Excerpt:
With focused
golden eyes, alert gray ears, and keen black snout, the Mngwa took in his
surroundings.
The prickly
grass under his large, wide paws.
The heat of the
midday sun beating down on his thick black-and-gray fur.
The scent of
mullah bamyah—garlic, tomato juice, minced beef, okra, salt, and pepper.
The four
snarling big cats stalking him.
Scanning each
strong, lithe, and ferocious cat, the Mngwa cataloged their stance, their
position, and the distance between each other and from the Mngwa. They flanked
him, a large cat to his front, rear, and sides. If the Mngwa could smile, he
would have. Foolishly, they thought their numbers a strategic advantage that
would fell the undefeated Mngwa of myth and legend. Instead of a smile, he
snarled, a baring of elongated teeth.
A challenge.
The four cats
attacked, their bestial response to his bait.
Four sets of
paws struck the ground, claws digging into grass and dirt, brawny legs
propelling them forward. Razor-sharp teeth bared, husky growls cut through the
muggy June air, and feline eyes glowed with a premature win.
The leopard
reached the Mngwa first, snapping and going for the bigger cat’s neck. Not
wasting time with the youngest of the four attackers, the Mngwa sidestepped the
snarling, snapping leopard. To only pivot, turn, and ram the side of the
too-slow feline with the Mngwa’s massive head. Away from the Mngwa the leopard
flew, sailing through the air and crashing to the ground several feet away.
The three other
cats spared no pitying glance to the downed leopard, who lay on his side,
breathing labored and ragged. A sure sign of broken ribs.
More growls and
snapping, each cat trying for a different part of the Mngwa’s massive body. The
Mngwa was having none of it, so he went on the offensive. Leaping over the
biggest threat, the Bengal tiger, the Mngwa landed nimbly, then ran straight at
the cheetah. Taking the speckled feline by surprise, the Mngwa powered over the
cat, knocking him down before hauling him up by his scrawny neck and shaking.
The cheetah’s fragile neck was held firm between the Mngwa’s curved
saber-shaped teeth.
When the Mngwa
no longer felt resistance, he opened his deadly jaws and allowed the cheetah to
fall from his brutal clutch and slip, nearly unconscious, to the waiting grass.
Smack. Bite.
The lion and
tiger claimed simultaneous strikes on the Mngwa. A swipe across his
hindquarters and a bite to his side. The lion latched onto the Mngwa, his
lethal teeth working to find purchase in the cat of legend’s winter dense fur
and even thicker hide.
Like the
predator he was, the Bengal tiger charged while the Mngwa grappled with the
formidable lion. A mix of yellow-and-orange with wide dark-brown stripes, the
510-pound tiger landed on top of the Mngwa. His weight hefty, his claws long,
sharp, and dangerous. The maw that threatened his nape even deadlier.
The lion kept up
his offensive, kept clawing, kept sinking his teeth in deeper and deeper.
The Mngwa
roared, reared back on his hind legs, forcing the tiger off him and to the hard
ground. With a side dive, the Mngwa dropped the entirety of his 695 pounds onto
the 380-pound lion. His long, dark mane shot up and out with the force of the
attack.
The downed lion
snapped and snarled but didn’t get up. No, with the Mngwa looming over him,
golden eyes marble hard, paw raised, claws out and within striking range of the
lion’s throat, the feline had only two choices.
One would see
him dead, while the other …
The lion lowered
his eyes, and then his head.
Submission.
Pleased, the
Mngwa shifted his gaze to the tiger, his other senses having tracked the big
cat the entire time.
He knew it would
come down to this—the Mngwa versus the Bengal tiger. It always did.
The big cats
circled, taking each other’s measure. They searched for an opening, an
opportunity to attack with the least probability of an effective and bruising
counterattack. The combatants knew each other well—style of combat, defensive
and offensive tactics.
Speed, size, and
agility were on the Mngwa’s side. Yet, the toxin from an animal no longer than
an inch, the golden poison frog could kill a dozen men. Its tiny size and bright
colors deceiving. Not, at a length of 120 inches and 43 inches of shoulder
height, with a tail just as long, there was anything small about the Bengal
tiger baring his gleaming white teeth at the Mngwa.
The Mngwa
underestimated no one—no matter the outward appearance of the enemy. Even the
cat of legend, if incautious, could taste the bitter tang of defeat. So he
watched and waited and plotted the tiger’s downfall.
The tiger
charged, all muscle and menace. His long, powerful legs ate up the distance between
them, determined copper eyes all for the Mngwa.
The cat of
legend braced himself, choosing to face the big cat head-on. He wanted this
fight, the primal challenge that only a great beast like the Bengal tiger could
give him. A glorious battle of fangs, fur, and claws that would push, force,
and compel the Mngwa to prove his worth, his manhood, his undisputed dominance
as the predator of predators.
Crash.
The ground shook
- the Mngwa and tiger locked in a feral clench.
Biting.
Clawing.
Pulling.
Strong. The
tiger was so strong. But not strong enough.
The Mngwa opened
his mouth wide and clamped down on fur and flesh. The neck of his opponent was
thick with rigid muscles and delicate veins. The pulse of the tiger’s life a
strong, fast throbbing beat in the Mngwa’s deadly mouth.
The tiger whimpered his pain. Neither loud nor
long. But enough, enough for the Mngwa’s ears to detect the effect of his
attack. Yet the tiger fought on, as the Mngwa knew he would. As the Mngwa
wanted him to, the tiger too stubborn, courageous, and fierce to submit so
easily.
No, there was
much fight left in the Bengal tiger.
He swiped at the
Mngwa, vicious claws finding vulnerable underbelly and drawing blood. It hurt,
but not enough for the bigger cat to release his vice grip. The Mngwa sank his
teeth deeper into the side of the tiger’s neck, tasting blood and prideful
were-cat magic.
Her gardenia
scent slammed into his senses seconds before the Mngwa and the tiger were
surrounded by a ring of raging fire. Breaking his hold on the smaller cat, the
Mngwa turned to see an angry fire witch barreling toward them—green eyes cold,
red-gold hair and long striped sundress blowing in a wind that came out of
nowhere. Her deadly focus was all for the Bengal tiger who, unlike when he fought
the Mngwa, trembled with fear.
Lightning
hissed.
Thunder growled.
And fire witch
magic crackled in the blistering summer air.
Dammit, he had
to do something and fast. Retreating as far as he could go within the cage of
fire, the Mngwa propelled himself forward, accelerating when he approached the
heated barrier and jumped. With ease, he cleared the four-foot high ring of
fire and landed, with an oompf, on top of a glaring Sanura.
“I can’t believe
you just—”
He licked her.
From the front ring bodice of her green-and-orange striped dress, up her toned
shoulders and around the tie neck, and into thick hair covering an ear, the
Mngwa tasted his witch.
“Get off me, you
big furball. I can’t breathe.”
Satisfied and
comfortable, the Mngwa nuzzled his witch’s face, neck, and her heaving breasts,
unfazed by Sanura’s angry protestations. The only part of him that pinned the
witch down was his massive head and part of his chest. But, the Mngwa supposed,
even that much weight could be heavy on a woman who, while five-feet-ten-inches
tall, weighed no more than 140 pounds. With a teasing snort that had a lock of
her wavy hair flying upward and out of her eye, the Mngwa decided it best to
give the fire breathing witch some relief.
With a single
thought from Assefa—I’ll take care of our witch, my friend, go to sleep—the cat
gave way to the man. A transformative effect where fur and hide succumbed to
hair and skin, paws and claws shrank to hands and legs, and golden eyes,
muzzle, and fangs retreated, waning under Assefa’s command.
“Is that
better?” Assefa smiled down at his hot-tempered girlfriend, right before
settling the whole of him on top of the whole of her.
Very nice.
Sanura made for the best mattress—plush, lush and with the right amount of
firmness.
“You’re naked.”
A huffed complaint that did nothing to encourage Assefa to move off her.
“Of course. My
Mngwa doesn’t like clothing.” He shifted on top of her, letting Sanura feel
just how naked he was. “He thinks pants are too binding. What do you think?”
She closed her eyes
and shook her head. “I think you need to worry more about that big damn tiger
you were fighting rather than your Mngwa in boxers.”
