Trancing the Tiger (Chinese Zodiac Romance Series Book 1) Page 11

  In the hallway, he snuck inside the first unlocked, empty closet. He couldn’t stop himself—even if the whole world watched—from jerking off.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured her sweet ass and pumped his hand up and down his shaft until the pressure built. Snatching a towel from the shelf, he gritted his teeth as his cock shot thick heavy spurts of cum. He hadn’t gotten off in weeks. Hadn’t ejaculated in months. With Lucy nearby, that should qualify him for sainthood.

  As the last tremors released from his body, he eased his semi-hard shaft back into his pants, grimacing at the release of his jīng—a sexual energy that could be lost through the expulsion of semen. Dammit. He possessed better control than this. He’d had sex hundreds of times—and orgasmed—without ever ejaculating. So long as he didn’t spill his seed, he didn’t release his jīng energy. This practice kept him strong, powerful. In control.

  After discarding the used towel in the laundry bin, he shook his head, pissed. Regret washed over him, muddying the gratification. If he hadn’t woken up, how far would he have taken things?

  And Lucy. She’d been asleep. Fucking asleep. What the hell was wrong with him? Arrows of guilt shot into his chest, reprimanding his body and mind.

  She’d been aroused.

  Yeah, he didn’t need the devil buzzing in his ear. Lucy’s wetness on his dick didn’t mean a damn thing if she wasn’t even bloody awake.

  Tiger chuffed as Sheng spun around and punched a hole in the wall. The sting in his hand helped, but he doubted Mei would be pleased with the new window from the supply closet into the office next door.

  This would never happen again. Even if the Matchmaker’s warning didn’t drone in his ears, he had his own sense of honor to live up to. He would sleep with Lucy. One day. Hell, yeah. But not before he fulfilled his responsibilities. Not before she understood who and what she was. Not before she peered inside his soul. And didn’t fucking run away. Because there was no leashing Tiger when Sheng got down and dirty.

  With Lucy? Damned impossible.

  Most women didn’t notice anything other than his exceptional prowess in bed, but she would. She’d spot Tiger. The last thing he sought was for her to trance while he made love to her. That would bring him to a new low, a shame even his drowned experience with the Matchmaker wouldn’t top.

  He adjusted himself and slipped from the closet, hoping Mei wouldn’t notice the hole for at least a few weeks. Rolling his shoulders, he strode toward the infirmary.

  His ears perked as he stalked to Lucy’s room.

  A whimper? He would have busted into the room, except her soft mewl suggested she experienced pleasure, not pain. He leaned his ear against the wooden door. Oh, yeah. The storm of attraction hadn’t been as unshared as he’d believed.

  Behind this door, Lucy was getting off.

  He suppressed a growl and clenched his fists to prevent them from twisting the knob and helping her finish.

  The squeak of wheels distracted him. Down the hall, an orderly he hadn’t encountered before pushed a cart toward him, her gaze targeted on Lucy’s room.

  He stepped in front of the entrance, blocking it, and stared down the new orderly. Lucy wasn’t done yet and he’d be damned if he didn’t let her finish. Didn’t listen to her muffled cries as her body exploded—

  Okay, too much imagery. Shoving back his renewed arousal, he crossed his arms. The young woman halted ten feet from him and tucked a stray curl of red hair behind her ear. Pretty much every inhabitant of this place displayed some gesture of intimidation near him. Better to shroud a layer of mystery around himself than reveal what was on the inside. Without the Dragon, he’d only ever be half of the leader they deserved.

  Flexing his biceps, he smirked as the woman’s eyes widened in admiration. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth.

  Guess she liked the badass type.

  “I have lunch for Miss Yeoh—”

  A sharp jerk of his head cut her off. No one was going inside this room, not until his Lucy finished what he’d started. Possessiveness warmed through his chest, curling around his heart.

  “Oh, okay. I’ll leave this here.” Her lips curved, her gaze straying everywhere but his, as though he were the piece of meat and she the carnivore. “I’ll be back. Around five.” She winked, bent, and adjusted the linen covering the cart as if he’d appreciate the view.

  Trying too hard.

  He rolled his eyes while she sashayed down the hall. He’d bet Tiger’s tail she’d be getting off tonight, dreaming about him.

  One thing for certain, at five o’clock, he’d be anywhere but here.

  Angling his body, he pressed his ear against the door once more. A soft, high-pitched mewl greeted his ears, rippling through his body like an aftershock, spiking his sated hunger back to its heightened state.

  Fuck. Right now, she’d be all soft and warm, her muscles relaxed. He could ease into her, tearing through the barrier separating them as he plunged into her sex.

  A line he refused to cross.

  Not yet, at least.

  After giving her a minute to recover, he twisted the knob.

  ***

  The doorknob jiggled. Lucy wrenched her hand from between her thighs, squeezing them together as the spasms died. When Sheng had left, she’d just about exploded from the pent-up lust building inside her. It’d taken two orgasms to calm down, and she still ached for him.

  Sheng’s dark locks poked through the doorway first. “You awake?” His gaze roamed over her, dwelling far too long on the apex of her thighs.

  She squeezed her legs tighter. No way could he tell what she’d just done, right?

  His eyes glinted with wickedness. The corner of his mouth lifted as though satisfied.

  Damn him.

  She’d been discreet, biting her cheek, stifling her moans into her pillow. Maybe I’m reading too much into him. He always carried that cocky assuredness.

  He stalked into the room, pushing a cart in front of him. The spike in her libido eased as he parked the cart by her side.

  As she stared at the white linen, her memories crashed back into her. Fighting with Sheng. Being determined to teach him a lesson. Hopping onto his back and him toppling on top of her. The agony in her arm.

  Her focus whipped to said arm. She prodded the origin of the pain. Nothing. No cast, no scar, not even a bruise. What the heck? She shot an accusatory glare at Sheng. “My arm was broken.”

  One of his thick brows lifted. “You only twisted it.”

  Hell no, she hadn’t. “I broke my arm.” She clenched her jaw, grating the words. The sickening snap of bone echoed in her mind, strengthening her conviction.

  “If your arm had been broken, it still would be. Your arm is fine.” His stance appeared so calm, so certain. Setting aside the silver lid, he adjusted the contents of her food tray. Congee, juice, and green, wiggly gelatin. She wrinkled her nose. Hospital food. Yum.

  She drew back, fumbling through her blurry memories. Had she been mistaken? “I thought I heard it break.”

  “Probably the crack from when you dislodged your elbow, but we fixed you up. Nothing to worry about.” His dark gaze prowled over her, mesmerizing her. Was he going to go all predatory on her and send her into a trance again?

  “Oh.” The concession slipped from her lips. Really, how could she counter that? No evidence of a break. Her arm looked normal.

  “Rest. Eat up. We’ll train again tomorrow.” He nodded then vanished from the room as fluidly as he had entered, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  Those treacherous little demons.

  Lucy rotated her arm. Even if she’d only twisted it, she ought to experience some pain, but nope. She poked her elbow, pricking her nail into her skin, and yelped when it hurt. Her arm might be whole, but Sheng had kept the secret of how from her. She’d drag it out of him. Even if she had to do it with her teeth.

  ***

  “You think I’m one of these animals?” Lucy raised a dubious brow. Maybe the incense
was laced with something stronger than jasmine. Sheng had met her to train as promised, yet his definition of training differed vastly from hers. Instead of sparring in the gym, they sat in one of the temples, meditating.

  Or rather, he attempted to meditate while she fired off one question after another.

  “No.” He cracked one lid open and stared straight through to her soul. “You’re not an animal, or a shape shifter, or anything like that. You are one of the Chosen. A host.”

  Host? She wrinkled her brow. That sounded almost…alien.

  “It’s a great honor.” He opened his other eye.

  An honor though it might be, she’d be happier returning this…spirit. “What if I don’t choose this honor?”

  A dark emotion flashed in those black depths. His jaw tightened. “You don’t throw a gift from the Jade Emperor back in his face. Only those who trace their ancestry back to one of the Eight Immortals can become Chosen. Your blood is special, Lucy. You’ve been gifted and you will host the spirit until you die. Which likely won’t be for a long time. We’re very hard to kill but, once we do die, the Jade Emperor sends our spirit animals into a new host.” He cocked one brow. “Do you recall the statues at the Council Chambers? The names on the plaques below them are those of the previous Chosen.”

  She frowned, trying to recall the markings. “Who hosted the Rabbit before me?”

  “Believe it or not, that was before my time.” Sheng winked. “The Jade Emperor usually bestows the spirit at birth, but occasionally at rebirth or mid-life—if the host has earned their Chosen status through heroic deeds.”

  She tilted her head. “When did you—?”

  “I’ve hosted my spirit animal since birth and I suspect you have also. You just needed someone to show you what you’ve probably sensed inside yourself all along. Your destiny.” He tugged open his black dress shirt, revealing the yin-yang tat on his front right shoulder. “Lái Zhīdé introduced this symbol in the sixteenth century. Mine indicates I’m of Iron-Crutch Li’s line.” His finger tapped the tiny character scrawled in the center.

  “Which is mine?”

  “Ah, you’re descended from the Immortal Woman He, Hé Qióng, the same as Mei.”

  Mei? The notion of someone related to her, even distantly, warmed Lucy’s heart. “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” He grinned.

  Rising, she paced the length of the temple.

  “Don’t you ever sit still?” He scoffed. “I never expected Rabbit to be so…twitchy.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’ve waited too long for answers. Which you promised me.” She pegged her hands on her hips and stared him down.

  After a minute, he gave in, lifting to his feet with effortless grace. “Ask away.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip, piecing together the events since she’d arrived in Penang. “If I’m a Chosen like you, why did you growl at me on the terrace that first day? Was Tiger saying hello?”

  “Ah, not exactly.” He raked a hand through his hair, glancing sideways at her. “When you first arrived, I anticipated you to be the Dragon. Tiger and Dragon are yin and yang—the two true leaders of the Chosen. Seeing Rabbit caught me off-guard.”

  Her stomach twisted. “You’re disappointed I’m not the Dragon.”

  His stoic pose confirmed her conclusion. “Was. Not anymore. I’m bloody glad to have you and Rabbit.”

  Awkwardness gathered between them. Sheng cleared his throat. “Tell me what you know of Chinese mythology.”

  A lesson on religion? Well, why not. Anything to ease the tension. Learning she’d shattered Sheng’s expectations by hosting the Rabbit made her question his opinion of her. What their kiss had meant…and where they stood now. She sighed. “The world is ruled by the Jade Emperor. No devil, like in Christianity, but rather a hierarchical system of gods more similar to Greek or Norse mythology. There’s a Heaven and a Hell, which has eighteen levels of torment before the bad souls are reborn. If you’re good, you go straight to your reincarnation.”

  “Good.” He nodded. “In every person, there are three forms of energy—jīng, qì, and shén—the Three Treasures. Jīng is sexual energy, qì is life-force energy, and shén is spiritual energy. These energies can be cultivated and balanced through qìgōng meditation. What else can you tell me about qì?”

  “It’s the energy that flows throughout the universe.”

  “How does it relate to yin and yang?” He folded his hands behind his back and paced the room.

  Guess it’s his turn to shoot questions. “They’re opposing forces in the world. Light and dark. Hot and cold. Male and female.”

  “Not opposing, complementary. One cannot exist without the other. Together, they create balance.” Stray hairs fell across his eyes as he observed her with the subtle intensity she’d come to associate with him. Her fingers curled into her palms, concealing her yearning to brush back those locks.

  Instead, his fingers raked them back as he strode to the altar at the front of the temple. “Here.”

  She peered at the stone tablet he offered her, her lips parting. Mom and Dad.

  Her hands trembled as she accepted the small tablet and the framed picture. Replacing them on the altar, she covered her mouth with a shaky hand and stared. Her parents had opened their seaside bakery and gelato shop when she was seven. The first day, it had poured and they hadn’t had more than a handful of customers. Yet, in this photo, her parents stood on either side of her with the biggest smiles on their faces. It’d been Mom’s dream to own a bakery. Dad had been so proud of her, reveling in indulging her.

  “Where did you get this?” The only copy had been in her luggage, in her apartment.

  “You could just say thank you like a normal person.” He winked as though he found her accusation amusing.

  “Like a normal person who happens to have long furry ears and a fluffy bunny tail, you mean?” She wrinkled her nose. “Or like you? A smartass, thieving, savage—”

  He leaned in, his British accent thick. “I prefer beastly.”

  ***

  Sheng smirked at Lucy’s response to his lips by her ear. Her skin shivered and her cheeks flushed. As she stepped backward, and her expression flustered, he backed off too. Keeping physical distance from her might enrage Tiger, but it’d be better for both of them until she accepted their world.

  The defensive technique had served him well, shifting her focus from the pain of losing her parents to indignation over him scoping out her belongings.

  Grief was an emotion he understood too well. Anger was easier to deal with than pain.

  He handed her a joss stick, mimicking how to light it. “For your parents. Anytime you want, come in here, light one of these, and remember them.”

  The second he explained the purpose of the incense, her keen gaze flicked to the other lit joss sticks. The other three tablets.

  Dammit.

  “Who are these—” She jolted, regarding him with wide eyes. “They’re yours? Your family?”

  Great. Now there were fucking tears glistening in her eyes. Not for her family, but his. For him. It took everything in him to turn away, to not crush her in his arms.

  “There aren’t any pictures.”

  When he didn’t answer, she let her question drop. Thank fuck.

  “I, ah…I saw something. With the Matchmaker.”

  He spun around, one brow lifted. “Did you now?”

  Her hands twisted the fabric of her skirt as she shrugged. “A white paw, overtop my hand. Even if I bought into this,” she waved an elegant hand around the temple, “whole Zodiac concept, though I’m not saying I do, what do you want from me?”

  Clever how she added in that clause of skepticism. He’d been right not to tell her the truth about her arm. She wasn’t ready and he refused to risk Lucy bolting or worse. Baby steps. This wasn’t his first time around the block, introducing someone to their spirit animal. Still, her admission was an improvement. “We’ll join together and seek out the Plague God.
”

  “Who exactly is the Plague God? I don’t recall any stories—”

  “That’s because the myths don’t speak of him. Except once, and that story doesn’t even name him because people are superstitious that addressing the Plague God by name is like inviting him into their homes. We call him Wen Shen. Good news is, he can only ever be released on September ninth. Nine nine,” he added, referring to the month and day. Number patterns had a tendency to acquire superstition in Chinese culture.

  “The Double Ninth Festival?”

  He blinked, impressed she’d heard of the celebration. “Yeah, that’s right. Nine is a yang number, and that date has too much yang—leading to imbalance, the potential for danger and, unfortunately, the occasional release of the Plague God.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Someone released him?”

  “More than once.” He nodded. “The Bubonic Plague in Europe in the sixth century, the Black Death in Europe in the fourteenth century. Cholera in Russia in the nineteenth century, the nineteenth century worldwide influenza pandemic, and now the Red Death. You get the idea. Anytime any jackass released that motherfucker, the world went to shit.”

  “Until the Chosen stopped him?”

  “Yep. Come with me.” He led them out of the temple toward Turtle Pond. “See him?” He pointed to Áo. The largest turtle in the pond, he’d been around since the formation of the world. Legend claimed he carried the islands of the Eight Immortals—Pénglái, Fāngzhàng, and Yíngzhōu—upon his back. Metaphorically, no doubt. He wasn’t that big.

  “Ah, okay. I see him now.” She smiled and stretched her hand upward to, once again, pet the giant turtle. “He’s beautiful.”

  To those who didn’t believe, Áo looked like any other reptile. To him, and now Lucy, he displayed his actual, enormous size—about that of a minivan—and the dozens of intricate Chinese symbols carved into his flesh that radiated a bluish phosphorescence. The monks claimed he used the symbols to travel between oceans, but Sheng had never witnessed him do it.

  “I bet you can read my card now, too.” He plucked one from his pocket and flashed it in front of her.