Tiger's Destiny

  Kishan blinked, and understanding lit his eyes. Soberly, he leaned forward and took my list from Ren. “I think you’re right, Kelsey. Lokesh wants you in the same way the demon king wanted Durga. You’d better let me see those books.”

  I handed him a stack while he scooted closer and put his arm around me. Ren left, and after an hour more of studying, my eyes felt heavy. I nestled my head against Kishan’s strong shoulder and just as I fell asleep, I heard him whisper, “I won’t let him have you, Kelsey. You belong with me.”

  My subconscious batted his words back and forth until I imagined a different voice saying the same thing. Only then could my mind drift, comfortable at last.

  On the fourth day, we began our final quest to find the City of Light through the volcanic island also known as the Pit of Hell. I hoped the place wasn’t as ominous as it sounded.

  Nilima flew us to Visakhapatnam, then over the Bay of Bengal, and we finally touched down in Port Blair. A car was waiting for us when we landed.

  As we drove through the town of Port Blair, Nilima shared a fascinating story about Mr. Kadam, who had been captured by the native—and once cannibalistic—Andamanese. Mr. Kadam had shrewdly bargained for his life, eventually becoming an honorary tribal member.

  I shook my head, smiled, and wondered how many other amazing stories I never got the chance to hear.

  We wound through dense trees on a private road. As we climbed a hill I caught glimpses of the ocean and marveled at the bright colors. Finally, breaking through the tree line, we came upon a beautiful luxury villa on the coast overlooking the Andaman Sea.

  The interior design reminded me more of Mr. Kadam’s private jet than of the house in India. The villa was austere and decorated in black and chrome with clean lines. The side of the house facing the ocean was made entirely of glass. Each bedroom had a private balcony, and there was a large terrace, a Jacuzzi, and a marvelous outdoor lounge shaded by palm trees. A magnificent panoramic view of the ocean, a white sand beach, and a four-leveled infinity pool was spread before me. It was beyond spectacular, and I knew that Mr. Kadam wouldn’t have settled for anything less—even in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

  Near sunset, after I lit a lamp in honor of Mr. Kadam, Kishan kissed me and said he needed to go into town. Nilima too had preparations to make before we could continue our journey. After eating dinner alone, I decided to hunt down Ren, who had disappeared soon after we had arrived.

  I finally found him sitting on his balcony. He was leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed. Soft music played, and a cool ocean breeze blew back my hair as I stepped onto the balcony and inhaled the scent of the sea.

  “May I join you?” I asked softly.

  He didn’t bother opening his eyes. “If you like.”

  The moon in the dark sky looked like a giant white plate dipping its edge into the ocean. We sat quietly for a while. I closed my eyes too and listened to him hum along in harmony with the music.

  “You haven’t played your guitar in a long time. I miss it,” I said when the song was finished.

  Ren turned away. “I fear there is no music left in me.”

  I teased, “‘The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.’”

  Abruptly standing up, Ren strode across the balcony and settled at the far end of the railing. He leaned out over the side, bracing himself on his elbows.

  “I’m sorry,” I said and moved next to him. Putting my hand on his forearm, I touched him lightly. “I didn’t realize you were serious.”

  He clasped my hand in his and played with my fingers. “Music reminds me too much of what I can’t have, and yet I can’t stop listening.” He laughed sardonically. “I never understood the connection until you left me and returned to Oregon. I realized then that music was a link to you, a way to keep you close, much the same as my poetry.”

  Ren turned toward me and pressed my hand against his heart. “Kelsey, my blood pounds and my heart races when you’re near. I have to make a conscious effort to restrain myself from touching you. From taking you into my arms. From kissing you. I would almost rather be tortured by Lokesh again than be tormented everyday like this by seeing you with Kishan.”

  I swallowed and tore my gaze from the handsome man. Instead, I looked at our entwined hands covering his heart. I felt the beat against my palm and fingertips.

  Quaking, I whispered, “I’m sorry, Ren,” and slid my hand away.

  I could feel the heat and warmth and passion circulate, wrapping tangibly around me. The heat was overwhelming and intense, and my muscles felt about as substantial as warm candle wax.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated stubbornly, “but I just can’t leave Kishan.”

  I took a step back, and Ren leaned over the railing again. A new song began. Quietly Ren quoted Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night and murmured, “Then, ‘if music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it; that surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die.’”

  Silently, I went back into the house but turned to look at him once more. Standing in the moonlight, Ren really looked the part of Shakespeare’s melancholic Duke Orsino pining for his Lady Olivia. Something wrenched in my heart, and I stifled a sob as I slipped away.

  11

  pledged

  As we waited for Nilima to declare we were ready for our next adventure, Kishan took me on picnics, sightseeing, dancing, and window shopping. He bought every flower in the city and had them delivered to my room in fancy arrangements. He took me night swimming—or night wading, as I was still paranoid of sharks. We talked often of Mr. Kadam. Eventually, it became easier to get past the lump in my throat when I heard his name.

  Though I was happy enjoying my time with Kishan and feeling closer to him than I had before, I couldn’t help but notice that Ren was pulling further and further away. Kishan dismissed it and said that Ren needed space. Still, I worried.

  One afternoon, Kishan suggested lunch on the beach. There were a couple dozen other people already out on the beach, but Kishan found us a spot away from the sunbathers. He set up a huge beach umbrella, and after slathering me with sunscreen, he set out our picnic lunch.

  Kishan bustled about excessively happy. He pressed a flute of sparkling apple juice into my hands, he fed me grapes and crackers smeared with caviar. As I hesitantly took my first bite of the delicacy, I found it tasted like butter with a little pop that burst in my mouth with the faint flavor of the sea. After we’d eaten, he kicked off his shoes and took off his shirt and went for a swim while I read a book.

  When Kishan came back and toweled off, he shifted the umbrella so he could lie in the sun but put his head on my lap in the shade. He laughed when I complained about his wet head but I soon got over that and stroked his hair and his warm shoulders absently as I read. He was so still and quiet, I thought he had fallen asleep, so it startled me when Kishan reached for my hand. He pressed it to his bare chest and looked at me tenderly.

  “Kells, I feel like my life is starting to make sense. That everything I’ve been through has been for a reason, for a purpose.”

  “I think that’s true.”

  He sat up and stroked my face. “I believe I was destined for this, to live this long, to experience what I did, so that I could be here, now, in this moment, with you.”

  I laughed. “Well, maybe not this exact moment. I think destiny had more in mind than the two of us eating caviar.”

  “It’s not about the caviar. It’s about something more important.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Taking both my hands in his, Kishan continued, “Look, I know that we have another prize to win, and I know that we still have to defeat Lokesh. The timing could, of course, be better . . .”

  “The timing for what?”

  At that moment, my gaze flitted to the water as two blue eyes broke the surface. Next came a bronze torso, and a handsome man emerged and reached up to smooth bac
k his dripping hair. Water sluiced off his powerful form as he stepped toward the shore. My mouth went dry, and 99 percent of my brain power and attention were riveted on him.

  “. . . and you know how I feel about you,” Kishan went on. “You’re the only girl for me. The one I want to spend the rest of my life with. The one I want to wake up with every morning.”

  I nodded absently, only half-listening to what he was saying and watching the other girls on the beach take notice of the dark Poseidon walking among them.

  “. . . used the ruby we found in the House of Gourds, and also the diamond teardrop Durga gave me. It’s all just a formality anyway. I mean, we already know how we feel about each other.”

  “Right . . .” I said woodenly.

  The most perfect man on Earth turned his sea-blue eyes on me, and I caught a hidden message in them as he walked toward me. He wanted me. Out of all the beautiful bikini-clad girls, he was heading toward me. Me—with my white skin, golden brown braids, and a floppy hat. Me—the girl cowering from the sun and the heat under my wide beach umbrella, wearing a one-piece and a cover-up.

  I swallowed thickly. Time slowed and each long stride he made was imprinted on my brain. I took in everything. The stubbornness of his chin. The set of his sensual mouth. The determination in his brow. I noticed the wideness of his shoulders. The planes of his chest. The thick muscle of his arms.

  I remembered how he touched me, how he held me, and how he liked to slide those very nice hands into my hair. I saw every water droplet on his chest and shoulders and, heaven help me, I wanted to kiss away each one.

  Kishan interrupted my thoughts. “So what I’m trying to say is—”

  “Yes?” I mumbled distractedly. “What are you trying to say?”

  Kishan brushed a soft kiss on my bare shoulder where my cover-up had slid off and said tenderly, “What I’m trying to say, Kelsey, is that I want you to be my wife.” He slipped something cool and smooth onto my fourth finger.

  I blinked and shifted my focus to Kishan, who was looking at me with love and gentleness. On my left hand, I saw the glint of a diamond ring. Slack-jawed, I glanced up. Ren had frozen and was staring at my hand in shock. Slowly, seconds crawled by and his blue eyes met my brown ones. Trapped in his gaze, I saw a sort of purgatory that blazed behind them.

  The moment seemed to last a lifetime. Then his demeanor became cold. I felt the freezing touch of his eyes caress me one last time and then Ren disappeared. The only reminder of him was the icy jewel sitting heavily on my finger. What felt like an hour of silent communication had happened in just a few seconds.

  I took a deep breath and offered Kishan an emotional smile. I leaned over to kiss his cheek while tears filled my eyes. The sun hitting the diamond shot rainbows onto my bare thigh. I touched my leg briefly and flinched at how cold my skin was. A part of me wondered if I’d ever feel truly warm again.

  Kishan wrapped his arms around me and asked, “What is it, love? You don’t like the ring?”

  I held my hand up and blinked the tears from my eyes so I could clearly see it. It was lovely. A teardrop diamond rested in the center while curved lotus petals cut from the ruby he’d found in the House of Gourds radiated outward. Clusters of diamonds shaped as leaves ran down either side of the white gold ring.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

  “It dims in comparison to the woman I love,” he replied.

  “I . . . I didn’t think this would happen so fast.”

  His face lit in a slow, lazy smile. “When I see something I want, I go after it, remember?”

  I shut my eyes for a moment and felt a tear plop onto my lap. “I remember.”

  Kishan brushed tears away from my cheeks and said soberly, “For the longest time I didn’t think I deserved to find love again. You were right when you said I blamed myself for everything. I thought I was responsible for it all—the curse, Yesubai’s death, Lokesh—but when I met you, something changed.

  “I remembered who I was, who I am—Prince Sohan Kishan Rajaram. I’d always been the younger brother, the second in line to inherit the throne but that time is past and that kingdom is gone. Now I realize that none of those things mattered, that my regrets were preventing me from seeing,” he trailed a finger lightly down my cheek and jaw, “the beauty the world offered.”

  Trailing warm, slow kisses over my shoulder and up my neck, he continued, “You made me believe that I still had something to offer to the world, something to offer to a woman.”

  Kishan smiled when I swayed unsteadily. Pirate gold eyes looked into mine, and I sucked in a breath as I realized a smoldering passion lay hidden there behind them. It was glossed over by layers of patience and love, but I could still feel the intensity humming between the two of us.

  At that moment, I knew that Phet was right, that this handsome prince was an equally good choice and that it would only take a gentle nudge for me to be completely enveloped by him. Stroking his arm, I slid my hand up slowly over his muscular shoulder until I cupped his neck. His pulse thumped wildly, and in a blink, his eyes changed. It was like throwing a match into a barrel of oil.

  A rumble sounded in his throat as he pulled me toward him. I placed my hands against his bare chest, warmed by the sun, and his lips found mine. Kishan’s hands gently gripped my arms and pressed me closer. The kiss was wild, aggressive, and demanding, challenging me—not only to meet his ardor, but also to feel as passionate about him as he felt about me.

  Soon the kiss changed, and the smolder that had escaped his control was once again hidden just below the surface. I stroked his hair and held him close. The untamed black tiger closed his golden eyes and kissed me again, this time sweetly. Squeezing my waist, he said tenderly, “Kelsey Hayes, I promise that I will always love you, and I will try my best to be a good husband.”

  I put my hand on his cheek and touched my forehead to his. “And I’ll try my best to be a good wife.”

  Although I was happy to be Kishan’s fiancée, there was one unraveled thread in my otherwise beautiful tapestry. The bittersweet tangle irritated and tickled, and it was all I could do not to grab hold of it and tug, but I knew if I did, I’d destroy this precious new life I was trying to create.

  I truly loved Kishan, and I knew that marriage was where we were eventually heading, but a part of me, deep down, grieved. I felt like a shell of a person. On the outside, everything looked fine. I was healthy, happy, and had a great future all planned out. Kishan would love me passionately and be a good husband and flather. We’d have a dozen sons who would all want to grow up to be little warriors like their dad.

  On the inside, though, I was empty. I had nothing to give him. My goal in life would be to make him believe I had absolutely no regrets about my choice. To pretend that I was whole. Complete.

  Mom? Durga? Mr. Kadam? What do I do? How do I stop loving Ren? Please, please, please, help me give Kishan all the love he deserves.

  Oblivious to my thoughts, Kishan pulled me into his strong arms and whispered plans for our future. He stroked my arm and my hair and told me how much he loved me. I remained quiet. I leaned back against his warm chest, and we sat like that, watching the tide come in until it turned dark.

  12

  guise

  The next afternoon I took a long walk by myself, partly to clear my head and partly to find Ren, who had disappeared after my . . . engagement on the beach. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say if I found him, but somehow I knew I needed to.

  The breeze drove the clouds across the sky, pushing the gray puffy mounds into one another. The scent of rain was in the air so I hurried out the door.

  Winding my way through the jungle, I headed north and walked along a path for fifteen minutes or so. The trees felt cool and once in a while a plop of cold water hit my bare arms. Then I cupped my hands to my mouth and shouted, “Ren?”

  I waited, watching for the familiar form of my white tiger, hoping to see him bounding over a fallen log and to my side.


  Stepping away from the path and into the trees, I dropped my bag at my feet. “Ren?” I shouted again in a different direction.

  Nothing. I sat on a log, my chin on my fists, and thought about my predicament. I’d always dreamed of a big wedding. Of walking down the aisle to the man I loved, the man of my dreams. And Kishan more than adequately fits that description. In fact, as far as Prince Charmings go, he exceeds any girl’s expectations.

  Loving Kishan wasn’t the problem. He was a great guy. Better than great. He was fantastic. I ticked off his traits in my head. Kishan is kind, handsome, brave, a good kisser, strong, he gives great massages, and he loves me. What else could a girl need? What is my problem?

  As I sat there stewing, I heard a noise. An old, wrinkled woman hobbled down the path carrying a large bag. Deep-set brown eyes studied me from a face that had seen too many years in the sun. She smiled and nodded but kept shuffling along with slow heavy steps. White hair peeped out from beneath her bright yellow dupatta and her flowing skirt was marked with stains from the forest.

  Just before she passed me by, one of her woven shoes slipped off her foot, and she toppled heavily to the ground. Her bag split open, and brown fruits about the size of small potatoes rolled in every direction. She groaned, and I immediately went to help her stand.

  When I deposited the fruit and missing shoe at her feet, the old woman smiled and said, “Thank you. I Saachi. I rest here few minute. Okay with you?”

  “Sure. It’s not like I own the log. I’m Kelsey. It’s nice to meet you.”

  The woman inspected her bag of fruit, feeling them for bruises and then pulled one out of the bag. “Take. You must try. Sapota. Many grow here. Good to eat.”

  Handing me the brown fruit, she grinned, revealing a mouthful of surprisingly white teeth and then ate a piece herself, wiping the dribbling stray juice on her scarf.

  Tentatively, I bit into the fruit. The flesh was yellow-brown and the texture was similar to a pear, but the favor was like malt with just a hint of caramel.