Beastly Passions (2 page)

Igor, an insufferable idiot among his kin, had given Taras the excuse he needed to make an example out of the many, disgusting, greedy fucks he’d been forced to interact with for hours on end. Horrible, all of them. His patience had waned with each thinly veiled comment, each knowing look, and each smirk that spoke of their true thoughts regarding the union they’d witnessed. As time ticked on, Taras had found himself digging his claws into his palms, gritting his fangs, bouncing his knee and anything else that would keep him from killing them
all.
He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t slaughter both sides of the family because there were cubs that would reap the repercussions. Cubs that he would never admit to adoring but he did.
 

Igor had no cubs. Igor had no mate. And days ago, it had been revealed that Igor was spending his time embezzling pride money by the droves right under their noses, funding his own businesses that would keep him absurdly wealthy for years to come. Taras’ plan to kill his cousin quietly and without witnesses had simply fluttered away at the final and
only
barb he could listen to in reference to his wife. So he’d taken advantage of that moment, deciding to make an illustration out of someone that would be disappearing soon enough anyway.

Indifference about Igor’s thievery was all he’d felt. There was—and would always be—those amongst his kind who were compelled to step outside of the parameters set for them and test authority. There would always be liars and cheats and exemplary cruelty that Taras himself had no time to participate in. But mocking words directed towards Asha…upset him. In comparison to him, his brutish ways, his ability to make others quake in fear, his general disposition, she was softer, slower to anger. Everything about her was softer. Her gilded eyes and Cupid ’s bow mouth. The gentle curve of her cheekbones. The sharper curves of her hips and breasts. Atypically, pride females had physiques comprised of muscle and scars;
so
many scars. But Taras had yet to see one on his wife. Her form was different, her height diminutive while standing next to him. She was rounded in places that made his hands ache from wanting and his mouth water. Hair so lustrous that it slid through his fingers during the one and
only
time he’d gotten to taste her lips hung above the hypnotizing rise of a buttocks that had been hugged so lovingly by her draped attire. Under the light the chocolate brown strands glowed and the curling, rust tipped ends tempted him to touch.

Most would say Asha was average and they would be wrong. There was absolutely
nothing
average about the she-tiger who’d coolly sized him up the day they were introduced and told him in a low voice,
“Your eyes are on my breasts and if you would like to keep them as opposed to having me use them in place of olives as a drink garnish, you’ll stop staring.”

There were few brave enough to speak to him that way. It shouldn’t have made him as lusty as it did but it had. In retrospect, he now understood that her rage had been because she wanted him to understand that despite the fact they were in an arranged partnering, he was not entitled to
anything
that belonged to her. Taras wasn’t one to beg and he certainly wasn’t one to force, so he’d accepted his fate; he’d accepted that their families had used them both. Her own because the Shankur pride desired to put an end to their rapid decline in numbers and his because they simply liked the idea of owning the destiny of others. A twisted game that had gotten everyone what they wanted except for the two people they’d played with to get it.

It didn’t matter that Taras had been desperate enough to have Asha that he’d offered never before bartered shares in his companies. It didn’t matter that he’d intimidated any other possible suitors relentlessly until they’d backed down. It didn’t matter that he behaved like a simpering whelp in Asha’s presence. Because all that anyone could seem to see was that she’d been sold. No money had been exchanged from hand to hand and yet, they’d all stamped her as property.
He
was the needy bastard but
she
received the scorn of embarrassment. It was unfair.

Her culture wasn’t unaccustomed to planned marriages. It was a part of everyday life, it was a part of who they were as people of Bangalore, but the manner in which they’d been treating
her
in particular through this entire process said to him that it was about way more than the satisfaction of financial stability. It was about way more than the need to sustain bloodlines. No, the Shankurs wanted to bruise Asha, wanted to see her twist in discomfort because her intellect and regality distressed them. If her parents or brother slipped for even a moment, the diplomat of a she-tiger could take the reins of control and run the pride herself.

At twenty-seven, with her educational background, experience in politics and natural air of influence, Asha was a force. Unfortunately, in the eyes of many, she was also simply a woman. A woman who had to either follow the laws of conservatism set by her pride or risk being pushed out like garbage. They didn’t want her there. With them. Which was why they’d sought to hand her over to the highest bidder.

Appalled at the very prospect that someone would do this to another living, breathing, free-thinking individual, Taras had turned down the invitation to be a part of this…barbaric practice. His father had pushed, shoved, cajoled and begged that he follow through, that he just go and meet her
once.
Afraid that he’d fall prey to insanity, he’d done so. And he was lost. Taras was lost from the second he caught her scent. It was the most hedonistic thing. Completely inexplicable. But she smelled like comfort. Like the only thing that would bring him even an ounce of happiness.

“Her.”
His beast had growled. And he hadn’t even thought about wrestling with that revelation; not when she’d threatened him, her golden irises snapping like fire.

Those same eyes had stared at him as though he was something from the bottom of her shoe a moment ago. He was well aware of why. His reputation preceded him wherever he went and only the gods knew what his bride thought of him. He couldn’t argue his unworthiness. Because he
was
unworthy. It was a thought that had tormented him through every part of their nuptials. From the
Bariksha—
where her parents had informally shown interest in him as a potential mate, going as far commence with the ceremony that signified an alliance had been formed—to the
Kanyadan,
where Asha had been given to him and he’d followed the customary rites in making three promises to her. With each one her stare had grown distant and impersonal, signaling that she didn’t believe a word he’d spoken and why should she?

How he would get Asha to see him differently, he did not know. Taras would try though. He’d try with everything in him.

“Taras?” a voice called from just to his right.

He looked up to find his father watching him, eyes narrowed speculatively. Grigoriy Verochka motioned towards the doors with a nod of his head, a silent demand for them both to excuse themselves.

Sighing, Taras placed his napkin down, annoyed at once again being pulled away from his meal. Not that he’d been able to eat with his thoughts on his absentee wife. Taras stood and cleared his throat to catch the group’s attention. “Please continue to enjoy what chef prepared. It seems I also have to step away.”

Grigoriy got to his feet and made his exit, Taras following. A quick left took them through a foyer and towards one of Taras’ offices. Once inside, his father closed the door and turned to him with a blindingly entertained grin. The old tiger clapped his hands together lightly and said, “Well done, boy. Kill was exemplary, as was intimidation. You grow good at showing brawn.”

Taras leaned against his desk, folded his arms across his chest and stared. He stared until Grigoriy gave a subtle shift in discomfort. His father would never admit it, to do so would declare him as weak, but he feared Taras. He didn’t love him or even like him but Taras knew that Grigoriy
feared
him. He was okay with this. That fear…it was satisfying. The terror of others gave him no joy but the man who’d been manipulating him from the moment his lungs opened in the midst of his first scream into the world? Oh. There was joy. There was
much
joy.

“I did not do this for you,” he finally retorted. “I did not do this for pride or for show of brawn. I did this for
her.”
Taras straightened. “I did this for my wife.”

Grigoriy’s smile lost some of its luster but didn’t completely fade. “It is important that your female knows who she is tied to. Does not matter who it was done for. Only matters who has seen.”

Because that was his father’s favorite thing wasn’t it? Shows. Shows of power, of virility, or coldness. Grigoriy Verochka did enjoy his shows. Taras intended to give him one he would never forget.

“I could not give one fuck who has seen what, I just need it understood that Asha is not a game.
I
am not a game.”

“But you are best player,” the older tiger laughed, walking forward to pat Taras on the cheek. “Strongest asset. Better than other pride members.
You,
boy, are all I need to win. Do not let the female—no matter how pretty—make you forget pride code.”

Taras took his father’s wrist into his hand and squeezed until something cracked. At Grigoriy’s wince and low growl, he threw his forearm back. “I cannot kill you because that means being trapped. I cannot leave because you will it so. But I can find ways to hurt. I can hurt a
lot.
Do not touch me. Do not talk of wife. And do not forget that eventually even Frankenstein came to regret monster made.”

With nothing else to say, he moved around his greatest enemy and left the office, deciding to search for Asha.

Two

At
some
point she’d lost her way. No, really. That wasn’t metaphorically thought or something concluded amidst hours of self-reflection and meditation. Asha had
literally
lost her way in Taras’ home. It was a monstrosity of a structure, unholy in size. What one man needed with three stories, eighteen bedrooms, ten and a half baths, two kitchens, indoor and outdoor pools along with three offices, several sitting rooms and a basement that she didn’t
dare
venture into, Asha did not know. Combine such with the massive spread of land that stretched about a hundred acres, housing a natural water source and a bevy of prey animals for hunting and she should’ve been impressed. She wasn’t. The high vaulted ceilings painted with classical art failed to gain her interest. The lush and handmade furniture created by craftsmen that were long dead now, gave her no spark. The beauty of architectural design didn’t move her. Because even a gilded cage covered in the dust of precious gems was still a prison.

In all her years, she’d never thought this to be her eventual destination—married to a man whose beauty was astounding but so obscured by his disdain for the rest of the world that it made it difficult for her to even face him. At the very least, that was the one redeeming quality about this entire ordeal. Taras was aesthetically pleasing to the eye. Asha would only admit such a thing under distress because gods-dammit, she didn’t
want
to find him attractive!

The murky disarray of hair that he seemed to be against combing was only rivaled by the darkness of his soul. And no, she didn’t find that description off-putting or dramatic in the least bit. Woven through the shoulder-length locks were stark white stands that imitated his beast’s fur when shifted. He could be called many things—most of them involving the word
bastard—
but small was not one of them. Her husband stood several inches over six feet and the width of his shoulders had upset her the first time they’d come into contact. It wasn’t natural for a man to be that wide. What, exactly, the Verochka males carried genetically, she wasn’t sure, but she prayed for female offspring because gods forbid she have to spilt herself in two passing
anything
remotely close to him in size.

The paleness of his scarred skin wasn’t to be confused with sickness as he was simply, painfully
Russian.
It did nothing but enhance the azure orbs that followed her from time to time when she moved about, reminding her that she had to be ever vigilant and never make a sudden noise or stare back for too long. Taras had shown he was far more animal than man and Asha had no desire to be the one to sate the hunger in his gaze. His smile was swift, sharp and taunting, standing out in a flash of pearl that was rare and gorgeous. The tiger male’s lips were fuller on the bottom rim and a color so sweet that they reminded her of ripened raspberries. His cheekbones were as cutting as his mocking grin and his jaw as hard as his heart, perpetually covered in bristles that she’d felt during their one and only kiss. She’d also experienced the gentle sweep of large, surprisingly elegant hands that were strong and marred but touched her with a softness she wasn’t aware he was capable of. His fingers had played with her own as he’d made promises that Asha didn’t expect for him to keep. It was all for show, the whole of the celebration. Her people had never truly practiced the faith of their homelands.

“I will be just at all times. My wife and family will want for nothing and my love will be unconditional.”