L06 Leopard's Prey

by Christine Feehan

  Whispered conversations were easy enough to listen in on with his acute hearing, allowing him to glean a tremendous amount of information. But tonight was different. He wasn’t here for information. He was drawn . . . compelled by something altogether different this time.

  Uncomfortable, he played with his beer mug, moving his fingers over the handle, gripping with his fist and forcing himself to let go before he shattered the glass. He wasn’t a man to do another’s bidding. He didn’t trust anything he couldn’t understand—and he didn’t understand the urgent need that kept him coming back night after night, waiting.

  This was a tavern for the lawless. For clandestine meetings. He and his brother had discovered the tavern when he’d first arrived back in the Carpathian Mountains. It had been necessary to find a safe place, out of the way, where they could spend time and talk unseen by anyone who might know either of them. He wanted to make absolutely certain that his younger brother was safe. No one could know they were brothers. No one could ever associate the two of them, or he would be putting his sibling’s life on the line—something he wasn’t willing to do. So many years had passed that everyone had forgotten him, or thought him dead, and for his brother’s protection that falsehood had to remain.

  He knew every face in the tavern. Most had been coming even longer than he had. The newest patron was the most suspect. He had arrived in the area only a couple of weeks earlier. He had the stocky build of a hunter—a woodsman—yet he dressed more refined. He was not someone to take lightly. Anyone could see by the way he moved that he would be good in a fight. He was definitely armed. He went by the name of Zev and was clearly new to the area. He hadn’t disclosed his business, but Fen would bet his last dollar he was hunting someone. He didn’t look like the law, but he was definitely pursuing someone. Fen hoped it wasn’t him, but if it was, he took every opportunity to study Zev, the way he moved, which hand he favored, where his weapons were carried.

  Zev wore his hair longer than was common, just as Fen did. His hair was a deep chestnut color and very thick, much like a rich pelt. His eyes were gray and watchful, always moving, always restless, while his body remained quite still. Fen found it significant that no one in the bar had yet challenged him.

  The wind picked up, rushing through the trees, capricious and playful, pushing branches against the sides of the tavern so that they creaked and scraped, a heralding of danger if one could read the information the wind provided. Fen let out his breath and glanced through the window into the dark forest.

  The mist snaked through the trees, stretching out like greedy fingers, winding in and out of the trees, closeting the forest in a thick veil of gray. He needed to go—now. He only had five days before the full moon, that gave him two days to find a safe place to ride out the threat to him. The three days before the full moon, the full moon, and the three days after were the most dangerous for him. Yet he didn’t move from the bar stool, not even when self-preservation screamed at him. Every hair on his body was raised, both in alarm and extended as antenna to catch the smallest of details.

  He smeared cold beads of sweat on the glass, his gaze drawn to the mirror once again. He did not have the full range of the color spectrum, but the dimmer the light, the more shades of gray he could see. He couldn’t tell the difference between yellow, green or orange; they all looked the same to him—a dull yellowish color. Red looked brownish-gray or black, but he could detect blue. What he lacked in his abilities to distinguish color, he more than made up for with his acute hearing, his sense of smell and his long-range eyesight.

  Her scent reached him as she opened the door. The woman. The woman. Was she bait to catch him? If so, he was hooked. That scent of hers, fresh earth, the forest, of dark secret places and the night itself, drew him as no expensive perfume ever could. She’d been coming on and off to the tavern for the last week. Three visits, and yet he was already under her spell.

  She’d captured him effortlessly, without doing anything but walking through the door. He’d never seen a woman so beautiful or alluring. She literally stopped all conversation the moment she entered, but she never seemed to notice. And that was the trouble. She was far too young and naïve, far too innocent looking to come unescorted to a place like this one.

  He’d heard the whispers of some of the men and he knew she wasn’t safe. The two barmaids glared at her, aware that the moment she came in, they no longer had the attention of the men. Again, the woman seemed completely unaware. She walked with confidence, but she seemed to pay no attention to the predators surrounding her—and they were predators. The only reason she hadn’t been attacked so far was because he’d made it very clear she should be left alone. When one of the men had started to make his move on her, Fen had stood up. That was all. He just stood up.

  The man subsided instantly and no one had dared make another move, but it was only a matter of time. From what he heard, the three conspirators planned to follow her when she left the tavern and Fen wouldn’t be around to protect her. He could have told them not to put their money on that plan, but he didn’t bother. He rolled his shoulders slowly, opened and closed his fists, stretching out his fingers and looking down at the hands that could be such deadly weapons. He needed the exercise.

  He watched her in the mirror. He’d seen her try a drink each time she came in, one she’d obviously seen someone else drink, and each time she made a horrible face and spit the liquor back into the glass, shook her head and moved away from the bar to the tiny area where she could dance. Again she seemed completely oblivious to those around her, losing herself in the music. Fen was certain she came to the tavern only because she loved the music.

  She never spoke, not even to the bartender, and Fen wondered whether or not she could speak. Her skin was porcelain white, as if she never saw the sun. Her hair was beautiful, falling far past her waist, long enough that she probably could sit on it, as if she’d never cut it in her life. She wore it in a braided rope that was as thick as his wrist. The silky fall was a color he couldn’t quite define, but when the light hit it just right, the color seemed to change—although it could just be the way he perceived color.

  Her eyes caught his attention. He couldn’t stop staring at them, and as she danced, she suddenly lifted her lashes, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. His heart nearly stopped and then began pounding. Women didn’t have that kind of effect on him. His mouth didn’t go dry. His jaw didn’t ache and his canines didn’t grow sharp. He was always—always—in control. And yet . . . He heard thunder roaring in his ears, and breathed deep, calling on centuries of discipline.

  Emotions dulled and disappeared in time. What little he felt, he felt as the other, not in this form. Sometimes he forgot what it was like to be in his present form. Yet now, looking into her eyes, he found he couldn’t look away. She mesmerized him. Captivated him. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust his unfamiliar, very strange reaction to her.

  A gust of wind hit the tavern hard, blew down the chimney and sent sparks rising in the fireplace. A log fell from the iron grate and rolled toward the opening, coming to an abrupt halt, but flames leapt and danced, while cracks inside the log glowed brightly. Fen swung his head toward the window. The thick mist spun out of the forest, threads of gray wrapping themselves around the tavern, enclosing the entire building in a giant spiderweb of glistening mist.

  The woman stopped dancing, drawing his attention back to her. She stared at the fire, as if every bit as mesmerized by it as he was with her. She moved closer and he found himself frowning, watching her closely in the mirror. Her eyes reflected the leaping flames, almost as if they were multifaceted, reminiscent of the cut of a diamond. She stepped closer, too close. The fireplace was open. Mountains of ashes glowed, flames leapt hungrily. Fen slipped off the bar stool.

  She slowly extended her hand toward the flame. The path would take her palm right into the center of the fire. He moved, using blurring speed, coming up behind her, reaching around and catching her wrist, pullin
g her hand away from the flames before they could blister her soft skin.

  For a moment she stiffened as if she might fight him. He felt a brush, the lightest of touches along his mind, which shocked him. Who was she? What was she? He held his barriers effortlessly and kept his touch gentle, taking care not to convey a threat of any kind. She relaxed and he inhaled the scent of her, his head near her shoulder, so that the thick fall of silky hair brushed his skin and her feminine scent enveloped him. He drew her deep into his lungs. She smelled like sin. Like sex. Like paradise and everything he didn’t—and would never—have.

  “It’s hot. Fire will burn you,” he said softly, making certain no one else in the tavern would hear.

  She was intelligent, he could see that, but something had happened to her, and clearly there were things she’d never experienced and had no knowledge of. Amnesia? Trauma? There was no other explanation. Everyone knew about fire, and her lack of knowledge just made her all the more vulnerable.

  She turned her head slowly to look up at him over her shoulder, frowning slightly, a puzzled expression on her face. Up so close, she appeared ethereal, mysterious, her skin silky smooth, touchable. He’d never been so drawn to another being in his life.

  “Your skin will burn,” he explained patiently. “It would be extremely painful to you.”

  She continued to look at him, confused. He tried repeating the warning in several languages. She just looked at him and they were drawing far too much attention. Every time she moved she had the eye of everyone in the tavern, and he didn’t want anyone to think she was easy prey by her lack of knowledge of the most basic necessity such as fire. In the end, there was nothing else to do. He pressed her arm down to her side, stepped around her and extended his hand, palm down, into the flames.

  She watched, her eyes widening as his skin blistered and the scent of burning flesh rose. She caught his arm and jerked his hand from the fireplace.

  “Do you understand?” he asked, showing her the damage.

  She turned his hand over, her palm covering his burned one, not quite touching, yet he still felt her energy vibrating through his skin. Soothing coolness slid over the blisters. She lifted his palm toward her mouth. His breath caught in his lungs, the air trapped there. He couldn’t move or even speak as she bent her head toward his palm. Her tongue touched the blisters, lightly, barely there, a slow brush that actually made his hand tremble and his knees just a little weak. Worse, his body reacted with a hot surge of blood, rushing and pooling in wicked demand.

  She let go of his hand slowly, almost reluctantly. He lifted his palm to inspect it, still feeling that soothing coolness, as if she’d spread a healing gel over the blistered skin. The blisters were gone. His palm was no longer burned, nor was it even red.

  Fen drew in his breath sharply. He knew what she was. No other species could heal with just their saliva so easily. She had to be Carpathian—a race of beings who called the Carpathian Mountains their home. Few knew of their existence. He frowned, trying to wrap his brain around the idea. In truth, it made no sense. He doubted that a Carpathian female would come to a tavern alone, especially a rough place like the Wild Boar. She would not only have knowledge of fire, but she would be well-schooled in all things. No one lived as long as Carpathians without acquiring a great deal of knowledge along the way. What had happened to her? And why was she unescorted?

  He felt the weight of a stare and glanced up to meet Zev’s gaze. Zev was looking at the woman. Instinctively, Fen shifted his body slightly, blocking Zev’s view of her. Her gaze jumped to his face and then she peeked around his broad body to look at Zev, then moved back behind him.

  “You aren’t safe here,” Fen said, reluctant to admit it. “This crowd is rough.”

  She smiled at him. Smiled. His heart shifted. His stomach tightened and blood surged hotly in his veins. Her teeth were very white, her lips full, red, the thing of fantasies. He took a breath, knowing it was a mistake, but drawing her into his lungs anyway. He took her deep and left her there, swirling around, twisting up his insides until he knew he could—and would—find her again.

  He tipped her chin up so that she would look at his mouth. “Zev in particular is dangerous.” He mouthed the words rather than making sound, fearing Zev had the same extraordinary hearing he did. “The others too, but not like him. Do you understand?”

  Tatijana nodded. Of course she understood, although she was more concerned with the effect of his touch on her than the warning he gave her. She was definitely drawn to this man—Fen was his name. He appeared human when she brushed his mind with light contact—as did everyone else in the tavern—and yet Fen puzzled her. He had moved with blinding speed. Preternatural speed. How could he be human and yet move with the speed of a Carpathian? More, she hadn’t felt any energy preceding him and she should have.

  He was far more muscular than most Carpathian men, but he had the height. His eyes were different and she’d spent an inordinate amount of time secretly studying his eyes as he sat at the bar, nursing his drink. He wasn’t really drinking it, yet over time, the liquid disappeared. She hadn’t figured out yet how he was accomplishing that particular feat, but she knew she wanted to learn it.

  Why had he singled out Zev in particular as dangerous? He felt like every other human in the tavern. “Why Zev?” She was adept at reading lips. She’d learned long ago, as a child, encased in ice, watching the cruelty of her father as he sacrificed animals and humans alike. No one was safe. Mage, Carpathian, Jaguar, Lycan—no species was left unharmed. Even the dead were not safe from Xavier.

  She mouthed the question to Fen, making certain that no sound accidentally escaped, just in case he was Carpathian. She was so inexplicably drawn to Fen, and he was definitely a question mark in her mind, so she wasn’t about to take any chances. She was not ready for any male to claim her. She needed time on her own and she’d been told all about lifemates and how a male could take over her life even without her consent. That couldn’t happen—not to her. Not now. She was actually, for the first time in her existence, enjoying her life. The path of discovery was exhilarating. She felt so alive and she didn’t want anything or anyone to take that away from her.

  Truthfully, she wasn’t altogether certain she could have a relationship with anyone—at least a healthy one. That would require trust, and she simply didn’t have that. She only trusted Branislava, her sole ally. They’d been together so much, it was difficult to think of being apart, yet Tatijana knew she needed this time alone desperately. How did one discover who they were and what they liked if they didn’t ever have the time to find out?

  “I just know,” Fen mouthed back. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

  Her breath caught in her throat. His touch did something strange to her entire body and it was alarming. She stepped backward, unable to pull her gaze from his.

  The sound of a wolf howling outside, a distance away, had both of them turning their heads toward the window. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Zev had also turned toward the sound, and Fen definitely noticed his movement as well. She couldn’t see that anyone else had heard that spine-chilling sound.

  This was no wolf howling at the moon; it was the sound of one calling others to the hunt. At least three others answered, even more distantly, but they didn’t sound like the local wolf pack. They sounded aggressive and eager, as if they had prey already in sight. More than that—to her ears—the call sounded just a little off, as if the wolves were off.

  Her gaze jumped to Fen’s face. He was quite still. Completely motionless. His expression hadn’t changed at all, but she felt the difference in him. He appeared relaxed, but she felt him coiled and ready.

  “I have to go,” she mouthed to him, and backed up another step.

  His attention immediately returned to her. He frowned and glanced out the window again. “I’ll walk you.” He said it aloud this time.

  Heads turned in the tavern toward them. Three of the men
scowled, the ones, he noted, who had whispered together that they would follow her. She had expected it to happen sooner or later, but all she had to do was dissolve into mist and she’d be gone. The men would never know what had happened to her. She had every confidence that no matter what, she’d be safe.

  Tatijana knew Fen had announced his intention to walk with her because he was attempting to ensure she was safe from the men in the tavern—and maybe whatever was outside of it as well. Her first inclination, one of self-preservation, demanded she decline his offer. But there was that compulsion pushing at her, wanting just to be in his company for no apparent reason.

  She took a chance and scanned his mind a second time. He seemed an ordinary man . . . Maybe it was the intriguing contradiction he represented, or maybe it was the way he drew her like a magnet, but she gave a slight nod of her head to let him know she’d walk a bit with him. In any case, she knew she could protect him if there was trouble.

  Zev pushed away from the bar, buttoned up his coat and stepped outside without so much as looking their way. As if Fen’s word had been a signal, the three men huddled together, whispering their conspiracies, stood up and pulled on their coats and hats to shuffle out of the tavern as well. Two of them glanced a little nervously at Fen while the third man leered at Tatijana.

  Her heart sank. Clearly she was putting Fen in danger by agreeing to walk with him. She opened her mouth to tell him she’d go by herself but he took her hand and tugged her toward the door. The moment the warmth of his hand closed around hers, her heart shifted and a million butterflies winged across her stomach. His hands were much larger than hers; he completely engulfed her smaller hand, making her feel feminine and very much a woman—a brand-new concept for her.