Captive Moon (17 page)

He raised one eyebrow. “Why, what happens to any net that becomes overstretched? It rips. Only in your case it will be the equivalent to a nuclear explosion, and anyone who happens to be nearby will be reduced to smoldering ash.”

CHAPTER Eight

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing over there?” Margo was rubbing her nose with an expression of distaste as Antoine stirred the steaming fluid in the pot. He ignored her criticism and concentrated on running spice bottles through the steam at various distances. “That concoction is vile.”

“Only to your decidedly inferior human nose. Trust me, Margo. I’ve nearly created the perfect combination. Just a bit more anise oil and … yes, I think perhaps a bit of Hungarian paprika.” He collected a pinch of the red powder between his fingers and carefully rubbed them together to drop small bits of the spice until he was satisfied. He took a deep breath of the resulting brew. “Ah! Now that is perfect.”

The swinging kitchen door burst open and Tahira raced through with a look of determination on her face. “What’s happened in here? Is anyone hurt? It smells like someone is absolutely terrified in this room! I could smell it all the way in the library.”

Antoine chuckled at Margo’s shocked expression and waved a hand to Tahira with no small amount of satisfaction. “You see, Margo? A satisfied customer.” He stirred just a moment longer, and then pulled the pot from the fire to cool. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Tahira. But someone I just met swore to me that Chinese hot and sour soup smelled like fear, so I decided to test the theory.”

Tahira walked farther into the room and put her nose over the copper pot. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Antoine could see the back of her jaw clench. She had to swallow deeply to keep from salivating on the stove. “This doesn’t smell like any hot and sour soup I’ve ever smelled, and I go to Chinatown a lot. But I’d pay you to try this! How does it taste?”

“Sadly, it tastes horrid, but that’s not the point. I’m hoping to entice Babette to eat. She’s a bit depressed being here without the other cats. She hasn’t touched the antelope or the rabbits. I thought perhaps it’s because she can’t chase the game, so I thought if I sprinkled some of this on the rabbits I hid, she’d eat one or two and then realize she was hungry.”

Margo shook her head and sneezed again. “Well, as much as I like you, boss, I can’t stand that smell anymore. It smells like rotten meat cooking in bleach. If that’s what dinner smells like to Sazis, I’m much happier being human. Give me strawberries and chocolate any day. I think I’ll go work on the bills upstairs where I can light a candle or something. You two enjoy yourselves down here.”

Tahira dipped her finger in the steaming soup for a second and put it in her mouth hopefully as Margo walked out the door sneezing. She grimaced. “Blegh. It tastes like meat in bleach. But it smells heavenly. You should figure out a way to bottle this. You’d probably make a fortune selling it to zoos and shelters and stuff.”

Antoine sighed. “Sadly, that’s exactly why I can’t bottle it.”

She cocked her head and turned against the counter with her hands in her pockets. “Huh? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s much like what your kabile said about your hair. It’d draw too much attention. My sister Fiona has managed to make a good living using her nose as a tester of new perfumes. But it’s one thing to have a

‘perfect nose’ like some people have perfect pitch. There are several humans with that ability. It’s quite another to explain how I know what fear smells like. The press would jump all over a story like that because of my show. They’d hound me until the day I died—and that won’t be for a very long time. No, even if it works, it will have to remain a secret.”

She sighed in an understanding manner. “You’re right, but it’s really a shame. This stuff could help a lot of cats.” She reached out her foot and lightly touched his leg as he knelt down next to the sink. “I think the way you treat your cats, if Babette is any indication, is really terrific. I’ve heard a lot of horror stories about what tigers and lions have to go through, but Babette seems to be really happy with you.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment as he bent over to look under the cabinet for a sponge. “Merci. But my cats are my family, rather than mere props I use to entertain, so I treat them as I would a sister, child, or uncle. And, like family, they’re more than happy to tell me when they feel they’re being mistreated. I’ve endured more than one scolding by them about staffing. I went through several handlers who didn’t understand that the cats are individuals, with different needs and wants, before I found Bruce.”

He finally spotted what he was looking for and pulled a new sponge in a plastic wrapper from far back in the corner of the cupboard. It was blue, but the color wouldn’t matter. He just needed to get the scent onto the prey.

Tahira seemed to understand what he planned, and handed him a pair of tongs from a ceramic crock of kitchen utensils. “I wondered about that earlier. Can you really talk to your cats—like you’re talking to me now? Do they answer?” She opened a few drawers until she found a box of plastic sandwich bags and pulled one out.

Antoine tried to decide how to answer. He dipped the sponge into the pot repeatedly until it was dripping with the savory scent. Then, while Tahira held open the bag, he dropped the sponge inside. It would have to cool for a moment before he could take it downstairs, but hopefully it would help. Babette couldn’t afford to get any weaker. The birth had been unusually hard on her, even though she’d had several other litters of cubs.

“That’s a bit of a difficult question to answer, I’m afraid. Wild cats don’t think like you and I do. They think in images and concepts. While I’ve been able to see what they were saying in my head since I was a teenager, it took me a number of years to understand what the images meant. They understand pain and anger, hunger and pride. They share happiness and instill fear. But beauty and art are more difficult. Training a cat for a show that humans will find beautiful or artistic takes patience unless the trainer resorts to brute force all the time.”

“Well, I’m glad you don’t force the cats to do what you want. I think that’s terrible.”

Antoine crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter next to her. From her scent of indignation and relief, he realized she had gotten the wrong impression. “I didn’t say that, mon chat du feu. There are indeed times when brute force is necessary. Hierarchy is very important. They must know that I’m the Rex. I certainly don’t harm my cats, but occasionally I have to flex my muscles, so to speak, just as the cats would do among themselves in the wild.” He pressed his fingers against the sponge through the plastic. It was cool enough that it wouldn’t burn her tongue. “Why don’t you join me downstairs? Babette likes you quite a bit and would probably enjoy seeing you again. We can continue our discussion while she hunts.”

He walked to the doorway that led to the staircase and was pleased she followed. Even something as mundane as discussing business seemed a bit more enjoyable when she was around. Perhaps it was wrong to continue to spend time with her, but it had been so very long since a woman had intrigued him enough to make him actually want to spend time with her.

Tahira’s scent was now curious, and the sweet, thick scent seemed so very fitting against the musk of her cat. “You don’t yell at them or use whips or anything, right?”

He laughed and it echoed off the high ceiling of the stairwell. It was something reporters asked him every time he was interviewed. “Good lord, no! Of course, I have to raise my voice on stage, because the audience can get quite loud and the cats can’t hear me speak. But a whip? Never! No, if one of the cats misbehaves on stage, I’ll simply use magic to hold it off to the side while the other cats complete the set. In training, I quite often change form and wrestle with them until the cat winds up on his or her back. Once I’ve proved myself dominant, I’ll impress what I want of them in their minds. I know it’s harder for human trainers to work with them, but I prefer to use the gifts I have available to me.”

The door at the bottom of the stairs was closed, so he looked inside the room, using a small reinforced window that reminded him of a grade school classroom. Babette was laying quietly on the sea grass mat with her head between her paws. She was completely ignoring Matty, who was checking her stitches. He used a penlight to look in her ears and eyes. He shook his head sadly and scratched behind her ears. The cubs were climbing on her and pouncing on her tail, but she wasn’t encouraging the attention. Yes, she needed some entertainment. He reached forward with his mind until he could feel the press of fur against his face and Babette’s slow breathing. Her head rose as she sensed him, and she turned toward the door. He caught her gaze with his eyes and offered images of pumpkin diving in the pool, chasing antelope, or even playing ball.

Matty moved back quickly when Babette suddenly became animated. She shook her head and her eyes lit up. The cubs bounded after her as she ran toward her enclosure, leaving Matty scratching his head.

Tahira gasped lightly behind Antoine. He turned and found her eyes wide and her breathing shallow and fast “The moon is rising.”

He felt it, too—a pulsating warmth that sank into his skin like water into rich soil. But cool winds of magic tickled above the warmth, causing him to shudder with anticipation. Tahira didn’t seem to be enjoying the sensation. She looked suddenly claustrophobic, her eyes flicked around, seeking an exit from the enclosed stairwell.

“What’s wrong, mon chat du feu? Surely you don’t fear your cat, do you? You keep your mind in animal form. I can feel your power press against me. If you’re not an alpha, you’re very close.”

She shook her head and licked her bottom lip nervously. “No, I don’t fear the cat. I can’t really… well, explain it.”

He stared at her as she grew increasingly fidgety, then held out his hand. “Come here, Tahira. Look through the window and tell me what you see.”

She cocked her head curiously but stepped forward.

He moved back behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Well,” she said, “I see Matty following Babette around. She’s holding something in her mouth, and he’s trying to get it away from her.”

He leaned down so his head was nearly resting on her shoulder to be able to see through the glass. “But you’re seeing something else, too. Matty is human; Babette a wild animal. She has new cubs and he’s approaching her aggressively to take something from her mouth. Do you find that brave or foolish?”

He felt her stiffen as she tied the question to what she was seeing. “I suppose I find it foolish, now that you mention it.”

“And I still see what you originally saw—a man comfortable enough with a tiger to feel safe regardless of his actions. He has scars all down his left leg, you know. A wounded lion wasn’t completely put under by its keepers, and mauled him. That same cat played with him like a cub when he checked up on it a few weeks later. Injury and death are always in the back of his mind, yet it never affects his decision to heal.”

She shrugged and he felt the tension in her muscles increase where he was touching. “So why did you bring it up? What are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m trying to tell you that there’s something about shifting forms that has you frightened. It’s affecting your decisions. If Matty can feel confident enough in himself to continue to work with wild cats, then why can’t you feel confident with the one that shares your skin?”

She tried to pull away, but he didn’t let her. The scent of fear and something deeper began to fill his nose. His hands began to massage her too-tight muscles while she tried to find an escape.

“I’m not afraid of my cat.” The words were a whisper—and a lie.

His light chuckle made a few strands of long orange hair float into the air. “Your shoulders and scent tell me otherwise, Tahira. You’re treating the rising moon like an enemy to be feared, rather than as a partner in something truly wondrous. I can feel the power rising in you, smell your fur as it climbs to the surface to greet the night. When you stormed the kitchen to confront whatever had caused the scent of terror, I learned that you don’t fear death or injury. So what is it you do fear?”

The moon began to pull on him, race through his body so strongly that he sucked in a sharp breath. Tahira gasped and clenched her hands into fists. Her scent changed to frustration and worry, and he suddenly understood.

“It’s the change itself, isn’t it? You need to be in control, and the moon takes that from you.”

Her heart was pounding now as magic roiled over her, threatening to turn her where she stood. “You don’t know what it’s like to feel out of control. You’re a sahip. You can change at will. But, for the record… uhm, that’s not why my shoulders are tense.”

A new scent combined with the thick, sweet sandalwood and cinnamon—embarrassment. Antoine’s voice dropped a few notes, both in anticipation of the change, and in reaction to her scent. He let his hands trail slowly down her arms and enjoyed the resulting goosebumps on her skin.

“I see. I’m flattered I have such an effect on you. Of course, you realize that both reactions stem from the same problem. I understand why you feel it’s something to be feared from what happened in the bedroom. Perhaps you’d feel better to know that you can control both situations.” He pulled on one of Tahira’s arms, turning her to face him. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes had started to glow lightly from the night magic that filled her. Leaning toward her, he pressed her back against the wall, and made her swallow audibly. She put her hands on his chest, pushing slightly, perhaps intending to keep him from touching her—but the resulting pulse of energy made her nearly moan with pleasure.

“I can’t control the change. What happens if I turn?”

Antoine smiled gently. “That would be lovely, but I doubt it will happen. I think you have much more control than you believe. I think you could change at will if you try. But if you do shift, then I will too. I can think of no sweeter sensation than to feel our fur flow to greet the moon as one. Just relax, mon chat du feu. Let the moon take us where it will.”