Savage Nature

by Christine Feehan

  The leopard beneath him suddenly went slack, the fight draining out of him, sides heaving, mouth open, eyes glazing.

  "Let him go." The voice held a note of pleading.

  Drake reached for calm, fought for control of his leopard. This fight had not been about territory, not with this leopard. It was the female so close to the Han Vol Dan that had triggered the fierce fight. His opponent wanted him dead and his leopard knew it. The need to kill was a living, breathing entity and it took every ounce of discipline Drake had to fight his leopard back. Reason seemed just out of reach for several precious moments--moments while the other cat was without air.

  "Robert, no!" A second voice rang out, sharp. Insistent. Commanding. "You pull that trigger and I'll have no choice but to kill you. Back off. He's gaining control."

  "It will be too late."

  "That was Dion's choice."

  The voice held authority. Sorrow. The loss of a male in his prime was a blow to any lair. Drake took another firm grip and forced his leopard to back off. The cat did so reluctantly, snarling and growling every inch of the way, raking at Drake, spinning around to face the other leopards in the lair, roaring a challenge, dangerously close to a killing madness. Blood coated his sides and dripped down his flanks, matting in the thick fur, but he snarled and placed each paw carefully, watching his enemies, daring them to move.

  Two men had shifted back into human form. Drake, through the red haze of madness, recognized Robert Lanoux and the older man, Amos Jeanmard. At a signal from Jeanmard, the other leopards reluctantly faded into the shadows. The retreat helped to calm his leopard a little more, although it paced and went to ground, rose and paced again, never far from his downed opponent.

  "We need to see to our kin," Jeanmard said. "Do you have control?"

  It was a good question. Drake wasn't certain. He pushed harder at his leopard, fighting now for supremacy. His leopard whirled to face Robert, who had taken a step toward his fallen brother. Drake forced him back until reluctantly the leopard gave ground, one slow inch at a time. He summoned enough restraint to swing the leopard's head toward the leader of the Louisiana lair and nod.

  Jeanmard gave a small, formal bow, more an incline of his head than anything else. "Merci, my lair to yours. Go to your brother now, Robert, it is safe to see to his injuries."

  Without hesitation, Robert rushed to Dion's side.

  Drake's snarling leopard backed off further, allowing the older man to approach the fallen leopard as well. The two humans crouched beside the bloody, mangled cat, leaving themselves open to attack by the furious leopard. Drake exerted more control, slowly backing away, although watching carefully, not quite as trusting as the two men. Their friends had to be close or they wouldn't risk their lives so easily.

  Robert had a gun, a violation of their code. Had he been in the rain forest the repercussions of bringing a human weapon to a righteous leopard fight would have been severe. Drake had no way of knowing what Jeanmard would do to the man. It was a black mark against the entire lair, and Jeanmard in particular. A leader was expected to keep his leopards in line, and Robert had made him lose face. Had a member of Drake's team done such a thing, the retaliation would have been swift and brutal and public. When dealing with leading alpha males, sometimes the need for complete ruthlessness was absolute. In any case, Robert Lanoux didn't fight fair or with honor, something Drake would file away.

  Drake, snarling and growling every step, backed away, facing toward the cypress grove where he knew other male leopards had retreated to the edge of the water to respect his territory yet protect their leader. Drake saw the clothes he'd left behind from his earlier run, shredded into small strips of cloth. They'd ripped the shirt and jeans completely apart and the shoes hadn't fared much better.

  In a fury, the leopard slammed a massive paw across the torn clothing, sending strips of cloth into the air before gathering himself to make the leap into the branch of the tree nearest the house. He gained his balcony and padded inside before going to his belly and slinking back through the open doors to watch and listen, alert to any danger.

  The leopards shifted into men and hurried out of the trees to aid Jeanmard and Lanoux recover their fallen kin. Dion was lifted up and rushed to a waiting boat. Drake waited a long time after the sounds of the boat retreating in the distance faded, holding himself still. He listened for the whisper of fur against trees, which would tell him he was being hunted. The crickets resumed their symphony. Frogs took up the chorus, calling back and forth. He heard the sound of the slide of an alligator slipping into the water.

  Pain hit him then, and he didn't wait, didn't hesitate, shifting before he could think too much about the cost of the battle on his human body. He found himself on the floor, suppressing a moan. Fire burned over his belly and ribs. His bad leg screamed in protest and there were scores of bite and claw marks over his body. He lay there staring up at the night sky, just as the clouds burst and rain poured over him, washing some of the wildness out of him.

  His heart beat too fast, and adrenaline poured through his body like the rush of a fireball. He breathed deep to clear his head, to get past the need for violence. A leopard was a perfect killing machine, and blending the cunning and temperament of a leopard with the intelligence of a human, his kind was extremely dangerous under the best of circumstances. He had barely managed to contain his savage beast, but he hadn't killed--at least he didn't think so.

  With a groan he rolled over and pushed up onto his hands and knees, trying to ignore the screaming in his leg. His stomach lurched. He managed to make it to his feet, dizzy and weak. He'd lost more blood than he'd thught. Staggering, he made it back into the room, leaving bloody footprints on the mosaic tiles for the rain to wash away. The hardwood floor in the bedroom wasn't so lucky; the smears remained as he made his way through to the bathroom.

  The hot water stung, yet felt good as it poured over him. He stood on shaky legs while the water cleansed away the last of the wildness. He sent up a small prayer that he hadn't killed Dion. The laws of his world dictated and he was within his rights, but intellectually, he knew Dion was simply trying to protect his world from a rogue--as Drake himself might have done.

  He might feel regret about Dion if the man didn't make it, but Dion knew the rules of combat and he'd chosen not to submit until it was nearly too late. All of them knew how difficult it was to control one's leopard during a challenge. Coupled with a female nearing the emergence, he could hardly be blamed.

  In spite of every injury, Drake rejoiced that his body had held up, he'd shifted in midair and he'd been damn fast about it. As a first time back after trying out his leg only once, his ability pleased him. He'd kept in shape, working out strenuously after he'd had plates and pins in his leg and couldn't shift. He'd been determined to stay in fighting shape, although he hadn't believed he'd ever have the chance to allow his leopard freedom. Jake and his surgeon had brought about a miracle. He'd ended the first battle almost before it had begun through sheer surprise.

  Drake carefully assessed every aspect of his fighting technique. He'd been fast, but not fast enough. He needed more time for his leopard to run, to once again feel the strength and power in its body. He had experience on the members of the Louisiana lair, but the lair had numbers and if he'd had to fight them all, even one at a time, he would have been in trouble. Dion had scored some heavy gouges and he'd lost blood. Loss of blood meant weakness.

  Toweling off carefully, he examined every wound. Cats could leave venom behind and infection resulted quickly. That meant the hated burn of the iodine. He poured it liberally into his wounds, breaking out in a sweat as he did so. Cursing with every stitch, he sewed up the three worst wounds, steri-stitched the others before putting an antibacterial ointment on each and covering them with gauze. All in all, he wasn't in too bad shape. He had no doubt that in the morning he'd feel every bruise, but right now, only sleep mattered.

  He scrubbed away the evidence of blood, carefully locked up
his room and laid down gingerly on his bed. Smiling, fingers linked behind his head, he drifted somewhere between awake and asleep. At once Saria was there, a smile curving her soft mouth, her eyes bright with mischief. He reached for her, wanting to draw her down onto the bed with him. His heart pounded and he tasted desire in his mouth and he groaned with need of her.

  A single sound escaped. Penetrated his layer of sleep. Not her answering moan, not even a whimper of desire, but a soft whisper of movement. His eyes snapped open and he lay silent, with the taste of her in his mouth and his cat roaring. Something moved out on the lawn. He eased to his feet, conscious that other leopards heard as well as he did. Very carefully, he padded to the French doors on his balcony and opened them enough to allow his body to slip through.

  Below him, the yard was mostly shadows, but with his night vision, he could easily make out Pauline Lafont moving around the yard in her bathrobe. She held a shotgun in one hand and a large trash bag in the other.he meticulously picked up every scrap of cloth from Drake's shredded clothes as well as his shoes and socks. She took her time, making certain to remove every tiny string and thread.

  He stayed motionless, knowing she couldn't see him. She wasn't leopard, he knew that, he would have scented her leopard. She'd been forthcoming with information about the seven families that leased lands in the swamp and he hadn't scented one lie, but clearly, she was aware of the leopard fight. She must have heard the horrendous noise. Leopards in a fury weren't quiet about their rage. She had a shotgun for protection, but she didn't seem too frightened. A woman alone out in the middle of nowhere, far from help, with leopards fighting on her front lawn should have been terrified. Yet Pauline Lafont walked slowly around her property, meticulously removing all evidence of the battle.

  She had to know about the shifters. Her family had lived in the area for a hundred years and obviously had lived beside the shifter families. They'd intermingled. She'd said her sister had married into one of the families--the Merciers. Was it possible her brother-in-law or a nephew had been present and she was destroying the evidence to cover up for them? It made sense. Family was family and no doubt they'd been protecting their own for hundreds of years--just as the lairs in the rain forest did.

  Pauline shined her flashlight down in the trees where the fight had taken place. Two alligators, no doubt drawn by the scent of blood, slithered back into the water as the light hit them. She studied the splashes of blood before going back up to the house and retrieving a long hose. Again, she took her time, the shotgun in her fist as she sprayed down the areas where the battle had taken place. She was very thorough about it, obviously determined to remove all traces.

  She methodically wound up the hose, picked up the garbage sack containing Drake's clothes before she took one last look around, nodded her head in satisfaction and went back into the house. Drake nearly turned away to go back inside, but he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone else had been observing Pauline. The shadowy figure was in the trees and the wind was blowing away from Drake so he couldn't pick up a scent. His cat raised no alarm either, but there was no doubt something--someone--was in the tree just down at the water's edge, closest to the dock.

  Drake eased his muscles into a slow, loose stretch. Every wound pulled, reminding him stitches didn't work well if he had to shift again. He kept his gaze riveted to the branch that had barely moved. It had gone quiet again. An alligator bellowed somewhere across the lake. The reeds shimmered like a wave. The leaves in the tree did the same. Whoever it was, he moved with the wind, inching his way down the tree to the ground.

  The shadowy figure was smaller than he expected, crouching low, holding a rifle in one hand and a small case in the other. He reached under the balcony railing for the gun he'd taped there earlier. He was betting he was a better shot, but still, arrogance could get one killed. Had Robert Lanoux come back to finish the job? Robert was a large man with plenty of muscle. The figure crouching near the tree seemed too small. He eased the safety off and waited.

  Saria Boudreaux sprinted toward the trees nearest the inn, staying low and out of the sliver of moonlight. Even in the rain he recognized her easily with just that small glimpse. His heart stuttered as she slipped into the darker shadows, watching the house and the cypress grove.

  He pulled on the soft cotton drawstring trousers and a loose shirt from his bag as a precaution. Saria had been angling toward the trees closest to his room. He had no idea what she was up to, but he didn't want her seeing the evidence of a leopard fight.

  It took her a few minutes before she raced to the tree just to the side of his balcony, the one he'd marked where the branch hung far enough over that he could jump into it without trouble. She used a strap around her neck and shoulder to free her hands from the case and rifle and she went up the tree fast. She was an adept climber and quiet, spidering up the branches easily and climbing high to reach parallel with the second story of the inn.

  He waited, heart in his throat, terrified she might fall, as she scooted out along the high branch. She got her feet under her and he could feel his mouth go dry and his pulse pound. He didn't dare call out to her, afraid she might lose her balance if he surprised her. She crouched low and sprang toward his balcony. He leapt forward as well. She caught the balcony at the same time he caught both her wrists.

  She looked up at him, shocked, her eyes going wide. He could see the golden flecks in the dark of her eyes had nearly taken over, blotting out all that chocolate. Her female cat was close to the surface, and his leopard scented her again, that beautiful, alluring fragrance that nearly had pushed him over the edge.

  He pulled her easily onto the balcony. "Good evening. Nice of you to come calling," he greeted, setting her on her feet.

  "You were supposed to be asleep," she accused, sounding annoyed.

  "Were you planning on crawling into bed with me, or shooting me?" he asked.

  She gave a little sniff. "Shootin' you might just be the best solution. I'm leanin' in that direction."

  He reached out, spanning her throat with the palm of his hand, tipping up her chin. "For future reference, Saria, you might remember, I can smell lies."

  She blinked. Frowned. "No one can do that."

  "Don't bet on it." Every breath he drew into his lungs was all Saria. She was potent, ripe, a woman so seductive she was impossible to resist, yet completely unaware of her allure.

  She studied his face, unsure whether to believe him. In the end she capitulated, not taking any chances. "I came to protect you. There's been strange things happenin' around here and everyone is a little on edge. I thought it best to look after you. You're payin' enough money to support me while I try to sell my photographs for a couple of months or more, if I'm careful. I'm not losin' you to some ghost cat."

  He released her slowly and stepped back, afraid if he didn't, he might yank her into his room and throw her right down on the bed. He'd had enough dreams about doing just that. The rain had plastered her shirt to her skin and he could see her nipples like two hard pebbles inviting attention. His leopard snarled when he turned away from her. He had to breathe deep to hold the animal at bay.

  "Baby, I don't need protecting. Do I look like a city slicker to you?" He was both pleased and outraged at the same time. He liked the idea that she'd wait all night on his balcony to make certain he was safe, but he was appalled that she might think he was unable to defend himself. e'd obviously returned to her home to get more weapons.

  "I don' mean to offend you," she said. "There's been . . ." She trailed off.

  He swung around to face her again, understanding dawning. "You sent the letter to Jake."

  She went very still. Too still. He saw her hands tighten on the rifle. Her face paled. He smelled fear. The tip of her tongue moistened suddenly dry lips. "Who's Jake?"

  "I told you, Saria, I can smell lies. You had Father Gallagher deliver a letter to a priest in Texas with instructions to give the letter to Jake Bannaconni. Why didn't you jus
t mail it? And why didn't you sign it?"

  "I shouldn't have sent the letter," she said. "It was silly of me. If you came all this way because of that letter, I can only apologize and give you back your money."

  "Are you telling me you didn't find dead bodies that looked as if a leopard had killed them? A leopard and a man?"

  She shook her head but refused to answer aloud. Her gaze shifted away from his. Drake took the weapon out of her hands and set it carefully just inside the door of his room, against the wall, out of her reach.

  "Honey, you don't want to lie to me. Why didn't you just send the letter directly to Jake?"

  She pressed her lips together nervously, and glanced at the tree as if she might fling herself back over the balcony.

  As a precaution, Drake shackled her wrist with gentle fingers. "Are you afraid of me? Or of someone out there?" He didn't want to interrogate her, he wanted to hold her and comfort her.

  At his touch she went very still, a wild animal cornered and looking for a way out. She was both very vulnerable and dangerous. Her cat was close, Drake could tell by the glow in her skin, the gold taking over her eyes and the wild, feral scent she gave off. His leopard prowled and his own body was as hard as a rock. Her leopard would protect her from any danger. And in truth, she could easily leap off the balcony and land without harming herself whether she knew it or not. He had to be careful. A female leopard was unpredictable at best, and close to the Han Vol Dan, she could be terribly edgy and moody, one moment receptive, a seductive kitten, and the next all teeth and claws.

  "Saria," he prompted gently. "You needed help. I'm here to help you. Let me."

  He didn't think she would answer. She didn't look at him, but out into the night. Rain poured over them, but neither made a move to go indoors.

  She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "I'll take you to Fenton's Marsh. That's where I saw the bodies, but by now, the alligators have them. You're not goin' to find anything to help you one way or the other." Her words tumbled out in a rush, a concession.

  "I work for Jake, Saria. If you knew enough to contact him, you know what we're dealing with here." He had to tiptoe around the subject, feel her out, see how much she really knew without scaring her off.