Lord of the Grrr's (23 page)

Chase

I couldn’t help but grin as Andrea stared out at the cityscape, her face the very definition of awestruck. She had, apparently, never been too far away from Boone, and the metropolis that is New York City was a far cry from a tiny mountain town. Ever since we’d boarded the helicopter in Boone, she’d been nearly dumbstruck with the experience. Seeing New York was just icing on the cake.

Now, as she stood in my office, with her body a perfect silhouette against the window, I couldn’t possibly find her any more beautiful. This woman had transformed my world in a single day, and I knew that there were many more days left to be had. I wanted her and she wanted me, and that was more than I’d ever had.

I’d spend ten years working my ass off to build a business that, ultimately, was failing. I’d had the very best education, the most brilliant minds to work alongside, and more money than any man could hope to spend in a dozen lifetimes. And still, I’d never been satisfied. Until now. Until I’d met Andrea Sloane. Until I’d fallen head over heels in a tiny mountain town in the middle of Nowhere, Appalachia. I felt
whole
now. Complete.

And, more importantly, at peace. My bear no longer raged inside me, his appetite satiated beyond measure. The anger was gone, instead replaced by the calm presence of surety. My inner predator no longer felt the desire to hunt, because the thing I’d been searching for all along - or, rather, the person - was standing right in front of me, her eyes wide at the sight of the city’s magnificent skyline.

“Mr. Hammer,” Sarah’s voice blared out over the intercom, interrupting my introspection while startling Andrea simultaneously.

“Go ahead,” I responded.

“The Board is ready to see you, sir. Everyone’s been assembled in the conference room.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

Andrea turned to face me as the intercom switched off, her expression a mix of fear and concern. “What are you going to do?”

I smiled at her. “I’m going to resolve the problem.”

She arched an eyebrow at me, “And that means?”

“You’ll see,” I told her, then extended my hand in her direction. “Let’s go.”

Andrea walked forward and took my hand, intertwining her fingers with my own. Together we made our way out of my office and toward the conference room. There, inside the room, awaited the five men who controlled the fate of my company.

“Gentlemen,” I said as I stepped into the room.

The five men didn’t even bother to stand or return my greeting, instead opting to stare daggers at me and the beautiful woman at my side, still garbed in the same strapless black dress from the night before. I myself had donned one of my tailored suits for the occasion, though I’d decided to forgo the tie.

“Well, Chase, what do you have to say for yourself?” Collin snarked, his face curled up in a hideous grin.

I smiled at him. “Nothing,” I said. “I’ll let these papers do all the talking for me.” I pulled a folded stack of papers from the pocket inside my jacket and tossed them on the table in front of Collin who, immediately, snatched them up and began scanning the documents.

“Wait,” he said, panic starting to lace itself into his voice. “This says…”

“That’s right,” I stated. “I’ve sold all of my shares, and I’ve formally stepped down from my position as head of the company. This sinking ship,” I told him, “is all yours. You shit the bed, now lie in it. Or however that expression goes.”

Without another word, I turned from the traitors at the table and strode from the room, hand in hand with the love of my life.

“You sold your company?” Andrea started once we were out of earshot from the conference room.

“Basically,” I told her. “I found out that Collin and the rest had intentionally sabotaged the company in an attempt to have me removed from leadership. That way, he could take over, magically make everything better once I was gone, and step into his new role as CEO. Well, now he’s CEO, but his company’s value has diminished significantly.”

“Damn,” Andrea said flatly. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” I offered. “You said you’ve never been out of Boone, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, let’s change that. We’ll go anywhere you want to go. Just say the word.”

Andrea stopped in her tracks, taking a moment to process everything I’d just said. “Well,” she said finally. “There is this cabin…”

THE END

***

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Bear With Me
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About the Author - Mercy May

Raised among the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, Mercy May has long had a passion for the wild, dangerous, and paranormal. Today, she channels that passion into her writing, working to develop and produce stories about protective, strong, and often ferocious alpha shifters and the curvy girls they so often fall in love with.

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TIGER EYE

Kit Tunstall

There are no tigers in Africa, except in zoos. They are indigenous to Asia, but the story wouldn’t have worked as well in an Asian setting. Please forgive the artistic license I used to place tigers in Africa.

Mekimba, Africa

Thirty years ago

Grant knew his mother wouldn’t approve of him investigating, but he pushed on anyway, ignoring the blades of stinging grass that slapped against his bare legs. Absently, he lifted a leg to scratch a mosquito bite irritated by the dying vegetation, his eyes never wavering from the two frolicking tiger cubs in the grass ahead of him. The contrast of black stripes against their pure white fur enthralled him, making his fingers itch to touch them.

He briefly wondered where their mother was, taking time to scan the area surrounding them. When he didn’t see her, he moved forward until he was within a few feet of the babies. The larger of the two cubs pounced on its sibling, issuing a growl that was probably meant to be ferocious. A giggle escaped Grant as they rolled together, yowling at each other in playful outrage.

He stepped closer, pushing aside vegetation reaching his waist, to get to the cubs. Fingers extended, he clicked his tongue at them. The cubs broke apart, watching him warily. He dropped to his knees, inching forward. The smaller cub backed away, hissing at him, but the larger cub stood its ground, growling. When he scooted closer still, the cub’s bravery fled, and its eyes widened while it backed way.

They were about to flee. In his eagerness to pet them, Grant abandoned caution and lunged forward, catching the hind leg of the larger cub as it turned to flee. A piteous cry escaped it as he dragged it toward him, escalating in pitch as he wrestled with the cub, trying to pull it into his arms. Although only a baby, it put up a good fight, raking his arms with its razor-like claws.

Muttering words he knew his parents wouldn’t approve of, Grant finally succeeded in pinning the cub to the ground. He stroked it with a gentle hand, trying to reassure it.

He just wanted to pet it, but the wild racing of its heart made him realize he was frightening the cub. With a sigh of regret, he released the cub and watched it bound away.

As he started to rise to his feet, a sound behind him made him freeze. It was now his heart racing wildly as the roar of the tiger repeated. Mouth dry, Grant turned his head to see the angry mother emerging from the dry grass of the veld. His knees trembled when she rushed him, and although he was only six, he suddenly confronted his own mortality as the white tiger leapt at him. Angie Hayden called her son’s name again, ignoring her scratchy throat, worn raw. She walked a few steps farther, paused to scan the veld in the twilight, and screamed, “Grant, answer me.” He didn’t reply, just as he hadn’t for the last hour she and the rest of the village had been searching for him. She prayed Roman would have better luck with his group, which had gone in the opposite direction. Thank goodness the men of the village, and several of the women, had immediately volunteered to help them search for Grant when Angie grew worried he hadn’t returned.

To her left, she saw Dobi pushing through the high grass. His body language conveyed a sense of urgency, and she broke into a run to cover the three hundred yards separating them. Her feet crunched through the grass with moderate resistance, and she didn’t allow the higher vegetation to slow her down, pushing it aside impatiently.

Even before reaching Dobi, who knelt on the ground, she knew she would find her son injured. Deep down, she had known that from the moment he didn’t come back when expected, hours earlier. At first, she had dismissed it as overreacting, but when the village children began returning, and he wasn’t in any of those groups, she had listened to the voice in her head telling her to be proactive.

It wasn’t a surprise to know something had happened to him, but Angie was unprepared for the shock of seeing him torn and mangled. So much blood had splattered the ground that she didn’t think he could be alive. She was kneeling and reaching for him at the same time, even as Dobi lifted the boy. Her heart stuttered, igniting a spark of hope, when Grant moaned.

“He’s alive?” she asked in English. At his puzzled look, she repeated the question in Kimbu. In her state of panic, she had slipped into her native tongue, forgetting the language she had spoken almost exclusively for the past two years.

“Yes.” His dark eyes reflected his sadness. “Barely.”

On autopilot, Angie rose to her feet, extending her arms for her son. Dobi looked like he wanted to protest, but her firm stance must have convinced him she could bear the weight of the boy. In the back of her mind, she knew it would be better to let Dobi carry him. With his muscular build, he could ferry Grant to the village at a run, while she would have to walk. She ignored the voice of reason and took her son, needing to hold him, fearing it wouldn’t matter how quickly he reached the village. With no doctor in attendance, and him so injured, what difference did it make? It was better to hold her son while she still could.

As quickly as she could, flanked by Dobi and the other villagers in their search party, all maintaining silence, Angie returned to the village. Tears coursed down her cheeks, but she pressed on, knowing she couldn’t fall apart just yet.

To her relief, Roman and his group were returning as they entered the small clearing with its round huts, thatched with grass from the veld. Her husband’s posture of frustration changed to horror when she drew nearer and his eyes fell on their son. He rushed toward her, and she was finally able to relinquish Grant, knowing Roman deserved to hold him too in these last precious minutes.

“My God.” He cradled the boy against his broad chest, his face pale even in the fading light. “What happened to him, Angie?”

Dobi was the one to answer. “I think a tiger mauled him.”

Roman’s face contorted with grief. “He is so still.” His blue eyes were haunted when he met Angie’s. “There’s a Red Cross unit two days away, in the Natunde Valley,

dispensing vaccinations to the surrounding villages. They have nurses and probably a doctor or two.”

She shook her head. “Grant can’t ride in the Jeep for two days over that terrain.

He’d never survive.”

“Then I’ll bring a doctor back here,” he said stridently.

“Four days…the boy will not survive that long.” Dobi touched Grant’s cheek, his dark skin a marked contrast to the boy’s pallid complexion.

“What the hell are we supposed to do? Just let him die?”

Angie stepped forward, hugging her husband and child. The tears poured from her, and she barely stifled the escaping sobs.

“Come, friend. Bring him to your hut, and we will sit with him.”

It remained unspoken, but Angie knew Dobi was talking about the traditional seteki, the vigil maintained for the dying. Chants and prayers would be on the lips of every villager who passed through their dwelling, but they wouldn’t be for his recovery. No, the prayers would be for him to find his way in the afterlife, for a safe journey there, and admonishments not to be drawn into the darkness, where he would lose his soul forever.

In a daze, the same state Roman seemed to be in, she allowed Dobi to usher them to the small hut the villagers had built for them when they’d come to stay as Roman helped them build an irrigation system, while Angie taught the children. The place had sheltered them for two years, but now looked threatening due to the shadows shrouding the corners of the room. In that darkness lurked demons trying to steal her son.

The thought was irrational, but she found herself hurriedly lighting the kerosene lamps as Roman laid Grant on the grass mat in the corner, where the boy usually slept. He moved like an old man, his actions stiff and jerky. He seemed to have trouble letting go of his son for a long moment, and when his arms finally released, his legs gave out. As he collapsed to the floor, sobs shook his body, and he buried his face in his hands.

Angie’s heart broke at the sounds of Roman’s suffering, but she couldn’t join him. Right then, she could spare no comfort for him, focused as she was on her son’s needs.

As quickly as possible, Angie gathered up the basic medical supplies she had on hand and knelt beside Grant. Dobi filled a basin with water, inferring her intent by her activity. She dabbed a square of linen inside the cool liquid, rung it out, and began cleansing her son’s wounds. The cloth turned red in seconds, and she accomplished little more than wetting the blood and smearing it around his skin. Still, she kept at the task, working her way through Roman’s entire collection of handkerchiefs. It was clearly a losing battle she waged, but what else could she do? Stand by without trying to help her son at all? Time passed, although Angie didn’t know how much. Contrary to the usual custom of the villagers to visit the dying person, most of the members had maintained a respectful distance. The only constant presence besides Roman had been Dobi, who’d hovered behind them, his eyes wavering between Grant’s still form and the open door of the hut. He had seemed to be waiting for something.

The air of anticipation fled from the hut when the medicine man entered, arriving so quickly he appeared to have materialized inside the small room. As always, his presence made Angie uncomfortable. There was an aloof manner about the man that made him unapproachable. Although she didn’t believe in his practices, he carried himself with an air of mystery and intensity that suggested he dwelt in two worlds— this one, and a spiritual plane others couldn’t even imagine.

Without speaking a word, Kafiri walked over to the grass mat and knelt beside Roman and Angie. She watched with pensive eyes as he examined her son, chanting quietly as he did so. When his dark gaze suddenly turned fully on her, she gasped with shock at the confrontation. It took every ounce of strength not to look away from his compelling gaze.

“There is not much time,” he said in Kimbu.

Roman nodded. “Anytime now, he’ll…” He trailed off, sobs shaking his shoulders, although not a sound emerged from him to betray his outburst.

“You can save him, Kafiri?” Dobi asked as he took up a kneeling position on the other side of Angie.

“Perhaps.”

His words stirred hope in Angie and she brushed aside the voice of doubt, the one that had always privately dismissed the services the medicine man provided for the villagers. “How?”

“By drawing the strength of the tiger.” A frown rearranged the deep grooves on Kafiri’s face, making him look years older than he was. Even his shock of white hair didn’t age him as much as that expression. “It is dangerous, and there will be…side effects.”

“I don’t care. Do what you can.” Angie ignored Roman’s shocked expression, just as she ignored her own reservations. He was as logical as she was. No doubt he found the concept crazy. Her rational side shared the view, but her maternal side found the small hope the shaman offered ridiculously easy to cling to.

“But you must understand—”

“Do it,” she said in a hard voice. There was nothing to lose by allowing the old man to practice his superstitions on Grant. With no doctor available, and her son dying faster with each passing second, she was willing to try anything.

After a second’s hesitation, Kafiri nodded. “I will do what I can, regardless of the consequences.”

“Just save my son.” Angie gripped Roman’s hand as she uttered the request, needing his strength to get through what was coming. The slight optimism she felt was bound to abandon her, leaving her completely despondent when the medicine man’s treatment failed. She would need her husband more than she ever had before to get through the trial of burying her only child in a foreign land.