Masks of a Tiger (6 page)

"I get that you're
new. I get that you're confused, but whilst you're here, keep your head down
and show some respect. If you can't do that, then you should leave right
now."

Cherie spoke so quietly
Neeve
had to strain to hear the words over the music that
started up just then.
Trikus
released her and handed
her a clipboard with a
Rules of Conduct
sheet.

"If you're staying,
sign this, and follow Cherie to the bar. The show is about to start on stage,
and I need to make sure everyone stays in safe parameters"
Trikus
didn't look at her as he spoke. His eyes scanned the
room behind them, and it startled
Neeve
to see how
busy the club had become. She's been so absorbed in what had been happening
right in front of her, she'd missed the club filling up. Her heart gave a very
suspicious little bump inside her chest when she spotted
Grisha
on stage. He'd stripped down to his low slung jeans, his ebony skin gleaming
under the spotlights now illuminating the stage at the far end of the club. His
muscles bunched and rippled as he rolled his shoulders and moved his head from
side to side. He looked deep in concentration as he studied the implements set
out on a little table. Alcohol, swabs, fire sticks, floggers, and a lethal
looking whip battled for space with a bucket of water, several small fire
extinguishers, and a fire blanket. A roped off area around the stage set the
gathering crowd several paces back, and
Neeve's
stomach clenched when
Grisha
lit a candle and tested
the heat with his hand.

 
His words to her came back to haunt her, and
the just healed skin on her wrist throbbed in remembered pain.
Grisha
chose that moment to turn round and assess the
crowd, and
Neeve
froze in place when his gaze zoomed
in on her. He smiled, a toe curling, lazy, possessive smile that made her skin
prickle and her breath hitch. She jumped when she felt a hand on her arm, and
the connection was broken. Her intense physical reaction to seeing him in the
flesh left her reeling, and it took her a while to register Cherie was talking
to her.

"Sign the papers,
doll. You don't want to miss the show.
Grisha
is the
best at this."

Neeve
didn't doubt
that for one minute. He oozed authority and strength on that stage, and her
guts churned with an unfamiliar emotion when she saw the three young women join
him on stage. She was not jealous, surely? Why would she be? She hardly knew
him, and she couldn't care less about those women. Blasted exhibitionist,
nameless bimbos, that's what they were.

She must have mumbled
the last bit out loud, as she furiously scribbled her name under the sheet of
paper, because Cherie laughed, and this time when
Neeve
looked at the other woman there was genuine warmth and understanding in her
deep chocolate colored eyes.

"They're just here
for the scene.
Grisha
hasn't claimed any sub,
yet."
The emphasis on
yet
wasn't lost on
Neeve
, and
she grumbled her annoyance.

"Easy, doll, put
your claws away. I may be wrong, but I get the impression our
Grisha
is all yours if you want him." She too glanced
toward the stage, and
Grisha
winked at her, before
switching his attention to the subs in front of him. There seemed to be some
sort of a discussion going on between him and the three women kneeling in their
submissive pose in front of him.

"He's checking
their hard and soft limits and judging how far he can push them." Cherie
offered the explanation with a smile. "Ink is right, you know. You have a
very expressive face and wear your emotions for all to see. I'll explain as he
goes along if you'd like."

"Yes, please."

Cherie nodded and
gestured for
Neeve
to follow her to the bar. The long
counter was almost deserted as most people now faced the stage, and
Neeve
propped herself up on one the barstools.

"Give me that
jacket. I'll put it behind the bar for now. He'll get it later."

Neeve
handed the
jacket over with some reluctance. Somehow, without it, she felt exposed and
vulnerable, which was a ridiculous notion. It was only a jacket, and no one was
paying any attention to her as the show started in earnest, which was just as
well.
Neeve
barely took in Cherie's murmured
explanations, as the flames on stage called to the deep, dark part in her
soul,
she'd kept such tight control on lest it destroy her.

 
Her stomach clenched, her breathing grew
labored, and beads of sweat pooled in the valley between her breasts and
trickled down her spine. Cherie pushed a glass of ice cold water into her hands
and
Neeve
gulped the liquid down in one. On stage, a
fireball erupted from the end of the whip, the crack audible over the music, as
Grisha
twirled it over his head. The whip curled over
the restrained sub's ass, leaving a red mark in its place.
Neeve
lost herself in the spectacle. Again and again
Grisha
swung that whip, a master at play, his concentration and control over the fire
absolute. He was one with the whip, placing it exactly where it needed to go,
eliciting moan after moan from the bound woman, until she screamed her orgasm
at his murmured permission.

The other two waiting
subs reached a similar state after he traced patterns of fire over their
exposed skin, dousing them as quickly as they flared up. Ink joined him in the
simultaneous fire flogging that ensured the last sub flew off into her own
nirvana.

By the time the show
drew to an end,
Neeve
sat clutching the bar counter
with a white knuckled grip. In her mind's eye she saw falling timbers, heard
the rushing fireball's approach. The heat of the engulfing flames scorched her
skin, her mother's agonized screams ringing in her ears. Strong hands pushed
her out of the way, as the hallway collapsed, taking her dad down with the
rubble. Heat burned her lungs; pain crawled over her skin, and
Neeve
gasped, the memories as real as the day it happened.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't move,
couldn't
even
scream. Locked in the prison of her mind, tears blinded her vision, and she
fumbled to escape, to get away, to seek the only oblivion she knew, the bite of
pain, the heat of the burn. She fought the muscled arms restraining her.
Adrenaline rushed her system. She kicked and bucked and punched the man trying
to calm her down, oblivious to the pain in her hand as her knuckles connected
with hard jaw bone. The furious curse rang in her ears, and her head snapped
back as the man grasped her hair and pinned her against the bar. The edge dug
into her back, and she struggled to breathe against the bulk of the man
obliterating her view of anything else. Just as everything went fuzzy, his
weight lifted.

"Get the fuck off
her,
Jordayn
, before I have your pelt for a
rug."
Grisha's
deep voice barely disguised his
fury, yet the hands settling on her waist were gentle as he tugged her into his
comforting embrace. He nuzzled into her neck, and
Neeve's
tense muscles unlocked at his whispered, "
It's
ok, sweetheart. I'm here. Let go. I've got you."

****

It was only the fact
that he was holding his woman that stopped
Grisha
from letting his tiger loose and ripping the flesh of the wolf's body sliver by
agonizing sliver.
Neeve's
needs were more important,
and she didn't need to see him shift right now. That would more than likely tip
her right over the edge. She clung to him, her eyes wide and unseeing, and he
continued to talk to her in Russian, sweet endearments his mother used to call
him when he was little, designed to calm him down when he woke up from his own
nightmares. He resolutely pushed the unwelcome reminder away and calmed his
anxious tiger by inhaling deeply of
Neeve's
unique
scent. Her fear had intensified it, and he couldn't keep his beast's possessive
growl under wraps.

Both Ink and
Trikus
, who had sprinted to the bar with him, and now had
Jordayn
pinned over the counter, threw
Grisha
an astonished look.

 
Cherie smiled.

"Take her to one of
the dungeons,
Grisha
. Ink and
Trikus
will sort this, or I shall serve the idiot's balls for Sunday lunch."
Cherie's tiger snarled her agreement, and
Neeve
jumped and snuggled closer into his frame as though she was seeking his
protection.

"Cherie is right,
Grisha
. Leave him to us. You go and sort your sub out. Use
my private dungeon. You will not be disturbed."
 
Ink's grim smile didn't reach his eyes. Half
shifted he looked every inch the lethal predator he was, and
Grisha
shifted
Neeve
slightly, so
that she wouldn't see his friend's transformation.

His chest felt
suspiciously tight at the thought of
his sub,
and he set off to take her
away from prying eyes. Her death grip on him loosened the farther away they got
from the noise of the club, and by the time they stood in front of the heavily
padded dungeon door, she struggled in his arms.

"
Wh
—where are you taking me?" She pushed against his
chest, and he put her down on her feet, using his body to hold her up against
the wall, while he keyed the required code into the key pad by the door.

"Relax, sweetheart.
I'm taking you to Ink's dungeon to keep you safe." Her eyes widened, her
heart rate increased, and he framed her face with his hands as the door swung
open and the overhead light came on automatically. He pitched his voice as low
as he could in an effort to reassure her, and some of her renewed anxiety left
her. "I promise nothing will happen that you do not want to happen,
Neeve
."

He willed her to look up
at him, and when she finally did, his insides churned at the depths of pain
reflected in moss green eyes. Like the deep sides of a pond they clouded over
with unshed tears.

"Trust me,
sweetheart. Let me take some of that hurt away."

A sob rose from her, and
she shut her eyes. A lone tear trailed down her cheek, and he followed the path
of that tear with his gaze, over her cheek, down the slender column of her
neck, and into the deep V of her burgundy dress. His cock leapt into action,
and he resisted the temptation to trace the path of that tear with his tongue.
Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths, the clingy fabric of her dress
accentuating every one of her slight curves. Her nipples puckered into hard
little nubs, clearly visible through her dress, under his silent scrutiny, and
Grisha
smiled.

"You can't. No one
can. I shouldn't have come here." The whispered words carried enough pain
to make
Grisha
want to shift and rip whoever hurt her
so badly limb from fucking limb. The strength of his reaction floored him with
its intensity. From the first moment his tiger had recognized her scent outside
the marquee his sole purpose had been to claim her. He had not been able to get
her out of his mind, hoping against hope that she would turn up at Club Ink.
Despite her claims that she wasn't submissive, and despite the man's
reservations that she wasn't what he was looking for, that he had no intention
of settling down, his tiger wasn't listening.

He'd known the instant
she'd set foot in the club, his tiger itching to get to the woman he'd chosen
to mark as his own, but he'd had a show to do. So, he'd ruthlessly clamped down
on his animal side and concentrated on the task instead, aware that she'd
watched his every move. What he hadn't anticipated—and
fuck it,
he
should have really, after the way she'd burned herself at the ceremony—was that
his show would prove to be a trigger for her.

He had a fairly good
idea why.
Trikus's
report had been very thorough, and
Grisha
knew only too well the effect childhood
traumas could have on a person. He crunched his teeth in frustration and willed
the memories away again.
 
He'd left that
part of his life behind years ago and seldom thought of it anymore. Something
about
Neeve's
vulnerability—hidden as it was under
her tough words,
snarkyness
, and devil-may-care
attitude—had dragged the past up kicking and screaming. The fact that he'd
caused her earlier breakdown, albeit without meaning to, did not sit well with
him.

He took a step away from
her, and he suppressed a grin at the way her body followed his, before she
startled and pulled back, chewing her bottom lip. He hardened to the point of
pain, and he balled his hands into fists to stop himself from touching
her.
 
Sex with
Neeve
would blow his mind, even vanilla sex, if the sexual chemistry hovering between
them was anything to go by. The problem was
Grisha
wanted more than just sex. His tiger whined, and
Grisha
shut his eyes and shook his head. He wasn't expecting the tentative touch to
his chest that burned as though she'd branded him.