“Will there be more Hunters coming for me?”

  She nods.

  “I don’t understand why they want to hurt us…” I sob my words.

  “Shh… It’s okay, Allegra.”

  I watch those sparkling eyes, those lips. Energetic scenarios suddenly vault into my head where I’m kissing her, where I’m pushing my tongue into her mouth. My pulse spirals. I’m panting, tingling in new, very new places.

  “You’re shaking…” Olivia says.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering if I’m going to transform due to the stress.

  “Allegra…”

  I don’t open my eyes, afraid of the moment. I take rapid breaths, hoping that these sensations pass.

  Then I get pressure.

  Lips.

  Her lips.

  On mine.

  “It’s not transformation…what you’re feeling… It’s attraction. Arousal.” Olivia’s pupils go wide; her lips part in a soft sensual smile.

  “Is that why I’m…” I blush hard as her hand disappears into my panties.

  “Wet,” she whispers as her mouth moves against mine, making me groan.

  We’re in my room now. Olivia kicks off her trainers, unzips her denims, sliding them down toned thighs. I see the black of her panties against the healthy color of her skin. The sight of her brings on another crushing heaviness in my pelvis that sends a trail of wetness into my panties.

  Olivia presses her lips against mine again, opening my mouth with her tongue. I put my hands on her shoulders as her fingers slip into my panties again. Amongst the heat in my system, there’s another surge…newer, more potent. Almost electric.

  “Oh!” My back arches, knees are about to give way, as she rubs, softly, thoroughly, until I’m breathing in short bursts.

  “Let go…”

  And I do. Muscles seize, blood boils, stars cross my vision. The orgasm is hot, furious, thundering along my every nerve. I bite my lip to stop from screaming out; my eyes are tightly shut, water leaking from the corners.

  “Open your eyes.”

  I do, seeing Olivia taking her shirt off, standing there in a matching black bra.

  Lonely.

  That’s what I’d said.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  We’re on the bed now, Olivia sitting over me, fully naked. She has a tattoo, three straight jet-black lines like a bar code on her hip. I trail my fingers there.

  “A line for each wolf I’ve handled,” she breathes.

  I smile. “That’s nice.”

  She’s wet, really wet. I can feel her warmth on my body. Olivia leans in, taking my erect nipple into her mouth. She teases it, driving me mad. I want to touch her. I want to taste her, but she’s my guide. And as if she can read my mind, she takes my hand, bringing it between her legs.

  “Touch me…” She undulates softly over me, tipping her head back as my fingers slide into her warmth. She lets me have free rein.

  I know what I should be feeling for, but I’ve never done this to another person… Oh… I find it with my index finger; then softly, ever so softly, I caress her clit.

  Olivia’s eyes are closed. Her hands cup her breasts. Short, rough breaths leave her throat. “Allegra… I’m close…”

  My finger slides faster.

  She undulates, muscles catching, holding, then releasing sharply. She’s bolder than I could ever be. Her scream of satisfaction is a wonderful crash against my ears.

  I wake hours later. Olivia is curved in the sheets beside me, sleeping. I slide out of bed, shaking softly. I raid the cooler, eating three bars of chocolate.

  I let out a broken exhale. It’s not enough… I’m going to pop any minute. The French doors… Fresh air might help…

  I unlock them, push, and step onto the deck, the snowy night taking my breath away, but still I jog down the steps. Toes sink into the frozen grass. Flakes stick to my bare body. I hope the multiple pinpricks of cold will distill the volcanic tension.

  Hands reach for my shoulder. Press softly. Olivia. Naked.

  “I’m going to transform…”

  “It’s okay…” She palms my hair. “It’s okay.”

  I take a breath, arching into the heat claiming my muscles. I gasp unevenly, and then I’m staring at her kneecaps. I back off, my chest filling with air, confusion making me whine softly.

  “Easy…” Olivia kneels, holding out her open hand.

  I go into it. Her hand works softly through my damp pelt. She smoothes it back in a caring gesture. I nuzzle her neck, whining softly. If I’d been human, I would have been crying.

  She leads me back into the house, closes the doors, then sets a fire in the hearth.

  We lay together on the rug. Her hand runs through the fur on my back. I lay my muzzle on my paws. She kisses the top of my head. I let out a soft moan. A moan!

  “Welcome back…” she says, smiling.

  I’m staring at my own hands, my own skin. I twist, propping myself on my hip. Her hand reaches for it, bringing me closer. Her lips go to mine, and then travel down my body as she pushes me to my back and parts my thighs.

  “You’re safe…” She plants kisses on the inside of my thigh, then her tongue finds my clit.

  My body fires positively and toes curl. I weave my hands into her hair. I have to ensure that she stays…right there.

  My orgasm is swift, dragged from the pit of my soul as she flicks my clit, teasing it until I cry out with delight.

  “I’ll gladly add another line on my hip if Remis wants early retirement,” she breathes, rising to claim my mouth.

  I smile into the kiss, the heady suggestion setting off bold fireworks within my blood that make me feel like I’ve run for hours. And tomorrow…? Tomorrow, I’ll deal with the threat of the Hunters.

  BOUND WITH BRONZE

  Chris Kouju

  Rain, warm and silky, was misting through the canopies of my jungle the first time I saw her. She was desecrating the sacred tree.

  My claws dug into the soft earth as I watched her in my clearing. Power radiated down her sleek, human body in tremors subtle as sin. Her hair obscured part of the darkening sarong wrapped around her, but I caught glimpses of the garment’s colors, patterned like wet leaves molding on the ground of the rain forest.

  Thick flecks of wood flew as she sent her right hand, shaped into a claw much like mine, scouring across the bark. A bronze bangle, as aged as an ancient promise, enclosed her other hand.

  She and I were the same, after a fashion. Mortal men named her hantu raya, as if by proclaiming her greatness they reminded all other spirits and jin in Malaya how they must be subservient. What surprised me was her kind were usually male. She obviously was not.

  I padded forth from the shadows. “Stand away,” I challenged, baring my fangs. Men have scurried over themselves from me, for the tiger was the undisputed ruler of the jungle, and thus what better shape for a guardian?

  She turned. Dying sunlight reflected eyes an unnatural green, eyes as evasive as the heart of a rain forest.

  Her brows furrowed. She, too, recognized what I was. Her kind might be royalty, but I dared her to ignore the threat of a feline poised to lunge, hot glowing eyes and heavy paws capable of rending heads from necks. “I have cause to be here,” she said.

  “As do I. You are on sacred land.”

  “I was not told a hantu keramat guarded this place. Will you not let me fulfill my task?”

  “Do you not care what you desecrate?” I growled, scattering birds from their branches.

  She glanced towards the scratched bark. “I know that beneath the roots of this angsana, a great scholar of Islam lies buried. I know this man was a descendant of Iskandar Zulkarnain, he who has conquered the world. I know despite his lineage, the scholar remained humble, gaining favor in the sight of Allah, the All Compassionate. Small of stature, weak of body, he is said to have spent tireless days spreading the faith, using the rivers to brave the jungle, to reach the most forsaken of villages.” She smiled at the startled look on my face, and then the smile became cutting. “I care nothing for these things. I do as my master bids.”

  I narrowed my eyes. I recalled the irony of her kind: that although they stood superior over all spirits, the hantu raya served mortal masters. No, she and I were different after all. My kind lived free. “And what bidding is that?”

  She let her arm fall, her paw blurring into the smooth fingers and thumb of a human. Her feminine beauty was distracting, and I wondered at the reason for her shape.

  Careful.

  “A more recent descendant of this scholar offended my master,” she said. “And thus I am bid to destroy this tree, to dig up the bones and scatter them.”

  I sneered. “Then I cannot allow you to do that.”

  “As a lesser spirit, you are obligated to yield to me.”

  “I yield nothing. I wield power of my own. The boundaries I protect are not yours to violate.”

  She frowned, an imperfection that deepened the fullness of her lips. Then she smiled and tilted her head. Hair damp from the rain slid to one bare shoulder. “Brave words. But like you, honored one, I have obligations.” She peered straight into my eyes.

  In that instant, I sensed her mind penetrating mine. Her touch was halting at first, like the caress of a new lover. Then I felt her stroke fingers down my spine, heard the whisper of her voice warm against my ear. I jerked when her lips brushed the side of my neck. She’d not taken a single step towards me.

  “Leave!” I snarled.

  She wrenched her mind from mine, looking startled that I had broken her hold. She laughed, shakily. “Will you not listen to reason?”

  “Be gone,” I said with a fearsome growl, the sound thrumming with disgust and threat and contempt. “Or neither of us will leave unscathed.”

  Something shifted in her face. For a moment I imagined her eyes betraying a human sadness.

  She nodded. “As you wish.”

  The “great spirit” faded from sight, into the shadows.

  The jungle felt strangely empty. I sank to my haunches to steady the pounding of my heart.

  I knew she had to return. Her master sounded like a petty creature, arrogant in his desires.

  I stretched my body at the base of my tree and waited. We of the hantu keramat could be infinite in our patience. It helped that we spirits were beyond mortal needs to eat or mate or love.

  Once I was such a wretched soul.

  I did not miss that time.

  I did not move from my place.

  On the sixth day, she appeared just as the evening, cool and heavy, had stolen the last rays of the sun. A half-moon, outshining the fireflies, hovered above her against that patch of sky visible from my clearing.

  She said nothing, at first, just watched me as if she expected me to follow at her heels. I lay there, lazily defiant. I almost pitied her.

  “Will you step aside?” she murmured.

  “Only if you destroy me.”

  I sensed her frustration, although not a ripple flickered across her face.

  And then she said, “Let me sit with you, then.”

  I tilted my feline head. “If this is some trick...”

  “No trick. You will obviously not abandon your duty, and I shall not dissuade you.” Her eyes sank closed. “I am weary and would rest a few moments before my master sends me on another thankless errand.”

  I should have known better, but found myself saying, “Very well.” I watched her approach me, both of us cautious and spare in our movements.

  She sat on her legs, adjusted the folds of her sarong. We said nothing more, our eyes on the jungle, on everything but each other.

  I was keenly aware of her nearness, her scent sandalwood, a touch of cassia and pelaga spice. And then I felt her stir. My senses snapped awake. This could be it, her moment to strike.

  “Show me your true form,” she said.

  I blinked my eyes open.

  She was leaning far too close to me.

  It took me a moment to remember her words. “Why would I do that?”

  “I am curious.”

  “I am no weaker in my other shape,” I warned.

  “Then there is nothing wrong with revealing it.” She smiled, and my throat tightened. “Or are you afraid?” she teased.

  I leaped to my paws with a snarl. Her eyes flickered wide, alert, as I swung to face her. I gloried in what I imagined was her fear as my tail lashed back and forth, as I let her see the sharpness of my fangs.

  And then I began to change. My forelimbs first; I had to take care everything matched. Fingers and thumbs on the grass, then toes. One forgets, after a while. My fur retreated, I ended up on my knees, back arched, my hair long enough to drift to my breasts. I regarded her with head held high, reckless.

  Her eyes began tracing a line ever so slowly from my face to my collarbone, from my chest to my belly, to the juncture where my thighs met. Her gaze crawled back up. Her lips curved.

  My face turned hot. I readied myself for an attack.

  I was right. She pressed her face to me. Her lips brushed against mine, her mouth soft as the feathers of a nestling bird. It was...pleasant.

  I tugged my head away from her, narrowed my eyes. “If you are trying to—”

  “Be silent,” she said, clasping the sides of my face, to resume this touch, this kiss, the word for it flitting across my mind.

  She smelled like warm rain. Mossy stones from a stream, patterns of afternoon sunlight wandering within the shade. I shivered as her hands carefully combed into my hair, gathered the strands together, stroked up and down the back of my neck as if she were soothing a skittish animal.

  I caught her shoulders and pushed her back. She met my gaze, calm and sure and brazen. She did not look sorry, the impudent spirit.

  I kissed her harder, teeth sinking against her mouth. She didn’t question, giving off a moan as I pressed her against the bark of the tree. At first, it had been play. I’d been determined to prove she would not rule me, no matter her heritage. And now all I could think about was feeling her touch and shoving into the source of my ache. My fingers dragged on the folds of the sarong barely clinging to her skin. She caught my wrists, bit hot into my lips.

  We stopped. Pulled away. For a moment we just breathed, staring at each other.

  And then I released her. “You should go,” I whispered.

  She was still hunched against the tree. Her hands gathered the sarong to her body, and she nodded. She rose and disappeared, leaving me. My uncovered body shook.

  It was only later I realized I did not know her name.

  My name is Zaleha. I knew this once.

  I had stopped questioning how I came to my duty. I simply did. I had murky memories of running alongside paddy fields, of my home amidst shapeless huts beneath the shade of a hundred coconut trees. What was clearer was the scent of the sea, sharp in the air. My feet had been bare, caked with mud, as hard as my hands were now.

  Standing in my sacred clearing, I looked down at those hands. They belonged more to an old woman. With a snarl, I sank back to my paws in the shape of a tiger, mighty and callous once more.

  For the first time in a decade I ranged far from my trees. They were bound to me, as I was bound to them. I would know if something threatened. For now, I felt the need to hunt.

  I sought out Sang Gajah. For some time now his herd of elephants had been ravaging a village’s plantations. I could still feel the echoes of despair rippling throughout the jungle, of the farmers crying out at harvests lost. There was no reasoning with Sang Gajah. There was a bitterness in him. That bitterness was infecting the jungle. Soon it might threaten my clearing.

  It didn’t take long to track the herd to a river. I waited for the bull to dip his trunk into the water before I lunged. The other elephants stampeded away. Sang Gajah trumpeted and tossed me off his head. I rolled across the ground, roared as he charged me. I leaped towards him.

  Afterwards, my entire body bruised and shivering with a human exhaustion, I sank my jaws into his neck. I dragged the carcass, slowly but surely, towards the river. There the grateful pack of crocodiles waited, jaws already agape.

  “You’ve been restless lately,” called a voice above me.

  I didn’t have to look to know who it was. Pak Tua preferred wings to carry out his duty—his sacred place was over the river.

  “Have I?” I sank to my haunches, watching the crocodiles tear at their meal. Blood was still on my tongue. I told myself I was witnessing balance being restored.

  Pak Tua glided down to melt into the shape known to mortals, that of a kindly old man. Instead of weighing down his back with a tottering basket of durians, he let me see the large brown wings of the coucal.

  “A mortal insists on sending his hantu raya slave to destroy my sacred tree,” I said.

  Pak Tua cocked his head. “Ahhh. The chieftain of the coast.”

  “You know him?”

  “He has inherited great magic. His family has several hantu raya at their command. You should be careful.”

  I scoffed. “He cannot harm us.”

  “Can he not?” the old man mildly said. “He has many warriors. Some say his followers swarm like ants. Perhaps someday he might sweep across your jungle.”

  “That changes nothing.”

  He smiled, and I remembered his sacred place—a crumbling temple—was much closer to this chieftain than my jungle home. The threat to him was greater.

  “Pak Tua—”

  He unfurled his wings. “There is something different about you. I like it. It has been ages since I saw you hunt.” His eyes twinkled. “You should see her again.”

  The elder laughed when I snarled at him. I watched him leap into the air with an explosion of feathers, flying around me once before sweeping back toward his territory.

  She told me her name was Aryani.

  She began visiting more. She called them “visits” even though we both knew she had been summoned here. It had become our tradition for her to formally ask that I give way, and for me to just as formally decline. We would smile. Then we would find somewhere to sit—a moss-covered log, or the branch of a giant tualang tree—and spend the remaining hour holding hands. We’d say little, just bask in the murmurs of the jungle, the way the trees and the hidden animals shared a single heartbeat. Sometimes, we’d speak about nonsense things, human things, as I learned the rhythm of her voice.