Beastly Passions (8 page)

“I assume
that your conversation with our youngest did not go as you’d hoped.”

Nirav watched his wife lift her eyes from the phone before her and towards where he stood in the doorway of their study. It had been her only fixation for the last few minutes and it didn’t take much thought to figure out that Asha had been the one to slam the door on one of the only connections they now had with her while in other parts of the world.

“She’s angry, Nirav,” she finally retorted. “This isn’t simply one of her moods. She’s 
furious.”

 
Of course she was. The girl was impertinent. Pushy. Bold. Cheeky. Any of these could describe their only daughter. All parents knew their children.
From their first cry to the sound of their laughter. Nirav had spent much time paying close attention to his daughter, very aware that she would not be like the rest of the cubs. She wouldn’t flit about from thing to thing, losing interest at a moment’s notice. Asha was focused. At times 
too 
focused; too knowledgeable for her own good. She asked too many questions and had learned too many answers over the years. In other words, Asha was a threat to their very uncomplicated way of life. One that had to be eliminated altogether or…misplaced.

Nirav didn’t think himself capable of pushing his only girl out of the pride so he’d gone for an alternative that would regain him some of the ground he’d lost over the years. But there was this gnawing in his belly. This sinking feeling that perhaps they’d moved too quickly this time; perhaps they hadn’t thought things through properly.

“You fret over her as though she is still a teething cub,” he admonished, rather than voice his concerns. “Asha is mature. She is also intelligent enough to know that this arrangement is for the best. In due time she will understand that her marriage will be like all others; good on some days, bad on others. Taras will make sure all is well.” It had to be. There were no other options, no other choices. Nirav wouldn’t give audience to that niggling voice at the back of his skull, asking why he’d sold his soul to the devil along with his child. And Taras Verochka was
not
the devil in this particular scenario despite what he’d shown in his sadistic recital of words, seemingly all too happy to inform Nirav of where he stood in his eyes.

At least he was now aware that he wasn’t the only one among them contemplating what it would take to bury such wrath. The boy’s own father wanted to see his demise. And he wanted it quickly. But Nirav…he wasn’t so sure. When he’d started the entirety of this process, it had been a means of escape from the ruin tied to his name. However, he now knew that he might have blundered with his intentions.

“He is sanctimonious son of a bitch who would not have hesitated to slit you open from throat to belly if you were not his new bride’s father.”

Nirav did not doubt these words to be true. He also didn’t doubt that Taras would not waste a moment in reminding him that he was a pest to be eliminated the way he’d done his own family member at a table full of almost twenty others.

His partner of thirty-four years gazed at him and asked, “The boy said something to you when you ventured into his den, what was it?”

Nirav frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.” The lie seeped out of him so easily that he was almost able to convince
himself
that nothing had happened.

“You left with this vacant look, sweat beading at your temple.” Ishana cocked her head, watching him closely. “Almost as if you were nervous or…afraid. Did he give you a reason to be afraid, Nirav?”

He snorted and did what he’d always done when those around him stepped too close to the proverbial landmines lying about. He flashed her one of the uncharacteristically boyish and unassuming grins he’d given many over the years to put them at ease. Candid was his smile, he knew, and he used that to his advantage. Nirav wasn’t ignorant of how he was seen. He wasn’t an overly large man.
He never showed his fangs or claws unless absolutely necessary. What he didn’t have in brawn, he possessed in cunning.

“I think you are imagining things, wife,” Nirav said easily. “We have more pressing matters to be concerned with at the moment. Allow Asha’s new husband to bother himself with her temper.” He waved a hand. “This is not like the summer camp she attended at nine. She cannot up and leave because she isn’t fond of her company. In due time she will work it out and all will be well again. Now,”—he held out a hand for her to take—“come along. We’re going to enjoy a lovely lunch with a guest.”

Ishana took the hand. “A guest?”

He dipped his head. “We’re doing our in-law a minor favor. It seems that he needs our help with a few business endeavors that he’s interested in pursuing here.”

She frowned, walking with him. “We are to introduce him to an associate of yours?”

“Mmm, in a way,” he alluded, deciding that he would reveal only what was necessary.

Stopping, she faced him. “Look at me and tell me that you haven’t involved us deeper with these people than necessary.”

That smile once again returned. “Do not frown so, my love.” He smoothed
the line from her brow. “I have done nothing of the sort.”

Another lie. Another chance for her to find his words and reassurances false. Yet, once again, she said nothing. Whether she truly believed him or she was just as cunning as he, Nirav didn’t know. And he quite honestly hoped to never find out.

***

“What 
do you mean
 
she’s 
gone
?”

The girl Taras had sent to retrieve his wife from her bedroom flinched and took a noticeable step back at his question. He softened his tone and tried again. “Sophie?”

She raised her eyes from her locked hands. “I knocked but there was no answer so I opened door, she was not in room.”

Taras sat back in his chair and sighed. “Another part of the house then?”

Blond curls swayed when Sophie shook her head. “No. I think…well…”

He tilted his head. “Yes?”

“Her clothes, they were on the floor. And her terrace doors were open, like she jumped.”

Frowning, he leaned forward again. “Jumped?”

The girl nodded. “Yes, jumped. Off the terrace.” She raised her arms in a shrug. “Maybe for run? Maybe for hunt?”

He scratched the scar above his eye, feeling it twitch. Asha was no prisoner here. She had the freedom to move about as she pleased. He simply wished she would have told him she intended to go traipsing about. “Plausible explanation since she has not done this in a while.” Taras tapped the table. “My only fear is that she may get lost. She could barely navigate this house a week ago without trouble.”

“Would you like me to send someone to find her?”

“No,” he said on an exhale, standing. “She should return soon enough.” And he’d explain why it was paramount that she not disappear at will. “Wife is very…tense. She hit me after claims that I skulk around.”

A snort drew his attention to Magdalena’s eldest girl and he felt his lips curling into a smile. “You find me being assaulted funny?”

Sophie tried and failed to hide a smile behind the palm of her hand. “No, sir.”

Taras grunted and moved past her, tweaking her nose on his way. “Tell your mother I am sorry, yeah? Have her keep food warm?”

She nodded and went about taking the plates back to the kitchen. Studious and bright, Sophie was much like the woman that had raised her; the only woman who dared to pop Taras with a wooden spoon when she didn’t approve of his behavior. Magdalena had been for him what he’d lacked for several years over into his adulthood—a maternal figure. His own had been snatched without the slightest bit of mercy along with other things in his small world rife with blood and spite. He appreciated Magdalena’s startling ability to tame the beast when it showed itself. Strangely, he was finding out that gift wasn’t one necessarily shared by others. In particular, his wife. As hard as Taras fought to be as human as possible, Asha’s presence only ever seemed to incense his most basic instincts. The ones that wanted to protect, feed and fuck her. The thing inside saw no need to be poetic or modest about what it desired. It wanted to lay Asha in a den and stay there for several days while learning her in every carnal way possible. It seemed that she had a few objections to such things.

Taras found Asha’s bedroom door just as Sophie left it—ajar. The scent of her still lingered about and the sight of her clothing and underthings made him halt mid-step. Cotton candy pink lace played peek-a-boo with his eyes from where it lay in the pile on her floor. He debated the urge for all of a minute before hooking a finger into the delicate strap of her bra and swinging it up. Examining the demi cup, he found himself strangely pleased that there was no padding added—which of course meant all of his wife’s assets that appeared to be enhanced simply belonged to her and her alone. His thumb and forefinger got a feel of the material and he imagined the toasted almond of her complexion against the light, feminine color. Instant hard on. Disgusted with himself, he dropped the now offensive thing and strode out onto the terrace. Tracing his eyes down into the grass, he could see the imprint of paws from where Asha had landed. The perfect outline told him she’d done so gracefully. 

He wasn’t entirely sure she could do anything without poise. Even her breakfast outburst had refinement. He followed the trail of steps off towards the western side of the property, taking in the tree line where they’d stopped. Sophie was right; Asha had either gone for a run or a hunt, but the loss of sharpness in her scent told him that had been at least an hour ago. Nightfall would come soon and he wouldn’t be able to focus on work if she wasn’t somewhere easily accessible on the property.

After briefly questioning whether or not he should go in search of her, Taras finally settled on taking a seat and waiting for his wife’s reappearance. The sooner he could speak with her, the sooner he could settle a few issues between them; discuss expectations and solutions. However, as the sun dipped and the moon came into view leaving his concern for her safety to grow, he discovered that all he truly wanted to do was put her across his knee the very second she deigned to grace him with her presence again.

Six

Primorsky Krai
was not—and would never be—Bangalore, but Asha couldn’t deny its beauty. From the mountainous tundra rich with flora and coniferous-deciduous forests to the seaside ports and beaches, she found herself strangely enjoying the exploration she’d taken. The expansion of land was fascinating to say the least and she’d trekked across as much of it as she could without violating territorial parameters. Once she grew tired she decided to return to the home she now had to acknowledge as her own.

With every step, she questioned if her surroundings were truly the pretty cage she’d deemed them to be. Perhaps it was the escape she’d always needed; an existence away from a family—a pride—that could do away with her so easily after she’d committed her life’s work to strengthening them. Her path as an archivist had never been for the sole purpose or benefit of her own advancement, but for the good of her people. Asha had desperately wanted to see their numbers rise, to see them once again dominate the businesses that they’d so successfully cultivated over years of dedication and hard work. However, it all meant nothing. Nothing to her parents. Nothing to her brother. Nothing to aunts and uncles and cousins who she would have used her last breath to fight for. The daily reminder of her pride code haunted her.

“My needs are of no concern in comparison to the needs of my people.”
It was a creed that she’d followed blindly, never considering that she would come to regret such dedication. It also called to mind the query of what her purpose would be
now.
What would she do? How would she spend her days? Was she expected to simply fall into the role of a spoon-fed housewife? The thought alone made her nauseous. Lounging about on the grounds while overseeing trivial things such as garden maintenance and the menu for dinner parties that could likely end in bloodshed would turn her feral, that much she
did
know. Asha had never been one to revel in forced social interactions. She believed herself to be fairly transparent and had absolutely no interest in discussing the seasonal changes to fashion or the best way to handle overzealous houseguests during the holidays.

If she could grasp the basics of regional policies and requirements, there was a chance that she could edge into a position once more as a freelance analyst for market research. Consulting on businesses had always been her talent. That didn’t necessarily change just because she was a stranger in a strange land.

Her mind whirring with the possibilities, Asha took to trotting back to the pride house, determined to get a bath and make a few inquiries about where she could find a library to get a little research done. The terrace doors to her room came into view and she got a running start that built in momentum. Not desiring to go meandering through the house in her shifted form, or brazen her way through the halls naked, she used the power in her legs to launch her upwards as she caught the steel bars on the terrace with her paws. Shifting back, she grasped them and fully pulled herself up, climbing over the railing. With a good stretch, she stepped through the doors and caught her husband’s distinct scent mingling with her own.