Mad, Bad & Dangerous

“Please.”

“Off.”

Var, all of a sudden a full-grown tiger, leapt in front of her. He filled the wide corridor, his eyes like solid amber, his tail swishing.

“I’ve fought tigers before,” Kett said.

“Yeah, and see how that worked out?” Bael moved to stand in front of her. “Kett, just listen to me a minute.”

“No. Your ritual doesn’t need me. You can’t possibly have anything to say to me.”

“My ritual-” Bael began, teeth gritted, but he calmed himself. “Look, you and I know the ritual doesn’t need you, but Albhar doesn’t. He’ll still be after you.”

“I can take care of-”

“No one, in this state.” When she started to protest, he interrupted again. “Have you even been able to change your shape since you got here?”

She folded her arms and glared at the floor. “I haven’t tried.”

“Try.”

“Fuck-”

“Albhar put an enchantment on you so you couldn’t. I can lift it.”

“I could get Striker to do that.”

“For what price? Just stand still a minute.”

Kett narrowed her eyes. “You could be putting a mojo on me.”

Bael looked at her with terrible sadness in his eyes. “You don’t-” he began, and broke off, sighing. “You never trusted me, did you?”

“I never trust anyone.”

“Why, Kett?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Kett snapped, and attempted to push past him, but Bael caught her arm and yanked her against the wall, pinning her there with his body.

“Get off me or I’ll rip your throat out with or without the help of fangs,” she spat.

But Bael spoke in some other language, something lyrical, and Kett felt the same sensation she had when Striker had freed her from the spell the first time.

No, not the first time. She’d been freed from this spell once before that. She’d heard those words once before.

Her skin rippled, changing to fur, feathers, scales, her fingertips growing claws, shrinking again, her whole body reveling in its flexibility. Bael, never letting up, watched her from a distance of about six inches.

“I’ve heard those words before,” she said, holding up one hand and slowly turning it into a tiger’s paw.

“The spell was on you that first time,” Bael said, “when we were in the cave. There was one on me too but I shook it off. Who did it for you?”

“Striker,” Kett said. “But he didn’t use words. And that wasn’t the first time I’ve been under that spell.”

Bael had hold of one of her wrists and one of her arms. Her free hand turned into a gryphon’s claw and she considered using it on him. But instead, she held it in front of his face and turned it to stone.

Kett had always found it more difficult to change one part of her body than to mimic an entire shape. Turning every inch of skin to the texture of stone was easier than changing just her hand, and she still wasn’t feeling a hundred percent well, so she did her whole body.

Bael was still holding her against the wall, but as the crackle of stone spread over her skin, his hands flew away from her as if she’d burnt him. His face twisted with horror, his whole body flinched. His eyes were wide with revulsion, shock and fear. Var shrunk against him, once more a small dog, whimpering with fear.

“Kett,” Bael croaked, like a man witnessing a massacre. “Gods, no. Please!”

Kett turned herself back, blinking. “For gods’ sakes, Bael, you look like you’ve seen a corpse.”

He touched her, tentatively, as if he was terrified she might break. When she failed to shatter into a million pieces, he grabbed her and hugged her to him, breathing hard, burying his face in her neck. Kett thought he might be crying.

He was strong and warm and close, and for a moment she let herself relax into the pleasure of his arms. But only for a moment. He might not have been the one to lock her in the tower, but he’d hardly protested Albhar’s intentions.

“Get a grip,” she hissed. “I was only trying to show you-look, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Bael said, looking up. “Believe me, Kett, it does. In my dream you were made of stone, and you crumbled to pieces. I thought-”

“You dreamed of me made of stone?” Kett asked sharply, and Bael nodded, looking wretched.

“I dreamed of you made of stone, and you turned into a-you looked like you’d been…”

“What?” Kett asked sarcastically, trying to disentangle herself from him. “Left in a tower cell for five days with no food and water?”

Bael flinched. “Left in a tower cell for five months with no food and water.” His eyes met hers, and they were tortured. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“And that makes it all right, does it? If you thought I was some anonymous stranger that you’d left to die? That’s sexy, Bael. That’s really hot.”

He flinched. “I was angry. I was hurt. You might have some memory of why.”

Kett felt her face burn.

“You have no idea of the agonies I’ve been through since I saw you there,” Bael said softly. “Day and night, visions of you. Nightmares. Your body just rotting away as I watched. Like the dead grown old. I thought-it was telling me you were going to die, and then when you turned to stone…”

He buried his head in her neck again, and Kett, frowning, let him. It was only when the door from the breakfast room opened and Tyrnan looked out, eyebrows raised, that she made Bael move.

“We need to talk,” she said, gesturing to her father that it was all right. A direct lie. Kett couldn’t really remember any instances in her life when things had been less right, but she really didn’t need Tyrnan’s interference.

Tugging Bael upstairs to her bedroom, she shut the door and leaned against it, shoving her hands through her hair. Funny, but it was one of the hardest things to change.

“Sit,” she said to Bael, gesturing to the bed, and he did. “Stay. Good dog.”

Var, still a dog but rather larger, gave her a reproachful look and leapt onto the bed to rest his head in Bael’s lap.

They were both silent a while. Kett, her leg aching, limped over to the dresser for a jar of liniment then hesitated. What the hell. Bael could see her naked without jumping on her. He thought she consorted with whores.

The fact that she actually had didn’t make her feel any better.

She kicked off her boots, tugged off her trousers and dealt Bael a severe look. “My leg hurts,” she said. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”

“I wouldn’t anyway.” He hesitated, watching her sit at the other end of the bed and start to rub liniment into her thigh. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Hurts like buggery. Well, not actually like buggery, that’s not really so bad. But, you know. Hurts. A lot.”

“I tried to fix it.”

“How?”

Bael frowned. “I don’t know. I just…wanted you to be better. To stay alive.”

Please get well again. Just stay alive.

“Sure, and I’m the Maharaja of Pradesh,” Kett said, shaken.

“Actually, funny story,” Bael said. “I used to know the Maharaja of Pradesh.”

“No you didn’t,” Kett said wearily.

“Did too. Fat man. Smelled of curry.”

“Harem of concubines younger than his daughter,” Kett said absently.

“You know him?”

“We’ve met.”