Leopard’s Rage

by Feehan, Christine

  “Wow. This is the master bedroom?”

  He indicated the built-in walkways that looked as if they were shelves that artfully ran the length of all the rooms. They had been cleverly put throughout the house for the leopards to rest on, or use for prowling from one place to another.

  She stroked her fingers along her throat. “It’s a little intimidating. I’m used to my little studio. We always had so many people staying with us that the main house was crowded, so I had the studio apartment for my own. Thankfully, my father kept it for me even when I went away to college.”

  He took possession of her hand and brought it to his lips, biting on the ends of her fingers just hard enough to make them sting before sucking them into the heat of his mouth to take the edge of any pain off. Her eyes went wide. Again, she didn’t pull her hand away from him, only stared at him a little uncertainly.

  “You’ll be safe here. Just take your shower and go to sleep. Don’t wander around tonight. Once you’re in bed, I’ll check on you a couple of times unless you’re a very light sleeper and you think that will bother you.”

  “I’ll leave the door open.” There was relief in her voice.

  He found it interesting that she was more afraid of being alone in the large room with the door closed than with him coming in to check on her. Her leopard was still very quiet. Shturm was prowling close to the surface, eager to be on the hunt, but there was no evidence that Flambé trusted Sevastyan because of the leopards.

  He cupped the side of her face, his thumb gently running over her soft skin. “You’ll be safe here, Flambé. Matherson can’t get to you. I’d never allow that. Neither would Shturm. Go to sleep and let yourself get a good night’s rest.”

  Her dark green eyes searched his for a long time and then finally she nodded. He bent his head and brushed a kiss across her lips. A brief touch, no more. His heart nearly stopped at that touch. His stomach somersaulted. She was potent. He wanted to mesmerize her. To bring her under his spell. She was completely captivating him. Ensnaring him when he hadn’t thought it was possible for anyone to do such a thing.

  He dropped his hands abruptly and turned and stalked out without looking back. It was difficult to keep his hands off her. He’d promised himself he’d give her every reason to trust him, and at his first real test, he was already failing. He would fail. He knew it. She purred the moment she came into physical contact with him. That shouldn’t matter. He should have enough discipline to stay in control, but he didn’t. He couldn’t stop his body’s reaction—or his mind from turning to all kinds of erotic images.

  He waited downstairs, not daring to go up to his bedroom. He’d first had the room painted, carpeted and tiled the way he wanted before he added the other renovations himself. He’d taken his time and added every single thing he might ever want or need and that was pleasing to his eye. He’d done the work himself. He had escape routes for himself, his leopard and especially his woman, should he ever find one.

  He knew he couldn’t allow Flambé anywhere near what was now the master bedroom. If he took her up to his room, he would want her to stay there for the rest of her life. There would be no period of waiting, no getting to know each other. His resolution would be over that fast.

  Sevastyan turned off the lights in the house one by one, as if they were preparing for bed. He left the television on in the living room for a short while and then turned that off. His team would be arriving any minute, coming in through the same tunnel he’d driven the car in. He’d chosen carefully. He had picked men he knew well, those he personally could count on. It wouldn’t have mattered to him before, but now that he had Flambé, that had changed. Before, it hadn’t mattered whether he lived or died. Now he wanted to live a very long time. He had something unexpected to live for.

  Kirill Chernov and Matvei Bykov had been unexpected in his life as well. Both men had been childhood friends when there were no such things. His father, Rolan Amurov, saw to that. If Sevastyan was ever careless enough to show he liked someone, which he often did as a very young child, his father made certain to beat the child in front of him, most times nearly to death. Sometimes to death, laughing the entire time. Sevastyan learned to stay away from other children. Rolan made certain his son couldn’t form alliances or in any way have followers who might someday rise up to defeat him before he was ready to step down from his position as vor.

  Kirill and Matvei had proven their loyalty to Sevastyan over and over, all the while making certain Rolan and his lieutenants never saw the boys talking. They developed their own code, although at first, Sevastyan was distrustful of the offer of friendship. It was Shturm who convinced him the boys and their leopards were sincere in their determination to become his friend. They had witnessed time and again his father and his lieutenants beating Sevastyan and his leopard for trying to protect others in the lair. As they grew up, the friendship only got stronger, and when Sevastyan and his cousins left Russia with prices on their heads, Kirill and Matvei went with them, risking their lives as well.

  Sevastyan knew both men had the same problem with their leopards, that fierce, savage nature that the Amur leopard trained from birth to fight and kill gave them. That made life so much more difficult, adding to the burden of their already edgy, challenging lives as shifters in a world not meant for men with animalistic traits.

  He turned off all the lights and then unlocked the back door separating the garage from his home. The two men would enter the garage directly from the tunnel. The men Franco Matherson had left behind to watch him wouldn’t be able to enter the garage. Even if they did manage to find an entry point, they would set off every hidden alarm and he would know.

  He made his way down the wide hall to Flambé’s room, hoping she had been exhausted enough to actually fall asleep. He didn’t like the idea of her being afraid. He didn’t mind a little fear—but only for the right reasons. Tonight, he wouldn’t be there to comfort her. He could tell the room was too big for her. She had looked around her, liking the beauty of the master bedroom because she was an artist and could see the natural artistry of the space, but for her, it didn’t work. He wasn’t certain why, but those answers would come over time.

  The door was open, she hadn’t closed it, which told him she wasn’t afraid of being with him, and that pleased him. He wasn’t certain why she was able to trust him so quickly, but he was grateful that she was. She would need to. He didn’t think Franco Matherson was going to give up so easily, not with what Drake and Jake had to say about him. Sevastyan couldn’t just go kill the bastard and be done with it, not without a certain risk. He didn’t want to bring that risk to Mitya’s door. Or Flambé’s for that matter. Franco had brothers. In Sevastyan’s world, that meant those brothers would come looking for him.

  He stalked silently into the room, seeing immediately that Flambé wasn’t in the large bed. He used his leopard senses to find her, inhaling sharply. She had a sutble fragrance, one he found particularly pleasing. The combination was of hints of freesia, Moroccan rose and Egyptian jasmine spiced with coriander, cinnamon, cloves and buchu. The fragrance was so subtle it was barely there, but it was particular to Flambé, not a perfume, but natural to her skin. He smelled it in the silk of her hair and he knew when he tasted her, the flavor of the cinnamon and cloves would be there forever on his tongue. Just the thought brought an ache to his cock.

  He found her just inside the open door of the closet. That made him want to smile. He didn’t. Had she been awake, he might have reprimanded her. In a fire, he would have needed to know where she was. For now, looking down at her face as she lay curled up like a sleepy little kitten, barely making a shadow beneath the blankets she had covering her, his heart turned over. She was getting to him in a big way.

  The dim light that recessed into the eaves of the ceiling when the door was open shone down, providing just enough of a glow to spotlight her. Flambé had taken a shower and her hair was still damp. She had braided the thick mass, so the braid was a dark red, a
splash of color against the black pillowcase. In her sleep, and without makeup, she looked younger than she did awake. Her eyebrows were red-gold just the way her lashes were.

  She was a true redhead, with a smattering of freckles on her face and across her arms. She was obviously careful to cover her skin when she worked in the sun, although he thought that being leopard should provide some protection from the bombardment from the sun’s rays. Her hands were small, her wrists narrow. He would have to take that into consideration. He wanted to touch her skin, feel her to see if she felt as soft as she looked, but he had other things to do this night, like make certain she was safe— and send a very strong message to Franco Matherson.

  It would do Matherson good to look him up. To see what kind of family he came from. A man like Franco would immediately want to run to Sevastyan’s father, try to get the bratya to do his dirty work for him, because in spite of the man’s arrogance, he would be afraid. Once he learned who he was really dealing with, what kind of shifter Sevastyan was and what kind of leopard he possessed, Matherson wouldn’t want to come at him fairly.

  In the meantime, Sevastyan would be taking out his pawns one by one.

  4

  FLAMBÉ lay looking up at the ceiling, her heart pounding. She was in the same house with Sevastyan Amurov. What had her female leopard done? She had wanted this, but not permanently. She’d been so out of it. So scared. The attack. The blow to the head. Flamme rising, taking control.

  It wasn’t like she could blame her leopard. She’d been fantasizing over Sevastyan Amurov for months. Who knew his leopard would be the biggest, baddest brute on the planet, ready to fight for a mate? Of course Flamme would try to find someone to protect them. It wasn’t her fault.

  On top of everything else, Flambé had been sexually aroused for the last couple of weeks before Flamme’s sudden appearance. Her skin had been crawling with need. She should have picked someone up and taken the edge off, but she’d been trying to find a way to meet Sevastyan. She’d had her sights set on him.

  She was insane to think she could really be with a man like him—hold his interest for more than five minutes. He was—extraordinary. She had watched him for so long. He hadn’t once seen her. Not a single time. Why would he? She’d been a little mouse hiding in the shadows, too timid to ask for what she wanted. What she needed. She always felt she had too much to lose. More, she had too much to protect.

  The first time she’d ever laid eyes on Sevastyan she’d known he was the one she needed. He was intimidating in the most delicious way. Totally sexual when she didn’t find most men in the least bit hot. Just looking at him from a distance made her go damp. Weak. She knew she shouldn’t be all about sex with him, but she was desperate for real relief.

  She needed sex nearly all the time but she was never satisfied. Never. Then she saw him and nearly had an orgasm from just looking. She wasn’t about to ignore the miracle of feeling true chemistry. Still, nothing was supposed to be permanent. She didn’t do permanent. She didn’t want it or need it or even trust it, especially with a man like Sevastyan.

  She paced for a long time in the room he’d given her to stay in. He was being so nice to her. Sweet, really. He didn’t have the reputation for nice—or sweet. He didn’t look it either. His eyes were as cold as they could get. When they drifted over her, she found herself shivering in both anticipation and trepidation.

  She’d always intended to seduce him. She’d wanted to have sex with him. That had been her intention from the first moment she saw him. But she realized the moment she saw him up close it would be impossible to seduce a man like Sevastyan. He seduced women. It wasn’t the other way around. Now, her leopard had taken charge in her weakened state and tied them to him.

  She touched the lump on her head. She’d been hit a lot harder than she realized and Flamme had taken advantage. That wouldn’t happen again. She couldn’t let her leopard out until she figured out what to do. Her heart didn’t want to slow down no matter how hard she tried to get her breathing under control.

  Her leopard had begun to rise a couple of weeks earlier than she’d admitted to Sevastyan, although she hadn’t recognized what was happening, only because she was always desperate for sex. She’d tried to be satisfied with a man she’d known for a short while. He’d asked her out a few times, but she just wasn’t interested. She’d faked it and that made her feel terrible, especially since he thought they were really compatible, but the sex left her burning for something more. She had a string of one-night stands with human males she picked up in bars, all totally unsatisfying—and horrible. She detested herself, especially when they wanted her number and she refused to give it to them.

  She was lucky enough to get a call from a man named Cain Dufort, who owned a very successful business—a private, exclusive club—and wanted her to come in for a consultation. She would have to sign a nondisclosure agreement, as it was a sex club for clients with unusual tastes. She didn’t care. She wasn’t someone interested in outing others’ personal sexual preferences. She loved her work and if the owner needed work done, she was happy to design whatever it was he needed.

  The job wasn’t outdoors as she first thought. He wanted a beautiful oasis in the middle of his club. His concept was that he would have drinks served in a garden of paradise. It would be glassed in so those relaxing could enjoy the shows taking place in the various rooms if the curtains were open, or they could just talk with their friends while they relaxed.

  Flambé had never been inside a club like the one Cain owned. The moment she was escorted into his office, she knew he was leopard. She recognized the roped muscles and the focused eyes. He carried authority easily, something she reacted to. Even wearing her power clothes, she had to fight against his pull and her natural submission. She knew her reaction to him was caused by the type of leopard she was. She kept her chin up and met his eyes when they talked, not allowing her gaze to stray around to the unusual but beautiful artwork he had in his office. She had glimpsed the pieces as she had entered, and knew they were originals, artwork most likely from Japan, depicting the fascinating practice of Shibari—a rope tying of men and women.

  He had taken her around, shown her rooms where there were all kinds of equipment, things that made her ache inside, made her sex flutter and her panties go damp. He showed her racks of instruments as well as benches and wooden crosses, things she had never seen before. There were ropes of various colors and textures. She worked at keeping her breathing even and her heart from pounding. For some reason, she really responded to the rope. This place was exciting and amazing, when she’d been so certain she would never be in the least bit interested in such things.

  Cain had looked at her speculatively and asked her if she had ever considered any of the practices. She shook her head and answered honestly that she hadn’t. He immediately invited her to come in the evening and watch from his office, where she would be safe and no one would see her or know she was there. At first, she declined, telling him she didn’t think that was fair to the others who were in the private rooms, but he assured her that if they opened the curtains, they were fine with anyone who wanted to observe them.

  She had gone that first night and stayed alone in his office watching the security screens, a little shocked by some of the things she saw, but mostly excited. Mostly sexually excited. Then Sevastyan Amur had stalked in, looking more confident and arrogant than any man she’d ever seen. He was scarred, rough looking and as dangerous as any man could get. She knew immediately that he was a shifter. He commanded every room he went into. Instantaneous silence fell when he entered a room. It was very clear to her that he could have his choice of any woman— or man for that matter—that he wanted.

  She kept her gaze fixed on him as he indicated a woman with a jerk of his head. He wasn’t particularly nice as he pointed to a chair when they entered one of the viewing rooms. The woman removed her clothing and folded it neatly as he stalked over to the wall where a row of ropes hung in neat c
lusters. They were in various colors and made of different types of material. He selected a deep green and an olive color, both ropes looking rough.

  Flambé shivered as she watched him return to the woman. Sevastyan looked like a prowling leopard as he circled her, his muscles rippling in his scarred chest. His trousers hung low on his hips. His eyes glowed a vicious, almost dense glacier-turquoise layer over the deep blue ice of the cat’s eyes. It was impossible to look away from him. He was magnetic. Spellbinding. So incredibly impressive she forgot to breathe.

  He whispered something to the woman, his fingers on her pulse as he moved around her, the rope sliding through his fingers. Flambé was so fascinated her heart began to pound. The woman was nearly swaying as he leaned his head down toward her. Sevastyan was a big man, tall, his shoulders wide, and even though she was tall, he seemed to dwarf her. Flambé knew it was because he dominated the room.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to her knees. The woman knelt obediently. Flambé gasped when Sevastyan grasped her long hair and braided it, weaving it expertly. He shoved the mass over her shoulder and then caught first one arm and then the other, thrusting her forward by putting one hand between her shoulder blades. The woman went down farther, prostrating herself on the floor, so only her bottom was up in the air.

  Sevastyan laid the rope against the woman’s skin with quick, sure confidence. Every knot was tied with that same sureness from her neck to the curve of her bottom, anchoring around her hips. There was no hesitation. He worked fast, laying his lines and fastening the ropes into a piece of beautiful art, as if she were a canvas. That piece was done in the dark green and he wove it back up her body, laying the knots up her front without seeing what he was doing, laying them almost blindly. She could tell he was laying them perfectly as he built the sleeveless blouse for her.

  Standing in front of the woman’s bowed head, Sevastyan suddenly popped the rope, tightening the knots so the entire shirt clamped around her skin. Her body jerked and she cried out, whether in agony or in pleasure it was difficult to tell. The sound was muffled and barely discernable when the audio in the room was only coming over one speaker. It was impossible to hear anything Sevastyan said; he spoke too low as he tied off the rope and picked up the olive-colored one.