Leopard's Rage

by Christine Feehan

  Damn it. She’d made it more than clear that she believed Mitya thought her nothing but a sex object. Did she think he’d deliberately leave her if there was any way he could get to her? What if she couldn’t get to him?

  He texted with one thumb as fast as he could. Baby, please, for God’s sake. I’m in the middle of a fucking nightmare here. I need to know you’re safe. At least get into the tunnel. I can come to you there.

  He didn’t know how, but he’d find a way. He could get away. There had to be a way. He couldn’t leave her in need. Shturm couldn’t leave Flamme. If nothing else, he could see for himself she was alive and well. See how bad it really was for her.

  There was no answer by the time he’d rounded the corner of the house, and he’d run out of options. He had to shift. He shoved the phone into the side column of the verandah and shifted while he ran, knowing Zakhar, Zinoviy and Vikenti were right behind him, their leopards coming equally as fast. A shot rang out and he felt a burn along his left shoulder. They had sharpshooters as well. Fuckin’ Ambroise had missed that. He’d have a talk with him about that. You couldn’t afford to make mistakes in Mitya’s security. He didn’t accept excuses.

  Three shots answered, two from the garage roof and one from on top of the house. He hoped like hell they dropped the sniper. That had come from somewhere along that hill just beyond the meadow. He knew the exact spot a sniper would choose because he’d been there hundreds of times. His men had been there hundreds of times. They’d damn well better not miss, because he’d pointed that place out to them as a weak spot in their defenses.

  Sevastyan ran into a solid wall of leopards. It looked like a sea of spots coming at him out of the dark. That didn’t slow Shturm down in the least. If anything, he sprinted, choosing his target, malevolent eyes staring at his next victim as he rushed toward the big male. This was a pale black leopard, the darker rosettes spread throughout his coat.

  Zakhar came up on his left, Kyanite on his right. Zinoviy and Vikenti had dropped back and spread out farther so that they flanked him. Behind them more leopards borrowed from Mitya’s various friends joined him as they tore straight into the sea of leopards coming at them. There were no more shots fired, at least not at the leopards coming together in a fierce clash of claws and teeth. Sevastyan wasn’t certain if that was because the other side didn’t have another sniper or they had no way to identify their leopards in combat.

  His snipers began to systematically shoot one bullet at a time, making each count. He had reiterated over and over that they were not to take a shot in a combat situation with leopards unless they were absolutely certain who they were shooting at. Leopards fighting were ferocious and fluid. They rolled on the ground, raking and clawing at one another, changing position. They leapt into the air, turning with flexible spines, tearing and charging, smashing like freight trains to drive one another off their feet. They rose up on hind legs, biting at genitals and trying to eviscerate their target. There was no telling how suddenly one would switch from one side to the other. Sevastyan had drilled it into his shooters not to make mistakes. He didn’t want them to take a shot, even a critical one, if they weren’t absolutely sure of it.

  His leopards wore small blue dots in their fur to identify them, seen only by his snipers, but that didn’t guarantee that in the heat of battle, when the leopards were rolling around, a bullet couldn’t hit one accidently. No one ever wanted to answer to Sevastyan if that happened—so they made certain it didn’t happen.

  Shturm used his claw to rip at an exposed throat, not that it would get him much. Their coats were so thick and loose, it was difficult to actually get down to skin and bone, but he opened the unwary male up as he passed him in his effort to get to the one he sought, the black-coated leopard who he was certain was the commander taking his orders from whoever was out behind the meadow.

  The moment you kill this one, head for the meadow. You need to kill the one directing them all, Shturm, Sevastyan instructed his leopard.

  He could only hope Rolan was arrogant enough to assume he could actually plan and direct a battle with mercenaries. Rolan would have someone aiding him, a man in charge of the mercenaries, one they all took orders from. Rolan would have a lieutenant. Who would be his second-in-command? That would be the man he would rely heavily on. That man would first recruit someone to find and then hire mercenaries from all over the world. He would want reliable ones, experienced in fighting. Who would be Rolan’s lieutenant?

  Shturm was on his opponent, the two leopards coming together like two stallions, rearing up on their powerful hind legs, slashing at each other with hooked claws and terrible teeth. Shturm turned slightly to avoid getting his genitals slashed while he delivered a deep rip down the side of his opponent, slicing right through thick fur with practiced care to get to the skin covering muscles. He tore those open long before his front legs came back to the ground.

  The leopard howled its hatred and pain, whirling to face Shturm, calling to another leopard for aid. His companions were otherwise occupied and, in any case, Shturm drove into his side, hitting him so hard he knocked him off his feet. There was an audible crack as ribs broke. The cat screamed loudly, turning its head toward the meadow.

  Down, roll, Sevastyan commanded, nearly taking over the leopard’s form.

  Shturm rolled right over the top of the fallen leopard, dropping to the ground on the other side of him, teeth buried in his throat in a suffocating bite just as a bullet skimmed across the leopard’s back where Shturm had been. He now had the body of the leopard between him and the meadow.

  The moment a shot was fired from the meadow, there was an answer from the garage roof. Sevastyan hoped he’d chosen the right snipers. He needed them to make those kill shots every time. The moment the leopard was dead, Shturm lifted his head cautiously and looked toward the meadow and their enemies. Sevastyan was still racking his brain for who Rolan could have gotten for a decent lieutenant. Whoever had put this attack together was good. Had Sevastyan not brought in so much help, he would have been in trouble.

  Shturm, remember the kid—Conrad. His name was Conrad something. He was a couple of years younger than I was and he was always hanging around, staying close, staying real quiet. He was learning. A smart kid. It’s got to be him.

  You helped him. Stole food for him. For his family. Took the blame for his mistakes. Taught him to use a gun, taught him to fight, Shturm objected.

  It’s him. Rolan would use him. He thinks when I confront the kid, I’ll hesitate. He also thinks because I trained Conrad, he’ll be able to best you. He forgets that there are a lot of years between then and now.

  The kid trained as well in the intervening years, Shturm reminded with a disdainful huff.

  Sevastyan pushed down all emotion. Rolan should have remembered that even at a young age, he’d learned to separate from all feeling and take his punishments, no matter how cruel Rolan, Lazar or their leopards could be.

  Shturm broke free of the fighting leopards, but he did so out of sight of anyone in the meadow watching. He had thrown himself back into the middle of the dark fray, all those bodies of leopards, and had made his way to the edge of the landscaping where higher bushes marked the beginning of the routes to the trees or the meadow. Shturm took the trail to the meadow, only as he did so, he crouched low, almost on his belly.

  It didn’t take long before Istrebitel joined him, silently dragging his body, using his toes to dig into the surfaces so that he made no sound as they crept across the meadow they spent hours training in every day. Vikenti and Zinoviy, looking almost like twin golden leopards with their dark bursts of rosettes covering their bodies all the way down their long tails and up over their ears and faces, were on either side of Istrebitel and Shturm, approximately six feet apart. Kyanite’s powerful male joined them, all muscle, a rare Persian leopard who had migrated to Borneo and found Drake Donovan like so many others. They made up their tea
m, the one Sevastyan had trained for the last year to cover anything that might threaten Mitya and Ania from this open side of the house. A battle might rage near it, but this side was always going to be the one place they were weakest.

  Sevastyan directed Shturm toward the one knoll that would provide the lieutenant, those directing the battle from the distance and their sniper a good view of the entire front of Mitya’s property as well as the roof of the house and most of the garage. He had always known this was where he would have to end any real concentrated battle to kill his cousin.

  Shturm scented the enemy long before he reached them. He heard them talking in low voices, worried that they’d lost sight of the big male. They argued for a few minutes over which other leopard was running second to Sevastyan’s mean son-of-a-bitch male. One voice insisted it was the strange dark coat over white. He was never far from Shturm.

  “Where is he, Oliver?” The voice was harsh. Guttural. Angry. Recognizable. “You were supposed to have eyes on him at all times.”

  Rolan. It was the man Sevastyan had thought was his father until he was a teen. He was the man who had murdered his mother and had tormented him, making his life hell in spite of all the things Sevastyan had done to help him against Lazar. His heart accelerated. Shturm pulled his lips back in a grimace, showing his teeth, lifting his face to the air, scenting Rolan along with four other men. The kid, Conrad, was one of them. Shturm never forgot a scent.

  Oliver laughed, his amusement genuine. “This Sevastyan is clearly a bogeyman. We should all be so afraid of him. Why is it I’ve never heard of him? I’ve been in this business a long time and I know all the names of the ones you want to stay clear of. Sevastyan is not on that list.”

  Oliver had to be the mercenary, the supplier. He was Conrad’s choice to supply the leopard teams.

  “You haven’t noticed we’ve lost a lot of men?” Conrad asked quietly. “And you must know the name Amurov.”

  “We expected to lose men,” Oliver snapped. “And in Russia, yes, Amurov is respected. Rolan is Amurov. These are the men who ran like cowards from them.”

  Conrad sighed. “You aren’t paying attention. We’ve got one sniper left. They’ve annihilated more than half our shifters. I’d say even more than that. We can’t see around to the back of the house and no one has called in a report. I say we pull back. Call them back, fade away, regroup and come up with a different plan.”

  “No,” Rolan protested, his voice lashing with his hatred. “I want them dead. We’re here. I’ve got the plans to his house. Mitya thinks he’s safe because he has Sevastyan guarding him. I want them all dead. Their mates, their children, all of them. Every last one of them. Wipe them out.” He spat on the ground to emphasize his declaration.

  “Fuck yeah,” Oliver agreed.

  “Rolan,” Conrad reiterated quietly. “I think you should get to the truck and we should leave now. Oliver can run his teams from here. He’s quite capable.”

  Shturm, wait, Sevastyan cautioned when his leopard pressed forward on his belly, fury making the animal shake.

  Sevastyan couldn’t imagine ever having his primary objective, the one he guarded, sitting on a knoll where he could be attacked by leopards who could sneak into a house and drag out a victim under the noses of those inside without them knowing. What kind of warning system would Conrad have? What kind of defense? He had to have set up something to protect Rolan.

  Oliver believed he was attacking shifters who had been out of the field for so long they would be weak. Once he pushed past their outer guards, the man believed he could easily sweep in and kill everyone in the house. Conrad was already seeing the handwriting on the wall.

  Sevastyan was aware there was still one more sniper hidden, waiting for his chance at killing Shturm, believing him to be fighting the leopards in the front to keep them from entering the house. That sniper had to be found and disposed of.

  Tell the others to find anything Conrad planted to alert him to a leopard’s presence. He’s hidden something here. There’s danger, Shturm. Let them know. Be very cautious.

  “I can handle it here by myself,” Oliver taunted. “You go ahead and run. I’ll catch up with you and bring you your boy’s head on a platter.” He snickered, a dismissing, arrogant sound that would never have bothered Sevastyan, but was certain to get to Rolan.

  “I don’t run,” Rolan snapped predictably, irritated all over again.

  “No,” Conrad said. “You never have, Rolan. But you’re not needed here. It’s foolish to stay and be in the way while Oliver is running his men, carrying out the assault, when you could be arranging transport as well as payment for everyone.”

  Shturm and Istrebitel used the freeze-frame stalk of their kind to move closer to the knoll, straining to uncover any devices Conrad might have planted to give him advance warning should intruders creep up on them. Various male leopards had scent-marked the entire area around the knoll in an effort to drown out any other smells. As tactics went, it was a good one, one that Sevastyan had used more than once as a teenager to confuse Lazar’s leopards when they were hunting for their stolen goods. Conrad had stolen that technique from him.

  The leopards stayed very low, lost among the brush, the sea of spots camouflaging them, even Istrebitel with his strange coloring. They blended into the grasses and the dark and light as the clouds moved overhead with the slight wind. They used every sense to unravel the chemical patterns left behind on the ground.

  It was Bahadur, Kyanite’s male, who first sniffed out the strange odor buried beneath the pungent stench of a virile leopard marking territory. Once found, the leopards could easily identify the bomb buried shallowly just beneath the surface. If one of the heavy males stepped on the plate, activating the bomb, once he stepped off the bomb would go off and the animal would be dead, serving to alert Rolan and his team that they weren’t alone.

  Sevastyan had no doubt that if those bombs hadn’t been found and Conrad and the others retreated, they would have left the bombs behind for members of his security force to step on at a later date. That didn’t endear any of them to him. He instructed Shturm to make a wide circle around the knoll in order to find any others hidden from view. They knew there was a sniper. He had to be located and disposed of. There was no way Conrad didn’t have someone watching their backtrail. And they had a driver. Maybe more than one.

  The sniper was right where Sevastyan expected him to be, lying flat on the highest boulder on the knoll, stretched out, his spotter beside him, looking toward the house with a pair of night-vision goggles.

  “You see him, Vagel?” the sniper asked, his eye to the scope. “Conrad’s getting antsy.”

  “I lost him a few minutes ago. I’m with Conrad. We’ve got too many down and if anyone took that big monster out, I can’t find his body.”

  Vikenti and Zinoviy stepped carefully over the hidden bombs and began to climb up the side of the boulder, using claws to drag their bodies up to the top. Had the two men lying in wait bothered to examine any of the sides of the rock they’d climbed, other than the easy route up, they would have found numerous claw marks scored into the rock where the leopards had practiced.

  The two cats lifted their heads above the top to spot their prey, eyes focused, staring as they slowly pulled their bodies fully onto the boulder. There could be no mistake. They had to be on the two men simultaneously and deliver suffocating bites to the throat, killing them before either man could make a sound and alert the three men on the knoll.

  It wasn’t the first time the two brothers had let their leopards loose on enemies when necessary, and they had perfected the art of their concurrent attack. Once on the rock, they separated, coming at their intended targets from different angles. Vikenti kept his focused gaze on the sniper. He had to wait until the man no longer had his finger on the trigger. There could be no mistake. Once the leopard attacked, even in his death throes, the sniper c
ouldn’t accidently pull the trigger and warn the other leopards that they were anywhere close.

  Both leopards crept closer until they were in striking range. They waited, crouched. Ready to charge. Never taking their gaze from their victims. The sniper suddenly pulled his head up to wipe his forehead on his arm, his finger coming away from the trigger. Both leopards charged simultaneously, were on the men, delivering the killing bite before either man knew they were even there. The biggest struggle was to force the leopards to back silently away from their victims. That was always the most difficult moment after a kill.

  Sevastyan had the utmost faith in both Vikenti and Zinoviy. He knew they would do their jobs. He had only to do his. Holding back Shturm was no easy feat when he smelled the male leopards marking territory, especially with his female in her heat. She was in her first life cycle and any one of the leopards might mate with her, forcing her choice. Shturm was fully aware of that and was not about to allow any other male near her. He wanted to challenge all the males. He wanted them dead.

  Shturm remembered Rolan and his cruelty. Rolan’s leopard had ripped into Shturm and Sevastyan when they had been very young, long before Shturm, as a kitten, had learned how to fight back or how to protect Sevastyan. He hated Rolan and his leopard. He remembered Conrad and the way Sevastyan had helped him. That Conrad was aiding Rolan in trying to kill Sevastyan was a betrayal, and Shturm believed he deserved death. Shturm was eager to see that both of them died in a very harsh manner.

  “Rolan.” Conrad used a cautionary voice. “Oliver has this under control. By the time he returns you could have the transport arranged and they could be gone so there are no ties to you. He’s been instructed to make it look as if the families from Houston attacked and killed them. You can’t be in the country and neither can any of Oliver’s men.”

  “We didn’t get Fyodor or Timur,” Rolan reminded, his voice almost whiny.