Tiger's Curse (The Tiger Saga #1)

Famished, I broke out some granola bars and a package of oatmeal. I heated enough water over the fire again to pour into my oatmeal and make another cup of hot chocolate. After breakfast, I told Ren to head off on patrol and that I was going to wash my hair.

He waited for a while, watching my movements until he felt reassured, then took off, and left me to fend for myself. I grabbed a small bottle of biodegradable shampoo that Mr. Kadam had included for me; the soap smelled like straw-berries. He’d even included conditioner.

Changing into my swimsuit, shorts, and sneakers, I hiked down to my sunning rock. Staying on the edge of the falls, well away from the place I’d been hit by falling rocks, I gently wet and soaped my hair. Leaning slightly into the sparkling water, I let it softly rinse out the bubbles. The cool water felt good on my sore head.

Moving over to the sunny side of the rock, I sat down to brush my hair. When I was done, I closed my eyes and turned my face toward the early morning sun, letting it warm me as my hair dried. This place was a paradise, no question about it. Even with a bump on the head and my dislike of camping, I could appreciate the beauty of my surroundings.

It was not that I didn’t appreciate nature. In fact, I liked spending time outdoors with my parents when I was growing up. It was just that I always enjoyed sleeping in my own bed after appreciating nature.

Ren came back around midday and sat by me companionably while we ate our freeze-dried lunches. It was the only time I’d ever seen him eat as a man other than the mango fruit. Afterward, I rooted around in my bag for my book of poetry. I asked Ren if he’d like me to read to him.

He’d changed back into a tiger, and I didn’t hear a growl or another type of tiger protest, so I grabbed my book of poetry and sat down with my back resting against a big rock. He padded over next to me and surprised me by morphing into a man. He flipped onto his back and laid his head in my lap before I could get a word in. Then he sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

I laughed and said, ‘I guess that means yes?’

Keeping his eyes closed, he mumbled, ‘Yes, please.’

I flipped through my book to pick a poem to read. ‘Ah, this one seems appropriate. I think you’ll like it. It’s one of my favorites, and it’s also written by Shakespeare, the same guy who wrote Romeo and Juliet.’

I began reading and held the book with one hand while absent--mindedly stroking Ren’s hair with the other.



SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A SUMMER’S DAY?

by William Shakespeare



Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.



His voice was soft. ‘That was . . . excellent. I like this Shakespeare.’

‘Me too.’ I was thumbing through the poetry book searching for another poem when Ren said, ‘Kelsey, perhaps I could share a poem of my country . . . with you.’

Surprised, I set my book down. ‘Sure, I’d love to hear some Indian poetry.’

He opened his eyes and stared up at the trees overhead. Capturing my hand, he twined my fingers through his and rested our hands on his chest. A slight breeze was blowing. It caused the leaves to dance and twist in the sun, weaving shadows and sunlight across his hand-some face.

‘This is an old poem of India. It’s taken from an epic story that’s been told for as long as I can remember. It’s called the Sakuntala by Kalidasa.’



Thy heart, indeed, I know not:

but mine, oh! cruel, love

warms by day and by night;

and all my faculties are centered on thee.

Thee, O slender maid,

love only warms;

but me he burns;

as the day-star only stifles the fragrance of the night-flower,

but quenches the very orb of the moon.

This heart of mine,

oh thou who art of all things the dearest to it,

will have no object but thee.



‘Ren, that was very beautiful.’

His eyes turned to my face. He smiled and reached a hand up to touch my cheek. My pulse quickened, and my face felt hot where he touched it. I became suddenly aware that my fingers were still twined in his hair, and my hand was resting on his chest. I quickly removed them and twisted them in my lap. He sat up slightly, leaning on one hand, which brought his beautiful face very close to mine. His fingers moved down to my chin and, with the lightest touch, he tilted my face so that my eyes met his intense blue ones.

‘Kelsey?’

‘Yes?’ I whispered.

‘I would like permission . . . to kiss you.’

Whoa. Red-alert! The comfortable feeling I was enjoying with my tiger just a few minutes before had disappeared. I became acutely nervous and prickly. My perspective swung 180 degrees. I was, of course, aware that a man’s heart beat inside the tiger’s body, but, somehow, I’d shifted that know-ledge to the back of my mind.

Awareness of the prince burst into my conscious mind. I stared at him, astonished. He was, well, to be blunt, he was out of my league. I’d never even considered the possibility of a relationship with him, other than friendship.

His question forced me to acknowledge that my comfortable pet tiger was actually a virile, robust example of masculinity. My heart started hammering against my ribcage. Several thoughts went through my head all at once, but the dominant thought was that I would very much like to be kissed by Ren.

Other thoughts were creeping around at the edge of my conscious-ness too, trying to wiggle into the forefront. Thoughts like – it’s too soon – we barely know each other – and maybe he’s just lonely – spun through my mind. But, I clipped the threads of those thoughts and let them blow away. Stomping down on caution, I decided that I did want him to kiss me.

Ren moved just a smidgen closer to me. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and then . . . waited. When I opened my eyes, he was still staring at me. He really was waiting for permission. There was nothing, and I mean nothing I wanted more in the world at that moment than to be kissed by this gorgeous man. But, I ruined it. For some reason, I fixated on the word permission.

I nervously rambled, ‘What . . . umm . . . what do you mean you want my permission?’

He looked at me curiously, which made me feel even more panicky. To say I had no experience with kissing would be an understatement. Not only had I never kissed a boy before, I’d never even met a guy I wanted to kiss until Ren. So, instead of kissing him like I wanted to, I got flustered and started coming up with reasons to not do it.

I babbled, ‘Girls need to be swept off their feet, and asking permission is just . . . just . . . old-fashioned. It’s not spontan-eous enough. It doesn’t scream passion. It screams old fogy. If you have to ask, then the answer is . . . no.’

What an idiot! I thought to myself. I just told this beautiful, kind, blue-eyed, hunk of a prince that he was an old fogy.

Ren looked at me for a long moment, long enough for me to see the hurt in his eyes before he cleared his face of expression. He stood up quickly, formally bowed to me, and avowed softly, ‘I won’t ask you again, Kelsey. I apologize for being so forward.’

Then he changed into a tiger and quickly ran off into the jungle, leaving me alone to berate myself for my foolishness.

I shouted, ‘Ren, wait!’ But it was too late. He was gone.