Night of the Tiger

Chapter One

Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the entire bedroom for one brief second. A crash of thunder quickly followed, rattling the windows. The long, white curtains billowed in the breeze like some ghostly visitor as the wind pushed through the screen, bringing the damp air with it.

Aimee Horner shifted restlessly in her bed, rolling from her side to her back. The covers bunched around her waist, a silent testament to her growing agitation. Her skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and she shivered as the chill in the night air hit her bare flesh.

But she didn’t wake. The dream was upon her.

Lightning flashed behind her eyelids, revealing a trio of skeletal remains casually leaning against a rock wall, their skin rotted and ripped away from their bodies. Large black ravens swooped around them, pecking what little flesh remained on their bones. Maggots swarmed around their decomposing internal organs and through empty eye sockets.

Aimee swallowed back the scream of terror that threatened to erupt from her throat. It would do no good. There was no one to help her. No way out.

As always, she was alone.

The trio straightened and bowed at their waists as she passed. Their actions were unexpectedly graceful and formal. Like some terrible hosts from a horror movie, they invited her closer.

They held out their bony fingers, beckoning her forward. Their shiny teeth and smooth jaws were locked in a permanent smile, offering a macabre greeting as she entered the darkness beyond. She didn’t want to go any farther, wanted desperately to wake up. But her feet shuffled forward as if propelled by some unseen force.

It was always this way.

Her heart pounded so hard it felt as though it would erupt from her chest at any moment. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, rolled down her cheek and slipped off the edge of her jaw. Clad in only the thin cotton shift she slept in, her feet bare, Aimee inched into the darkness. Evil laughter, mixed with tortured screams, mocked her. Taunted her. Drew her onward.

The air was damp and moldy, a product of centuries of decay and rot. She tried to breathe through her mouth, not her nose, but the stench surrounded her, clinging to her and permeating her skin. She could taste the despair, the rising fear, on her tongue and not all of it was her own. Sweat dotted her forehead, plastering her hair to her skull.

Aimee tried to discern the ground beneath her feet, desperate to see where she was stepping, but it was almost impossible to catch even a glimpse. The darkness seemed intent on swallowing her whole.

Goose bumps rose on her skin as a blast of chilly air swept over her. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A shiver crept down her spine. Someone was behind her.

The urge to glance over her shoulder was overwhelming, like an itch she didn’t dare scratch. She didn’t look back. Couldn’t look back.

She ignored the urge to scream, the increasing pressure swelling in her throat, and pretended she didn’t see the multitude of red eyes observing her every move, stalking her silently from the darkness.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating her surroundings as though it were midday. For a brief second, she saw everything. Grotesque creatures of every conceivable shape, color and size surrounded her. Watching. Waiting.

For what, she didn’t know. Wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Some of them had skin like leather, tough and scaly. Several had horns in place of ears and hooves where their feet should be. One or two had wings of a sort, spread wide, making them appear even larger. There were several no bigger than a dog, while others were at least seven feet tall. Most fell somewhere in-between.

A few of the creatures appeared almost human, until you looked into their eyes. There was nothing human about them then. Aimee closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Those red, soulless, pitiless eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life. Somehow, the human-looking creatures were more frightening than the ones that truly looked like monsters.

She was in some sort of underground cave, her steps leading her downward when what she most wanted to do was turn around and bolt back to where she’d come from. She longed to feel the sunlight on her face and smell the fresh air filling her lungs. Still, she could not go back. Not until she’d done what she was supposed to do.

A sense of knowing came from somewhere inside her. If she didn’t do this now, it would be even worse for her the next time. If she showed any reluctance, the demons would fall on her like a pack of rabid dogs on a chunk of prime meat. She didn’t question her instincts, but went with them, taking a cautious step forward.

The air grew thicker and hotter with each step, harder to breathe. The stench of rotted flesh and death grew more stifling with each passing second. A crash of thunder shook the walls, sending a shower of rocks tumbling to the dirt path in front of her.

A stone bounced off the wall and smashed into her forehead. Aimee stumbled but didn’t fall. Slivers of rock bit into her bare feet as she staggered slightly before catching herself. Locking her knees, she somehow managed to remain upright. Something trickled down her right temple. She reached up and touched her face, frowning when her fingers encountered something sticky and warm. She was bleeding.

Swiping the blood away with her palm, she prayed the wound wasn’t too bad. She had nothing to clean or bandage it with. And there was no help to be found with the denizens of this cavern. She knew they were waiting for her to falter. If she showed any sign of weakness, they would attack.

Something hissed low and long in the darkness. It was a voice, but it wasn’t even vaguely human. Whatever it was, it sounded as though it was whispering her name. She ignored the stink of fear and sweat that permeated her flesh and the sense of foreboding swamping her senses. She ignored the frantic pounding of her heart and the fact her nightgown was plastered to her body like a second skin. She ignored the pain in her feet and head. There was nothing else she could do. Tilting up her chin, she moved forward.

She knew where she was, but didn’t want to say the word aloud. Didn’t dare to. Didn’t even want to think it.

As if someone or something had been reading her thoughts, a deep, compelling voice emanated from the darkness. “Welcome to Hell.”

Aimee froze. She wanted to turn. Wanted to run. Wanted to be anywhere but where she was. But her limbs were frozen in place. All she could do was blink as the owner of the voice came nearer. His feet made no sound on the rocks, but she knew he was getting closer. The air stirred in front of her. Dust tickled her nose.

A wave of pure, unadulterated evil suddenly struck her, sucking the air from her lungs. She’d thought she was as afraid as a person could get. She’d been wrong. Terror swamped her in waves, threatening to drown her. The strong stink of sulfur stung her nostrils and coated the back of her throat.

The other creatures in the darkness shrank back from whoever, whatever, was moving forward. She tried to swallow, but her mouth and throat were bone dry.

Aimee closed her eyes briefly. Bad analogy. Don’t think about bones. Her eyes shot open again as the hideous creatures surrounding her stirred and crept closer with excitement now. If they were excited, it couldn’t be good for her. She wanted to run, but her limbs refused to cooperate. Her brain and body were disconnected. All she could do was watch and wait and pray.

Flames flickered, seemingly in thin air, before jumping to life all around her. It took her a moment to realize that some of the demonic creatures had lit torches. The light swelled, filling the cavern. There was no longer any darkness to hide the reality of her situation, nothing to blanket or soften her fears.

She watched, both terrified and fascinated, as he glided toward her. It was definitely male, this creature that stalked her from the stygian depths of this cursed place. Power and evil combined in a formidable package. The man was simply gorgeous, so physically perfect he defied the laws of nature. There was something inherently wrong with that. Evil should be ugly.

He threw back his head and laughed, and the deep, seductive sound filled the air. The movement sent his glossy black hair tumbling down his back. His jawline was strong, his nose straight, his cheekbones high. He was tall, so very tall. And strong. Dark leather pants molded to his thighs and calves. His chest was bare, revealing rock-hard abs and smooth, tanned skin.

He looked at her then, and her heart skipped a beat. His eyes were as black as the night. No, they were night. The ultimate darkness from which there is no escape. There was no kindness there, no shadow of mercy. Only cunning and power and expectation.

Reaching out, he tucked one finger under her chin and lifted it higher for his inspection. Her skin burned, scorched by his touch, and she cried out in spite of her resolve to be brave. His thin lips turned up at the corners into a cruel smile. “You’ll do.”

A cacophony of noise erupted around her. A wolf howled, a lion snarled and a bear growled. Other animals joined in, their cries and calls echoing in her ears. Above them all came the roar of a tortured tiger.

Aimee slapped her hands over her ears, desperately trying to block out the yowls of anger and pain that clawed their way to the very depths of her soul, beseeching her to help them. The cries were filled with anguish, but worst of all, with hopelessness.

Somehow, she knew these noble beasts weren’t here in Hell. They were out there somewhere in the world, locked in some kind of unending torture. And she knew who was responsible for their suffering—the man standing before her—Hades, King of the Underworld.

Aimee suddenly realized she’d moved her hands. She was no longer frozen in place. Somehow, the lament of the beasts had broken the spell she’d been under. Not taking her eyes off the devil in front of her, she lowered her hands from her ears and took a step backward. Something crunched beneath her foot, but she didn’t look down, telling herself it was stone, not bits of bone from others who had been lured to this place.

She had to escape.

He smiled at her, sweeping out his arms to encompass the creatures around him. “There is no escape, sweet Aimee. Unless I allow it.” His taunting smile had anger bubbling up inside her, shoving aside some of the fear surrounding her.

He wouldn’t allow. This was her dream. Hers. She was in control here.

Like Dorothy in the Land of Oz, she closed her eyes and concentrated on being tucked safely back in her bed. She even thought about clicking her heels together even though she was barefoot and there wasn’t a pair of ruby slippers in sight. Everything went silent and she breathed a sigh of relief before opening her eyes again.

She screamed. Or rather she tried to. Sheer terror tightened her vocal cords, making her scream sound more like the squeak of a mouse. And that’s what she felt like—a small, brown mouse in the presence of a great, hungry cat.

Hades’ cruel smile mocked her attempt to escape. He leaned forward, his breath hot on her face. “This isn’t Oz, and you most certainly aren’t Dorothy.”

Oh, crap, he can read my thoughts. There was no other way he could have known about her Wizard of Oz reference. No wonder he’d laughed when she’d thought that evil should be ugly. He knew exactly what he looked like.

He brushed his finger over her jaw and down her neck, leaving a sizzling brand on her flesh as he went. She flinched, but didn’t cry out.

“So brave.” Lowering his hand, he studied her. “How much courage will you have when the beast comes for you? Will you trade your life for his?”

“What beast?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but the question was past her lips before she could stop it.

Hades shrugged. “Who knows? Only you can decide that. You hold the fate of the beast in your hands.” He wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing tight. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying. His touch burned. A whisper of singed flesh assailed her nostrils. “Such small hands. Weak.”

Cruel pleasure lit his dark eyes. “You will be the new lady of the beast, at least for one of them.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was filled with a cruel expectation that froze her from the inside out. Even the demons ringed around them shrank back at the sound.

“I don’t understand.” There was something important happening here. Something she needed to know. She gave herself a mental shake, dismissing the thought. The only thing she needed to be concerned about at this moment was getting out of this nightmare.

“That’s right,” he crooned as he released her fingers. She pulled her stinging hands close to her chest, cradling them there as he continued. “You just have to worry about yourself. Serve up the beast to save yourself, and everything will be just fine.” Hades leaned down and stared directly into her eyes.

Flames jumped in the depths of his pupils. Or maybe it was his irises. His eyes were so black it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Aimee could see her death reflected there.

It was a horrible, never-ending torture. Her flesh burned from her body, only to regenerate and burn yet again. Over and over, it went on for all eternity. She could smell her scorched skin, hear the sizzle of her hair before it went up in smoke, feel the flames eating her internal organs and continuing on all the way to her bones until all that was left was ash.

“That’s right,” he whispered in her ear like a lover, his hot breath searing the delicate skin. “That is your fate if you don’t give me what I want.” He took a step back and glared down at her. “Don’t disappoint me.”

The air thickened, becoming too hot to breathe. Aimee coughed and began to choke as it filled her lungs. Her head swam and she fell to her knees. Her vision dimmed. Voices filled her head, promising torture and death. She had to get up. She couldn’t stay here. She didn’t belong in this antechamber of Hell.

Desperately, she pushed herself up, only to stumble and fall again. Her hand skidded on the damp earth and her face hit the ground. It was less stifling here, the air not quite so hot. She dug her fingers into the cool dirt and hauled herself forward. It was only a few inches, but it was a start.

It would be so easy to lay her head down on the ground, to just give in to the forces surrounding her, to accept her fate. She could hear the hiss of voices behind her encouraging her to quit fighting, to accept the inevitable.

But Aimee had never been a quitter, and she saw no reason to start now.

Anger washed over her in waves. How dare they do this to her? How dare he do this to her? She wouldn’t even say his name, not even in her mind. She sensed that to do so would give him even more power over her, and she needed whatever edge she could get.

She dug her fingers into the ground and pulled with all her might, ignoring the burning in her lungs and the fatigue seeping into her muscles. Her thin gown was no match for the rough ground beneath her. Fabric tore as rocks and debris dug into her tender skin.

Not that way.

Aimee stilled. The voice was feminine and light. Kind. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back. This was a trick. It had to be.

No trick. Follow my voice.

Even though she didn’t fully trust the voice, she turned toward it. Any chance of escape was better than none. Immediately, a draft of fresh air struck her face. She sucked in a huge breath. The air was sweet. Clean. Adrenaline rushed through Aimee’s veins as she sensed the way out. Grabbing the nearest rock, she hauled herself to her knees.

The demons watched her from their various perches, their eyes glowing with anticipation and hunger. Some clung to stones, others sat in crevices, while two hung from the ceiling, saliva dripping from six-inch fangs.

Why didn’t they attack her?

They can’t. You are the key.

The key? The key to what?

Hurry!

The voice sounded worried, and that was all the impetus Aimee needed to get moving. Digging deep, she found the last vestiges of her strength and pushed to her feet, stumbling forward. She could see the light at the end of the tunnel. See her body still lying in her bed. She raced toward it.

The chant of the demons swelled behind her, almost shoving her onward. She gathered the last of her strength and leapt toward the light, propelling herself forward. Her feet left the ground in a rush and she fell, her body plummeting downward, air racing around her limbs.

Aimee screamed.

She bolted upright in bed, her cry of terror echoing off the walls of her bedroom. Lightning flashed, and for a brief second she thought she saw a pair of red eyes staring at her from the corner of her room by the open window.

Frantic, she scrambled for the lamp on her nightstand. She smacked the base, almost knocking it over. Swearing under her breath, she fumbled with the switch and finally managed to turn it on. The room was suddenly bathed in a soft glow that drove back the shadows.

“It was just a dream,” she assured herself. “Nothing more than a dream. You’ve had them before.”

That was nothing less than the truth. What she didn’t want to admit to herself was they were getting worse, more realistic each time she had one. It was as though she’d been having the same one for months. It just kept expanding, getting longer and more detailed each time she had it.

At first it had simply consisted of a sense of being watched. That had escalated to her being lost in an underground cave. She’d seen her first demon several weeks ago. But tonight was something else altogether. Tonight’s nightmare had topped them all.

Still shaking, Aimee slid her legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. Her gown clung to her skin, and sweat plastered her hair to her skull. Shivering, she stood. She needed a hot shower. Then she needed to strip the bed and remake it with clean, fresh sheets.

Not that she expected to get any more sleep tonight.

Glancing at the clock radio, she sighed when she saw it was just after three in the morning. There was nothing she could do about the time. She’d take a nap later today if she needed one. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The shower beckoned and she stood, praying her trembling legs would support her. She shivered as the cold air blowing in through her open window hit her damp skin. She stumbled to the window and closed it, cutting off the breeze.

Her gaze went to the woods behind her home, silent and dark. Another shiver skated down her spine. “There’s nothing out there,” she assured herself. She’d grown up here. Knew every inch of the house and the land. Damned if she’d let a few dreams make her afraid in her own home.

She tore her gaze away and headed toward the bathroom, wincing as a pain shot through her right foot and up her calf. “What the heck?”

Aimee limped into the bathroom and flicked on the strong overhead light. Her pale face stared back at her from the mirror. Her skin was pasty white, making the scars on her left cheekbone stand out even more than usual. Her green eyes appeared huge, tinged with remnants of fear. But it was the seeping wound on her forehead and the light burns on her chin and neck that froze her in place.

She reached up to touch her face. It was then she saw the red marks on her fingers from where the devil in her dream had held her hands.

“This isn’t possible.” Her breathing grew shallow and fast. Darkness threatened to swamp her, and she began to sway.

“No!” She reared away from the mirror. Her back hit the wall with a thud, and Aimee slowly slid to the floor. She lowered her head, tucked it between her knees and took several deep breaths. No way did she want to pass out. She would be helpless, vulnerable. Staring down at her feet, she noticed they were bruised.

She shook her head. “Impossible. It was just a dream. Nothing more.” As she stared at her feet, the bruises slowly began to disappear. Startled, she grabbed the edge of the vanity and pulled herself upright. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she watched as the gash on her forehead and the burn marks slowly faded away. Her hands returned to normal.

“I am not crazy. I am not crazy.” She repeated the mantra over and over as she turned on the taps in the shower and adjusted the water temperature. When it was as hot as she could bear it, she stripped off her nightgown and stepped beneath the spray.

She shivered hard, her teeth chattering. It took several minutes, but finally the heat began to seep into her frozen flesh, warming her and washing away the remnants of her nightmare.

She didn’t close the shower curtains. Tonight was beginning to seem too much like a bad horror movie. And everyone knew what happened to the heroine in those kinds of movies when she was stupid enough to take a shower with the curtain closed.

It might be cowardly, and a tad paranoid, but there was no way she was letting herself be any more vulnerable than she had to be. It was easier to wipe up the water that spattered onto the floor than to take a shower with the curtain closed.

With it open, the air circulating around her never fully warmed. Aimee didn’t linger. Washing quickly, she soaped herself from her scalp to her feet. Usually, she enjoyed taking a shower, letting the water cascade over her body. But not tonight. Tonight she just wanted to be scrubbed clean as fast as possible.

When she was done, she flicked off the water and stepped out onto the tile floor. The cold seeped into the bottoms of her feet. She grabbed a towel and rubbed it over her wet hair, squeezing out the excess water. When she was satisfied the ends of her hair wouldn’t drip, she wrapped the towel around her body. She grabbed another one off the rod by the sink and began to clean up the mess on the floor.

The mirror was coated in steam, which was fine with her. She didn’t want to see her fear reflected back at her. When the floor was dry, she tossed the wet towels into the laundry hamper. She’d be doing several loads of sheets and blankets later this morning and would throw in the towels as well.

Padding back to her bedroom, she went straight to her dresser drawer and pulled out socks and underwear. It was all plain white cotton and totally utilitarian, but it was comfortable and it matched. There was no one else to see her underwear, so she pleased herself. She grabbed a pair of gray baggy sweatpants and a white T-shirt and finished dressing.

It was only when she was fully clothed that she faced the bed. The sheets and comforter were a tangled mess. She’d have to wash all of it before it went back on the bed.

“Just do it,” she admonished herself. The dream was over. Nothing could hurt her. She refused to believe the wounds she’d seen on her body were anything more than an extension of her imagination. She had a very vivid one. One that helped her make a living.

Images flashed in her brain—the unholy demons, the cave, the skeletons and him. “Damn it!” She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes for a brief moment, knowing there was only one way to free herself from the remnants of her nightmare.

Whirling around, she stomped down the hallway in her stocking feet, leaving the mangled bed behind her. She thought about going downstairs and starting a pot of coffee, but her studio beckoned. She pushed open the door to her office and went straight to her drafting table. A lot of artists used computer programs to create their art. She was no different and used technology for a lot of her work, but when possible, Aimee preferred to do it the old-fashioned way with pencils, pen and ink.

She automatically turned on all the lights before sitting on her stool. The blank sheet of paper called to her, and she grabbed her T-square and began marking out a grid. Her fingers flew as the familiar task took over. She’d done this hundreds of times—no, thousands of times.

Grabbing a pencil, she began to sketch as the story unfolded in her head. “What was it he called you?” She closed her eyes and let herself remember. “Lady of the beast.”

Aimee made a note to do some research later today. For now, she needed to get the details down while they were fresh in her mind. Letting the world around her fall away, she immersed herself in the drawings unfolding before her as her fingers flew across the paper. The cave and all its hellish denizens were soon depicted down to the minutest detail.

The voice of the woman popped back into her head. What was it she’d said? “You are the key,” Aimee muttered. The key to what? Who was the woman and why had she helped?

She kept sketching, letting her fingers fly across the pages in broad strokes. Images tumbled from her mind onto the paper. She didn’t hear the clock ticking on the wall behind her, nor the squeaks and groans of the house as the wind whipped around it, trying to find a crevice to slip inside.

Her fingers began to cramp, and Aimee finally set her pencil down and flexed her hand to work out the kinks. She straightened and groaned as the muscles in her back protested. Blinking, she stared around the room, surprised that it was filled with sunlight.

She glanced at the large, round clock mounted on the wall above her desk and was startled to see it was just after eleven. She’d been working for a little more than seven hours straight. Standing was quite a feat as her muscles were stiff, silently objecting to her ill treatment.

Pages of artwork were scattered across her drafting table. There were more pages on the floor. Aimee ignored them. She knew what was there. As a graphic artist, she was used to drawing the pictures that went with someone else’s story. But this was different. It was the best work she’d ever done, also the most disturbing.

It was pure dumb luck that a comic-company executive had seen some of her sketches hanging in a local gift shop about ten years ago and sought her out with a job offer. Since then, she’d worked with many different writers, helping to create comics and graphic novels that sold around the world. The Internet and her computer allowed her to work from home. That was important to Aimee.

But the drawings she’d created late at night and into the early morning these past few months were not for work. They were personal. She’d decided to create a comic of her own based on her nightmares. “Might as well be of some use,” she told the sketches before turning her back on them and leaving her office behind.

Maybe she’d call it Lady of the Beast. It was catchy and had a sense of power about it. She hoped that by putting her fears and dreams down on paper she’d somehow be able to exorcise them from her life. So far it hadn’t worked, but she wasn’t giving up.

She stopped at the doorway to her room and stared at the mess that was her bed. It was time to get back to real life. Striding forward, she grabbed a corner of her comforter, yanked it off and dropped it on the floor in a heap. She stripped the bed and gathered all the soiled linens, as well as the wet towels from the bathroom, before trotting downstairs.

Not pausing in the kitchen, Aimee went straight to the laundry room and dumped all the linens on the floor. She sorted through them and stuffed a load of sheets and towels in the washer. After setting it to the proper cycle, she padded to the kitchen.

“Coffee,” she muttered as she dug out the can of dark roast from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. Her stomach growled in protest as she filled the pot with water and scooped out spoonfuls of coffee grounds into the filter. She flicked the switch on the side of the coffeemaker and opened the cupboard door as the machine began to gurgle. Her stomach growled again as she searched the near-empty cupboard.

“I’ve got to go grocery shopping,” she muttered, shoving aside a few bottles of dried spices to get to a box in the back. The cupboards were all but bare. They always got that way before she made herself go to town. She’d grown up just outside the small community of Salvation, North Carolina, but she’d never felt as though she were a part of it, had always felt as though she were on the outside looking in.

Aimee grabbed the box of crackers and set it on the counter before rummaging in the refrigerator. A half-empty bottle of ketchup and some mayonnaise long past the expiry date were not appetizing in the least. She gave a crow of triumph when she came up with a jar of peanut butter. There wasn’t much there, but there was enough to spread on the dozen or so crackers she’d found.

After she’d emptied both the cracker box and peanut butter jar, she poured a cup of coffee and sipped the dark brew as she made a grocery list. Opening the refrigerator, she peered inside. It was almost empty and about as appealing as her cupboards.

She dumped a block of blue cheese that she was almost certain was supposed to be mozzarella into the garbage. Several bottles of condiments followed. Her grocery list grew with each passing second. She’d go to the post office while she was in town and check the mail too. She was expecting some art supplies she’d ordered online a couple weeks ago as well as a check for the last graphic novel she’d illustrated.

The nightmare hovered in the back of her mind, but Aimee shoved it aside. With the sun shining in through the windows and the mundane chores of life surrounding her, it was easy to convince herself the happenings of last night were nothing more than a dream.