White Tigress (22 page)

"Your rain is most sweet, Lydiah. And it flows so easily." She heard awe in his voice, even a kind of reverence, but it wasn't enough. She squirmed beneath him, barely registering that he had shifted positions. Where before he had knelt between her legs, now he lay down, placing his face closer to her cave.

"What..." She meant to ask what he was doing, what would come next, but she had no breath, and so she simply closed her eyes, giving herself up to the yin.

"Now, Lydiah. Control the yin now."

She barely heard him, so loud was the rush of blood in her ears. But when his meaning at last penetrated her consciousness, she made one last-ditch effort to corral her thoughts.

And then he touched her. One thumb pressed into the spot above the cave. It wasn't a hard push, but it felt like a bolt of lightning, destroying her control. Then he began to circle his thumb slowly, clockwise, while the yin lava took over. Her body convulsed, surging upward from just that spot. It was as if her entire body were controlled from there. One circle of his thumb, and she became a whipcord of power, flying out of control.

She cried out in shock as power and joy warred for full expression. It was uncontainable—this immense feeling—and her mind went numb from the power of it all.

But it did not end there. Ru Shan's hand slipped forward, holding down her bucking hips. She clung to him, her only bulwark in this tumultuous sea. And as her legs gripped his back, he bent his head.

She could not see what he did, but she felt it. Hot and wet, stroking once then twice in the same first pattern as his thumbs had. She fought to move away from him, needing less, not more. But he would not release her. Instead, he pressed into her, extending inside, then withdrawing. She barely felt it, though some part of her registered his thrusts. Ten of them, in and out.

The stormy yin sea was just beginning to calm when he changed the pattern. This time he pushed not inside her, but above, on that one spot. Ten pulses, each one finished with a tiny circle.

Again the power crashed down upon her, tossing her body about. Her mind floundered, trying to find sanity in this explosion, but there was no safe haven, no place to regroup. These feelings would not be contained, and so she gave up, allowing herself to be carried along into the bliss that awaited.

Over and over the pattern repeated. Ru Shan would return to thrusting into her cinnabar cave, and she would gain breath and strength... but only for a moment. And then his tongue—for that's what he used—would press back to that spot. Ten tiny circles that shattered what little control she'd established. Ten tiny circles that spiraled through her body, convulsing her muscles however they willed while her mind reveled in the wondrous power of it all.

She had no control. Only joy.

On and on and on it went. In fabulous rhythm, in glorious abandon.

No control.

Only circles of bliss.

More!

* * *

She came back to herself slowly, by inches, and with a languid contentment that would have made her smile if she'd had the energy. The most she could do was catalogue her own body and her surroundings with a slow laziness.

She was lying flat on her back, her coarse blanket tucked over her naked body. Beside her lay a person—Ru Shan—his face and body beautiful in sleep. Odd that she had never thought him beautiful before now. Awake, he had too much vitality for her to think about beauty. He was strong. Powerful. Dominant. And oddly gentle. But never anything so passive as pretty.

But asleep, his entire being settled into a most pleasing aspect. His skin turned a kind of golden yellow and his jawline softened to handsome rather than stern. Like her, he was naked, and so she could see the definition of muscles in his upper back and arm. And though the hard cording of his neck did not stand out, she knew it was there, as well as the impressive girth of his shoulders.

She stretched out her hand, wanting to touch him, to feel the pulse of the sleeping Ru Shan. Did it beat gentler now? Or was his heart as thunderous as when he was awake?

She froze, her awareness spinning back to her. Not just of her surroundings, but also of her situation. She was a prisoner. Not just a prisoner, but Ru Shan's prisoner. It made no difference that he was a kind master or that his culture accepted everything he did as perfectly normal. She was still a prisoner.

She had no business touching her master with any kind of tenderness at all. In fact...

And that was the moment she remembered. She remembered just how much she'd touched Ru Shan. And how much he'd touched her. And that she'd wanted him to. That she'd wanted...

So much. Too much.

Why had she allowed it? Because she thought she could become an Immortal? If such a thing existed, it would not happen for her. She would never be able to direct that incredible yin tide. That Ru Shan had come close was a testament to his incredible force of will. That she had even conceived she could do something that he had not attained in years of study was patently ridiculous.

But now she knew the truth. She would never become an Immortal. Not anytime soon, at least. Which meant it would be forever until she could regain her freedom.

It took less than a moment to make the last leap of logic. That last step was to realize her jailor was asleep. Heavily asleep, by the looks of him. And Fu De was still gone. She had become so used to accepting their complete power over her, she had nearly forgotten to look for opportunities.

Her heart began hammering triple-time, urging her to move quickly. After all, the outside sky was gray, not black. It was probably an hour or so before dawn. Fu De could return at any moment. Or Ru Shan might wake. Either way, she had to leave now if she had any hope of escape.

Still, she forced herself to move slowly, easing out of bed. There was little to choose from by way of clothing. Her peasant garb was better than her silk robe, so she quickly pulled that on. The key to both doors—her inner room and the exterior door—was in Ru Shan's clothing, so she quickly searched there, finding the hard metal soon enough.

She was in the act of pulling it from an in-sewn pocket when Ru Shan stirred. He murmured slightly in his sleep and his hand extended, as if searching for her. She quickly dropped his clothing, tucking the key into her palm. She had an excuse ready if he were to wake. She was simply going to the necessary, she would tell him.

But there was no way she could explain having the key to her room. So she waited in tense silence while Ru Shan quieted again, his breath coming in gentle snores.

She had no shoes, but that couldn't be helped. So with silent steps, she crossed the room and slipped the key into the lock. Moments later, she unlocked the front door, moving with increasing speed as she flew down the stairs and out of the tenement building.

From the letters of Mei Lan Cheng

23 December, 1873

Dearest Li Hua
—

Do you remember Mr. Lost Cat? The man the captain brought with him to translate? He IS smarter than I thought, and he has caught me in a lie! I told Sheng Fu that the Mongoose Captain was not interested in our better designs. I did not want my beautiful stitching on the bodies of those smelly apes! But I lied. The Mongoose does want my best work and will pay very well for it.

If Cheng Fu finds out, then he will have me working day and night for the Starving Mongoose! I will never be able to do anything else ever again!

I can already guess what you are thinking. If Mr. Lost Cat caught me in the lie, then Cheng Fu must know. But that is the strange thing. Mr. Lost Cat did not say a thing! Not to his captain or to my husband. But he knows, Li Hua. I could tell by the way his eyes narrowed and he looked hard, straight at me. I turned my head away, hiding behind my fan, I was so flustered. And then everything went on just as if nothing had happened.

Cheng Fu and the captain made their trade—all those bolts of badly embroidered cotton for some English gold and enough opium to last my mother-in-law nearly all year. To be fair, it is not a bad trade, but I still do not like the ghost people at all. I warned Cheng Fu not to give him anything until we were paid. In advance. He called me a stupid woman and would have hit me, but he could not with the ghost people right there.

And that is when Mr. Lost Cat proved he understood. He suggested—in his ugly, halting Chinese—that he and I meet to finish the details. He even suggested such tasks were beneath my husband's attention, and Cheng Fu—the fool—agreed!

Now I am to meet with Mr. Lost Cat alone. Li Hua, I am afraid he will murder me! I know that Cheng Fu will be in the room. I am to see Mr. Lost Cat in the store. It would not be seemly otherwise. But we will be in the back at the old table while Cheng Fu talks with customers. A world can change between the space of two heartbeats. How much more can happen before my husband notices anything that has happened to me?

—Mei Lan

A man's career here is in his own hands, and he makes or mars his fortunes unaided and unrestrained by those petty restrictions of class and caste and the jealous rivalries which are so rife in convention-ridden, sham-loving, Mammon-worshipping England... Here are prizes waiting to be won... All is for the quick eye, the stout heart, the strong will.

—
Edward Bowra, a young junior clerk writing of his hopes in Shanghai

~

Chapter 10

Lydia ran, her heart pounding in her throat. There was garbage everywhere in the tight, narrow streets, but she didn't dare think about what she was stepping through. She moved quickly, barely even stopping to catch her breath. There were signs all around, but they were in Chinese. Thanks to Fu De, she could read some of them—GOOD FISH, HAPPINESS GARDEN, LUCKY FORTUNES TOLD—but they didn't help her find her way.

At last she found a few sharp-eyed boys playing in the street. They were startled by her looks, and two even ran away when she spoke to them. But one stayed, and he pointed the way to the international settlements.

It wasn't far, and soon Lydia merged with the line of domestic servants crossing into the French concession. From there it was a couple of miles to the English district of the foreign settlement, but with her understanding of French, English, and now some Shanghainese, she found her way easily enough.

Not so easy was enduring the frightened stares of the Chinese or the outright laughter of the Caucasians, but she lowered her head and kept quietly repeating Maxwell's address. She had no money for a rickshaw, even if she dared risk one again after her last experience, so she continued doggedly on, wincing with every step on her bruised and cut feet.

She tried to hold Maxwell foremost in her thoughts. She would finally see him. They could at last get married and this whole strange nightmare would finally be over. But even as she kept repeating that to herself, she found her thoughts drifting back to Ru Shan. What would he do when he woke and found her gone? Would he be hurt, or just angry? Would he send Fu De after her? Was she about to be caught again? Or did he understand that keeping her imprisoned was wrong?

She didn't know. She didn't know if she imagined his tender side, the part of him that was learning to accept her as a person and not a pet. Maybe he was just a monster, but she didn't believe it possible. And yet...