Leopard’s Rage

by Feehan, Christine

  But if she did, then she’d have to leave a shifter woman with children, one counting on her, out there alone. She’d have to shut down the only underground abused shifter women had available to them because in the end, she’d have to use it for herself. That would be so selfish. She had made such a mess of everything because of her runaway hormones.

  She was disciplined. She could surely figure out a way to fix this without ruining everything she’d put in place. When a shifter male abused his mate, he was more brutal and crueler than could be conceived. She’d seen that over and over. She wasn’t about to let it happen to her, nor was she going to let others down because she had been so careless in a moment of weakness. She’d find a way out.

  SEVASTYAN signaled to Kirill and Matvei to separate. The two leopards went up and over the roof of the house in order to come down on the back side of it to get to the heavier brush where they could more easily conceal themselves. Sevastyan’s leopard, a big brute of a male, a vicious fighter, was scarred and deadly. He had thick white fur scattered with large, widely spaced black rosettes over his head, back, legs and tail.

  In the advance sketches Flambé had sent to him for consideration, she had included plants that would help his leopard blend in with more natural cover. Kirill and Matvei both had larger Amur leopards with the same wider spaced black rosettes, but their background fur was creamier colored rather than a stark white. Sevastyan hadn’t thought in terms of needing cover for the leopards other than the trees and heavier brush. Flambé had included color to match their actual breed of leopards. She had also tried to give them as many varied shades as possible, knowing the leopards, although shifters, preferred the cooler weather.

  He spotted the first of Franco’s spies. The leopard had eyes on the windows of the master bedroom where Flambé was staying. A prickle of uneasiness went down his spine. He turned his head slowly, very carefully, just enough to bring her bank of windows into his sight. No light leaked out from under the privacy screens. What had attracted the spy’s attention? He waited a heartbeat. Two. It wasn’t that he saw movement behind those screens. He sensed it. Flambé wasn’t fast asleep in the closet. She was up and moving in that room.

  Cursing under his breath to himself, Sevastyan took advantage of the spy’s inattention to his surroundings and began a freeze-frame stalking. It was a slow process, but he was moving out into the open behind the leopard. At any moment the other cat might turn its head and see him, but the closer Sevastyan got, the more of an advantage he would have. He wanted to get this kill over fast so he had more time for the next. The longer it took before the others knew they were being hunted, the easier it would be for him and his men.

  The leopard lifted its head, stretching its neck high toward the house, testing the air. Sevastyan rushed the last few feet and was on the other cat, slamming his weight down hard on the spine while he sank his teeth into the throat, driving deep for the killing bite. The spy desperately tried to throw him off, bucking and throwing himself to the ground, trying to roll, but Shturm was an extremely heavy leopard, all roped muscle, an experienced killing machine, and he never once let up with the suffocating bite.

  The leopard was gone fast, faster than Shturm was happy with, so it took a few minutes before Sevastyan could regain control of him. They had to drag the body into the brush so none of the enemies could spot the carcass. He didn’t want any of the men on his land to escape or communicate with Franco in any way. He wanted them just to disappear. Franco would wonder if Sevastyan had found them and killed them, but his ego wouldn’t allow him to believe that he could do so. Then his conspiracy-theory mind would kick in and he’d begin to think his men had deserted him. Their disappearance would drive him crazy, even when his brothers pointed out the obvious to him, that Sevastyan was from a criminal family and of course he’d killed all of Franco’s men.

  They were leopard and the carcasses had to be burned so there was no chance of their bodies being discovered. All shifters were careful about that law. It mattered little if they were rogue or decent, they protected what was left of their species, although Sevastyan did wonder about men like Franco.

  Shturm dragged the dead leopard into the heavier brush and kicked leaves and dirt around it in disgust before he crouched low, waiting for Kirill and Matvei. The two leopards joined him and then all three moved into the thicker grove of trees where three of Franco’s men were secreted high in the branches watching the house a good distance away.

  Sevastyan had spotted one of the leopards from his second-story window a few hours earlier. The animal had paced on the tree limb several times, unused to staying in one position for very long. By the time he’d been in his early teens, Sevastyan and his leopard had learned the importance of being absolutely still for hours. The consequences to both animal and human if either made the mistake by so much as shrugging a shoulder or easing a cramping muscle had been a severe beating. Consequently, both were adept at disappearing into the shadows, or in many cases, right out in the open without being spotted.

  It had taken longer to find the other two animals hidden in the branches of the trees. Sevastyan had slipped out onto his roof and, stretching out in a prone position in one of the indentations beneath the newly built shelters he had constructed for just such a purpose, he patiently watched for his prey.

  Eventually another leopard gave himself away by swishing his tail. It was the only movement, but it was enough to disturb the leaves, drawing Sevastyan’s attention. He marked the position of the tree and the branch and then began to calculate the position another leopard might be in based on where the first two in the trees were.

  Sevastyan had remodeled a good deal of the Dover home for security purposes, paying close attention to the roof and the surroundings. The roof had been problematic when they had been protecting Ania. He didn’t want the same difficulties if he was attacked in his home. He had changed the angles on the roofline as well as added places where he—or a sentry—could get into position without being seen and study their enemy.

  He backed down the pitched side of the roof where the leopards in the trees couldn’t see him from their angle and then made his way back up to the western surveillance indentations. That’s when he’d spotted the third cat. This one spent time raking the tree, standing as high up in the top of the tree as possible, making certain to leave his mark, as if Sevastyan’s cat wouldn’t notice with him being in the branches.

  Now, the three Amur leopards made their way silently through the woods, fur not so much as whispering along the leaves as they passed through the brush. Their large paws didn’t snap twigs or downed branches as they walked through the vegetation toward the three separate trees, each a distance from one another. They were independent predators, yet used to coordinating their hunts.

  It was no surprise to Sevastyan that Shturm made it clear to Kirill’s and Matvei’s leopards that he was stalking his enemy, the “raker.” He considered the leopard disrespectful. This property was Shturm’s territory, clearly marked. The female was his, clearly claimed. Any male marking on his trees was challenging him, even if they were coward enough to hide their challenge in the trees where they hoped he wouldn’t see. He had seen and he was coming for the leopard. Matvei and Kirill could take the other two leopards.

  Franco had originally left six watchers behind, but while Sevastyan was out with Flambé, Matherson had pulled two of his men back. The cameras had caught two of them leaving after a brief exchange on their cell phones. Jeremiah Wheating, one of the youngest of the bodyguards in the Amurovs’ employment, had tracked them back to where Franco Matherson was staying in his rented mansion.

  Wheating originally worked for Drake Donovan and then was employed by Fyodor. They moved him around quite often because they all liked him a little too much and he was a pain. He was too intelligent and wanted everything too fast. He was particularly close to Ashe, Timur’s wife, treating her more like a sister than anything else. In fact, most of the women treated him like a
younger brother, which made it difficult for the men to reprimand him. Right now, he was Sevastyan’s problem, and one he didn’t like having. He didn’t coddle people. He never had. He had a little glitch in him the others didn’t, no matter how often they told themselves they were the screwed-up ones.

  Shturm turned his head once to glance over his shoulder toward the house, to those blacked-out windows, a strange, uneasy feeling snaking through his mind. He had to keep his focus on his enemy, but something wasn’t right with his counterpart’s woman. His mate wasn’t ready, but she was reaching out to him, letting him know something was wrong with Flambé. He would have to turn the form back to Sevastyan as soon as he was done teaching this leopard a lesson. Sevastyan had a way of figuring things out about women very quickly. He always had.

  Shturm padded within a hundred feet of the tree the upstart leopard was in. The idiot had once again risen and this time had paced around the branch to try to reach another branch in order to put his mark on that side of the tree as well. He was a good thirty feet up and the foliage was much barer on that side, so the leopard could easily be seen. He stretched and lifted his lips and wrinkled his nose, showing his teeth before spraying the trunk of the tree.

  A leopard roared a challenge in the distance and, above him, the spraying shifter nearly fell from the branch. He clawed at the limb and then hastily turned toward the sound to try to get a view. When he couldn’t see anything, he began to climb down fast.

  Shturm remained very still, his body secreted in the thick bushes. He recognized the powerful voice of Matvei’s leopard issuing a triumphant challenge as it attacked again and again, probably already having ripped his adversary to shreds. Most leopards went back again and again to show dominance when the adrenaline was flowing.

  The shifter leaping from the tree landed only a few feet from Shturm, but was so focused on the sounds of the intruder and his sawing roars that he didn’t even smell the large cat until it was too late. He’d taken several steps and then whirled around just as Shturm burst out of the brush and hit him in the side so hard and fast, several ribs cracked with an audible sound.

  The leopard screamed. Far off, there was an answering echo of a scream, as if another leopard had also been hit hard. That would be Kirill and his opponent, but their fight didn’t matter. Shturm blocked off all other sounds and focused completely on his rival. This leopard had come to his territory and acted as if he would claim it.

  The big cat backed up, allowing the intruder to roll over and stagger to its feet. The moment the golden leopard was up, Shturm rushed him again, hitting him from the other side, breaking ribs and sending him flying. The cat screamed in fear and defiance. Shturm felt no pity. Leopards knew better than to come into a male’s territory and issue a challenge unless they were prepared to fight. Shturm was ready to fight for his female anytime.

  He caught the rear leg of the cat as it tried to roll over to get to its feet. Laboring to breathe with broken ribs, it was much slower and he bit down hard, snapping the bone and dragging the leopard backward several feet as it shrieked in pain.

  Shturm circled the leopard. So far, the other cat hadn’t managed to bite or claw him. He let him see that the blood dripping from his jaws was all his enemy’s. He kept his gaze on his despised challenger, showing him the venomous hatred. He had no mercy in him. He didn’t want the leopard to expect any leniency from him.

  He roared his challenge, all but telling the other animal to get up. He slammed his paw into the ground, shooting dirt into the face of his adversary. He paced back and forth, roaring and slapping contemptuously with his paw to kick dirt over and over toward the fallen leopard. He feinted several rushes, but the leopard refused to try to rise. He circled him twice more before catching his front leg and biting down, breaking through the bone and dragging him back another four feet.

  The leopard opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. He appeared almost catatonic. Sevastyan rarely intervened with Shturm in a leopard fight. As far as he was concerned, it was his animal’s right to meet any challenger, but this one wasn’t exactly a real match. Where Franco had found him was anyone’s guess, but the leopard wasn’t experienced at all.

  Deliver the kill bite.

  It is too soon. He was not respectful.

  I doubt he knows the laws of any lair. He doesn’t know how to fight. It’s beneath you to fight him, Shturm. Far beneath you. A kitten could take this one down. Get it over with. We still have to burn the carcasses and remove all evidence that they were ever here.

  Shturm didn’t like the fact that Sevastyan was right. The leopard lay on the ground panting, eyes half closed and glazed over, blood pouring from his leg wounds, not even attempting to fight back. It was rather silly to continue to “fight” when the other animal refused to engage. It was just that he’d worked himself up to a killing fury and he needed the adrenaline to go somewhere. He wouldn’t be alone with it; Sevastyan would feel it as well.

  I know, but this isn’t right. I thought it would help letting you loose, going hunting, but it hasn’t helped either of us. I think our women are too close to the emergence and we’re going to have to suffer.

  Both knew that wasn’t safe either. They could be dangerous under those circumstances. Not just Shturm, but Sevastyan as well. Shturm gave up worrying about it. That was Sevastyan’s department. He rushed his enemy and delivered the killing bite.

  5

  SEVASTYAN stood outside the open door to the master bedroom. He could easily see Flambé’s shadow as she paced back and forth across the room. She’d switched on the dim nightlight beside the bed. It threw just enough of a light to give him a good view of her as she went in and out of his vision. He’d paused outside the door because he heard her voice and assumed she was talking on her cell phone to someone. He realized after listening for a few moments that she was talking to herself.

  “You’re panicking, Flambé, that’s what you’re doing, and if you panic, your brain doesn’t work. You know that. You’ve been in a panic since Franco ran you off the road. You have to get yourself under control if you’re going to carry this through.”

  Sevastyan had almost stepped into the room to make his presence known, but he halted at the way she worded her own reprimand. Carry what through? He was responsible for his cousin’s security. No matter what, he had to know everything that was going on around Mitya and that included his woman, whether she had one foot out the door or not. He stayed very still, getting comfortable, leaning one hip casually against the wall while he listened, a little amused that she talked to herself while she paced.

  “You can’t have him. It doesn’t matter how much you wanted him. All those times at the club watching him. All the nights you couldn’t sleep just thinking about him, wishing you could have one night with him. You’re not built that way. This is a huge mess and you made it. He didn’t. You let his leopard claim yours because you were so scared of Franco. Now Franco is targeting him. That’s not fair, Flambé, and you know it. So, make the call, stop putting it off. Find a flight, it doesn’t matter where it’s going, take the tunnel to Ania’s place and have someone meet you with a car and drive you to the airport. Just do it. Who though? Who would do it and be discreet? Who can I count on who Franco won’t have a chance of hurting for information?”

  The pent-up aggression in Shturm that ran in Sevastyan’s veins as well sent a familiar rush of heat burning through him, settling deep in his groin. There was nothing familiar about the raw hunger that slammed into his cock, stretching him beyond what his monster had ever been, to the point of hurting, not just aching. His body reacted to everything she said. Everything she did. He’d known savage, brutal sexual hunger many times, but not like this.

  He stepped into the room, every bit as silent as his leopard had been stalking his challenger. Flambé was a few feet from him, facing away so he could see her beautifully shaped ass, but she spun around, her eyes going wide with shock. She was still in the clothes she’d gone to bed in—a la
cy thong and a thin clingy stretch lace top that barely covered her full breasts.

  Sevastyan caught her hand and turned without saying a word, striding from the room, down the hall, to the staircase.

  “Wait.” Flambé tried to halt, but he kept walking, taking her with him. He didn’t tighten his grip. He didn’t walk faster or slower. He didn’t look back. He just continued as if he hadn’t heard her. He felt the fine tremor that went through her body and when he inhaled, he scented her hot call. He knew when a woman wanted him and Flambé reacted to his sudden show of dominance.

  Sevastyan continued walking up the stairs until he came to the door of his private suite. It was locked, and he bent to use a retinol scan to get in so he wouldn’t have to let go of his woman. She was still straining back from him, not exactly struggling, but acting reluctant. She hadn’t protested other than that first little “Wait.”

  He took her inside, closed the door deliberately and turned to click all the locks in place—all three of them—forcing her to stand beside him while he did. She glanced up at him, her lashes fluttering, those long red-gold-tipped lashes that made her look so vulnerable. She had a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. He wanted to kiss every one of them, but he resisted.

  He indicated the center of the room. “Stand there.” He dropped her wrist and waited to see if she would obey him.

  Flambé stood looking up at him for a moment and then around his room. He watched her swallow several times. It was a purely masculine room. All his. Large furniture. Thick, carved wood with big posts and heavy spindles, good places for bondage. There were hooks on his ceiling and a pulley system. Mirrors on the wall and ceiling. On one side, hanging from the high ceiling, he had constructed a large tree out of knots and wood with a very small hammock made of knots hanging high from one of the limbs. There were shelves with ropes of different colors and textures in bundles.