Page 38 of Tiger's Destiny
I elbowed him in the ribs and Ren rolled his eyes, but Kishan ignored us.
“I would have loved to see her in battle,” he continued.
“I think you’re missing the point, Casanova.”
Kishan grinned, captured my hand, and kissed it. “I wondered what it would take to make you jealous. By the way, I’m nothing like Casanova. I’m strictly a one-woman man,” he said.
I looked up and locked eyes with Ren briefly before he buried his nose in a book again.
“The point is,” I continued without remarking upon his comment, “I think we need to prepare to fight Lokesh the same way Durga fought Mahishasur.”
Kishan blinked, and understanding lit his eyes. Soberly, he leaned forward and took my list from Ren. “I think you’re right, Kelsey. Lokesh wants you in the same way the demon king wanted Durga. You’d better let me see those books.”
I handed him a stack while he scooted closer and put his arm around me. Ren left, and after an hour more of studying, my eyes felt heavy. I nestled my head against Kishan’s strong shoulder and just as I fell asleep, I heard him whisper, “I won’t let him have you, Kelsey. You belong with me.”
My subconscious batted his words back and forth until I imagined a different voice saying the same thing. Only then could my mind drift, comfortable at last.
On the fourth day, we began our final quest to find the City of Light through the volcanic island also known as the Pit of Hell. I hoped the place wasn’t as ominous as it sounded.
Nilima flew us to Visakhapatnam, then over the Bay of Bengal, and we finally touched down in Port Blair. A car was waiting for us when we landed.
As we drove through the town of Port Blair, Nilima shared a fascinating story about Mr. Kadam, who had been captured by the native—and once cannibalistic—Andamanese. Mr. Kadam had shrewdly bargained for his life, eventually becoming an honorary tribal member.
I shook my head, smiled, and wondered how many other amazing stories I never got the chance to hear.
We wound through dense trees on a private road. As we climbed a hill I caught glimpses of the ocean and marveled at the bright colors. Finally, breaking through the tree line, we came upon a beautiful luxury villa on the coast overlooking the Andaman Sea.
The interior design reminded me more of Mr. Kadam’s private jet than of the house in India. The villa was austere and decorated in black and chrome with clean lines. The side of the house facing the ocean was made entirely of glass. Each bedroom had a private balcony, and there was a large terrace, a Jacuzzi, and a marvelous outdoor lounge shaded by palm trees. A magnificent panoramic view of the ocean, a white sand beach, and a four-leveled infinity pool was spread before me. It was beyond spectacular, and I knew that Mr. Kadam wouldn’t have settled for anything less—even in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
Near sunset, after I lit a lamp in honor of Mr. Kadam, Kishan kissed me and said he needed to go into town. Nilima too had preparations to make before we could continue our journey. After eating dinner alone, I decided to hunt down Ren, who had disappeared soon after we had arrived.
I finally found him sitting on his balcony. He was leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed. Soft music played, and a cool ocean breeze blew back my hair as I stepped onto the balcony and inhaled the scent of the sea.
“May I join you?” I asked softly.
He didn’t bother opening his eyes. “If you like.”
The moon in the dark sky looked like a giant white plate dipping its edge into the ocean. We sat quietly for a while. I closed my eyes too and listened to him hum along in harmony with the music.
“You haven’t played your guitar in a long time. I miss it,” I said when the song was finished.
Ren turned away. “I fear there is no music left in me.”
I teased, “‘The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.’”
Abruptly standing up, Ren strode across the balcony and settled at the far end of the railing. He leaned out over the side, bracing himself on his elbows.
“I’m sorry,” I said and moved next to him. Putting my hand on his forearm, I touched him lightly. “I didn’t realize you were serious.”
He clasped my hand in his and played with my fingers. “Music reminds me too much of what I can’t have, and yet I can’t stop listening.” He laughed sardonically. “I never understood the connection until you left me and returned to Oregon. I realized then that music was a link to you, a way to keep you close, much the same as my poetry.”
Ren turned toward me and pressed my hand against his heart. “Kelsey, my blood pounds and my heart races when you’re near. I have to make a conscious effort to restrain myself from touching you. From taking you into my arms. From kissing you. I would almost rather be tortured by Lokesh again than be tormented everyday like this by seeing you with Kishan.”
I swallowed and tore my gaze from the handsome man. Instead, I looked at our entwined hands covering his heart. I felt the beat against my palm and fingertips.
Quaking, I whispered, “I’m sorry, Ren,” and slid my hand away.
I could feel the heat and warmth and passion circulate, wrapping tangibly around me. The heat was overwhelming and intense, and my muscles felt about as substantial as warm candle wax.
