me. It showed a carving of people worshipping Durga. On this one, there were two women and one man who were offering food. I thought they must be farmers because there were different types of fields and orchards dominating the rest of the post. Herds of domestic animals and farming tools were also carved into the scene. The man carried a bunch of grain slung over his shoulder. One of the women carried a basket of fruit, and the other woman had something small in her hand.

  I got up to take a closer look. “Hey, Ren, what do you think that is in her hand?”

  I jumped. The prince’s warm hand took mine and squeezed it lightly.

  I scolded, “You really should warn me before you change form, you know.”

  Ren laughed and traced the carving with his finger. “I’m not sure. It looks kind of like a bell.”

  I traced the carving with my finger and muttered, “What if we made an offering to Durga like that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what if we offered something. Like fruit. And then rang a bell?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. Anything’s worth a try.”

  We headed back to the Jeep and told Mr. Kadam our idea. He seemed enthusiastic about making an attempt.