Chapter 6
Imogen heaved, back against the door, fighting down utter panic. All week, she’d changed her route to the Brádaigh estate in an effort to avoid this.
He found me.
He thinks—
Heart thundering in her chest, Imogen slapped her hand on her forehead, feeling just how cool and clammy she’d gone.
She’d asked Sorcha about the manticores, of course. It’d been unnerving to hear that Balar, the eldest, didn’t usually chase women down country lanes. Fates—well, it was good he didn’t in general, but bad to hear he’d singled her out.
And even worse still, Sorcha said he’d come back the next day, asking about her.
Horrible.
Imogen had spent years trying to fade into the background. To have no one take notice of her. That he seemed determined to take notice of her only added fuel to the fire of her suspicions that he’d come to some terrifying realization about her.
And now he was on her doorstep, making absolutely wild claims.
Hand over her racing heart, Imogen stepped away from the latched door to stare at it. Maybe she could wait him out. Surely, he’d get bored. There was plenty to occupy her inside—she’d just hunker down here, ride out the—
A cheerful bark on the other side of the door had her cursing under her breath.
Shadow was outside. With him.
Scrubbing her hands down her face, Imogen groaned loudly and with feeling. “No no no, this can’t be right.”
A light knock on the door had her jumping. “Miss Imogen? Are you all right?”
She groaned again, biting her lips together.
After another long pause, she heard a great puff of air, like he’d sighed against the other side of the door. “I’m beginning to worry you may not be as pleased to see me as I am you.”
An involuntary snort of hysterical laughter burst from her nose. Imogen clapped her hands over her mouth and nose, but those apparently sensitive manticore ears had heard.
“Ah, so you are in there,” he said, a definite playfulness in his voice now. “I was starting to think you have an escape tunnel in there somewhere.”
Another mad snort bubbled up her throat, so Imogen shook herself out, from shoulders and arms all the way down to toes and back up. Get yourself together.
“I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you. I only wish to speak with you. It’s important.”
Her jitters sank into a cold knot of dread low in her belly. Oh, she didn’t like the sound of that.
Leaning her forehead against the door, Imogen took a long, calming breath. Be brave, she told herself. Maybe once he’s said his piece, he’ll leave.
Slowly, she cracked open the door to reveal the right side of her face.
There he stood, barely a step away on the other side, taking up the entirety of the threshold and blocking out most of the light.
Shadow panted and whined at his knee, his long pink tongue lolling out.
Not much of a guard dog when it comes to this manticore.
A smile curved his inhuman mouth, those fine whiskers dotting his top bifurcated lip twitching.
Swallowing hard, Imogen opened the door wider.
His gold-green gaze flicked to the other side of her face, and she watched his slitted pupils dilate. A great inhale expanded his triangular nostrils.
Imogen clenched her fist, letting her nails bite into the flesh of her palm. Just get this over with. Then he’d leave and no one would be staring at her anymore.
His smile widened as he held up that infamous feather. It was a beautiful thing, golden with burnished bronze stripes across the upper barbs. She took it hesitantly, marveling at how large it was. From tip to quill, it spanned her hand and forearm.
She looked up in surprise when she heard what sounded suspiciously like a purr emanating from his chest.
“This is a momentous day indeed,” he said, shoulders and wings lifting with pride. “It’s not every day that a man meets his kigara.”
Clearing her clogged throat, Imogen asked quietly, “What do you want with me, exactly?”
He nodded. “Kigara are special, life mates destined for us by the goddess herself. My brothers and I have traveled far and looked wide for such a blessing without any luck—until you.” Here he smiled fondly. “You’ll be pleased to hear they’re all monstrously jealous of us.”
No, Imogen absolutely wasn’t pleased to hear that.
“I know this must be much to think about,” he continued. “Humans don’t have these sorts of pulls and bonds, I’m told. So we can begin how most begin. With names.”
Imogen watched in surprise as the big manticore bent at the waist in a low, elegant bow. His wings extended out on either side of him, each at least ten feet fully spread. She exchanged a wide-eyed look with Shadow. Oh my.
“My name is Balar of the Gurukun, second son of my mother, first son of my father. I have hunted the plains and never broken my spear. I worship the goddess, obey the erēz, and give thanks for my kigara.”
Rising from his bow, he cocked a golden brow expectantly.
Whole face reddening, Imogen stammered, “O-oh, I’m Imogen Ahearn. I…own this land.”
“It is a pleasure and honor to meet you, Miss Imogen.”
They stood staring at each other for a long moment. She got the feeling he expected or wanted her to say something else, but she couldn’t fathom what. Well, all right, she could guess he hoped she’d invite him inside, but that wasn’t happening.
Her cottage was cozy, with a large main room divided into work area, sitting area, and kitchen, as well as a separate bedchamber. It was the perfect size for her, everything in its place. The mess one mistaken sweep of a wing could do—she shuddered to think of it.
With the feather still in her hand, she stepped from the cottage and closed the door behind her.
“Well, Balar, what exactly are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, of course. I realized the moment I saw you that you were my kigara. I regret I wasn’t at my best and ready to meet you.”
Go on, ask it. Lance the wound. “What does this all mean? To you?” She’d asked something similar before but not gotten the straightforward answer she needed.
Thinking for a moment, Balar said, “I suppose what you humans would call courting.”
“Courting.” Just like that. He’d decided just like that, from seeing her for a few moments?
He frowned. “Is that not the word? Getting to know each other. Spending time together so that our hearts may learn to love the other.” Another pleased smile curled his lips. “I’m told there is much kissing and affectionate nuzzling.”
Imogen forgot to breathe for a little too long. Holding down the coughing wheeze that wanted to explode out of her, she hastily put the feather in her pocket and turned to pick up the nearest thing—a large bucket.
“I don’t have time for courting,” she said. “I have too much to do.” It was a flimsy excuse, but what was she supposed to say? I don’t know you and I think you’re half-mad, so get off my land? If only. That might offend him, and she’d seen the size of his fangs already.
“That’s no problem,” he said breezily, bounding up to walk alongside her.
“I’m strong and able. I can help. Meanwhile, you can ask me anything you’d like, to get to know me.
Although…” He frowned again, planting his fists on his hips and pinning her with a serious look.
“Before that, I’d like to know who that man was and why he was skulking around your home. ”
Well, that seemed a safer topic. “Oh, that was Dermott. He owns property a few leagues away. He’s a trapper.
” Leading Balar over to the side of the house, she moved aside a few large pots to reveal the collection of rusting traps.
Balar hissed at the sight of them. “He uses traps like these. He says it’s to preserve the pelt, but it’s cruel. And I think…he enjoys it.”
“Enjoys trapping the animals?”
“I think so. I’ve seen him before just staring at them struggling to get away. He doesn’t put them out of their misery quickly.”
A growl rumbled from Balar’s chest, a sound that had Imogen reaching to smooth her hair over the reddened half of her face.
“There is a difference between hunting and cruelty.”
Imogen nodded before walking over to the animal pen. Chestnut was there to meet her, long ears swiveling with interest at their…guest.
“I’ve seen many animals in this forest with missing tails and paws. I take any traps I find, and the animals seem to know to walk my land rather than his.”
That growl turned into a rumbling sort of purr. A big paw came into her line of vision, resting on the top rail of the fence near her hand. “You have a kind, noble heart, kigara.”
Imogen turned away, out of the heat and curve of his body as he leaned toward her.
“I don’t believe in cruelty.”
“Indeed. There’s no need for it.” Surveying the heap of old traps again, he asked, “Is this Dermott dangerous?”
Imogen snorted. “Only to things smaller than him.”
“You are smaller than him.”
Flushing, she said, “Yes, but I don’t have a pretty pelt.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that…”
Somehow—and it’d confound Imogen for hours afterwards how—the manticore managed to finagle and charm his way into sticking around all day. And he wasn’t just a set of idle hands, either; he jumped in readily to help with her daily chores, making the work go by much quicker.
So quick, in fact, that she had to find things to do in order to keep some distance between them. All the while, with little prompting from her, he regaled her with tales of his life. Growing up in the southern savannahs, coming of age with his brothers, and eventually leaving to head north.
Despite herself, Imogen listened intently. His stories were fantastical, almost too much to believe. It made her own life and world feel…quite small.
She liked it that way. She’d made it that way, small and insular and safe. She had her work and her animals and her cottage. Little. Manageable.
No room at all for the likes of a hulking, gregarious manticore.
Yet, despite being put to work all day and getting little more than Imogen’s usual taciturn nature, Balar waved goodbye around sunset, promising to return the next day for more.
Imogen wasn’t sure she believed him. Or didn’t want to believe him.
What a strange man.