Night of the Tiger hc-1 Read online

  “I wouldn’t want to make you angry,” she murmured as she walked on without touching the wolf. Somehow, she had the impression he didn’t want to be touched. Which was crazy.

  “No crazier than the rest of this night’s been.”

  There was an empty space beside the wolf. A small metal label bolted next to it read serpent. Aimee shivered, wondering what a giant serpent would look like. Maybe it was more dragon-like than serpent. But she’d never know.

  Another empty space appeared. This one also had a metal label, which read jaguar. A pity that one was gone. She would have liked to see a larger-than-life jaguar. She imagined he’d be very impressive with his sleek, muscular body, sharp teeth and strong jaws.

  She stepped up to the next animal and read the label bolted next to one of its massive front paws. “Brown bear,” she whispered. The beast was massive, his fur a combination of brown, blond and black. Powerful and commanding, this was the king of the forest. Hesitantly, Aimee reached out and stroked the tips of her fingers over its thick hindquarters. Fur brushed against her fingers. She could almost swear she’d felt a ripple of muscles.

  “Impossible,” she breathed. It was carved from wood, wasn’t it? She peered closer. It looked like wood, and yet when she touched the fur it felt incredibly real. Shaking her hand, she moved on.

  Another empty space. The label on this one seemed slightly scorched. She had to bend down to read it. Phoenix. She straightened and stared at the metal plate. Aimee liked the fact that there was a mythical animal mixed with real ones. What would a phoenix look like? Larger than life, for sure. Probably shades of red and orange and gold, like fire. She wished all the creatures were here for her to see.

  The lion was next, and she couldn’t resist reaching out to touch his mane. Although he appeared to be a fierce fellow, she didn’t think he’d mind. As with the bear, the fur seemed soft when she dragged her fingertips across it.

  She enjoyed the sensation, but didn’t try to find a rational explanation for it, writing it off as nothing more than her overactive imagination.

  Aimee finally came to a stop beside the elusive white tiger. There were hardly any left in the world. They’d been hunted for their beautiful fur pelt and their habitats taken over by man until they were on the endangered species list. This one wasn’t real, but it appeared incredibly lifelike.

  “Magnificent.” Real or not, she had to touch him. And she somehow knew it was a male tiger. All the animals on the ride were male.

  Reaching out, she stroked her palm over the creature’s side. She jerked her hand back and curled her fingers inward. The tiger had felt warm, almost hot beneath her palm. Not cold like the other animals.

  Intrigued, she stepped up onto the platform. The base was solid, her weight not shifting the ride in the slightest. She rested her palm against the crown of the tiger’s head. Fur, soft and warm, pressed against her skin. A voice in her head urged her to sit on his back.

  She furtively checked the shadows. There was no one here but her, if you didn’t count the animals of the carousel. Aimee chewed on her bottom lip. What would it hurt?

  She wanted to climb onto the back of the tiger, even if it was only for a second. What’s the worst thing could happen? Someone would find her and kick her out of the tent. She’d planned on leaving anyway, so she had nothing to lose.

  But if she left without sitting on the back of the tiger she knew she’d regret it until her dying breath. She felt a connection to the ride, to the tiger, deep in her soul.

  “You won’t mind if I sit on you, will you?” she asked the tiger. “Just for a minute?” She stroked her fingers over his wide forehead and down his flat nose. Soft fur brushed her fingertips. She ignored the tingling sensation that continued when she lifted her hand away.

  She hooked her purse strap over her head and shifted it beneath one arm to get it out of the way and leave her hands free. “I need both hands to ride a tiger,” she confided to the patient beast.

  Placing her hands on either side of his thick neck, she threw one leg over his wide back. It wasn’t as easy as she’d anticipated. The tiger was huge. Digging her fingers into his heavy muscles, she grunted as she pulled herself upright.

  A bell clanged, loud and clear. Aimee jerked suddenly and started to slip. Grabbing the tiger’s neck, she held on and managed to keep from falling. Had she set off some kind of alarm system by sitting on the ride?

  When no one rushed in to order her off the tiger, she took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Whatever the noise was, it obviously had nothing to do with her. She’d sit here for a minute and then find a way out. It was time for her to go home.

  Sadness filled her at the thought of never seeing the tiger or the carousel again. She wished she could somehow take it home with her. She’d fix up the old barn to keep it in so she could look at it every day. Take care of the remaining animals. Maybe even see about having the three missing ones replaced.

  As much as she wanted it to happen, it wasn’t going to. But the carousel would live on in her work. She planned to draw the funhouse, the carnival, the rides and all the rest as soon as she got home. But before she drew any of those things, she was going to capture the carousel on paper. It would be a pale imitation of reality, but it was the best she could do.

  Music filtered into the tent. It was low at first, but got louder with each passing second. It was traditional carnival music, the type of song that had no name but was instantly recognizable as the type of music that accompanied a carousel ride.

  It was pretty and Aimee found herself humming along as she settled herself on the tiger’s back. “Da da da da dum,” she sang, alternating between humming and murmuring aloud.

  Closing her eyes, she imagined herself actually riding the carousel as it whirled around. Her eyes shot open and she jerked her arm away as she felt a ripple beneath her hand. Had the tiger moved?

  “You’re imagining things,” she muttered. But she was no longer quite certain. She’d seen many strange and impossible things here tonight. But it was a carnival, all smoke and mirrors—the funhouse, the performances and the rides. Everything about this place, from the pounding rhythm of the music to the bright flashing lights of the rides, was designed to give the customer a sense of excitement and wonder.

  But the evening was over, the carnival was closed and it was time for her to leave.

  Aimee was shocked by how badly she wanted to stay seated on the tiger. It was as if a part of her was urging her to hang on to him and never let go. “He’s not real,” she whispered. “He’s just a carved animal.” Besides, if he were a real tiger, he’d probably eat her for breakfast.

  With great reluctance, she started to release her grip on the tiger’s neck. Just as she did, the carousel bucked and began to move.

  “What the hell?” Grabbing hold to keep from falling, she looked frantically around. There was no one there. Yet the music continued to play and the ride began to circle around, moving faster and faster with each revolution until Aimee felt dizzy. With her weak leg, there was no way for her to get off without hurting herself.

  “Stop.” She didn’t know who she was talking to, but there had to be someone out there operating the controls for the ride. “Please stop.”

  “It’s too late to stop now,” a disembodied voice from the shadows informed her. “It was too late from the moment you chose one of the beasts and climbed onto his back.”

  Lights flickered on, one by one, slowly illuminating the entire tent. There appeared to be benches circling the carousel, and all of them were filled with people. Aimee recognized the old man who’d sold her tickets at the main entrance, the fire-eater and the magician. All the performers and carnival workers were there. As she spun around again, Aimee saw the red-haired girl who’d taken her ticket for the sideshow and the smirking man who’d been in charge of the funhouse.

  “Please let me off,” she begged as the ride moved more rapidly, the background nothing but a blur. It was going so fast n
ow that she was afraid she was going to be sick. The hotdog she’d eaten earlier churned in her stomach, and she swallowed hard to keep from losing it.

  The lion in front of her turned its head and stared at her. Her eyes were watering from the sheer speed of the ride and the dust being stirred up from the canvas floor. She blinked, not believing what she was seeing. The lion opened his mouth and roared before returning to his original position on the carousel.

  The wolf howled, the bear growled. Aimee wanted to cover her ears but didn’t dare let go of the tiger. If she lost her grip, she’d be thrown from the ride. At the speed she was traveling, she’d at least break a limb or two, if she weren’t killed outright.

  The crowd began to yell and then they began to chant. They were all crazy. She was crazy. Because they all began to change before her eyes. Whether it was a trick of her eyes because of the speed she was traveling or whether she was seeing them as they truly were, she had no idea. Their faces changed, their skin growing leathery and their eyes glowing like red embers. Some of them seemed to have horns. They morphed from people into the demons from her nightmares.

  She couldn’t understand what they were chanting at first, but their words eventually came into focus. “Roric! Roric! Roric!” Aimee had no idea what the word meant, and she didn’t care. All she wanted was to get out of this place and go home to her familiar, two-story cottage just outside town. She would be safe there. If only she could get home.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned down and wrapped her arms completely around the tiger’s neck. “Please. Please take me home,” she pleaded.

  Laughter mocked her as the ride whirled at an impossible speed. A female voice seemed to whisper on the wind, but she couldn’t make out what the woman was saying. Maybe it was hope. Or it could be help. The voice was familiar, like something she’d dreamed once before.

  Aimee couldn’t think. The speed and the constant circling were making her dizzy. She was close to passing out, and if that happened she would fall. Memories of the car accident that took her parents’ life assailed her. It was much the same—the feeling of being totally out of control, of being unable to stop what was happening even though you knew it would end badly.

  Terror shot through her body and struck her soul. She was going to die.

  Her vision began to dim. She closed her eyes and prayed for the madness to stop. In her dreams, the tiger always protected her. With her remaining strength, she pressed her lips against the carved tiger, ignoring the warmth and the brush of fur.

  “Protect me, tiger. Take me home.”

  The world around her exploded in a mass of lights and screams. A kaleidoscope of color surrounded her. Even with her eyes shut tight, she could see the brilliant flashes of red, orange, yellow, green, sky blue, indigo and violet, as well as a multitude of colors she couldn’t name. She wanted to reach out and touch the colors. They were so beautiful they brought tears to her eyes.

  Her grip grew weaker and her body shifted. Her fingers and legs were numb from holding on so tight. She felt herself falling, but there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening. Her strength was gone.

  She slipped, her fingers dropping away from the tiger’s neck. A mighty roar split the air, the sound filled with anguish and anger. Aimee wanted to scream but the sound caught in her throat.

  The world went black and silent.

  Chapter Five

  Aimee moaned and rolled over onto her back, flinging her arms out by her sides. She was falling, flying through the air. There was nothing to stop her from hitting the hard ground. She could break a bone or worse. “No!” she cried, knowing words were useless. Nothing could stop her inevitable fall.

  “I’ve got you,” a masculine voice murmured into her ear. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, catching her, anchoring her.

  Dreaming. She was dreaming. Sighing, Aimee began to relax, much happier with this turn of events. She shuddered, hating the sensation of falling through the air, the pure helplessness of it.

  There was something niggling at the back of her brain. Something important. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch, it irritated her. She could almost remember but the next second it slipped away. It was totally forgotten as he tightened his grip around her and his lips grazed the side of her neck.

  His mouth was warm and supple against her skin. Tingles skated down her neck and spread out over her breasts. Her nipples puckered, aching to be touched.

  Sighing, Aimee sank deeper into his embrace, feeling safe and not so alone for the first time in years. He was so warm, his skin almost hot next to hers. He was…naked. And so was she.

  The sensation jolted her. She always wore a nightgown to bed.

  “Just a dream,” she whispered to herself. It didn’t matter that both of them were totally bare. It wasn’t often she had a good dream, so she needed to enjoy this one to the max.

  What if it wasn’t a dream? Tension crept up her spine, disturbing her sense of contentment and bringing with it a sense of growing unease.

  Of course it’s a dream, she assured herself. It had to be. The only man who’d been near her bed in about a decade was the one in her dream. And even he’d never quite made it into the darn thing.

  Still, she knew she would never fully relax if she didn’t test her theory and find out for certain. If this was a dream, she’d be able to open her eyes and he would still be here. Carefully, she turned her head toward him and cracked one eye open. Although it was still night, dawn was breaking in the east, and the pale light illuminated the rather large man in bed with her. When he didn’t disappear, she opened her other eye.

  Yup, it was the same man from her previous dream, and he was even more handsome than she remembered. Even half asleep, his features appeared harsh and unforgiving. Tough was the word that described him best. His forehead was wide, his cheekbones high. His nose was broad, yet somehow suited his face. His eyes were closed, emphasizing the long, black lashes that fanned against his cheeks. They should have softened his face, but somehow they just served to call attention to his masculinity even more.

  Thick, soft hair tumbled down his shoulders. Unable to resist, she reached out her hand and stroked her fingers through it. It was incredibly soft, the texture different from any other hair she’d ever touched. It felt almost fluffy, like fur. The light parts weren’t blond, but white. And running through it were thin stripes of black. He had the most amazing hair color.

  As she continued to stroke his hair, a rumble of pleasure rose from deep in his chest. She felt the vibration against her skin and it warmed her from head to toe. It sounded almost like a purr. She grinned. She didn’t think he’d appreciate being compared to a giant housecat. No, not a housecat—that was much too tame for a man as elemental as this one. He’d be wild, like a giant lion or maybe even a tiger.

  She felt a connection to the stranger, felt surprisingly safe with him. But of course, in the end, he was nothing but a figment of her very impressive imagination. She barely stifled a giggle. She felt almost punch-drunk. Well, it was her dream. She could feel any way she wanted to.

  Satisfied with her assessment, Aimee continued her perusal. The quilt was tucked around his waist, leaving his impossibly wide chest and shoulders bare. She slid her fingers over the thick cords of his neck down to his immense shoulders.

  Continuing her journey, she traced her fingers over his massive biceps. An intricate band was tattooed around it. Aimee had never seen anything like it. The ink was vibrant and it seemed to be ancient writing of some sort, rather than just a symbol.

  She peered up at him. His eyes were still closed, his breathing even and deep.

  Emboldened, she shifted again so that she was resting on her side. The perfect specimen of manhood beside her conveniently rolled onto his back, giving her unrestricted access to him. A quick glance reassured her that his eyes were still closed.

  He released a slow sigh and his breathing steadied. She waited a moment or two, but thankfully, he seemed to drift back
to sleep. Which was fine with her. It gave her the opportunity to explore the bounty laid out before her. Bands of muscle corrugated his torso. She’d never seen a man so ripped, not even in magazines or on television. Yet he wasn’t muscle-bound.

  Reaching out, she tentatively touched his chest. Sleek, supple muscles rippled beneath her fingertips as he shifted and settled himself more comfortably against the mattress. Aimee paused in her exploration, waiting until he was still once more.

  He was so warm he was almost hot. Aimee flattened her palm against his chest and felt the heavy thud of his heart beating against it. A light dusting of black hair covered his torso before angling downward and disappearing beneath the quilt. It was almost exactly like the hair on his head—smooth and silky. It was ridiculous just how soft his hair was, especially when compared to the rest of him.

  Aimee slipped her fingers down the center of his chest and circled his bellybutton. The quilt shifted and something nudged her hand. She glanced down and her breath caught in her throat. He was aroused. There was no mistaking the hard, thick bulge for anything else.

  She chewed on her bottom lip as she watched the quilt quiver in the predawn light. Should she lift up the covering and take a look? It wasn’t really an invasion of privacy.

  Determined, she allowed her hand to rest on the edge of the quilt. Just a quick peek, she promised herself. There was no reason why she shouldn’t and every reason why she should. It was her dream after all. And how often in her life did a woman get to examine such a gorgeous hunk of man, even if he wasn’t real? Tentatively, she lifted the quilt and eased it down to the tops of his thighs.

  Her mouth went dry. “Oh my,” she whispered. Now she knew without a doubt that this was definitely a figment of her imagination.

  His cock was broad and long as it pushed upward toward his bellybutton. Deep blue veins pulsed up and down the hard length. His erection seemed to thicken before her very eyes. The head was wider than the shaft, plum-shaped and deep red. A bead of liquid pearled at the slit in the crown.