L06 Leopard's Prey

by Christine Feehan

  Her heart beat so hard she was terrified Arnaud could hear. She was up against the table now, right next to Remy’s head. His eyes shifted toward her. Those beautiful green eyes, filled with intelligence and awareness.

  She reached for her leopard, bringing her close to the surface just in case. Breathing deep to keep from shifting, she laid one hand on Remy’s chest, right over his heart. Protective. She was in position now and felt a little calmer.

  “I use them for my work.” He sounded impatient. Dismissive. She’d heard that tone many times and had dutifully taken her cue, slipping out of his studio and leaving him to get on with his creations.

  “In what way?” Where were the police? She’d told Angelina to call everyone. She expected even the bomb squad to show up. How much time had passed? She knew Arnaud better than anyone. When it came to his work, he wouldn’t be distracted for too long.

  Bijou planned out every move in her mind. Exactly what she would do if Arnaud picked up a cutting tool. Remy tried to tell her with his eyes to get out, but she would never leave him. She smiled at Arnaud and insisted he answer. “I need to know, Arnaud.”

  He sighed. “I dry the bones, grind them up into a fine powder and use them as part of the sculptures for texture. The bones bring my work to life.”

  Bijou could see that he wanted her gone. She was losing him to his art. “What about the altar? What’s important about the altar?”

  “I saw one in Haiti but it wasn’t perfect. It was beautiful, but not perfect. I wanted to perfect it, so I read about them and signed my work. It was my signature. How could you not recognize my signature? Now go. I have work to do.” He waved her away and then, as always, seemed to forget she existed.

  He reached for a wicked-looking, razor-sharp implement, and Bijou leapt over the table, using the spring action of her leopard. She hit Arnaud full in the chest, knocking him backward and down to the floor, landing on top of him, one hand pinning down the hand holding the knife.

  “Bijou.” Arnaud looked up at her, surprised. He didn’t struggle. Didn’t attempt to get away. He was enormously strong, but he didn’t even tense up. “Your eyes are like a cat’s, like his. They glow and change color. But you’ve got that look. The look of the hunter.”

  Behind her she heard movement. “I am a hunter, Arnaud,” she whispered. “So is Remy. Only you saw that in us.”

  “We’ve got him now,” Gage said. “Move away from him. The ambulance is here as well for Remy, Bijou. Just back away.”

  “Give me the knife, Arnaud,” she said as gently as possible. “Don’ hurt him. He doesn’t understand what he’s done.” She glanced back at Gage in warning.

  “Bijou, back off,” Gage ordered.

  Arnaud put the knife in her upturned palm. His fingers stroked her wrist. “I understand, Bijou. It just doesn’t matter the way you all think it does.”

  Gage reached down and pulled Bijou to her feet. She looked around her at the roomful of policemen, all with guns drawn. Arnaud didn’t even struggle. He actually smiled at her. Calm. Serene. Forgiving.

  Tears running down her face, she caught at Remy’s limp hand and brought it to her heart as they waited for the police to give the okay to the paramedics. His green eyes locked with hers and she felt herself tumble into him. Right where she belonged.

  “Don’ look so sappy,” Gage warned in a whisper. “He’s goin’ to have lots to say to you about this when he can talk again.”

  20

  THE wedding was supposed to be small and simple. Bijou realized Cajuns just didn’t work that way. Not the Cajuns who lived along the swamps and had big noisy families and could shift into leopards. At least there were no reporters, although picture taking was at an all-time high.

  Remy swept her into his arms and they floated around the dance floor, surrounded by laughter and the sound of ice cubes tinkling in glasses. She stared up at his face. Remy. There never had been anyone else, and there never could be.

  “You know this doesn’t change anything,” Remy said suddenly, bending his head to kiss her fiercely. Possessively. Something he did often since he was out of the hospital.

  She kissed him back just as fiercely, uncaring they were surrounded by his brothers and she’d be teased something terrible the moment they could pounce. When he lifted his head she did a little eyelash batting and tried for innocent and puzzled. “Do you mean we’re not really married? I don’ understand.”

  “I told you to get out of there.” His eyes went glacier blue, always a bad sign. “You could have been killed. I know you heard me. Maybe not out loud, but you knew I wanted you out of there, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted complacently. She snuggled closer to him.

  “Gage told you to stay the hell out of there, to wait for backup, didn’t he?” Remy insisted. “And you heard him.”

  She looked up at him. Met his beautiful cat’s eyes. “Yes, I did.” Totally unrepentant.

  “And you ignored all of us.”

  She smiled at him. “Of course. Did you really think I’d leave you with him? He’s a genius, an amazing creative artist, but he’s totally insane. The FBI is taking over from here. They’ll put him in a hospital for the criminally insane.”

  “Bijou, you didn’t even have a weapon. Not even a gun.”

  “He would have cut out your eyes just to try to capture a way to reproduce them. Or maybe he would have tortured you to try to get you to look like the hunter again. Whatever he planned, Remy, I wasn’t about to leave you there alone with him.”

  “You took a hell of a chance. He could have killed you.”

  Bijou wasn’t going to back down or apologize, or even give him reassurances that it would never happen again. She loved Remy. He was hers. Her family. She would protect him just as fiercely as he protected everyone around them. She realized how difficult it must have been for a man like him—a man of action—an alpha leopard—to lie helpless and see his mate put herself in harm’s way for him. But he had to understand and accept who she was.

  “I’m probably the only person in the world who was safe from him. He saw me as a person, as real. Not one of his life-forms.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “No, it isn’t. Even if I knew he’d try to kill me, I would have gone in after you and I would have done the exact same thing. Stall. Get into a position to attack him if he made a move against you, and I would have done it.”

  He huffed out his breath. “You’re in so much trouble. The minute I get you alone.”

  She laughed softly, happily. “I’ve been in trouble every night since you got out of the hospital. Your . . . um . . . punishment is kind of sexy.”

  Immediately she felt his reaction. His body moved more tightly against hers, his thick hard length pressing into her through their clothing. He groaned softly. “Don’ say sexy. We have to get through the celebration and be civilized for a little while here.”

  “You brought it up.”

  He bent his head to her exposed neck. Her hair was up in an intricate do that made her look more elegant and very much the lady, out of his class. He couldn’t wait to start removing pins and letting all that soft silk fall all over his skin. His teeth teased at the vulnerable spot between her neck and shoulder.

  “As a warnin’, Bijou. I need to spank you a little bit harder to get your attention.”

  She laughed, winding her arms around his neck, trying to melt into his body. “You have my attention, Remy Boudreaux. You’ll always have my attention. I’m madly, crazy in love with you.”

  “I know,” he said complacently.

  She dug her fingers into his ribs. He hunched a little, laughing.

  “I know? That’s your romantic response when I declare undying love for you?”

  “Well, I do know.” His eyes were even laughing.

  “Your sexual skills are quite up to par so now we’re goin’ to have to work on your romance skills,” she told him.

  “Up to par? Did you just say
up to par? Woman, you really are askin’ for trouble. Superior skills in that department.” He danced her off the dance floor and right around the corner of the building, across the sprawling lawn down to the grove of trees. “We’re getting the hell out of here so I can do a little provin’ of my point.”

  “We can’t just run away from our own wedding celebration,” she protested, but she didn’t stop moving.

  Remy tugged at her hand. “I know you’re especially good at undressin’, Blue. Try doin’ it on the run.”

  His jacket and tie went floating behind him.

  “Oh my God, you’re serious,” Bijou exclaimed, caught somewhere between laughter and shock. “I’m in a wedding dress.”

  His hand tore at the pins in her hair even as he dragged her through the trees toward the swamp. “And it’s damned beautiful, but I personally like you with no clothes on. And so do our leopards. Come on, Blue, let’s be bad.”

  “There’re like a million buttons.”

  He stopped running. “Is that a no?”

  “Are you kiddin’ me? Undo them right now, Remy. And hurry up about it.”

  “I’m madly, crazy in love with you,” he admitted, his hands eagerly slipping small pearly buttons out of their loops.

  “I know,” she said, and waited for her wedding gown to fall to the ground.

  Keep reading for a special preview of the next exciting Carpathian novel by #1 New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan

  DARK LYCAN

  Available September 2013 from Berkley Books.

  MIST drifted through the trees. The moon, not quite full, was a yellow halo, dull and yet glaring. Around the moon a red halo gave off an ominous glow. A dangerous time, this cycle of the moon, especially when the mist came in thick and heavy, covering the ground a foot or so high, winding in and out of the trees as if alive. The mist muffled sound, dulled the senses, giving advantages to the shadowy figures that preyed upon the unwary.

  Tatijana of the Dragonseekers woke beneath the earth with layers of dark, rich healing loam surrounding her. Vital nutrients, rich in minerals, cushioned her body. She lay for a long time, panicked, listening to her own heart beating, feeling too light, too trapped, too exposed. And hot. So hot. Above her, she sensed the guardians. Watching over her, they said, and it was probably true. But she’d been a prisoner for so long—she’d been born into captivity—and she trusted no one other than her sister, Branislava. Bronnie lay sleeping peacefully, very close to her, her only comfort.

  Her heartbeat grew louder until it was thunder in her ears. She couldn’t stand being trapped beneath the earth. She had to get out, to find freedom. To feel free. What was that like? She knew nothing of the world. She’d lived underground her entire life, deep in the ice caves, never seeing or speaking to anyone other than those who tortured and tried to terrorize her. She knew no other life, but that had changed—or had it?

  Had she and Bronnie exchanged one cold, frightening prison for a silken cage? If so, their wardens had made a huge mistake putting them in the ground to recover. She hardly knew what it was like to be in her real form. She’d spent centuries in dragon form, and dragons could move through her earth fairly easily.

  Bronnie, she whispered into her sister’s mind. I know you need your sleep. I will continue to explore our new world and come back at dawn with new information.

  Branislava stirred in her mind as if she might protest, as she had each time Tatijana told her she was going.

  I need to do this.

  I will come with you, Bronnie answered, her voice far away, even though she was in Tatijana’s mind.

  Tatijana knew Branislava would force herself to awaken, even though she wasn’t truly healed inside, where they both needed it. They’d done everything together, been through the worst together. They’d never actually been apart, even when encased in ice, and they could only stare at one another. They still had telepathic communication.

  “Not this time, Bronnie. I need to do this for me.” She whispered the words as she did on the occasions when she awakened to explore their new world. She always gave Bronnie reassurance that she would be careful.

  No one would ever imprison either of them again. Every rising she made that simple vow. She was growing stronger with each passing night. Power ran through her body, and with it, confidence. She was determined they would stand on their own and be beholden to no one.

  Tatijana didn’t know how to tell her sister she didn’t want to live under the rules of another. They were Carpathian. Dragonseeker. That meant something to the prince of the Carpathians and to all the others. The males were lining up in the hopes of claiming either her or Bronnie. She could not live under the rule of another. She just couldn’t do it. She didn’t want anyone telling her what to do ever again, even if it was for her own good. She rose when she wanted and explored her new world on her own terms.

  Tatijana made up her mind that she would find her own way, learn her own way, make her own mistakes. Bronnie was always the voice of reason. She protected Tatijana from her impulsive nature, but no more. As much as she loved Branislava, this was something Tatijana needed.

  She sent her sister love and warmth and the promise she would return at dawn. Shape-shifting into the appearance of a blue dragon was easy—she’d been in the form for centuries and the structure and shape felt more familiar than her own body.

  She burrowed deeper, going into the earth rather than rising where her guardians would see her. She’d already dug a tunnel, and she moved quickly through the packed soil. She’d chosen to exit several kilometers away from her resting place in order to ensure Branislava’s safety and to make certain the guardians would have no idea she’d risen early. The blue dragon moved through the tunnel like a mole, digging when necessary, packing any dirt that had collapsed as she moved steadily toward her goal.

  Tatijana emerged in deep forest. She was very careful to scan the earth above her before the blue dragon poked her wedge-shaped head out of the hidden entrance. She surfaced in the midst of a thick gray fog. Trees appeared as giant misshapen scarecrows with outstretched arms, swaying slightly, just enough to give them the appearance of monsters.

  Tatijana had known real monsters, and the dense forest of trees veiled in gray didn’t alarm her in the least. Freedom was amazing. Her eyes were terribly sensitive, but other than that, the world felt as if it was hers, and with the fog covering the ground, her eyes didn’t even burn.

  She shifted to her physical form, donning modern clothing, a pair of soft cotton pants that allowed her freedom of movement. She had chosen a blouse she’d seen on a woman in the village a couple of nights earlier. She’d followed the woman, studying her style of clothing so she could reproduce it at will. Everything seemed strange to her, but that was part of the excitement of discovery. She wanted tactile learning, not just pulling information from another’s mind.

  She made her way through the forest, enjoying the way the fog wrapped around her legs and made her feel as if she were walking through clouds. She remembered at the last moment to add shoes, something that was still very uncomfortable for her. She felt as if the shoes weighed her down; they felt very foreign on her body.

  The wind rushed through the trees, kicking up leaves and swirling mist around tree trunks. The mist began to rise from the floor as she walked toward the only light on the forest’s edge that she could see. Music poured from the building, singing to her, beckoning, but this time she knew she wasn’t going just to hear those beautiful notes. She normally chose a different location every night to glean more information and share with her sister.

  This place called to her every rising now. The feeling was so strong it was nearly a compulsion. She had resisted for a few days, but she couldn’t stop herself another night. She drew closer to the building. The windows were lit with that same yellow glow, two eyes staring at her through the thick mist. A chill went down her spine, but she kept walking toward it.

  The Wild Boar Tavern sat on the ver
y edge of the forest, surrounded on three sides by heavy brush, trees and plenty of cover for anyone needing to hide quickly. Providing shelter and camaraderie as well as easy exits should the law happen to venture near, the regulars found comfort by the fire, warm food and plenty to drink. The crowd was rough, no place for the timid, and even the law generally avoided the place. No one asked questions and everyone was careful not to officially notice anything.

  Fenris Dalka came to the tavern nearly every night, so why did he feel such a fool sitting at the bar, slowly nursing a beer, pretending to drink it like he often did? He huffed out his breath and kept his gaze forward, using the mirror to keep an eye on the door. From his vantage point, he could see every corner of the tavern as well as the entrance. He’d scoped out the perfect place to sit some time ago, and now, if he came in and someone was sitting there, he just stood over them, staring, until they got up and vacated his seat.

  Fen knew he was intimidating and he used his rough, dangerous looks to his advantage. He was tall enough, but it was his broad shoulders and thick chest, his roped arms and five-o’clock shadow, and the piercing glacier-blue eyes he used to look right through someone into their soul that usually intimidated people. He rarely had to speak, and he preferred it that way. The regulars knew him and knew to leave him alone.

  Music played in the background and laughter occasionally rang out, but for the most part, the patrons spoke in hushed whispers. Only the bartender ever spoke to Fen when he entered. A few of the regulars lifted a hand, or nodded, but most avoided his eyes. He looked nearly as dangerous as he was—a man with no friends, trusting only his brother and always hunted or hunting. He was even more ruthless and brutal than the whispers said.

  His hair was long, very thick and distinctly silver, with black strands woven into the waves falling down his back. Most of the time he secured it at his nape with a leather cord to keep it out of his eyes. He had large hands, and his knuckles were scarred. There were scars on his face, one up near his eye and another that ran from his eye halfway down his face. There were far more scars on his body. Centuries of defending himself, every battle and every victory, were stamped into his bones.