Tiny and Fierce by Margo Collins (love novels in english TXT) 📗

On the day of the gathering—when she is chosen and marked by the hunters to be taken to the great city for purchase—Kaa wonders if her heart’s desire will finally be revealed or if she’ll regret being so eager to abandon her jungle home. The world of human men is frightening and strange. They take what they want with wild abandon and they have no respect for the planet they’ve stolen.

Sent by their father, the controller of the city, Kane, Caspian, and Ryker must find a suitable Mowgli girl at the market to entertain visiting Earth dignitaries. The three brothers are completely focused on their task—make the purchase, deliver the alien to their father, and then be done with this bizarre planet for good. The trio is set to return to Earth soon and all they want is to be back where they belong.

Until they see her.

BOUND

-SONGS TO SET THE MOOD-

uncut gems – Daniel Lopatin

strange love – Shevonne Philidor

i’ll be – Edwin McCain

starlight – Jai Wolf, Mr. Gabriel

the world is ours – Jai Wolf

found you – Kasbo, Chelsea Cutler

light – San Holo

stars – Skillet

sacrifice – Black Atlass, Jessie Reyez

Listen to the playlist

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Bound: An Excerpt

MOWGLI

The jungle is deep and dark. I know it intimately.

The undulating shades of passing shadows tell me that the woods are alive with my people, the Mowgli. We are spread out, like wildlings, between the trees and moors of our planet. Our cultures consist of small groupings, the structure of our ruling system inelegant and easily shaken.

We did not always live thus. And we were not always called the Mowgli. Long ago—in what feels like such a distant past that it might not be real at all, as if our history is a fabrication and what we exist as now is all that we have ever been—we were the Moo-tu-kie-ling-dua.

Then they came, piloting their great ships down to the surface of our planet, staking claim with a flag of flora-hued colors. Red. Blue. White. They poured out of their crafts—metal beasts, as we thought they were when first they came—like dust motes. So many, they polluted the very air with their presence. They overwhelmed us. They overwhelmed everything.

Our name, our language, our lives were too elaborate for the invaders. And as the conquered often do, my people adapted and accepted. Only the eldest of us still cling to the old ways, refusing to speak in the human tongue, which they call brutal to the ears and baffling to the mind. I was different. I have always been different. I relished the learning of their strange ways and strange words. Their differences, both in body and spirit, were hypnotizing. I stole away books from cargo crates, and I devoured the truth of the strange ones. The humans. I was never caught, though my father would have held such fury had he known I stole away to spy on the human cities.

Once upon a time—as so many of their stories go—we lived in sprawling cities, our little families growing in sparse homes elevated above multi-colored, cobbled city streets. We always embraced the land, growing with it rather than against it. Our energy was harnessed from the four golden suns that grace our sky. They were like gods, bright and shining down on us with infinite wealth. Our buildings were sustainable, and so was everything else. We even communed with the animals as if they were our equals. Because they are our equals, if not our betters. Their ingenuous spirits twined with ours, furthered and enriched our living. We traveled the land on the backs of the Lanai-poi, and they were our friends.

The humans call them horses, but I have seen the pictures of those Earth animals and our beloved creatures are nothing like those hair-covered, four-legged beasts. The Lanai-poi are taller than the tallest of our Mowgli men and they do not have arms; instead, their long manes of ebony tentacles feel, hold, and reach. They are covered in hard-scaled skin to armor them from the frequent attacks of the Jag-lua, the sleek predators that live in the many lakes and streams that riddle the forest floor. The Jag-lua are singularly focused, waiting beneath the wetness for a Lanai-poi to come near enough the water’s edge for a drink. They target the soft spot at their necks, where the armor is thinnest.

But at least the Jag-lua hunt for the purpose of eating. They do not hunt for pleasure. They are part of a cycle that is natural. There have even been tales of a Jag-lua protecting a Mowgli babe from the dangers of the woods.

The Shere-khan are not so. They hunt for the rush of it. They are… Mowgli, but not. They are those who parted from the pride so long ago that they barely resemble our peoples any longer. They are man-hunters, flesh-eaters. They are the only thing to truly be feared in the forest. Merciless. Mad. I will not miss them if I am chosen. But I will miss Baloo, my little brother who still sees the wonder in the world and how life can be lived with the slightest of necessities and happiness still be achieved. He is old at heart and so wise, despite his young age. He is thick as thieves with Bagheera, my intended mate if I am not taken by the humans. My mother says I can do no better, that he is loyal and kind and handsome. And he is all of these things, I suppose—with his ebony skin so deep and glossy that it shines like the black rock on the faraway mountain. Yet, my heart has always pulled me away from the possibility of him.

I sit in a tree now, contemplating tomorrow. The gathering day. Only we girls need fear the date—the noisy approach of the hunters. I do not fear it though, not even the slightest bit. But I am strange, different than other Mowgli.