The Lion Soul by Amy Sumida

Chapter One

My arm fell to the terrace floor, and I lost my grip on the bottle of fae wine. It was nearly empty anyway, so I didn't bother to catch it as it rolled to the edge and bumped against the railing. Beyond the golden bars, the Bellor Sea spread out to the horizon where it met a barrier of mist. Yet another set of bars.

I was trapped in this eternal body, in this eternal paradise. Left to stare at an ocean I didn't dare swim in, my body mass too heavy now that I was a faerie. A Tiger Faerie to be exact. I'd been human once—a soldier—and then I'd made the mistake of being brave.

We're at war with monsters. It's lasted nearly forty years, but I can remember the start of it because I was there. The Farungal, that's the name of the monstrous creatures who want us all dead, started to attack human villages along the coast of Stalana, laying waste to entire communities before we rallied enough to fight back. The Fae have long lived in their portion of the continent, which they call Varalorre, and it's protected by a magical mist that forms a barrier around its borders. They often visited our portion of Stalana, so they quickly learned of our war. Instead of going home and hiding behind their mist, they sent armies of warriors to us—twelve beast armies of shapeshifting Sidhe and twelve Unsidhe armies of several unusual races.

The Sidhe look the most like us, at least when they're not in their giant animal forms, but most of the Unsidhe races are distinctly different, several of them can be terrifying for the average human. So the Unsidhe armies were kept separate, making their camps far away from human settlements, but the Sidhe armies came to our villages and offered to join with us. As I mentioned, there were twelve of them, one from each of the fae kingdoms. Those kingdoms are ruled by Sidhe and so divided by their races—the races being the animals the Sidhe shift into. I was just a young man when the Tiger Army marched into my village and asked for volunteers. My youth made me optimistic and idealistic, all kinds of “istic” things that age frees you from. I wanted to defend my people. Be a hero.

“What a fucking idiot,” I slurred drunkenly and tried to sit up.

I couldn't manage it, so I just laid back down on the chaise lounge. I'd probably lie there for the rest of the day until my steward insisted that I eat. I don't know why he bothered, it wasn't as if I could starve myself to death. But I'm getting off topic.

I joined the Tiger Army and went to war with other bright-eyed boys. The fae taught us how to fight and, in particular, how to kill Farungals. You see, they had a history with the monsters, and they knew exactly how to deal with the poisoned barbs on the Farungals' tails and their venomous teeth. I learned where to strike on their black, scaled bodies and how to incapacitate them before killing them. I learned, and I lost that brightness in my eyes.

I became a killer, but I was still human. I learned to find pleasure wherever I could and cling to my brothers and sisters in arms—the sisters especially. I found solace between silken thighs and in the bottom of bottles. But I never lost hope or that spark of life that drives us onward. Not until the night my warlord asked me to infiltrate a Farungal camp.

The monsters had slithered their way ashore during the night, but we had seen them and our spies had crept into their camp and overheard terrible things. They had a weapon—a curse that had cost many lives to create. It was a potion that their general would drink on the battlefield. The magic needed slaughter to set it in motion and when it was released, it would turn that Farungal general into a god.

My team was supposed to sneak into the camp, just like our spies, except we weren't gathering information. We were supposed to get that potion and then our army could safely attack the Farungals. Except it all went ass-up in the first ten minutes.

We were spotted and had to fight our way out. But brave, stupid Mathias—that's me—decided he'd use the fight as cover to sneak further into the camp. I made it all the way to the General's tent, where I found that fucking potion. But before I could escape, the General himself strode in. I did the only thing I could think of; I drank that evil shit.

Even as I swallowed, I knew I was committing suicide. But, as I mentioned, I thought I was being heroic. I thought maybe someone would remember me and sing a song that made soldiers salute my ghost. You know, some stupid bullshit like that. I didn't think I'd survive long enough—even through that fucking beating the Farungal general gave me—for the Tiger Lord to reach me. But I did, and when he saw me dying, he was inspired to use his precious soul stone to give me a piece of his soul. It was only supposed to extend my life, but his Goddess and her Beast consorts decided I was worthy or some crap like that. They used Derringar's soul to remake my body. I wasn't just given a few extra years, I was given eternity.

They called me a valorian—a man of such valor that the Goddess blessed me by turning me fae. Blessed. Yeah, whatever. She consigned me to prison. She trapped me in an undying body and bound me spiritually to a man who I've come to hate.

It wasn't so bad at first. I enjoyed my new body, which was stronger and, if I'm being honest, prettier than my last. I liked the glory, I admit it, and I really liked my new status, which came with a significant pay raise. But then Derringar—that's the Tiger Lord, or at least, he was the Tiger Lord—started getting weird. I started feeling weird too. You see, when he gave me his soul, we caught a glimpse of each other. Of our souls, I mean. And fuck me if his wasn't beautiful.

Derringar said something similar about my soul, and then began to get a little handsy with me. I knew he was gay, and I had no problem with it. Most soldiers don't care about that shit, not after facing monsters on the battlefield. But he also knew I was straight. Still, he began to insist that I attend him at meals since I was his valorian—a rank that was determined to be just below his. But when I'd go, he'd start flirting in such subtle ways that I wasn't sure if he was or not. The bastard was cunning. And slick. And patient.

And so fucking handsome.

I ran a hand over my face and groaned as his stupid fucking face appeared in my mind. I saw him again as I do every day now, replaying what happened between us. The laughter, the drinking, the easy camaraderie that slipped so slowly into something else. My breath caught, as it does every time I think about him, and I tried to push the memory away. But it was as tenacious as he was, and it bloomed in my mind.

“I can't stop thinking about you,” Derringar whispered.

“Dare, don't.” I drew back. “You know I'm straight.”

“Are you?” He leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “Are you sure?”

That whisper sent tingles running the length of my body. When he drew away, he met my stare and smiled. I had never wanted a man before, never even considered it, but when I looked at him, and his scent hit me—citrus and sandalwood—I wavered. He licked his lips, and it suddenly didn't matter that he was a guy. He was beautiful. Not just handsome, but beautiful. His ebony hair like polished jet, hanging around his shoulders in glorious waves just like a woman's. His lips were plush and plump, as lush as any woman's lips. His eyes, such a startling green, had long, thick lashes that curled up with feminine grace. So what if his jaw was angled sharply and his chest was broad and slabbed with thick muscles. So what if his hands were larger than mine? They still touched me with tenderness. And so what if he had a cock between his legs? He had a hole, didn't he?

Fuck it, I'd said to myself and kissed him.

But when we got to his bedroom, and fell upon his bed, both of us naked, Derringar pulled me beneath him and spread my legs. I started to protest, but he covered me with his mouth, and pleasure combined with drink sent my head spinning. His mouth . . . fuck, I could still remember the strength of those lips and how he stared up at me. But then he'd set a finger at my asshole and spread something called nectar over it. I didn't know it then, but nectar is a lubricant the Fae can summon to their hand. Even without that knowledge, though, it wasn't difficult to figure out what he was preparing me for.

“Dare, I don't want that,” I finally managed to say. “I thought I'd . . . I thought you'd be the one . . .”

“Shh,” Derringar whispered as he crawled up my body and started kissing me again.

He'd lifted my legs as he moved and as he kissed me, he set his finger at my hole again and began to gently slide it into me. Something came over me, this shivering, hot and cold sensation. He pushed deeper as his tongue twirled with mine, and I groaned as pleasure burst through me. He pumped that finger deeper and deeper, easing me open, and then, just when I was gathering my will to stop him, the Tiger Lord reared up and penetrated me.

And I just laid there and let him.

I couldn't stop him. Not with that rapture running rampant through my ass. It was spreading upward to make my cock ache and tighten my nipples and downward to curl my toes. I'd never felt such sublime ecstasy before. And then there was Dare, his face blissful as he shoved his cock into me and his body rolling gracefully. I can still remember the smell of us together and the way he smiled down at me and said . . .

“I love you, Mathias.”

I cried out as the dream concluded and sent me over as it always did. I came in my pants, though I hadn't so much as brushed my cock. I glared down at the stain, then out at the sea. Yeah, it had been incredible, but when it was over, I had started to cry. Derringar didn't like that so much. We had argued and things got ugly. I wanted to leave but wasn't allowed to. He convinced me to go with him to Varalorre to meet his monarchs. I was showered with gifts, including this palace in Sheha, a coastal village in the Tiger Kingdom, and I was taught how to shift and perform magic like a faerie.

But Derringar never backed off. He constantly touched me and pushed me, trying everything he could to get me back in his bed. The pushing just angered me and things got even more strained between us. Words were said; the type you can't take back. The type that haunts a man until death. I asked the King to let me out of my contract, and he did. Then I retreated to this palace and tried to make a life for myself.

But that motherfucker followed me.

Derringar retired from his post as Tiger Lord and bought the palace right next to mine. He said it was to look after me, but there was guarding and then there was stalking. Derringar stalked me. He made it so that I couldn't move on. Every time I brought a woman home, the same thing would happen. A terrible shrieking would come from Derringar's palace, and even though it was far away enough to ignore, his face would come into my mind, and my cock would refuse to perform. It happened so often that I finally gave up on sex and took up drinking professionally.

I've been drunk for nearly forty years now.

And the Tiger Lord hasn't left his post once. He paces his terrace, the one off to my right, angled perfectly to see mine, and watches me all day, peering through the thick plants that crowd both terraces. Fucking Felines. They loved their gardens. In particular, their gardens atop their palaces. Anyway, you're probably wondering why I go outside if he's there? Why not hide in my vast palace or even choose another terrace to drink on? Because when I don't come out, Derringar comes over. He bounds over my wall, into my garden, and climbs the fucking wall to crawl into my bedroom. Then he'll just stand there, panting and staring at me until I grab a bottle and go outside.

“I hate you, you fucking crazy bastard,” I hissed at the faerie who, even now, paced his terrace garden as he watched me.

As if he could hear me, Derringar roared and bared his teeth.

“Fucking Feline,” I muttered, then I passed out.