Asylum (Causal Enchantment #2)(70)

I turned to look at the werebeast who lay sprawled on the cool floor, his hungry eyes zoned in on the sleeping man. I knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare, Max,” I warned. Guilty eyes shifted over to me. “Go hunt! Before they wake up.”

I’m fine, he said half-heartedly.

“Look at you! You’re definitely not fine. We’re in a jungle. There’s got to be tons of warm, bloody things for you to eat!” I shuddered. “I’m sure the tigers can spare a few mice, or rats, or . . . whatever rodents there are out there.” I checked the darkening horizon. “Go now! You can be back before they wake up.”

Do you know how many rats I’d have to catch?

I cringed. “I’d rather not.”

Besides, they’ll know.

“How?”

They just will. I can’t. I need to stay alive to protect you.

“I don’t see how good a big heap of fur lying on the ground will be to me,” I muttered.

A chorus of feline roars filled the air then, earning a small yelp of alarm from me. Julian stirred again, but his eyes remained closed; a thin layer of sweat shone on his forehead. Cautiously lifting a corner of the door flap, I peeked out again to see the tigers now on their feet, stretching lazily. Then, one by one, the tribe emerged.

One hell of an alarm clock, right?

“Uh-huh.” Ducking back to avoid being seen, I watched through the crack as they quietly went about their business: the women carrying baskets of various fruits, the men dragging wood toward the fire pit, all of them glancing frequently in my direction. One woman cradled a young boy of maybe two in her arms. As they passed, his glowing, jaundiced eyes grazed mine.

“Are they human?” I whispered.

They were until eighty years ago. Then the Fates transformed them into those things. They still live and die like humans, eat like humans, breed like humans. In the beginning, the tribe was half this size. They’ve multiplied over the years.

“So, they always looked like . . . this?”

The Fates did that to their eyes. The teeth are just bad genes. The piercings, they’ve done to themselves. Max snorted. I don’t imagine the inbreeding has helped much.

Within minutes, loud snaps and crackles announced another raging fire. Across the clearing, I spotted the tribal leader walking toward the pyre, his big feathered hat making him appear two feet taller. “They sure like their fire, don’t they,” I murmured.

They worship the god of fire.

I glanced back at him. “Seriously?”

Max grunted in response, not bothering to lift his head.

I began to worry. Losing Leo was bad enough; I couldn’t lose Max. I had no idea how long it would take a werebeast to starve to death, and I wasn’t going to find out. I needed to get permission for Max to eat. “I’m going out there to find you food,” I announced. “I’ll be back.”

That earned a chuckle. Don’t bother. Those damn cats are too precious to them.

I ignored his skepticism, wagging a warning finger at him. “And don’t you so much as lick Julian while I’m gone.” Inhaling, my nerves fluttering wildly in my stomach, I pushed the curtain back and stepped out.

At least a dozen heads whipped around to look at me, but no one approached; no spears waved in my direction. The chief, who now sat on a chair carved out of a tree stump, looked over, his unsightly eyes settling on me for a short moment before shifting back to the flames.

He’s the one I need to convince. Eyes locked on my target, I moved forward, my legs suddenly stiffening so I walked jerkily. He watched me approach, intrigue in those hideous orbs. When it was clear I was coming to speak to him, a quick bark in his native garble scattered everyone, granting me a wide berth.

I stopped about four feet away from him, and swallowed. “Do you speak English at all?” I asked. Those sickly eyes bored into me, but he said nothing. Clearly not. How am I going to convince him to let Max kill on his land? As I stood there, desperate for an idea to miraculously fall onto my head, the chief’s attention drifted down to my necklace, his brow puckering slightly as if he noticed something. His mouth opened to speak, exposing his rotted teeth. But then, with a quick glance over at our hut, he clamped his mouth firmly shut.

I glanced over my shoulder to catch a snout poking out from behind the curtain of our hut. Max, watching. Always watching.

A female pulled me back, mumbling. Her hands and arms clad in a pair of long gloves, she held out a bowl of small red berries. Up close, I could see they were crafted out of some sort of reptilian skin. Snake, perhaps.

“Thank you.” I smiled, accepting the bowl. Gloved fingers reached forward to pick out a berry. She gestured toward her mouth. Eat, she was saying. “Yes.” I smiled again. “I understand.” If only someone would bring a nice fresh carcass in a bowl to Max . . . That gave me an idea, one that required my mediocre skills at charades. I pointed at the hut, then at the bowl.

The woman nodded as if in understanding. She snapped her fingers and another woman ran over, carrying a second bowl of berries. For Julian. I shook my head. “I mean, yes, for Julian. But what about Max?”

She stared at me “Big dog?” I said slowly and loudly, spreading my arms as far as possible. Still no acknowledgement. I sighed. Placing the bowls of fruit down on the ground, I dropped to my hands and knees and pointed at the bowl. No response. “Woof!” I barked. A chorus of high-pitched shrieks sounded, and I felt my face redden. They were laughing at me. I decided I didn’t care. Max needed to eat.