I woke up, tensing instinctively. Someone– or something– was standing by my divan, their dark silhouette shadowing faintly in front of the closed drapes. Through slitted eyes I caught a faint gleam of light reflecting off of a knife blade held clenched in the figure's hand.
After a careful moment I relaxed and sighed inaudibly. Another assassin. I did not move as the knife was raised, nor when the would-be murderer stepped softly up to the bedside. I waited… until the timing was right.
Suddenly, swiftly, I rolled to one side and sprang lightly off of the cushions, catlike, lunging for my killer's throat. The man didn't even have time to scream. My hands fastened around his neck, and after deftly giving a quick twist, I dropped the body. The satisfying crack! of a broken neck had assured me of the stranger's death.
I stepped back and surveyed my kill, my yellow eyes needing no candlelight to see the damage I had done. For a moment I stood, then crouched down and examined the corpse. He was definitely not Persian, that was for sure. With pale skin and light hair, the man might have been a European—or a Russian. But there was no way to tell for certain what his country was: I certainly couldn't ask him!
The expression on the dead features was of absolute, indescribable horror: he must have caught sight of my unmasked face in the semi-darkness. No doubt his employer did not tell him…I felt a pang of anger and nausea at the idea that a mere glimpse of my features could cause such an agonized look of revulsion on any face. It only lasted for a second, however, before the unwanted feelings faded into the more comfortable—and predictable– senses of contempt and control.
I was sadly lacking in remorse.
The Khanum's drugs coupled with her insatiable demand for violence had long since repressed that particular emotion.
Finding nothing of value on the body, I rose from my crouched position and stretched, returning the divan and staring longingly out the window.
Well, I thought, why not? With no hope or desire to return to my sleep or the nightmares that would inevitably follow, I dressed and slipped out onto the balcony, dropping softly onto the courtyard below. Following the blue Persian tiles out of the palace complex, I turned right at the gates and disappeared into the dark, oppressing jungle.
I was immediately immersed in the rich, heavy sounds of insects and nocturnal animal life. I closed my eyes and smiled. Freedom. At least for a little while. I picked a direction and started walking, breezing past ferns without a so much as a rustle. Suddenly, a leopard jumped down in front of me, about ten feet off. Our eyes glowed in the dim moonlight as we looked each other.
After a minute, the leopard seemed to accept my presence and fell in step next to me. I am just another night-time predator, my mind whispered. Wild, not human. A jungle creature. I believed that whisper. Why shouldn't I? I was certainly treated like one.
We walked in silence for a while, but eventually I knew I must retrace my steps to the palace before the sun rose. I turned and presently the leopard looked back, but only in mild curiosity. It sprang into a tree and was soon out of sight. There was a faint twinge of sadness and, strangely, affection. I had felt more in common with the big cat than I did with any man, even the well-meaning Nadir.
Animals did not judge you.
Animals did not care if you were a monster…