Taming the Lion (2 page)

When he looked up again, the blond had risen to his feet. Kaspar swore there was a fleeting moment when they made eye contact across the street, and his neighbor gave a little smirk. Had the two men really known they’d had a very appreciative audience?

He’d have time to think about it later. Right now, he needed to get ready for his visit to Cornelis and that important proclamation.

Chapter Two

Kaspar brought his bike to a halt on the road outside Cornelis de Wit’s home then hopped off, a little out of breath from the speed at which he’d been cycling. He would have carried on up the driveway, but a couple of cars were already parked there, blocking his way. He recognized the sporty red number belonging to one of his more distant cousins, Wilco, who lived in Tuindorp Nieuwendam, one of the anonymous suburbs on the northern side of the IJ River. Wilco often talked about challenging Cornelis to a fight to become pride leader, usually after he’d had a few drinks at some family celebration or other. But as far as Kaspar could tell, that was all it had ever been—talk.

While he waited for someone to answer his knock at the front door, Kaspar smoothed down his hair. He wanted to make a good impression, not just on Cornelis but on the rest of the pride, too. They needed to be convinced that he was reliable, honest and prepared to do whatever it took to ensure the security of their way of life.

Winning over some of the older members of the extended de Wit family wasn’t going to be an easy task. He sensed that they saw him as a bit of a waster, drifting from job to job, unlike Arjan, who’d built up a computer systems firm from nothing. Now, that company employed a couple of dozen people and turned over millions of euros a year, enabling Arjan to live a very comfortable life. Kaspar, on the other hand, rented a shabby apartment in the red-light district and currently worked as a doorman at Hemel en Aarde, a nightclub-cum-live music venue. Not exactly the glittering career his parents had hoped he would have, but it paid the bills.

If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he was only killing time till his twenty-fifth birthday, in three months’ time, when he’d come into money that had been left in trust for him by his grandfather. And if this evening went the way he expected, he would receive that inheritance as pride leader.

“Ah,
Meneer
Kaspar.” Cornelis’ Filipina maid, Nenette, greeted him with a wide smile. “Please come inside. Everyone is waiting for you.”

So much for a good impression
. It seemed like he was the last to arrive, despite his best efforts. He followed Nenette into the big drawing room, to find it almost uncomfortably full of bodies. Every chair in the house appeared to have been brought in here, but still people were forced to stand or take a seat on the thick, olive green carpet.

Everywhere were faces he recognized, along with one he’d never expected to see at this gathering. Arjan sat next to Cornelis on the couch, sporting a radiant expression, as though all the ill will between father and son had been consigned to history. And alongside Arjan, a man Kaspar had never seen before, with curly dark hair and a dimpled chin. Kaspar sniffed the air, picking up the stranger’s distinctive scent among the familiar odors of his fellow shifters. His hackles rose in response.

Why has Arjan brought a human to this meeting?

He didn’t have any more time to ponder the matter, as his father ambled over and slapped Kaspar on the back.

“So, you got here at last, son.” Eric de Wit’s tone was not unkind, and he seemed genuinely pleased to note that Kaspar had made the effort to put on a smart shirt and tie.

Kaspar looked round to see where his mother sat and failed to spot her. He thought she’d have made the effort to be here tonight, given the turn her son’s life was about to take. “So where’s Mama?”

“She’s got one of her migraines again. She took a couple of pills, but they don’t seem to be helping. She sends her love, though, and she’s looking forward to seeing you for lunch on Sunday.”

“If you would like to take a drink,
meneers
…” Nenette had appeared at Kaspar’s shoulder on silent feet. She held a tray that contained a dozen glasses of champagne. Kaspar helped himself to one, as did his father.

“
Dames en heren
, might I have your attention?”

At the sound of Cornelis’ voice, the hubbub in the room came to an instant halt. He rose to his feet and all heads turned in his direction. The old man seemed to radiate quiet authority. Kaspar, who had never felt entirely comfortable addressing a large number of people, knew he would somehow have to acquire the same level of gravitas when he took on Cornelis’ role.

“I’m so pleased to see you all here tonight,” Cornelis went on. “It’s quite a while since so many of us have come together in one place, but then moments like tonight don’t happen very often—moments that shape the future of the pride.”

He paused and a murmur of expectant chatter ran round the room.

Come on. Get on with it,
Kaspar wanted to say. Now the time was approaching when Cornelis would step down, he felt almost giddy with eagerness.

“As you know, things have been happening recently that have had a profound effect on all of us…” Cornelis didn’t elaborate, but it was clear he referred to the untimely deaths of several pride members in the last few months. “And in the last few days, I have suffered a small health scare which has caused me to reassess my priorities.”

Now the conversation among the assembled family members rose in volume. Clearly, this was news to all of them, as it was to Kaspar.

“Don’t worry,” Cornelis said. “The doctor has told me I’m going to be fine. I just need to slow down a little. But it’s made me realize I can’t remain at the head of the pride indefinitely. And that’s why I’ve decided it’s time to name my successor.”

He glanced over at Kaspar, who waited for the call to step forward.

Cornelis, his gaze now fixed on his son, continued, “The other thing about a brush with death is that it makes you think about building bridges—of making amends and putting right things you’ve done wrong.” He reached over and placed a hand on Arjan’s knee. “Because I had such a fixed idea of how lives should be lived, how relationships should be conducted, I said some very harsh things to the son who means so much to me. But now I realize I was mistaken in condemning Arjan’s choices when all the time, just like the rest of us, he has only been following his destiny. That’s why I invited not only him to this meeting tonight, but also his chosen mate, Kees…” He gestured to the curly-haired man sitting beside Arjan.

For a moment, Kaspar wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. So Cornelis had decided he no longer had a problem with Arjan being gay. Well, that was fair enough. But for Arjan—for any shifter, for that matter—to take a human mate? That was unheard of.

It seemed that the rest of the pride was also struggling to process the implications of Cornelis’ words, whispering among themselves and glancing from Arjan to the stranger then back. Kaspar had to give Kees grudging credit, since he didn’t appear to be wilting under the scrutiny of the assembled shifters.

“If I could have silence…” For the first time, Cornelis was forced to raise his voice to be heard. “There will be time for you to ask questions later. But as I have already said, I am no longer prepared to carry on in my role as pride leader. And so I am relinquishing my duties to…”

It was like one of those Saturday night talent shows Kaspar’s mother liked to watch, where the host strung out the tension to almost ridiculous levels before announcing who would be going through to the next round. The worst part was that Kaspar knew even before Cornelis spoke who the winner of this particular contest would be.

“To my son, Arjan.”

Had it ever really been in doubt? Why else would the old man have made such a public show of welcoming the prodigal child back into the fold and giving his blessing to Arjan’s union with the human, Kees?

All around him, champagne flutes were being raised in a toast, but Kaspar couldn’t join in. Even a sip of the stuff would taste like ashes in his mouth. Everything he’d dreamed of for so long had been snatched away from him in an instant.

He set his glass down on the sideboard then turned to flee the room. Behind him, he heard his father calling out, “Kaspar, hey, are you okay? Come back, son.”

He didn’t listen, and he didn’t turn back, afraid that if he did, his father would see the tears shining in his eyes. Adrenaline surged through his body and he fought the urge to shift brought on by a powerful mixture of anger and disappointment. Stupid to get so worked up about this but he couldn’t help himself. He’d wanted the leadership so badly he’d been prepared to live a lie, to deny his own sexuality, in order to attain it. And now it seemed that had all been in vain.

Face it, Kaspar. There isn’t a life for you in Amsterdam any longer. You’ll just become another of those sad males who hang around on the fringe of the pride, trying to find a way to belong. Oh, you could always challenge Arjan for the leadership, but you know how that will end…

And hard as it was to admit right then, he’d always liked his second cousin, and wished no harm to come to him. He sensed Arjan would take charge of the pride even more responsibly than Cornelis had.

Even though he hadn’t actually been defeated in a physical battle, it felt as though he had. He couldn’t live with the shame of looking Cornelis in the eye again, not when the old man knew all about his thwarted ambitions. The only way to save face now was to get away tonight—just pack his things and go somewhere he would be able to lick his wounds in peace. Where, he didn’t know, but he’d worry about that once he was on the move.

If this pride didn’t want him, he’d find one that did.

Chapter Three

So where to go? As he packed his rucksack, stuffing as many of his possessions as he was able into its zippered pockets, he pondered his options. The only other group of lion shifters he had any real knowledge of lived in Stockholm. That was the place his aunt Lise had come from when she’d married into the Amsterdam pride, but he didn’t fancy Sweden. Too cold, and the beer was way too expensive. Plus he’d still have the link to his home city and his family, through Lise’s relatives, and his plan was to leave them as far behind as possible. This was all about making a clean break.

He ran through a mental list of the countries that bordered the Netherlands, dismissing each in turn. Right now, putting an ocean between himself and the de Wits seemed like a sensible option, and that made him think of England. The more he considered the idea, the more it appealed to him. He already spoke the language, half the music he listened to was produced by English bands and he had the feeling it was a country where he could go about his business without too many questions being asked. He remembered being told that London had a long-established pride and so did Bath, in the south-west of the country. But which of those should he try to seek out? In a city the size of London it would be easy to start all over again, to become whoever he wanted. But part of him longed to be in a place with easy access to the countryside, with open spaces that would give him the ability to roam undiscovered in his lion form. Though he knew next to nothing about Bath, he suspected it would offer him that opportunity.

When the time came to make that decision, he would let fate guide him. First of all, he needed to get out of Amsterdam before his father came to check up on him. No doubt the rest of the pride were still in the house on Apollolaan, celebrating Arjan’s elevation to leader, but it wouldn’t be long before they realized Kaspar had gone.

He glanced round the apartment, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important. He had his passport and identity documents, cash and bankcards.
They don’t use euros in England, do they?
He made a mental note to change some currency into pounds as soon as he could.

Any clothes that wouldn’t fit in his rucksack he would have to leave. The same went for all the psychology textbooks he’d hung onto, even after he’d dropped out of his university course. He had never been one for collecting material things just for the sake of it. All the music he ever listened to was on the MP3 player in his jacket pocket, and the only real item of value he owned was his netbook, which was safely stowed at the bottom of his bag. He’d also remembered to retrieve a couple of dog-eared gay porn mags he kept under bed. He didn’t want his landlady to discover them when she cleared out the items he’d left behind.

Unable to resist, he shot one last look at the window of the building opposite, hoping to catch a glimpse of his exhibitionist neighbor, but the blind had been pulled down. The show was over for good.

Heaving a sigh, he left the apartment for the final time. Once he’d locked the front door, he put the key into an envelope, along with a note addressed to the landlady, and sealed it. He hadn’t bothered to explain why he was going. He’d just asked her to return his deposit check to his parents. The rent was paid up till the end of the month, but Kaspar suspected she’d have found a new tenant before then. Even though the boiler had a tendency to break down and noise from the street outside was a constant disturbance, plenty of people would consider the inconvenience worth it to live in such a vibrant area.

Kaspar slipped the envelope into the landlady’s post box, which was one of a number built into the wall at the side of the front door. Her apartment was at the top of the building, two floors above the one he’d been renting. He was well aware he could have gone up to check whether she was in. He’d have been able to hand over the key and ask for his deposit back in person. But even though the money would have been useful, it would have meant explaining his sudden decision to leave, and he didn’t want to have that conversation with her—or anyone else, for that matter.

He’d left his elderly, black-framed bike chained to the railings outside the house. Once he’d retrieved it, he climbed on, adjusted the bulky rucksack on his back then set off down the busy street without looking back. It was a short distance from the red-light district to Centraal station, along the Damrak with its tacky mixture of souvenir shops, fast food restaurants and overpriced bars. As he stopped off at a bureau de change, Kaspar thought that as much as he loved Amsterdam, he wouldn’t be too sad if he never saw this part of the city again.