Wild Fire

by Christine Feehan

  Breathe. Reach for your cat. She swore she heard Conner's voice, as calm as ever, flooding her mind, driving out fright to be replaced by a strange calm.

  She felt her body twisting until her upper body was pointed down, and her legs followed suit. She seemed to be tumbling out of control and she gave herself up to the cat struggling to come to her aid. Her skin itched and fur burst along her body, slowing her descent. Instinctively she spread out her arms and folded in the middle. Her spine flexed. Her ears burned, almost as if her body tuned itself to know which way was up and which was down. Her eyes focused on the ground rushing up to meet her.

  She found herself tucking her arms in and extending her legs so that her body rotated, the front coming around much faster than the bottom half. Immediately she tucked her legs and extended her arms to bring herself all the way around. She'd rotated completely in midair, just as Conner had said she would. She tried to relax as she felt the burning sensation in her feet and hands, indicating claws breaking through her sensitive skin just before she hit the ground. The pads helped, but she hit hard, her legs and hands absorbing the tremendous fall through the paws.

  Pain crashed through her body, her wrists, elbows, knees and ankles crumbling beneath her as she sprawled out on the forest floor.

  "Don't move," Conner hissed as he landed beside her in a perfect crouch.

  She hated him in that moment. He had to be good at everything. She'd fallen from the canopy in the rain forest, managed to right herself and still got hurt. His hands moved over her, examining her quickly and efficiently for damage.

  "We just landed in the middle of enemy territory," he reminded. "Don't make a sound."

  She realized she was moaning softly and forced herself to go quiet, although she couldn't stop the tears tracking down her face. She winced when his fingers moved over her left wrist.

  "How bad," he mouthed.

  She looked up at his grim face and tried to look brave when she really wanted to curl into a ball and sob. The pads of his fingers brushed gently at her tears, making her heart ache.

  "A sprain, I think. The rest of me, just the shock, jamming everything as I landed. I was lucky." She remembered to whisper the words, using a thread of sound that his acute hearing could easily pick up.

  Her body was tuning itself once again to the rhythm of the rain forest. She heard the rustling in the underbrush and knew it was a man, not an animal, brushing against leaves quite close to them. Too close. She smelled sweat and fear and rot. Her eyes met Conner's. There it was again, that implacable, ruthless, dangerous look that meant she was safe. He put his finger to his lips and indicated for her to move back into the cover of the brush. She used her toes and elbows to slide on her belly, easing her way over the thick carpet of decayed leaves until the broader, thick leaves of the bushes provided a screen for her.

  All the while she scooted back, Conner held his ground, shielding her with his body. He made it difficult to despise him totally when he continually put himself in danger to protect her. And she wanted--needed--to despise him. She had to stay alert to keep from falling under his spell. Out in the forest where a higher law prevailed, life seemed very black and white.

  Only when she was safely under cover did Conner begin to move. The gun was always ready, his gaze restlessly examining every inch of their surroundings, missing nothing. He slowly drew back into the brush to lie beside her. With infinite patience he pushed the gun into her hands, settling her finger on the trigger and cautioning her again to silence. His hand, almost in slow motion, went to the small daggerlike pieces of metal in the loops of his belt. He palmed two of them without a sound.

  She'd never really noticed them, so small and harmless-looking, but she saw, before his fingers concealed them, that they were lethal stiletto-like daggers. An assassin's weapon. She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering how she'd ever gotten to this place with this man. He touched the back of her hand and waited until she dared to look at him again. He winked and just like that the tension eased.

  Night descended fast in the rain forest and, although she was used to camping for long periods of time while she worked, she was used to being safely off the ground and out of the way of the millions of insects that turned the forest floor into a living carpet. She could feel bugs moving over her skin and might have tried to move in order to dislodge them, had Conner not touched her hand and given her that slow, sexy wink.

  Isabeau's breath caught in her throat and she froze as two huge boots stepped inches from her head. Conner never moved. He lay beside her, his breath even and silent, but she could feel the tension coiling in his body, the bunching of his muscles as he gathered himself, preparing for the spring. The man crouched down and began to inch his way through the brush. Steam rose from the ground, surrounding his boots and calves with every step he took.

  The sight should have struck fear into her heart, but Conner was too solid next to her, too much of a hunter, his eyes fixed on his prey, unblinking, like the eyes of a leopard. His eyes blazed, the amber darkening to yellow-green, smoldering with tension, with fire, but mostly with a cunning intelligence. His gaze was penetrating and she couldn't take her eyes from his face, not even to see where the man creeping through the forest was headed.

  Isabeau heard her heart pound, but Conner never moved, using all the natural patience of a leopard, completely motionless as the man turned his back and took several steps away from them, alerting to a soft noise just ahead. Her breath stilled in her lungs as she caught Adan's scent. He was close and the man hiding in the brush heard him.

  Conner slid forward, a slow, belly-to-ground stalk, propelling himself forward inch by inch. He crawled and froze, using the meager cover to inch within a foot of his prey. The closer he approached, the slower he moved, continuing the freeze-frame stalk until he was nearly on the man. Once locked on, his dilated gaze never moved from his intended target. He exploded off the ground, leaping on his prey, the two daggers grabbing, holding and puncturing. He held his prey easily with his great strength, while the large man resisted, trying to fight back, dropping his weapon in the process, unable to cry out.

  Isabeau tried to look away, but the sight of the life-and-death struggle mesmerized her. Mostly she looked at Conner's face. His expression never changed. His eyes looked savage, that strange burning gold now, but his face was a mask of implacable resolve. She couldn't imagine him defeated by anything. He seemed invincible. He looked ruthless. Deadly. And God help her, she was drawn like a moth to a flame instead of being repelled as she should have been.

  Conner lowered the body silently to the ground and let out a series of chuffing noises. The sound pierced the veil of mist rising like clouds around them, reverberating in the darkness, mixing with the natural sounds of the forest. Far off, she heard an answer, the common prusten greeting of a leopard, much like the snorting of a horse. Another answered with a combination that resembled the coo of a pigeon and water running over rocks. A third leopard chimed in with short muffled sneezing, forming a triangle with Conner and Isabeau in the center. The vocalization lasted less than half a second, but the sounds were chilling.

  There in the night, already facing unseen enemies, to be surrounded by dangerous, wild animals was terrifying. She knew leopards were more widespread than any other cat, because they were more adaptable--more cunning and bold. They were known to stalk people in villages, going right into houses and taking their prey. They were secretive and supposed to be solitary, so why were there at least three of them? Unless the fire had driven them to the river just as it had Conner and Isabeau. She knew leopards were extremely dangerous--much like Conner. Or maybe he was more so, being man too. Did that give him more intelligence? More control? And maybe he wasn't the only leopard on his team.

  Her mouth was so dry she feared she couldn't find it in her to swallow, and somewhere the trembling had started. Conner made his way back to her in that silent way of his and lifted her off the ground, setting her on her feet. Pain jarred th
rough her body and her wrist throbbed where she'd sprained it. She stood quietly while he brushed the insects from her shuddering body. She didn't live like this, with great adventures. She lived a life of solitude, hidden from the world in her precious rain forest, working with her plants. Most of the time she was alone or with a guide, and she certainly didn't get involved with drug cartels or dangerous men--until Conner.

  "I'll get you out of this," he said.

  His voice was gentle, a slow drawl--like a drug to her, something once experienced, always craved, like his touch. Like the focused, piercing stare from his eyes. So intent. So completely locked on to her. It was exhilarating and unnerving all at the same time. The brush of his fingers against her skin sent tremors through her body, ripples of awareness through her until her very core turned a heated liquid. Surrounded by death and danger, she was more susceptible to him than ever.

  "I know you will." She kept her voice low, afraid of giving herself away. "Those were leopards, weren't they?"

  "Friends. I warned them they had two more coming at them. Rio's got Adan safe."

  "The leopards aren't real leopards," she guessed. She should have known it was Conner's friends answering his call. Isabeau let her breath out. Friends. They had friends in the midst of this madness. "Are they like you?"

  "Like us," he corrected and reached to pull leaves from her hair. "They're like us, Isabeau."

  She didn't move, absorbing the feel of his fingers in her hair. He had a way of making her feel special and cared for--protected and loved--yet she knew it was an illusion. She'd hired him for those traits--to seduce another woman with that magnetism. Now she wasn't so certain she could watch him do it.

  "I shouldn't have brought you here." The confession slipped out in spite of her resolve not to engage with him over the past.

  His roughened palm cupped the side of her face, the pad of his thumb sliding seductively back and forth, nearly mesmerizing her as completely as his voice did. "No, you shouldn't have, not if you wanted to be safe. But it's too late for regrets. We're already here and we're in this mess all the way. We can't leave those children to Imelda Cortez and we can't pretend we're indifferent. I expect a little hate, Isabeau, but that's not all you feel for me and I expect honesty between us."

  Fire flashed through her, a storm of such heat she shook with it. "You expect honesty between us? You?" She poured contempt into her voice. "You wouldn't know honesty if it bit you in the butt. Don't you dare lecture me. You lied to me. Used me. Made me believe you loved me and we were going to have a life together. And then you killed my father. Everything about you is a lie, an illusion. You aren't even real."

  Rage burst like a firestorm in her stomach, churning wildly, exploding in fiery conflagration she couldn't--or didn't--want to douse. There was a part of her that knew her sexual hunger was a good percentage of what was fueling the flames of anger--that the intensity of her righteous, feral anger was her cat's heat and her absolute physical need of the dominant male standing in front of her, but it felt so good to throw the gun to the ground and swing her clenched fist at the smug male smirk, wanting to wipe it off his face.

  Amusement crept into the amber of his eyes as he evaded her swipe, his teeth flashing at her. "Are you trying to hit me?"

  "I'm going to kick your ass," she spat back, circling around him, a slow hiss escaping her throat. His laughter only drove the flames of her fire higher.

  "Hafelina." His voice smoldered with sex and her treacherous body reacted with a spasm of need.

  "What does that mean?" she demanded and threw a kick at his thigh.

  He slapped her foot away from him. "Little cat. And you're behaving like one right now. I don't want to hurt you, Isabeau, so stop this nonsense."

  "You think you're the only one with training?" Now it was a matter of pride that she score a hit on him. Just one.

  She attacked hard, a series of lightning fast kicks. He blocked every one with an almost casual slap of his hand. The taps stung, but didn't really hurt. She didn't take her eyes from him, a sexual fury manifesting itself in violent rage.

  "Do you know what a cat does when she's in heat and her male is circling her?"

  His voice lowered an octave. Purred at her. Stroked her sensitive skin and found raw, burning nerves. Liquid heat scorched her. Her breasts ached. Her skin felt too tight, need and an angry hunger she couldn't control mixing together.

  "I'm not in heat," she hissed, and drove in again, this time with her hands, throwing a left, a right and then an uppercut.

  He blocked every move with an open palm, that same casual slap that was as maddening as the raw, edgy hunger that drove her need to attack him.

  "Sure you are." His voice dropped even lower and his eyes drifted possessively over her body. "You're hot as hell. Your scent is driving me insane."

  She flushed, turning nearly crimson, and rushed him again. He sidestepped and caught her, spinning her around until her back was against him, her arms pinned to her sides, trapping her tight against his body. His scent was potent, wild, sexy. Every ragged breath burned through her lungs. Adrenaline was hot and liquid rushing through her veins.

  She hissed again. He lowered his head, holding her in an unbreakable grip, his strength enormous. He lapped at the side of her neck, in a slow, languorous display of ownership, sending shivers through her entire body. Tongues of flames licked over her skin. His teeth scraped along her neck, down her throat and then his lips pressed against her ear.

  "The female leopard always rebuffs her mate, giving him a show of claws, hissing and spitting like the little cat you are. All the while she's seductive, driving her mate into a frenzy of hunger even as she pushes him away. Her body calls to his. Like yours does to mine. Do you know why, Hafelina?"

  She went very still, sensing danger. Absolute danger. His teeth slid down her neck, nuzzled at her shoulder. "Because you belong to me."

  His teeth sank deep into the back of her neck, the pain and pleasure of it seared her heart, sizzled through her veins and scorched her most feminine core. Her womb spasmed, and clenched. Damp heat gathered between her legs. She couldn't stop herself from rubbing against him, almost desperate for relief. His knee came up between her legs, driving into her clenching heat. Sparks burst behind her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat and every muscle in her body tightened. She nearly sobbed with the pleasure crashing through her body.

  It was humiliating, but she couldn't stop the way she moved against him, frantic now, every nerve ending raw. He growled a soft warning when she struggled. His mouth moved over her neck, his tongue swirling over the stinging bite, sending waves of scorching heat through her overloaded system.

  "I'm your mate, Isabeau. Now. Always. There is nothing else. You belong to me and I belong to you. You don't have to like it, but you can't deny it. Your body knows it. Your cat knows. Fight me all you want, but you know it as well."

  She hated the knowledge in his eyes when she looked over her shoulder, into his heavy-lidded stare. He looked so sensual. So male. So intense. He looked at her as if he knew no one else would ever satisfy her. No one else could hold her so still, so hypnotized, his thigh rubbing over and into her, sending waves of pulsing need crashing through her. His hold was possessive. He rubbed his face over her neck, her shoulder, her hair, almost as if he was leaving his scent all over her. Claiming her. Warning off all other males.

  Muscles bunched in her stomach, arousal teased her thighs and breasts, her breath turned ragged. A sob escaped. His body was full and heavy, pressing tightly with urgent demand against the small of her back. His scent filled her lungs. He was everywhere and her skin felt too tight, her clothes hurt.

  Keeping her arms pinned with one arm wrapped tightly around her, his fist bunched in her hair and he dragged her head back. She looked into his golden eyes, dark now with heat. Intense hunger. So much possession. She watched his mouth come down toward hers and she should have moved--should have fought him--but her breath left her lungs in a ru
sh and she was lost in her own need. His mouth was hard and demanding, a crush of command, a taking, a branding and she tasted lust, tasted sin and sex. She tasted him.

  She'd forgotten that addicting taste. Her mouth opened to him and she indulged her need, feeding there, feeling taken when all he was doing was kissing her, over and over, his lips rough, his mouth hot, his tongue stroking caresses into a fire that threatened to consume her. She heard her own strangled whimper, a sound of intense need escaping before she could think to prevent it.

  She could no longer think clearly, her brain fogging over, her skull too tight, the throbbing beat of hunger like a jackhammer in her head. Her breasts ached, nipples hard and straining against the thin material of her bra. She couldn't stop rubbing against him, needing the hard pressure of his thigh to relieve the terrible ache that wouldn't stop, yet knowing it wouldn't be enough until he filled her completely. His mouth moved on her shoulder--a burning brand and he whispered low and sexy in her ear.

  "Stop fighting it, Sestrilla, let it happen."

  His voice, that sexy, velvet whisper of sin triggered the drenching orgasm that flashed through her body like a firestorm. She writhed in utter shame, as her heart slammed too hard in her chest and the waves of heat rippled and pulsed through her.

  He knew. He knew what he did to her, she could hear it in the humming satisfaction rumbling in his chest, the purr emanating from his throat. Tears burned behind her eyes. She hated her lack of control, the raw need that tormented her in his presence. He should have been the last person whose touch she needed, yet here she was, a few hours in his company, allowing his touch--craving his touch.

  How did she wrench her soul free from him? Take her heart back? Stop her body's response? He'd left her empty. Broken. He was a terrible obsession she couldn't get over, no matter how hard she fought. She had no idea how to stop the deadly hunger every time she looked at him. His voice alone triggered it. She was caught in his trap, in the illusion he wove and she couldn't break free.

  He'd leave her again. He'd come to the rain forest to seduce a woman. She'd brought him to the rain forest to seduce another woman. And he'd taken the job until he knew she was the client. What was wrong with her? Where the hell was her cat now? The treacherous animal coming close to the surface, revealing her heat, her hunger and then deserting when Isabeau needed her claws and strength the most. She felt limp. Shattered. Humiliated. She was no match for a man like Conner Vega. She wasn't even in his league.