She slid between the layers, bare thigh forcing his legs apart to rub against him. They fit together in seamless mosaic. The sensual shape of her, the peach roundness of her semi-exposed breast, and the whisper of her lips on his drove him to distraction. Nic woke with a start, gasping for breath, white-knuckled fists balling the sheets. He blinked, disoriented, until a rectangle of dawn-lit blind gained clarity. He dragged upright, belatedly aware of the dampness of his boxers.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he mumbled.
He hadn’t had a wet-dream since he was twelve. The lack of control was kind of embarrassing. And disconcerting, considering the object of desire would rather douse him in acid than share his bed.
Scrubbing eyes blearily, he sought the clock. It was six-thirty on Saturday morning. He’d made it through the dregs of the week, Sasha conspicuous by his absence. The Chem final had been a snap, extra days of study an accidental gift. Of course, forty-eight Arkady free hours should have alerted him to the impending trial. Instead, he leaped from bed, completed a weights session and presented at the stables to help with mucking-out. For the first time in history, Sam had beaten him to it, working a pitchfork with unknown gusto.
“Morning, slug!”
The sunshiny greeting contrasted sharply with the sullenness of the preceding two days. His brother's mood matched the sparkling morning, a light breeze wafting hay, the warm organic aroma of the horses pervading. A small plane droned overhead, many of the farm-folk using them to ferry to and from the city. Nic had taken lessons since he was young, suspended until his exams were over.
He grinned. “You get to call me that after a single appearance? I don’t think so. How many stalls have you done?”
“One and a half.” Sam plucked straw from his singlet, expression superior and cheeks rosy from exertion.
“A fair handicap for a novice. I bet I can beat you by breakfast.”
They made short labour of it, Nic only just besting his brother. The simple pleasure of physical labour and honest sweat in the sun made him feel as if all was right with life; a welcome change from the tension-filled past week. After an extended shower, they re-adjourned in the kitchen.
“Dad?” Nic called. He made for his father’s office.
“Don’t bother.” Sam sat at the bar wolfing cereal. He kept checking the hands of the clock. “Hank and Dad left early this morning to fix the top fence. Apparently, there was a breach.”
“A breach. Maybe that’s how the…” Nic ceased before he referenced the cat. He quickly changed the subject. They’d had a productive morning. Why ruin it? “Are you going somewhere, Welly?”
As if on cue, a truck rumbled to a wheezed halt at the end of the drive, emphasised by the honk of a horn. “Yep. No need to say goodbye.” There came a rap at the door. Sam did not look thrilled.
Nic glared. “Please, tell me that’s not an Arkady.”
Sam’s excitement burst free. “Just for one second, pretend you’re my brother. Not my father, Nic. I’m begging, come and see for yourself.”
The knock grew insistent. Nic gritted his teeth. “Fine. But you explain to Dad why you ignored his request.”
“Definitely. You won’t regret it!” Sam ran for the door.
Nic regretted it instantly. And when the mellifluous tones of Anatoly Arkady’s greeting penetrated the foyer, he regretted it even more. He slouched into the entrance hall, attempting to scrape up courtesy. Their visitor stood with arms extended, as though embracing the world. He gripped an Akubra, wearing jodhpurs, a waist-coat and blinding white shirt. Knee-high boots completed the ensemble. He reminded Nic of an R. M. Williams model.
“Nicholas too! Excellent.”
Sam ran off down the path to where a semi-trailer stretched, its sides belted plastic. A sphinx imprint emblazoned in gold shone from a red background. Behind the truck, the silver convertible idled. An unpleasant dusky aroma of ammonia hung on the air. Anatoly strolled side-by-side with Nic along the path.
“My brother has an active imagination. I’d be extremely grateful if you would not encourage him.”
“Imagination is a fine thing. It is how man conceived to reach the moon.”
“It’s also how we created the atom-bomb,” Nic snapped, surprised by the venom in his voice. “I’m sorry, Anatoly. I didn’t mean to come off so rudely. It’s just, Sam’s been a tad unstable since our mother’s passing. He’s only recently returned to us. You understand?”
“Of course,” he chuckled. “My daughter wears an ankle bracelet. We are… How do you say it in English? Sharing the document?”
“On the same page,” Nic couldn’t help a smile.
Anatoly slapped him on the back. “You will see, Master Nicholas. I mean Sam no harm.”
Nic refrained from elaborating his father’s extensive gun collection, should the promised outcome go awry. A squat, beefy man that had to be Kolb briskly undid belts, rolling the side flap to reveal four large cages in a row. He resembled Beethoven, the underlying scaffold of his face prominent, his metal-grey hair wild. He chose lace-up boots, coupling them with a round-necked shirt and suspenders.
It was as though Nic had dropped into the country-manor fashions of the last century. Torn cut-offs and a ratty tee from a ‘Groove in the Moo’ festival couldn’t compete. The smell intensified. Sam assisted Kolb, anchoring rope with an awe-struck gaze. Only one cage sported a heavy padlock, the high-pitched snarls and hissing from within unmistakable.
Could it be true? Had his brother been talking about actual big cats? The relief was profound. He peered over at Anatoly as they halted at the tailgate, gratitude warming him. Somewhat.
“Are they…” he flapped a hand, groping for words and coming up blank.
“We have a snow leopard. Her name is Anya and she is mild-mannered. Then our jaguar, very shy. Her name is Irina. Everybody’s favourite is Sveta, our cougar. Very playful. Very affectionate. And finally. Katya, our leopard.” Anatoly didn’t provide a descriptor for her. He didn’t need to. The cat’s malevolence permeated through the bars.
“We are licensed handlers of endangered species, who require rehabilitation after idiots find out the hard way they are not merely pretty pets. These could not be placed back in the wild, due mostly to inappropriate temperament and loss of hunting skills.”
Nic detected the underlying omission. “And Katya?”
“Yes. Very astute, Nicholas,” he pursed his lips. “She is a killer of humans.”
“Humans, plural?”
“I am afraid so.”
Nic had paid little attention to what went on around him, so taken by the amazing turn of events, Sveta was out of her enclosure and next to him before he realised. Sam had hold of her lead, guiding her close, beaming. He tickled her ears, provoking a loud low rumbling. Nic froze.
“Look how beautiful she is! Cougars are the only big cat capable of purring,” Sam said.
“Is it safe?” Nic asked sceptically. She was huge, up to his hip, and muscled with liquid brown eyes. One swipe would rip a limb from his body. “Have you de-clawed it?”
“Come! See the rest.” Anatoly moved closer to the other cages, leaving Sam in charge of Sveta.
She slunk next to him, mocking an adored tabby. Everyone was so casual and nonplussed about the massive killing machine in their midst, it seemed cowardly to object. Nic desperately wanted to. His father would have a heart attack at the peril and stupidity of it. This was a wild animal, despite the domestic pretence. As if sensing his disquiet, Sveta sidled closer and nudged him with her broad head.
“Pat her, Nic. She likes you!”
He gagged out a chuckle and fondled its velvety ears, careful to keep his movements to a minimum. Isn’t that what they said to do? The fur was dense, yet soft as chick-down. Nic silently conceded he was petrified, especially for his guileless, overly trusting brother. Sam had the glaze of a fanatic. He was head-over-heels in love and Nic knew they’d lost him.
Above, the leopard’s efforts to get o
ut grew frenzied. It shrieked and threw itself against the bars, fangs bared. Its claws screeched metal, answering Nic’s question. These cats came equipped with a full arsenal. Its neighbours paced edgily and the cougar growled, its shackles bristling.
“Might be best if you hand her over, Sam,” Nic begged.
A car door slammed. Mira shoved through them, relieving Sam of the lead. She issued a tirade in her own language, gesticulating madly at Katya. If Nic got the gist correct, she seemed concerned for the cat’s well-being.
He tried not to notice tight black pants sitting high on the tiny arc of her waist, the tissuey white shirt with black piping, a clinging black singlet underneath. Black boots sat below her knees and she needed only a whip and top-hat to make the perfect ring-mistress to this circus. A single plait swung long, a bowed ribbon at its end.
Anatoly shrugged with a resigned sigh. “She ruins all my fun.”
“Not walk?” Kolb asked.
“Nyet!”
Then another string of what sounded like gibberish to Nic. Mira vaulted onto the truck’s platform with a single fluid movement. It sat at Nic’s shoulder and his jaw dropped at the gymnastic grace and power.
Mira spun and clapped. “Sveta!” she barked and the cat took a run and padded up next to her. The cougar was thankfully back inside in a blink. Mira went to calm the agitated leopard.
“I had intended we walk up to the house, Sam. We shall drive instead.”
“You’re going too, Sam?”
“I’m going to help.” Sam stared at Nic, daring him to say no.
Nic raised his hands in surrender. “You’re the one explaining. Remember?”
“Perhaps, you would accompany us, Nic? You can appraise the pool-house and get an idea of what’s involved.”
Mira uttered something that sounded very much like an expletive. Anatoly glared at her.
“Thanks, Anatoly. I’ve got some errands to run. I’ll come up later and collect Sam. Maybe, take a look then.”
Nic’s efforts to ignore Mira, a mutual activity, became tiresome. He wasn’t used to such open rudeness. And the source of her vitriol remained elusive.
“Don’t get eaten,” was his terse farewell to Sam.
“Never fear, Nicholas. Our cats are very well fed.”
The cat train departed and Nic dawdled inside. In opposition to Anatoly, apprehension simmered. He’d just let his brother skip off into the jaws of doom.
“Interesting display. It’s not every day your boys are a breath from dismemberment. That man plays a dangerous game.”
Nic jumped. “You saw.” His father came out of the study, dismantling a laser-scoped sniper rifle. “I tried, Dad.” Guilt surged. Nic should have done more to stop Sam. He’d let his father down. “They freed her before I’d even had a chance to object. Sammy’s beyond common-sense and Anatoly is encouraging the obsession.”
“You were in the cross-hairs the entire time. If that animal so much as unsheathed a nail,” Jonathon’s voice was ice. “I’d have shot it in the head.”
“Yeah, but we’re down here and Sam’s up there. Who’s watching his back now?”
“You are. You’re taking a hand-gun and not letting him out of your sight.”
Why could Nic not shut his mouth? “Am I shooting Sam or the cat?”
***
Chapter Nine