Wild Rain

by Christine Feehan

  The cats approached from either side, slinking along the ground, moving toward the trees where the house was located. Rio shrugged out of his pack, easing it onto the ground against a thick tree trunk. All the while he stayed low, knowing he would be difficult to see in the driving rain. The wind howled and moaned through the trees, shaking leaves and hurling small twigs and branches in every direction. He remained still, studying the house for a long moment. A thin trail of smoke rose from the chimney to be dissipated quickly in the high canopy. A dim flickering light cast from a low fire onto the woven blankets hanging over the windows could be glimpsed through the ever-moving foliage. There was no movement in the cabin. Whoever had been sent to assassinate him was either certain he was still a good distance away, or they had set an enticing trap. Rio hissed between his teeth to draw the attention of the cats, gave a hand signal, a quick flick with his fingers and the three of them, like dark phantoms, scouted the ground below the trees for whatever tracks the fierce rain had not obliterated.

  They moved in an ever-tightening circle until they gained the large network of roots and branches. Rio's muscles bunched, contracted, rippled beneath the layer of skin as he leapt into the tree, landing in a crouch with perfect balance. The cats crept silently into the thick network of tree branches to gain the verandah. The branches were slick from the downpour, but the trio of hunters maneuvered up to the house with familiar ease. Rio tested the door. Finding resistance, he drew the knife from the leather sheath concealed between his shoulder blades. In the flash of lightning, the long, wicked razor-sharp metal gleamed brightly. He slipped the blade in the crack of the door and slowly, inch by inch, forced the heavy metal bar on the inside upward.

  As the door opened, then closed furtively, the sudden cold draft sent the flames of the fire blazing high, dancing and crackling before settling back down. Rio waited a heartbeat for his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. He moved stealthily across the wide expanse of floor, carefully placing his feet, avoiding every squeaking board. A shadowy figure moved restlessly on the bed.

  Rio went to the floor, on his belly even as the wildness flared in him, ripping through his body, heightening his senses. His skin itched, his bones aching and his muscles contorting. He fought it back, forcing his brain to work, to think, to reason when his body sought to embrace the change. For a moment his hand rippled with life, with fur, fingers bursting as claws clicked on the wooden floor, then retracted painfully.

  He remained motionless, flat on the floor, knife in his teeth, trying to breathe through the pain, breathe away the urge for transformation. The cats separated without visible instruction, both low to the floor, two sets of burning eyes on the figure beneath the blanket. Rio could make out the shotgun against the wall beside the bed, within easy reaching distance. In the fireplace the log disintegrated into bright red coals. Light flared in the room, illuminated the bed briefly and was gone.

  2

  RACHAEL came awake, instantly aware of impending danger. The smell of wet fur mixed with the scent of something feral, something dangerous. There had been no sound, but the feeling was so overwhelming she instinctively reached for the shotgun. Fingers circled her wrist in a vise-like grip, crushing bone against tendon. The shotgun was torn from her hand easily, her attacker strong beyond her wildest imagining. She jerked her captured wrist toward her as if to struggle against his hold. Simultaneously, she brought up her left hand, gripping the short rattan-filled stick and slamming it with sickening force against her assailant's head. She rolled sideways away from him to drop to the floor, the bed between them.

  To her horror, Rachael landed inches from glowing red eyes, hot breath in her face, gaping, hideous jaws filled with teeth coming straight at her. Not just any teeth, she was staring at what looked like a saber-toothed tiger. Thrusting the stick between the dripping fangs, she scrambled away, desperate to reach the fireplace and a weapon, any weapon to defend herself. A hand grabbed at her, missed, slid off her legs. She nearly made it across the room, reaching out for the heavy metal poker just inches from her fingers. Another step, a lunge and she'd have a chance. Something caught her ankle in a savage trap, tearing at her flesh, dragging her down, slashing mercilessly with sharp teeth.

  Rachael imagined it was like being hit by a shark. Hard. The force of a freight train. She could hear someone swearing, animals breathing loudly, a terrible chuffing noise. Something hissed. Panic overwhelmed her, nearly shutting down her brain. Red-hot pain shot through her entire body, the agony taking her breath away. Gathering itself for another attack, a second leopard leapt at her. Gritting her teeth, Rachael threw herself forward, a scream ripping her throat as the lance-like teeth pierced and shredded flesh to crunch on bone. Her fingers curled around the poker, swinging it at the animal with desperate strength. A hand caught her wrist, abruptly stopping the vicious cut in midair.

  A man loomed over her, dark and powerful, his face that of an avenging devil, thrust close to hers. To her horror the face contorted, fur bursting through skin, teeth filling the strong jaw. A leopard's hot breath blew in her face, the teeth at her throat. Not a small, clouded leopard, but a huge black leopard. The leopard's gaze fixed on her with merciless intent. Rachael saw the piercing intelligence in the brilliant yellow-green eyes. The haunting stare, smoldering with fire, with deadly danger, was etched into her mind. She closed her eyes, willing herself to faint, yet she could not shut out the focused stare.

  Rio struggled against the beast rising in him. Too many wounds, too many days without sleep made it difficult to maintain control. He fought the change before he could make a kill. He breathed in and out. Drew the air deeply into his lungs. Forced the wildness in him back down, to settle somewhere deep inside until he was once again completely ruled by his brain and intelligence.

  "Release," he snapped. The cats obeyed, letting go of his assassin's leg, dropping to the floor, still on guard. "Now you. Give it to me."

  Rachael was incapable of letting the poker go. Her fingers were locked around it, her mind numb with horror. She could only stare at him in shock. Terror held her mute.

  "Damn you, drop it," he hissed, increasing the pressure on her wrist, knowing he could easily snap the bone if she continued to resist. His free hand clamped around her throat like a vise, instantly cutting off her air, elbow digging into her breast, knee across her thighs. His body effectively pinned hers to the floor with his superior weight. "I could break your neck," he pointed out. "Drop it."

  Rachael would have cried out, screamed for help, for salvation, just screamed for the hell of it. She was more afraid of the man, or whatever he was, than the cats and their evil eyes. He'd successfully choked off all sound, but the pain radiating up her leg seemed to engulf her so that she had the incredible sensation of melting into the floor.

  Rio swore again as he felt her go limp beneath him, the poker clattering to the floor. He shoved it out of her reach and as he did so, his hand encountered a warm, sticky substance. Instantly his hands moved down her leg. He muttered an expletive at his find. Clamping a hand over the wound, he jerked her leg into the air. "Don't you faint on me. Is there anyone else here? Answer me, and you'd better tell the truth." He was fairly certain they were alone, someone else surely would have revealed their presence during the short but intense fight. The house held no other human scent, but he wanted no more surprises.

  A shudder ran through her body, trembling in reaction to the terrible wound on her leg. There was hard authority in his voice. A distinct merciless edge that carried inherent danger. "No." She managed to gasp out the word through her bruised throat.

  Rio signaled to the clouded leopards. "I hope to hell you're telling me the truth because they'll kill anyone they find."

  He applied a field tourniquet quickly, knowing the animals would alert him if they found another intruder. He couldn't imagine who would be stupid enough to send a woman after him. Rio lifted her with ease, carried her to the bed and set her on it. She didn't look capable of murd
ering anyone, her face white and her eyes too big for her face. He shook his head and went to work on the ugly wound in her leg. The puncture wounds were deep and had done considerable damage. The cat had savaged the leg as she'd tried to get away, tearing deep gouges out of her flesh, an unusual wound for a clouded leopard to make. It was an ugly mess and needed more skill than he possessed.

  Rachael could barely breathe through the pain. In the darkness, the man looming over her appeared invincible. His shoulders were wide, his arms and chest powerful. He carried most of his upper body weight in sheer muscle. There were bloodstains on his clothes. Blood trickled from the ugly gash near his temple. He was drenched, his clothes torn and soaked completely through. Water dropped from his hair onto her leg as he bent over her, the droplets cold on her hot skin. He had a dark shadow along his jaw and the coldest eyes she'd ever seen on a human...or a beast. Brilliant yellow-green eyes.

  "Stop shaking." There was impatience in his voice.

  Rachael took a deep breath and forced her gaze down to her mangled leg. A single sound escaped and her world began to blur.

  "Stop looking at it, you little fool." He caught at her impatiently, jerked her chin up so that she was forced to meet his glittering stare.

  Rio studied her pale face, so drawn with pain he could see lines etched around her mouth. Beads of sweat dotted her brow. The marks of his fingers showed around her throat, swollen and purple. His gaze dwelt for a moment of speculation on her right wrist, noting the swelling, wondering if it was broken. It was the least of his worries.

  "Listen to me, try to follow what I'm saying." He bent close to her, his face inches from hers. His voice started out gruff, but even to his own ears, it gentled as his gaze drifted over her.

  Rachael pressed back against the mattress, terrified that his face would contort and leave her staring at a beast rather than a man. She was floating in a sea of pain. A veil of haze blurred her vision, until she felt at a distance from everything. A look of resolution hardened his expression, warning her. She made an attempt to nod, to indicate she was listening, terrified of the intensity of his unblinking stare, afraid if she didn't respond he would suddenly grow a mouthful of teeth. All she really wanted to do was slide down in the bed and disappear.

  "Infections start fast here in the rain forest. We're cut off by the river. This storm is a bad one and the river is over its banks. I can't get you help so I'm going to have to take care of this the primitive way. It's going to hurt."

  Rachael pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the hysterical laugh welling up. Hurt? Was he crazy? She was caught in the middle of a nightmare with no end. She was in a tree house with a leopard man and two mini leopards. No one knew where she was and the leopard man wanted her dead. Did he think her leg didn't already hurt?

  "Did you understand?"

  He seemed to bite the words out between strong teeth. Rachael tried not to stare at his teeth. Tried not to imagine them lengthening into lethal weapons. She made herself nod, tried to look intelligent when she was certain she was insane. Men didn't change into leopards, not even in the middle of the rain forest. She must have lost her sanity, there was no other explanation.

  Rio stared down at her face, shocked at the way his stomach lurched at the idea of what he had to do to her. He'd done such things before. He'd done far worse things. It was the only chance they had of saving her leg, but the thought of hurting her further sickened him. He had no idea who she was. Chances were good she'd been sent to kill him. He was a wanted man. It had been tried before. Rio snapped his teeth together and swore silently. What the hell difference did it make if her eyes were too big for her face and she looked so damned vulnerable?

  The rain poured down onto the roof. The wind howled and lashed at the windows. He was uneasy, hesitant even, something very unusual for Rio. He looked down, saw his fingertips brushing damp tendrils of hair from her face, his touch almost gentle, and jerked his hand away as if her skin burned him. His heart did a peculiar somersault. Rio pulled the small vial from the field medical kit strapped to his belt. One hand clamped around her leg to hold her still. He poured the entire contents over the gaping wound.

  Rachael screamed, the sound tearing up through her ragged throat to pierce the walls of the house. She tried to fight him, tried to jerk into a sitting position, but his strength was implacable. He held her down easily. "I can't tell you anything. I don't know anything." The words were strangled between trying to breathe through the pain and her swollen throat. "I swear I don't. Torturing me isn't going to do you any good." She looked at him, pleading, tears swimming in her dark eyes. "Please, I really don't know anything."

  "Ssh." Distaste for hurting her was bile in his mouth and he didn't know why. Most tasks were done without feeling. Rio had no idea why he would suddenly develop compassion for a woman sent to kill him. He filed her blurted revelations away for a better time to study them. The need to reassure her took precedence and that worried him. He was a man who always wanted knowledge. Information. He wasn't the type to offer sympathy--especially for someone who had tried to take his head off. "It's only to kill the germs and fight infection." He found himself murmuring the words, his tone odd. Unfamiliar. "I know it burns. I've used it on myself more than once. Just lie still while I try to repair the damage."

  "I think I'm going to be sick." It was the last humiliating straw. Rachael couldn't believe it was happening to her. She had planned everything so carefully, worked so hard, come so far. Everything was lost now. This man was going to torture her. Kill her. She should have known she couldn't escape.

  "Damn it." He held her head while she was sick over and over into a bucket he dragged out from under the bed. She didn't want to think what the bucket was used for. She didn't want to think how she was going to get away from him with a mangled leg, in the middle of a storm with the river flooding.

  Rachael lay back, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, trying desperately to force her brain to work. Weakness was an insidious enemy, creeping through her body so her arms felt leaden and she didn't want to lift her head.

  "You've lost a lot of blood," he said tersely, as if reading her mind.

  "What are you?" The words came out a whisper.

  The wind stilled for a moment so only the rain could be heard pounding on the roof. Rachael held her breath when he turned the full impact of his cold, merciless eyes on her. He didn't blink. She saw that his pupils were dilated. She saw that same piercing intelligence, glimpsed the dangerous fire smoldering. Her heart pounded in time with the driving rain.

  "They call me the wind of death. How could you not know?" His voice was as expressionless as his eyes. A faint, humorless smile drew attention to his mouth, failing to light his eyes. "They didn't send you here with much information. Not very smart for an assassin. Maybe someone wanted you dead. You should give that some thought." He dragged a chair to the side of the bed, lit a lamp and dug into his field kit for more supplies.

  Something in his voice gave her pause. She studied his profile. There was acceptance in his voice of who and what he was, not bravado or bragging. "Why would I be sent here to kill you?"

  "Weren't you? It's been tried many times and I'm still alive." He was telling her the truth. She didn't understand what he was telling her, but she heard the honesty in his tone. He had a needle in his hand and bent very close to her leg.

  Involuntarily she jerked away. "Can't you just tape it up?"

  His hand clamped around her thigh, pinning her to the mattress, holding her still. "Damn cat made a mess of you. It's all the way to the bone. The lacerations need stitches. There's nothing I can do about the puncture wounds. I don't like the look of this. It isn't helpful with you shaking so much."

  "I'll keep that in mind." Rachael muttered the words resentfully under her breath. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of her own blood. All the while, in spite of everything, she was acutely aware of his hand wrapped around her bare thigh. "You're obviously one of those h
emen seen only on film who can take forty-seven kicks in the ribs and keep on fighting. Don't mind me for being human."

  "What did you say?" His head swung around, his eyes focusing on her face.

  Rachael could feel his gaze stabbing at her but she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. Or at the needle. She'd already thrown up once; she didn't think a second round would win her any points. "Was it my imagination or did you turn into a leopard?" Not just any leopard. Not a clouded leopard like his two companion cats. "Not like those little cats either. I'm talking a big, for-real large, predatory, man-eating leopard." She could have groaned the minute the words left her mouth. It was utterly ridiculous. No one turned into a wild animal. Now he was going to think she'd lost her mind completely. And maybe she had. The image of his face contorting, the hot breath, the wicked teeth so close to her throat was very vivid. She'd even felt the brush of fur. And those eyes. She would never forget those eyes. She couldn't possibly have made up that predatory stare. Unable to prevent herself, her gaze lifted to his, regarding him as if he had two heads. She could see she was really making an impression.

  "It's a bad habit of mine." He said it casually. Easily. As if it didn't matter. As if she really were crazy. And actually she thought he might be right.

  Rachael watched him take a breath, let it out and take the first stitch. She tried to jerk her leg away from him, her breath hissing out between her teeth. "Are you insane? What do you think you're doing?"