Wild Rain

by Christine Feehan

  Joshua nodded his understanding. "I think I can hold a gun."

  Rio shook his head. "No need." He crouched down beside Joshua, felt for his pulse. The man needed medical attention as quickly as possible. Rain-soaked, clothes clung to their bodies, boots rubbed blisters into skin. The conditions were miserable, but Rio had been in worse. "We'll get you home," he assured Joshua.

  Rio didn't waste time hesitating. Leaving the rifle behind, he went through the trees as quickly as he could, rushing to beat the arrival of the bandits. He dropped into the open onto a low-hanging branch and dove into the river. His arms cut strong, clean strokes, taking him across the river even as the current pulled him downstream. On the other side, he dragged himself up the embankment, rolled beneath a tangle of buttress roots and caught up the pack stashed in the hole in the trunk.

  The bandits had broken out of the forest on the other side. They spread out, examining the ground for tracks. One was too close to the tree where he had cached Joshua. Josh was barely conscious and one wrong move would instantly bring him to the bandits' attention. Rio slowly and carefully pulled the rifle from the cover of the trunk and laid it over a root to steady his hand. He was in a bog and leeches would be swarming to his body heat if he didn't move immediately.

  He squeezed off three shots in rapid succession, looking to wound his targets rather than kill them. Tomas would be forced to carry his men to safety rather than keep up the chase. Rio scooted backward on his belly, seeking the heavier cover of brush, trying to keep larger trees between him and the river.

  The bandits returned fire, a rapid burst of bullets that chewed the bark from the trees and spit leaves and needles close to him. He stayed very still, not giving away his position as he marked new targets.

  Tomas was no fool. He knew whom he faced. He'd run up against Rio's marksmanship many times and he didn't want to lose any more men. He signaled them back into the timberline. They melted away, carrying their wounded. Several discharged their guns in a last show of anger, but they moved off rather than try to cross the river in the open to track him. They might try it further upriver, but by that time, Rio hoped to have Joshua deep inside the forest and in the hands of his people.

  Worried that they may have left a sniper behind, Rio took his time coming out of the bog. He felt the sting of a couple of leeches as he crawled into deeper forest. It took several minutes to remove the creatures with his knife. As he retrieved the pulley and sling from his pack and rose, a bullet whistled by his head. Rio threw himself to one side, eyes examining the surrounding area. He thought he'd been well hidden, but his enemy had guessed where he would go to escape the leech-infested ground.

  The bullet had missed him by inches, but he had more of a problem than a few leeches. He had to hunt. The bandit would be patient, lie in wait for him, knowing he would have to move soon. The river separated them and Joshua was cached up in a tree, wounded and in dire need of medical attention.

  In the shelter of several thick trees, Rio shed his clothes, folding them neatly and setting the pile on a tree branch along with his boots. He shifted into his other form, embracing the power within him. The brute strength. The perfect hunting machine. Bold and clever, highly intelligent and cunning, the leopard began his stalk. Staying in the shadows of the trees, the large cat angled downstream, padding swiftly through the vegetation. The leopard scented blood and gunpowder as it leapt onto the low-hanging branches of a tree at the edge of the river. The cat snarled as the sniper fired repeatedly, sweeping the area where Rio had been.

  The leopard plunged into fast-moving water, using powerful muscles to swim across to the other side. The cat climbed up the embankment, slinking across the open area in small stop-and-start bursts, going to ground and freezing behind the cover of the shrubbery. He gained yards, then feet, until he was a short distance from the bandit.

  The man hurried quickly through the trees, intent on the other side of the river. He never saw the leopard crouched only feet from him. He never saw the rush, only felt the hit, hard like a freight train, driving him backward with powerful legs and muscles. He was hit so hard he never felt the crushing weight of the jaws that ended his life.

  Rio fought the wild nature of the beast, pulled back from the heady scent of the kill and shifted shape quickly. He still had to get Joshua across the water. It would take too much time to set up the pulley and sling. He hurried back to the man, grateful to find him still alive.

  "We're going into the river, Josh; I'm taking you to the village."

  "You don't have to do that, Rio. Don't put yourself in that position."

  Rio hoisted him onto his shoulder. "I don't give a damn what they think about me, Josh. You need help as quickly as possible."

  "Did you lose your clothes?"

  Rio grinned, a show of teeth. "I left them on the other side of the river in a tree."

  "You've always been crazy, Rio."

  Rio heard the utter weariness in the voice. Joshua hung like a dead weight, not even attempting to hold on. Worried, Rio plunged into the river, using every bit of his strength to fight the current to get them both to the other side. Then he began to jog.

  It was a hellish, nightmare journey. Joshua's body slammed against Rio's. Brush tore at his skin. The rain soaked them both as the miles passed. Rio began to tire, his legs rubbery, his lungs burning for air. His feet, although tough and used to the travel, were torn and bloody. It took several hours and he stopped three times to rest, give Joshua water and tighten the pressure bandages over the wounds.

  Rio staggered into the village, tired and hot and soaked from the rain just before dawn. No one came out of their houses, although they knew he was there. Joshua's blood soaked Rio's skin where the man was pressed tight against him. The rain continued, a steady cascading fall that created a haze between Rio and the houses. He started toward the house of their only medic. Movement caught his attention. The elders came onto their verandahs, watching him through the downpour.

  Rio stood for a moment, swaying with weariness, feeling anger wash over him. Shame. He was twenty-two again and standing before the council with his mother's blood and the blood of her murderer on his hands. He lifted his head and set his jaw. They would never accept him. Never want the taint of his life to touch theirs. He could protect their people, give them his share of the money, but he would always have blood on his hands and they would never forgive him. His mouth hardened and he squared his shoulders. His eyes were fiercely proud, his jaw strong and stubborn. It didn't matter if he wasn't welcome in their village. He didn't want to be there. He refused to believe that he could miss the interaction with others of his kind.

  Inside the houses the whispers would start. It always did if he had to make the journey and intrude on their space. Each time he was certain it would be different, better--that they would accept him. But their faces would be hard, or averted or they simply looked past him as if he didn't exist. He forced strength into his tired body and carried Joshua straight to the house of the medic. They would never allow him entrance, nor would they speak to him. Even if they thought the blood on his body belonged to him, they wouldn't ask questions or attempt to help. He was dead to them.

  Rio deliberately went up the stairs to the verandah and placed Joshua's body onto the chair there. As he turned to leave, Joshua caught his arm. His grip was feeble but he hung on. Rio turned back, bent down to him. "You're home now, you're safe."

  "Thanks, Rio. Thanks for what you did."

  Rio gripped the hand for a moment, covering the gesture with his body so Joshua wouldn't get reprimanded in front of the council. "Good fortune, Josh."

  He turned, ramrod straight, walked down the steps and paused to allow his gaze to sweep with contempt, with arrogance through the village. To take in the familiar setting. Something wrenched at his heart, something deep and terrible. His temper was a sharp thorn, sticking in his gut and burning there. Resolutely he turned his back on them all and walked into the forest where he belonged. For a
moment everything blurred around him. He thought it was the rain, but when he blinked, his vision cleared and his eyes burned. Rio forced the air through his lungs and told himself he was alive and on his way back to Rachael and that was all that mattered.

  14

  RIO entered the house in silence, leaving the door open to catch even the slightest breeze. The rain poured down in a steady rhythm, concealing the verandah and house in heavy white mists. The mosquito net performed a ghostly dance but his gaze was riveted to Rachael's face. He didn't even remember jogging home to her. His feet hurt, his body was tired and sore and a rage burned like a firestorm deep inside of him. He had stopped to bathe before coming to her, hoping the rage and pain would lessen beneath the spray of cleansing water. It hadn't.

  He loomed over her, brooding, watching her, fury riding him hard. Pain eating away at his insides. He tasted loneliness for the first time. Rachael had done that, brought him back to life. She fascinated him, tempted him. Made him happy, sad, angry--everything all at once. And he was addicted to the scent and feel of her. Lust rose, a craving as dark as the fury swirling like a black, tumultuous cloud inside of him.

  Rachael lay asleep on the bed. His bed. One hand was flung across his pillow, across the empty spot where he belonged. The thin cover was on the floor leaving her long legs sprawled across the sheet. She wore only his shirt, unbuttoned and open, exposing the creamy swell of her breasts. Her hair, as black as midnight, spilled across the white pillow in whorls and spirals, begging to be touched. She looked young in her sleep, long lashes forming two crescents against her skin. Her body lay open to him, soft and warm, an offering to appease the terrible hunger burning in him.

  He didn't feel gentle or loverlike. He felt wild and inflamed, his body's urgent demands riding him hard. He knew it was a part of his heritage, but intellect didn't count when he stood in his home, when Rachael lay naked in his bed, her body open and waiting for his. Rio moved closer, laid his weapons aside, never taking his burning gaze from her. Soft skin, lush curves, her breasts a tempting invitation.

  Rio was already as hard as a rock, but looking at her while she slept so peacefully, so unaware of her vulnerability, he thickened and hardened more. He touched his erection, for relief, wrapped his fist around the throbbing demand as he attempted to walk across the room to her. Taking steps was painful with his body so full and tight. There was a roaring in his head. His body dripped with his lust, his belly burned with it.

  Rachael shifted restlessly as if she instinctively knew she was being stalked. She opened her eyes and saw his face, dark with passion, etched with lust. With intent. With something beyond mere desire. His look set her heart pounding. Made her mouth go dry. Turned her body to a pool of hot liquid. His gaze burned over her, hungry flames that sent electricity sparking on her skin everywhere his look brushed.

  He struck swiftly, his fingers circling her arm, a throaty growl sending a shiver down her spine as he yanked her up so that his mouth melded to hers, one hand at the back of her head holding her still for his kiss. Not a kiss, fierce possession. Heat rushed over her like molten lava, blossomed and burst into volcanic flame. He dragged her closer, crushed her to him, his strength enormous, wanting skin against skin, wanting to feel her body impressed into the heat of his. Breath slammed out of her lungs and into his. His kiss was hungry, savage, devouring her, taking rather than asking, as if his hunger knew no boundaries.

  His arms locked her to him, so tight she felt his every muscle, every beat of his heart, every breath he took. She tasted lust. She tasted desire. She tasted his fierce pride and something else. Pain. She knew bone-deep anguish and she recognized it in him. She knew what he was doing even when he didn't. His mouth was hot velvet, his tongue dueling with hers, a tango of breath and moist heat. He gave her no chance to breathe, to do anything but accept the firestorm in him. To let it wash over her so that she caught flame too, was pulled into a whirling vortex, a tornado of pure desire.

  Rachael kissed him back, every bit as wild, allowing the greedy lust to rise in her, to match the fierce inferno raging in him. She gave herself up to him, her arms around his neck, holding him to her. He stole the breath from her body and used it for his own air. His teeth moved down her chin, her throat, taking small greedy bites as if he would devour her alive. Rachael gasped with the wash of sensation, her nails biting deep into his arms as she arched her body. Waiting. Aching. Wanting more.

  His mouth, hot and insistent with demands, went lower still, closed over her breast and suckled strongly. She cried out, unable to contain the blaze sweeping through her body. She thrust against his mouth, her fingers finding his hair, closing in two fists, dragging him closer. She didn't want him gentle and considerate, she wanted him exactly the way he was, wild, untamed, driven beyond control, on fire with urgent need and ravenous hunger. For her. For her body.

  His mouth took away sanity and replaced it with feeling. Abruptly he lifted his head, eyes glittering as he dragged the pillows and blankets beneath her hips. She could see his body, hard and perfect, every muscle defined as if carved from rock. His face was etched with dark hunger. His gaze dropped to the triangle of black tiny curls and her heart pounded wildly. There was an unspoken command in his look. A demand.

  A wave of heat swept over her. She felt her body go liquid in her deepest core. Very slowly she obeyed that silent command, shifting her legs, opening them for him. The air on her slick, wet entrance inflamed her more. His fingers circled her good ankle. He bent her leg at the knee. There was a proprietary feel to his hand on her leg. He was much more gentle helping her with her injured leg. His hands went to her thighs, gripping, opening her wider, one knee on the bed between her legs. Not once did he raise his gaze to her face. He seemed fascinated with her glistening body.

  She waited, hardly daring to breathe, her heart pounding in anticipation. She wanted to plead with him, weep with the dark passion riding her so hard. There wasn't an inch on her body that didn't ache for his touch. His tongue moistened his lower lip and she writhed with pleasure. He hadn't touched her, but the force of his gaze had. And it left her needing--craving.

  His thumbs bit into her thighs as he wedged his shoulders between her legs, opened her completely to him. She knew what he was doing. Claiming her. Branding her. Making her his so that no one else would ever do. He breathed warmth into the seething pool of fire. She cried out, would have jumped away but he held her still, without mercy, for his invasion. His tongue stabbed deep, a weapon of wicked pleasure, lapping and licking and stroking while she screamed in a wild, endless orgasm.

  "More," he growled ruthlessly. "I want more."

  He pushed his finger deep inside of her, pressed deep while she thrust against his palm, while her body clamped around him, gripped in the throes of passion. He put his finger to his mouth, surged over the top of her, bracing his body with his arms. He ducked his head, leaned forward to suckle at her breast. Her body nearly exploded. She clung to his arms, trying to hold on when the world seemed to be spinning out of control.

  Lying as he was, her hips cradling his, the head of his penis was against her wet, throbbing entrance. She tried to take him inside of her, but he held her still, waiting, pushing up her need, the sense of urgency consuming them both. Then he thrust hard, buried himself deep, driving into her velvet sheath so that her folds parted like the soft petals of a flower and she opened to him. He tilted her hips, urging her to take all of him, every inch, welding them together in a frenzy of fury and dark passion.

  He whispered to her in the ancient tongue of his people, admitting he loved her, that he needed her, but the words beat more in his head than in his throat. He drove her up higher and higher, pushing them both to their limits, a wild, tumultuous ride. He clenched his teeth against the waves of sensations, against the jackhammers tripping in his head, against the tightness sweeping through his body and the inevitable explosion that started in his toes and burst upward.

  A tidal wave swept through Rachael, car
ried her up and up until there was no where to go and she was free-falling, imploding, fragmenting. Until there was no part of her that wasn't consumed by fiery pleasure. It licked over her skin and behind her eyelids. Flames rolled in her stomach and burned in her deepest core. Her body rocked with quakes, a riptide of sensations that went on and on. If she moved, if he moved, the rippling effect started all over again.

  Rio lay over her, his head resting on hers, breathing deeply, fighting for control. Most of his fury was spent in her arms. Rachael. Only Rachael would have accepted such a joining. Only Rachael would look at him with her heart in her eyes. No matter how tight he clung to her, she never pushed him away. Never said enough. There were questions in her eyes, but she didn't ask them, not even when he separated them. She simply wrapped her arms around him, turning a bit on her side to give him room, his head against the soft pillow of her breasts.

  "You need sleep, Rio. You're exhausted."

  He didn't say anything, just lay next to her, taking in their combined scents, listening to the endless rain. He found it soothing. The forest had stirred to life, animals calling out, insects humming, birds singing. The background music, always present.

  Rio lay awake long after Rachael had gone to sleep. Fear choked him, nearly suffocated him. When had she become so damned essential to breathing? How had she managed to invade his life and wrap herself around his heart? He couldn't imagine his life without her. She was so warm and soft and perfect. He had memories of warm and soft and perfect and those memories turned into nightmares of blood and death and rage.

  He wanted this to be his life. Rachael--her laughter, her courage, her moods and shifts of temper. Lovemaking as sweet and tender as he could make it or a fierce need that could only be assuaged with a wild mating.

  Her breast was a temptation he couldn't ignore. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, then sucked the creamy mound into his mouth. It seemed a miracle to be able to lie with her, suckling her breast when he wanted, sliding his hand over her body to dip his finger deep inside of her. Even in her sleep she was responsive. Clenching her muscles around him, shifting to arch into his mouth deeper. She smiled, murmured something incoherent and tunneled her fingers in his hair. She slept like that, her body wet with wanting him, his mouth on her breast and his hand cupping her tight curls possessively, while her fingers were buried in his hair.