The selection made the corner of Sebastian’s mouth quirk upward in a wry, subtle little smirk. “This one?” He ran his fingers over the fabric above the familiar scars the swept from his shoulder down across his chest.
“Real hell-bitch gave me these. Nasty temper. She was the type who left a train of destruction wherever she went, ruined families, ate men alive. Nearly had me, too, when she got her claws in me.
Real gorgeous, though. I mean, I’ve seen dozens like her; India does produce some beauties. Put a couple notches in with her type before, even had a reputation of it, but this one, oh. She put the fucking lot to shame. She was untouchable, and that reputation just made me want her more. Wanted her mine. All mine.”
There’s a moment there, something almost fondly reminiscing if it weren’t for that steel edge in those blue eyes and the slightly too-tight clench of the jaw as he smiles. “The perfect predator.”
“So there I am in the forests of the Umaria district when I see her for the first time as she just… saunters on by up ahead. Doesn’t run. Sees me coming and she’s absolutely fearless while, here I am, left completely breathless when she fixes me with her gaze. Eyes like the sun gone dead; pale gold but as hateful and cold as you could ever imagine. A killer’s eyes. She’s roughly 280 centimetres long, about 95 high, and near 180 kilograms of straight muscle under this gorgeous pelt. Never wanted a thing more than I wanted her in that moment.” He paused. “Just ate, so she stares me down and then she’s gone like a fucking ghost.
I couldn’t sleep the entire night. I tried, fuck knows I did, but you see something that perfect and it’s all you can think about. It consumes you. It’s there when you close your eyes, fills your lungs every time you breathe. It’s all need and cold sweat, heart running erratic, anticipation pooling in your stomach like poison until your body is near sick trying to get it out.” There was another pause as Sebastian considered his words, remembering the long night, restless rolling, tangled sheets.
“It would be suicide to hunt her at night- I knew the forests intimately, but she would know them better. I was in her territory already and going at it when I could scarcely see the gun in my hand would be full on madness. I had to wait until there was enough light to see by, but I was ready. Dressed, rifle cleaned and loaded, knife strapped to my belt, army-issue Sig at my thigh, enough supplies to see me through the night should I be so unlucky … She took a seventeen year old girl straight out of the village that morning just as the sun was breaking. You’d think she was the Champawat Tiger reincarnated with her modus operandi and body count; gave her a good run for that record.
In any case, I was on her trail in minutes of the scream. Out the door like a shot, rifle slung over my shoulder. I wasn’t playing hero, not really, I didn’t think for a moment our damsel in distress was going to survive those jaws around her throat dragging her off into the tree-line and I was bloody well right. The old cat knew I was after her and dropped her kill in favour of speed not far outside the village. Hard tracking an animal on the run, but I wasn’t going to lose her, not again. I could catch flashes on her coat through branches and foliage and you’d swear the bitch was leading me on. Maybe she was. By the time I lost sight of her, I was deep into the woods and all I can hear is my breath, my blood roaring in my ears as I stop. I take a couple deep breaths- you learn breathing exercises when you’re a man behind a gun, and just listen. It’s dead silent. The birds won’t sing when a predator’s close, even the fucking insects were quiet as death. I know she’s close, she knows I’m alone and weak. Easy prey, looks like, after a run like that.
It’s amazing, those moment when your life’s on the line, when it’s you or them and you just might not be the best man in the fight. Everything seems surreal, over-defined, over-saturated, every sense straining to take in every inch of stimulation, process every fraction of input to locate and identify the danger before it becomes fatal. Every nerve alight, your mind so focused on this one moment that everything else before or after ceases to exist. It’s you, it’s them, it’s survival and kill or be killed, and it’s perfect Zen perfect control. The rifle is like an extension of my arm in my hands, another breathing, pulsing part of my body as I skim the forest for her over the barrel. I’m aware of everything; every twitch of muscle, the precise pressure of my finger on the trigger, every heart beat through every inch of my veins, the breath dragging in and expanding my lungs, let out steady and slow, the snap of twigs under my boots, the shift of morning light through trees.
I’m watching. Waiting. Turning at every rustle, every cracked twig and shift of leaves but there’s nothing. And then the fucking bitch springs at me from the trees. Split second correction, sucked in breath, and I’ve pulled the trigger, bullet sinks into her shoulder and affords me the inches I need to get out of the way of being crushed. She yowls like a demon. An injured animal is a dangerous animal and she’s fucking pissed now. I fire again, trying to get the distance between me and those talons of hers that could save my life. It’s hard to miss from a range this close and I get her again. One more shot aimed for the head and she snarls and takes off. I can only be stunned for a second, my heart thundering in my chest before I’m after her again. I’ve got her wounded bad and she’s on the run. I give chase before she darts her way into a drain pipe, one of those big industrial size ones, big enough for me to climb in after.
See- I could leave her now, but she might just end up with a couple scars and be right back in the village with a new vengeance, so I crawl in after her. Taking an unclear shot from the entrance could have some nasty results for the both of us and I want this pelt as intact as I can get it. Sure, it’s vanity, but I’ve already been using bullets to leave as small and repairable holes as I can. The pipe’s too tight for the rifle to be safe and practical, so I strip it and my supplies off, take my knife in after her. She should be in pretty poor shape after a good head wound so I just need a good angle. When I meet up with her in the pipe, it turns out the wounds weren’t as severe as I thought and she’s fit to murder. She sinks her teeth into my helmet and I pull out of it as she near crushes the damn thing. Glances my forearm with one paw, knocks the knife right out of my hand, and then she gets her claws into my shoulder and rakes them down across my chest, right through my clothes. I don’t even feel it at first, just stripes of heat and my brain just fucking shuts down. I’m going to die in this godforsaken tunnel in fucking India, but I’m not going alone. She pins me down and I fumble out my Sig and shoot her right through the heart. Don’t even stop until I’ve fired another two into her and she collapses on top of me.
I’ve got her full fucking dead weight pinning me down in the filthy pipe, making it near impossible to breathe while I’m bleeding out and all I can do at first is stare up at the curve of the pipe. I’m not even sure I’m alive. When I finally get my wits back about me, it takes a good bit to squirm out under from under her. It’s pain and panic and full on manic joy that I’m not fucking dead as I drag my arse out of the pipe. I make it part of the way back to town before a couple of the braver townsfolk catch up with me and take me back. They fish out the hellcat, too, and fix up the pelt as best they can for me while I get hospitalized.
... Damn wounds went septic and she nearly was the death of me after all."
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