A Tiger's Bride (A Lion's Pride Book 4) (9 page)

The look of horror on Teena’s face almost made Dmitri laugh. However, this wasn’t time to indulge in amusement. Later, over some true Russian vodka and in front of a roaring fire, they could laugh about the unlucky chain of events. Then make love.

Rawr
.

First, though, survival.

Stepping through the busted door into the cockpit, Dmitri found himself stymied by the myriad dials, buttons, and flashing lights. Why couldn’t he spot one that said ‘press this to land the freaking plane’? All he wanted to do was fly the damned thing long enough to land it without crashing and bursting into a major ball of flames.

How complicated could it be?

He dropped into a seat and made the mistake of looking out the front window. The plane was well below cloud level and moving fast. They seemed to be heading at a downward angle, and it was a tossup whether they’d hit the ground or the mountain that grew bigger in his sight first.

Challenging odds. Perfect. It would make their escape all the more awesome in the retelling—with him cast in the role of hero, of course.

Face still pale, Teena popped her head into the cockpit and shouted to be heard over the plane and wind noise. “Do you know how to fly this thing?” she asked.

A male never admitted defeat. “More or less. I’ve watched numerous movies featuring planes.”

“Oh god, we’re going to die.”

“Have a little faith. I wouldn’t let my wife die a virgin. Now, I suggest you buckle in. This could get a little bumpy.”

With a grumbled, “Why can’t traveling ever be easy,” she dropped into the seat alongside him and clipped in as he studied the gibberish in front of him.

He couldn’t have said what all the damned things meant. Airspeed indicator seemed kind of self explanatory, torque a little less clear, and the dial labeled directional gyro sounded like something he had for lunch once.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, studying him as he studied the console.

“Since there is no time to read an instruction manual, and being a man, we don’t believe in following direction anyway, I believe I shall have to wing it.” He waited for her to laugh at his pun.

Too subtle? Or too soon? Okay, so perhaps now wasn’t the time for levity. The mountain seemed to be winning the race when it came to who-will-we-crash-into-first. Time to do something. Anything.

Out of the mess of dials, flashing lights, and buttons, he did recognize one thing—a steering wheel.

His male gene kicked in as he grasped the wheel and the theme for
Top Gun
hummed through his mind. He should note that, when he’d watched it, he rooted for the other side because it drove his sister crazy, especially since she had the biggest crush on Tom Cruise until she found out how old he was in real life.

Given the mountain loomed fast, he yanked hard on the wheel. The plane shuddered, and something metallic screamed as the plane tried to go vertical. Shit. He pushed down on the wheel, too hard again, and Teena let out a yell as they began to plummet, the nose of the plane aiming right for the ground.

Gentle. I must be gentle.

Brute force wasn’t the way to fly this thing. Keeping that in mind, he pulled the wheel again, softer this time. At first he wondered if it would work, but gradually, their angle corrected until they were on a somewhat even keel, that wobbled and was still headed straight for a bank of mountains.

“Um, Dmitri.”

“I know. I can see them.”

Slowly, he pulled down on the wheel, angling their ascent, but the mountain was still fast approaching. He angled some more and felt beads of sweat pop on his forehead.

Him, nervous? Never. Just like he would never admit he held his breath as they just cleared the top of the first ridge.

“Aha. See. Nothing to it.”

Before she could reply, the radio crackled. “Head Hunter to Fang. You’re coming in low, please advise.”

Dmitri looked in vain for a reply button. “How the fuck do I answer?”

“Answer? Are you crazy?”

“Only one sixteenth from my mother’s side. Although there apparently might be some psychosis on my father’s.”

“I was being rhetorical.”

“I wasn’t. Now where is the communicator? I am in the mood to speak to the person in charge.”

“No talking for you. You, my crazy husband, need to concentrate on flying this thing. I will take care of our callers.” Teena pulled a receiver on a curly cord from her side of the dashboard. “Head Hunter, this is Peeved Lioness. Fang is indisposed. Over.”

Dmitri could have kissed her for not having hysterics. He could have seduced her for being so calm and sexy. He could totally love her for being perfect.

“What happened to Fang? Who is this?”

“This is peeved lioness, and might I add you chose the wrong plane to hijack?”

To add weight to her words, and because it was so much fun, Dmitri held out his hand and asked for a turn. She wasn’t the only one who enjoyed meting out a good threat.

She handed him the handset.

Depressing the button on the side, in a low tone—the one his sister called his “Oh shit. Hope your will is in order”—Dmitri said, “I am death. Run. Run fast and far now because I will be coming to kill you.”

And then he hung up.

He kind of expected the person to call back, or retort, but the communication line remained clear.

Before he could decide if that was good or bad, Teena said, “Do you think that was wise?”

“It is only fair to warn my prey that I’m coming. At least then it provides a little sport.”

“But you don’t even know what the guy was guilty of.”

“If he was working in cahoots with those who kidnapped us, then he is guilty by association. I do not tolerate threats to me and, most especially not, my wife.”

“You and my daddy have a lot in common.”

Argh, compared to her father. Just what every potential lover wanted.

About to retort, he bit the words as something caused the plane to tilt. Then the windshield cracked as something hit it.

“Dammit, someone is firing at us.”

Would the trouble plaguing them never end? A man liked a little action and adventure to get the blood flowing, but this was getting beyond ridiculous. How was he supposed to properly woo and bed his new wife if shit kept happening?

More slugs hit them, or so he could only assume as the pitch of the motor changed. A faint whiff of smoke came to him, and the dials on his dash went crazy, spinning, flashing, in general conveying a not-good vibe.

“I think we need to land.” She suggested it, and he had to agree.

“Land? No problem. Hold on, little kitten. This might get a little rough.”

Apparently his idea of a little rough and hers weren’t the same.

As Dmitri angled the plane downward, the very air seemed to fight them. The craft bucked and wobbled and jerked, but she could handle that motion. It was the visual of the treetops they were heading for, visible even through the spiderwebbed window, that had her gripping her seat tightly.

There was nowhere to land. Trees were everywhere, their tops reaching high and clustered densely. No room for a small plane and its occupants.

But they didn’t have a choice. The smell of smoke grew thicker, the whining pitch of the motors almost painful.

The belly of the plane dipped lower, low enough that it scraped the tips of the tallest conifers. Dragged and snapped the tops of more. A good thing she wore a belt because the forest seemed determined to claim them, their speed going from rapid rush to bouncing, jerking, slowing halt.

From side to side, her head snapped, and she couldn’t stop a few screams. But screaming was good. It meant she still lived, for the moment.

When they finally came to an abrupt stop, it took her a moment to release her last breath. Was it over? Had they truly survived?

She cracked open an eye and peeked. She noted the appearance of branches outside the window. The trees had cushioned their fall.

“We made it?” She couldn’t help the surprised query.

“Of course we did,” Dmitri announced with brash assurance. “I told you I’m lucky.”

Crack
.

“You just had to tempt Murphy didn’t you,” she grumbled.

“I spit in his face, whoever this Murphy is.”

The whole plane shuddered and groaned as it tilted.

Good thing she was still buckled in because the plane now tilted at a very steep angle and faced down.

“Um, Dmitri. How do we get out of this?” she asked, eyeing the mountainside that stretched under them, a snowy slope with lumps of white, heaps of gray, and copses of trees lining it. If she skied she would have loved the pristine trail, but she’d tried that only once. The avalanche was enough to convince her it wasn’t her sport.

“I think, little kitten, that perhaps we should try not moving.”

“And how will that help?” she asked as the craft creaked and tilted a little more forward.

“It doesn’t, but you should use the few seconds we have left to take in a deep breath and hold on tight because I do believe we are in for a ride.”

With a groan, the plane pitched farther, and branches cracked. The woods that had initially cushioned their fall and saved them now apparently didn’t want them. They were dumped onto the mountainside.

And what did Dmitri advise they do? Forget advice. He yodeled, “Wheee!”

Was that idiot tiger seriously having fun?

“You are crazy!” she yelled as she stared in horror at the rushing landscape.

“Not crazy. Russian.” And yes, he smiled as he said it. She saw him because she couldn’t help looking at her deranged husband.

Then she kept staring at him because he was much more fun to look at than the direness of their situation as they careened down the mountain at breakneck speed.

Extreme tobogganing, the kind her sister would have totally enjoyed but Teena could have done without. The jaw rattling and jouncing sucked, but the part she worried about most was the stopping.

Would they hit something big enough to halt them? Would they fly off a cliff and then plunge to their deaths, or would they hit the bottom of the incline and coast for a while until they slowed to a stop?

None of the above.

After a wild ride that rattled her brain, the slope evened out, and they shot forward into what seemed like a vast, cleared space. Except it wasn’t a snowy clearing. The lake they spun out on formed an almost perfect ice rink, the center of it snow free, as the wind had pushed it against the banks.

The plane came to a screeching stop, and Teena dared to breathe again.

“I don’t believe it. We made it. We’re alive. We’re”—
Crack
.
Damn you, Murphy—
“fucked!”

A dirty word from his little kitten’s mouth? How utterly decadent, and he might have kissed those dirty, dirty lips if only the situation were a little more promising.

Cats hated water, especially arctic-cold water, which was why Dmitri didn’t want to dwell on what would happen if the plane went through the ice. He could see Teena understood the dilemma, but his brave little kitten, other than that vulgar expletive, handled the pressure well.

“I think we should perhaps vacate the plane,” he said.

The crack notwithstanding, the smell of smoke hadn’t diminished, and where there was smoke, everyone knew there was fire. The heat from a blaze would not aid their situation.

Melted ice was only one of their possible problems. Despite his usual optimism, Dmitri was a touch concerned about what would happen if any flames managed to reach some of the fuel.

Dmitri enjoyed watching fireworks, not becoming part of them.

“Exit the plane? Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” she grumbled as she unclipped her belt. She stood then froze as a groan made the plane tremble. “Is this a not-so-subtle way of your country telling me I need to lose weight?”

“Never. You are perfect as you are. However, you must fish for compliments later, little kitten. I believe speed is called for.”

“What about you? Why haven’t you unbuckled?”

“Fear not, wife, I shall follow you. But I think it best if we don’t apply more weight than needed at one time, as we don’t know what part of the plane is most at risk of breaking the ice.”

For a moment, she hesitated, peering at the door, the windshield, then him. She took a step toward the door, stopped and whirled, bending to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Then she fled, the lingering warmth of the embrace she gave him making him smile foolishly.

As if to taunt him, the plane shuddered. “Behave,” he told it in Russian. “It is not my time to die.” Not when he had yet to taste the nubile delights of his wife.

My wife
. A woman who had almost died numerous times in the last hour. Nothing said welcome to my homeland like being hijacked, held at gunpoint, almost falling out of a plane, crashing, and then tobogganing onto thin ice. But, on a more positive note, they still lived. They were also far from safe.

Cold seeped, the insidious invisible predator looking to burrow its way into his bones, and if he, a native to this land, felt it, then how much more so his delicate little kitten?

He heard her holler over the dying whir of the motor. “I’m out and heading to shore.”

Time for him to execute his escape. He needed to survive if he was to keep Teena alive.

He needed to make it out of here if he was to seek his revenge. Heads would roll.

Playtime
, rumbled his tiger.

Later, Dmitri replied, if there was a later. Taking light steps, he eased his bulk through the slanted doorframe and then held his breath as the floor under his feet shifted.

The bright daylight streaming through the opening in the side beckoned. However, out there lay the frigid bitch with her icy fingers who liked to drag the unwary and ill-prepared down into her deadly embrace.

We need more clothes.
Which meant he needed to get to their luggage.

Except the rear cargo area no longer existed. At the rear of the plane gaped blue sky. There would be no additional layers for them.

Damn.

Dmitri scanned the interior and spotted his phone on a chair, jammed between the seat and back cushion. He shoved it in a pocket before he lifted the padding to reveal a storage compartment and a pair of neatly folded blankets. He grabbed them and let the lid to the hidden recess slam shut.

Crack
.
Groan
. Shudder.

He’d run out of time. Blankets in hand, he dashed for the back of the plane, mostly because the front end seemed determined to lean forward. Fighting against the increasing incline, he sprinted the last few feet toward the torn opening and leaped.

His legs ran, pumping in mid air, propelling him forward.

Look at me. I’m flyin—

Oomph. He hit the ice and immediately tucked and rolled, a good thing too, as the piece he landed on heaved and broke off. Actually the whole lake seemed determined to splinter into chunks. He could hear the ominous pop as the hairline cracks in the frozen membrane spread, zinging with lightning speed, the cold water looking to swallow the skin covering it and anything else it caught.

It won’t catch me.

Dmitri ran as fast as he could, legs pumping and adrenaline coursing. To this point he’d proven lucky, the slight ridges in the ice and excellent balance keeping him from slipping. But as soon as he thought it, his foot finally hit a smooth spot and skewed sideways. It threw off his entire balance.

Lucky him, he didn’t crash. A certain kitten grabbed a hold of his waving hand and gave him enough counter weight for him to prevent a head-long crash.

He made it to shore, or at least the thick snowbank. Breathing hard, he took a moment to survey the lake just in time to see the jagged tail end of the plane sink below the surface.

“I think I need to buy a new plane.”

“We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no clothes, no supplies, nothing, and you’re worried about buying a new toy?” Arms hugging herself, his kitten shook, her lips a shade of mauve that did not suit her.

“Wear this.” He tossed the blankets around her shoulders, but they weren’t enough to fight the chill. He needed to find them shelter and fast.

Clasping her hand in his, he tugged her away from the edge of the water. Out in the open, they were subject to gusty wind. They should head to the shelter of the trees. At least there, he could perhaps build them a fire.

But what of the smoke? Our enemies hunt us.

Excellent point. He’d make a big fire to point the way. He really wanted to talk to whoever shot his plane down. Cessnas weren’t cheap.

Teeth chattering, body moving sluggishly, poor Teena did her best to keep up with his longer stride.

Dmitri felt the cold, perhaps not as keenly as her but enough that he knew what had to be done. He stopped even as she continued on a few paces, only brought short by the fact that his hand held hers.

“Wh-wh-at d-d-doing?” she chattered practically incoherently.

“Giving you a peek at the goods,” he replied as he stripped off his suit jacket. The tie he loosened and pulled from his neck. He then pulled off his shirt, baring his chest.

“D-d-d-umb.”

“Not really. You’ll see.” He pulled the blanket from her shoulders and then tugged his shirt onto her.

She tried to protest. “No.”

He ignored her and layered the coat on then the blankets again. The tie he wrapped around her ears, protecting the delicate lobes. He then proceeded to remove his pants. It amused him to note his bride turned her face to the side and wouldn’t look. A pity she was so cold. He would have loved to see the heat of her blush.

With his aid, they pulled his pants on over hers then his socks, but she kept the running shoes she wore.

“When I’m done changing, I want you to get on my back and hold on tight.” He kissed her cold lips when she seemed as if she might argue.

Naked, Dmitri didn’t keep his human skin for long. He shifted, his furry self bounding forth, spreading the change. Fur sprouted, bones cracked and reshaped.

Some claimed it hurt. Pussies. Dmitri reveled in the strength of his inner beast.

His Siberian tiger with its plush coat, fluffy white mane around his head, and impressive striping burst free with a roar.

Cold, this isn’t cold.
His cat scoffed at the temperature, and with good reason as he was made for Russian winters.

He was also a big fucking feline, big enough to play pony to his chilly wife. She didn’t require too much urging to get on. She draped herself on his back, her arms around his neck, her thighs hugging his sides. With her clamped on, he took off.

And she fell off.

Oops.

She managed a giggle as she sat up in the snow. “Guess riding a tiger isn’t like riding a horse.” She managed to say it without as much stuttering, her extra layers helping a little.

He chuffed.

Back on she climbed, this time holding tighter while he set off at a slower pace. It worked. She managed to stay on board. She nuzzled her face into the fur haloing his head.

While muffled, he still managed to understand her. “You have a mini mane. I thought only lions had those.”

Lion manes weren’t as soft and fluffy as his.

“Isn’t there a limerick about a girl riding a tiger into the jungle, and the tiger coming back without her wearing a smile?”

Yeah. There was. But he’d explain that dirty limerick to her later.
Actually, maybe I’ll show her.

The forest didn’t provide instant warmth once he reached it. However, it did help to diminish some of the cold wind trying to snatch their body heat.

The snow conspired to suck at his paws, making each step annoyingly hard. If he were alone, he could have leapt and bounded to avoid the thicker spots, but with Teena on his back, he could only plod along.

He needed to find them a spot, a sheltered one where he could build them a fire, defend, and hopefully draw someone who would lead him to civilization.

We could also use a juicy rabbit.

His tiger, ever practical and thinking of his rumbling tummy.

The woods thinned as a rocky mound thrust up from the ground. Its rough stone surface mocked the snow’s attempt to cling, but even better, about three-quarters of the way up, Dmitri spotted a ledge and a dark crevice. A cave if he was lucky.

But he couldn’t climb it with her on his back. As if she sensed his dilemma, she slid off and stood.

“Are we both climbing, or did you want to check it out first?”

Dmitri was truly beginning to think he loved this woman. And he’d not even bedded her!

She possessed a level head and wits that appealed to him. She didn’t require a thousand explanations—his damned sister whose favorite word was why—she didn’t weep and wail—like his mother who lamented the fact that she’d never gone on the stage—and she didn’t threaten to kill him—like his grandmother who never met a problem that violence wouldn’t solve.

With a quick sniff to ensure nothing dangerous lurked, Dmitri then proceeded to climb the rocky hill.

The footing—or was that pawing, he could never be sure when it came to the English language—proved precarious. In a few spots, he felt himself slip, but he caught himself.

No looking foolish in front of his new wife.

Reaching the ledge he’d seen from the ground, he cocked his ears and listened. Nothing. He took a sniff and noted nothing fresh. The darkness he’d noted was indeed an opening. On quiet paws, he crept, in total stealth mode in case the cave already had an owner.

Bears might usually slumber this time of the year, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t wake with the right incentive.

The cave proved bigger than he could have hoped for, stretching in for several yards and high enough that he might even be able to stand. While he did note some debris at the back, a mishmash of leaves, twigs, and small animals’ bones, there was nothing recent, which meant they should be able to safely rest and warm up.

He turned around, and if he’d not been in tiger form, he might have yelped.

As it was, his tiger let out a pussyish “Meowr!” of surprise.

“Peekaboo, I followed you,” claimed his wife, who’d successfully stalked him.