Life went on after that, though the dynamic between Izo and me veered dramatically. I accepted that he was never going to return my love, so my passion cooled and froze. I neither loved him nor hated him, and every time I threw him to the bed or against walls, his reciprocated lust hurt less and less. I started seeing him appear on TV; I watched news reports about his charities, scientific breakthroughs of employees from his sponsored labs, his latest girlfriend, etc.

I made less of an effort to please him, which no doubt irked him to a gross degree, though he couldn't do much about it. I never outright broke his precious rules, just bent them here and there. Missed deadlines, stayed out too late every once and a while. Little things he couldn't really punish without looking like he was overreacting. I suppose you could say it was cowardice, and you'd be right. The way he looked at me while he held that button down still haunted me in my dreams, and I was not anxious to repeat the experience.

This, too, was not unknown to him. I remember him asking me once, as we were catching our breaths, sprawled on his bed, why I didn't just kill him.

“I could hardly stop you in this proximity, or willingly, for that matter,” he had said, chuckling breathlessly.

The question horrified me, for many reasons.

“Because I'm not a savage.”

He had looked sideways at me for a minute or two, shrugged, and told me to suit myself.

It was in the middle of November, my seventeenth year, when Izo finally made his move. He'd played and discarded his pawns, now it was time to move his queen. It was early morning, around four, and I was feasting on my latest kill, a fawn just a few months shy of adulthood.

My breath curled in billowing clouds around my head, combined with the condensing heat from the young animal. I was eating quickly, before its flesh turned cold and unappetizing. Sounds of tearing muscle and a fast wind sprung from treetop to treetop, like squirrels would in the spring. The pine needles shivered and fell to the frozen ground. It hadn't snowed yet this year. The sky was clear, bright moonlight shone into the clearing where I ate. It didn't matter, I didn't need to hide anymore.

I paused for a moment, looked at the sky. Millions of stars glittered in the sky, and tonight the northern lights came to greet Siberia. I chuffed, pleased. Frost had gathered on my fur, so I took the time to groom myself. Returned to devouring my prey.

I heard a soft hoot, a very familiar one. I chuffed again, giving him the green light. Flapping compressed the cold air around me, and I was joined by a flat-faced, Ural owl. He stared at me with eyes that always seemed to be making fun of me while I gorged on my meal. He waited patiently until I was finished, then hopped onto the deer's head and picked at the bones. This was routine when I hunted. Strangely, this brave little bird was the only one who didn't flutter away from me. The first time he had scuttled up to my dead prey like a proud, old man collecting his rightful share, I was too stunned to do anything but watch. Gathering my wits, I nearly knocked him over with the volume of my roar. Birds in the trees had escaped from the tree branches in a flurry of panic, but the owl just hooted indignantly at me and smoothed his ruffled feathers. I had had a mind to swat the thing away, but in the end I just made him wait till I was finished.

After he had his fill, he hopped back to the ground, strutted around self-importantly, and settled between my front legs, snuggling against my . I chuffed endearingly, lowering my head to snuffle around his feathers. He complained at me, nipping at my snout and hooting irritably.

We stayed like that for hours, basking in the moonlight until the sun broke across the horizon. Soon the clearing was filled with a cacophony of bird song, all fighting for attention. Critters flitted from here to there as they awoke and looked for food, insects gathered at the hot spot of meat. I wished them a wild party and rose to set off for the cabin. The owl disappeared into the canopy. I never saw him again.

I trotted off, occasionally marking my territory. I stopped by the main stream in my area, a private little waterfall surrounded with pines and pebbles. I shattered the little crust of ice that had accumulated at the edge and lapped the cold water. I took my time shredding some tree bark. The sun had risen and was riding low in the sky, which was a crispy clear blue. I was already supposed to be back, but it always took longer after eating.

The cabin came into view, and, feeling a bit attached to my alter form, I entered without shifting, making no noise at all. And was instantly suspicious. There was nothing in the foyer, just bare floors and walls. As I traveled further and further into the house, the more frightened I became. There were no decorations, no furniture, and worst of all, no people. I stepped through the door of my room with not a little trepidation. I almost let loose the most ferocious roar I've ever sounded when I found that my room, too, was empty. Everything, gone, except for a pile of clothes smack in the middle of the space. The thigh bone of my biggest prey: a buffalo that had somehow wandered into my territory, gone. My favorite hackey-sac, the picture of me and all my caretakers opening presents last Christmas, the baby blanket I never slept without – all gone. For the first time in my life, I felt cold. This was wrong, and I knew exactly what was happening.

Izo was going to move me to some unknown world. Uproot me. And I hadn't seen it coming at all. No one had said anything or betrayed any hint of secrecy. Not Miko, my Japanese caretaker who could hide nothing from me, or the cook, who hated my guts and would do or say anything to make me suffer. He must've known I would have tried anything to escape if I had had any sort of warning. Now it was too late. Izo would step through my door any minute and tell me we were going away. He would try to make it sound like the opportunity of a lifetime, try to sell the idea to me. His hand would be in his pocket, his finger poised millimeters away from the button, in case I made any sudden movement. He wasn't stupid enough to believe I wouldn't try to kill him, despite my repulsion to murder. I turned and sat facing the entrance. It didn't take long.

I heard him long before I saw him, my sensitive ears picking up on every soft footfall as he walked the length of the never-ending hallway. I kneaded the carpet, trying to keep myself calm. He appeared before me, calm and collected. Wasn't he always? He didn't look at all surprised to see Kisa the tiger. He gave me a toothy grin, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Surprise!” He beamed. “You'll get to see a new part of the world today. I'm afraid they won't let you onto the plane like that, though, so if you don't mind...”

Sometimes I wondered who had most dangerous teeth and claws between the both of us. An angry growl rumbled deep in my chest, reverberating loudly in the room. It wasn't a noise meant to be confined to such a small interior. It was the most threatening thing I'd ever directed towards Izo, and I thought I saw his smile falter for a fraction of a second. But it was probably wishful thinking on my part.

“Kisa, love, don't--”

I silenced him with a snarl. The only reason I wasn't shifting was because I couldn't cry in this form. Before he could break my heart any more I pushed past him towards the jeep I now saw parked just south of the cabin grounds. I heard Izo grab my clothes and follow behind me. There were two men outside the jeep, chatting idly in Russian while smoking cigarettes. They wore crisp black suits, and fur-lined gloves, scarves, and hats. One was leaning on the shiny black door. They both stiffened, and I could see the arteries in their neck pulse furiously. The one with a thin brown mustache dropped his cigarette and ground the angrily with his polished loafer. They were scared, but they were good at hiding it.

“You said we were picking up someone, not something,” he said to Izo tersely. I could hear the click of his teeth when he spoke.

Still grinning his toothy smile, Izo ambled past me, holding his palms outward, trying to convince them he meant no harm. Right.

“Please, gentlemen, what difference does it make if you transport this animal? You'll get your money.” His voice was sickly sweet, like rancid honey.

The man shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“Not for the amount you're offering.”

Izo shrugged nonchalantly. “By all means, raise the price.”

The other man, the one who'd been leaning against the jeep, his lips uncertainly, exchanged glances with the other. He lifted a hand to the Bluetooth protruding from his ear, waited, then spoke rapidly into the phone. I wondered how in the world he had connection. The only reason we did was because Izo was filthy, stinking rich. Like so many things with Izo, this hired help probably wasn't as blue-collared as I'd thought. The man hung up and stepped forward.

“It'll be an extra four grand,” he said with stubborn frigidity.

Izo groaned impatiently. He looked back towards me.

“Do you really need to make this difficult?”

I sat, groomed my paws. He groaned again.

“Fine,” he said, turning back to the men. “Six grand, then.”

The man with the mustache looked to the other for confirmation. He nodded sharply. They signaled for us to wait, opened the trunk, and maneuvered two back seats into the floor. There was a seat for Izo, and enough room for me. We all got in.

I'd never been through a more heart-wrenching experience than when I watched the trees of my home fly by, each kilometer driven leading to sparser woods. When we left the forest into arctic tundra, a part of me stayed with it, and I had an awful feeling I would never recover it. I whined sadly, glad Izo couldn't see any tears. I sank to the floor for the rest of the ride so I wouldn't have to observe the wide open plains that made me feel like an ant under God's magnifying glass.