A Lion's Heart Read Free Page A

throat was a prime trigger for his instincts. He held on, growled, stood over the werelion, and demanded its submission.
    A werelion didn't have any such instincts. It held still, waiting submissively, as it had in the cage, for someone to make a mistake. Shakra did. He thought that he had won. As soon as he loosened his grip, though, the werelion twisted, drove clawed feet into his gut, and threw him off with a powerful shove. Twisting around again, as if he were boneless, he took off running once more.
    Shakra swore, even as he tried to get oxygen back into his bruised lungs, and staggered after him deeper into the forest. He was so intent on his quarry, that he didn't notice the mountain werewolves following behind.
     
     
    Chapter Two
    Nothing could outlast a loping wolf. Unfortunately, Shakra had been confined to city walls and small practice yards. His wind was good, but not as good as his full blooded cousin. Luckily, the werelion wasn't a runner either. He was stumbling and panting early on. It was obvious that the deep forest, with its treacherous roots and undergrowth, was confusing him. When he stopped and flopped down on his side in exhaustion, Shakra was yards away. He cautiously closed the space between them. Shakra didn’t fool himself this time into believing that he had won. The werelion's deadly claws were capable of tearing Shakra open in a flash.
    “I'm not going to hurt you,” Shakra soothed. “I want to help.”
    “He wants to help,” a laughing voice mocked behind him. Shakra whirled, ears going back and his small ruff bristling. His nose caught the scent of mountain werewolves; mountain air, dung campfire smoke, and pine forests. There were five of them, ranged loosely to block any escape back to the city. Their black and white markings made them looked sinister, their black banded faces defying any accurate reading of their intentions.
    “Look, it's a hound,” another werewolf laughed. “Black legs, a black paw... definitely a hound.”
    “I thought we were hunting a prince?” another snickered. “Maybe we should cut this HOUND up for our dinner?”
    Shakra weighed his skill against their numbers. Mountain werewolves were larger and stronger than forest werewolves. They were trained with the sword and often hired themselves out as mercenaries and assassins. Shakra didn't doubt that he could handle one, maybe two, but not five trained weres altogether.
    “My warden will pay any ransom,” Shakra tried, head lowering in shame. He thought about Shang, about what his best friend and guard would say to him when he arrived back at the city as the prisoner of mountain weres.
    “Too bad,” one of the werewolves replied, cutting his hope off at the knees. “The man who wants you dead has paid us already. Mountain weres never double-cross.”
    Shakra backed up, ready to make a run for his life in the other direction. They grinned and tensed, expecting it, tails up and ready to enjoy the chase.
    A body leapt past Shakra towards the werewolves. The werelion, he thought, but the creature seemed to have doubled in size. Paws outstretched and claws extended, it roared, a sound Shakra had never heard before in his life. He crouched to the ground, terrified, trying to make himself small as the reddish brown creature roared again. The sound throbbed through the air and vibrated through Shakra's body.
    The mountain weres were as startled as Shakra. They were all gone in a flash of silver tails, fleeing the unknown. Shakra looked after them, whimpered, and wanted to follow, but his body was trying to melt into the ground to hide.
    Clawed hands grabbed Shakra's arm suddenly and hauled him up. He yelped in panic as the werelion shouted, “Run, hound!”
    The werelion was gone then, his tufted tail and dragging chain trailing behind him as he disappeared into the forest at a run. Not terrifying, not larger than life, but smaller than Shakra himself and weak from confinement. Shakra shook himself all over,