“That doesn’t matter. They won’t be expecting an attack when we come after them. They’ll buy the fact that the Houston families wanted Mitya and Sevastyan dead. There seemed to be bad blood between them. There were implications in the news about it.” Conrad was patient. “We’ll get them.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” Rolan capitulated all at once, staring at the downed leopards in the front of the house.
“Oliver, get your men back to the cargo ship as soon as you’re done. Have them bring any bodies with them,” Conrad ordered, proving who was really in charge. “No one can be left behind or they might be traced to you.”
“I know what I’m doing.” Oliver wasn’t paying much attention. His gaze was fixed on the battle. Only minutes had gone by, but things weren’t adding up. His men hadn’t come around from the other sides to pour into the front as they’d been instructed. No one had called in to say they’d breached the back. He could see bodies lying in the yard. Too many bodies and most looked like his men. He still hadn’t spotted the big leopard they were supposed to kill.
Conrad waited for Rolan to strip and roll his clothes, put them in his bag around his neck and shift. Rolan’s leopard, Diktator, had a thick, darker Amur gray undercoat with darker rosettes scattered in wide patterns all over his lengthy body. He wasn’t short and compact, rather long and lithe. Rolan had given his leopard the name when he was very young because the kitten had been so much bigger. He’d been almost twice Rolan’s length when he was a toddler. He’d referred to him as big brother. He’d never made the mistake of calling his leopard big brother in front of Lazar, because Lazar would have had his leopard harass and hurt Diktator.
Conrad’s leopard was younger, definitely in his prime, a big male with a long, thick, ivory-and-gray undercoat and distinct black rosettes down his spine and then falling over his body, tail, face and ears in a beautiful pattern. He was a powerful male and knew it. He fell back to protect the older male as Diktator set out for the road on the far side of the meadow.
Once Rolan made up his mind to leave, he set a fast pace, moving around the bombs and heading straight for the trucks and the transports that had carried the men to the property. They’d come in the back way, over the dirt road leading to Mitya’s property, not wanting to be seen. The teams had then dispersed to their assigned locations before closing in on the house.
The moment Rolan and Conrad were away from the knoll, Sevastyan and Zakhar fell in behind them. Kyanite watched them go and then he instructed his leopard, Bahadur, whose name meant warrior, to step around the bomb and climb up the knoll to stalk Oliver. His leopard, although big and very powerful, was also extremely stealthy, able to be just as silent as any of the other smaller leopards he had trained or worked with.
Bahadur crawled on his belly up the knoll, careful to keep from disturbing any loose dirt that would roll down the hill and be heard by Oliver. He kept downwind. Oliver, a shifter, would be using all senses. At this point, there was no doubt he had to be aware the battle hadn’t gone as planned. Kyanite could clearly hear him calling softly into his radio, demanding each of his units call in to him with a report. His voice was tense, no longer confident or arrogant. No one answered him.
Bahadur had him in sight now. Crouched only thirty feet away, in the higher grasses, he watched as Oliver threw the radio down and stripped, turning to face the same way Rolan and Conrad had gone. As he shifted, Bahadur charged, hitting him in the side with such force it drove the contorting half human, half leopard off the knoll onto the ground below. Bahadur leapt after him, landing on the creature as he desperately tried to finish shifting with broken bones.
Oliver’s leopard swiped at Bahadur’s throat, but Kyanite’s leopard was far too experienced and there was no target for the downed creature to get to. He ripped open the belly of the half human, half leopard and then delivered the kill bite to the exposed throat as the creature tried to roll. Bahadur stayed several moments, making certain Oliver was dead, and then, taking direction from his human companion, turned to follow Sevastyan and Zakhar. Vikenti’s and Zinoviy’s leopards joined him.
Sevastyan and Zakhar split up. They knew the terrain much better than Conrad and Rolan, who had studied it only from a map. They circled around and got ahead of their enemies, placing themselves well between them and the road where their transports were, where drivers might see or hear if they called out for help.
Shturm targeted Conrad’s leopard. To him, the animal was the biggest threat. Rolan was past his prime and appeared ill. If Istrebitel didn’t get him, then he would follow up. Both leopards knew the others would be coming to help kill the drivers of the transports. If nothing else, they could cut Rolan off from the others and take him down at their leisure. Conrad was the most important.
Shturm watched Rolan go past, the leopard sprinting for the trucks, wasting energy, not even considering that he might be stalked. Conrad’s leopard wasn’t that far behind. Shturm charged him straight on, full speed, hatred driving him every step of the way. Smerch, Conrad’s leopard, had no choice but to meet the charge head-on. He reared up at the last minute in a kind of desperation. The leopards came together, slashing with claws and teeth at faces, bellies and genitals.
Shturm’s claw ripped a chunk of fur and flesh from Smerch’s face, nearly taking his right eye. The other leopard just managed to turn his head in time. They crashed to the ground together in a tangle of claws and teeth, Shturm, taking full advantage of his powerful jaws, clamping on the other cat’s precious jewels and ripping while digging at his belly with claws as they rolled over and over in the grass.
Desperate, Smerch tried to break away, to get any advantage at all, clawing for purchase on the ground so he could get to his feet, but Shturm kept tearing at him, slicing at him relentlessly, mercilessly, clamping down on his back paw and crunching, dragging the leopard back to him when Smerch would have crawled a distance away.
Conrad looked up through Smerch’s eyes to see Sevastyan looking down at him through Shturm’s eyes. He made one last effort to save his leopard, a sneak attack, coming at the big brute from under his belly to the throat, but Shturm countered the move easily and bit down hard on his throat, holding, suffocating him, waiting until the life was gone out of his rival.
It was much more difficult to get Shturm to back off. He kept leaving the carcass but then returning, slapping leaves and debris at it and roaring a challenge to any other male who dared stay in the territory near his female. Finally Sevastyan was able to get him to run in the direction he needed him to go.
The still night air carried the sound of their growls a great distance, just as the sound of the battle around Mitya’s house could be heard. If those men driving the transport trucks heard, they must not have thought much about it because no one came to Conrad’s aid, not even Rolan.
Diktator, Rolan’s leopard, skidded to a halt and swung around at the sound of the terrible sawing growls and challenging roars, so distinctive of leopards fighting. He paused for a moment and then turned and raced toward the safety of the trucks. He was sprinting hard, his legs shaky, not used to running anymore, when something hit him from the side. A bright hot pain spread through his body and he knew his lung burst.
His legs went out from under him and he tumbled, rolling over and over, coughing as blood filled his throat and nostrils. He tried to stand, but then went down, his sides heaving. He watched as the leopard approached, not even coming at him fast, as if he didn’t even count. As if he wasn’t a vor, a leader of the bratya, his lair one of the most feared.
Diktator snarled at him, showed his yellow, stained teeth, but didn’t move, sides heaving as he tried to gather his strength. The leopard just watched him with malevolent eyes. The leopard had a strange, distinctive coat. Pure white underneath with a scarred, dark coat on top. Where had he seen him before? He should know him. He had seen him, a long time ago in Russia, but Rolan’s memory was going.
Minutes later, three more leopards joined Diktator. One was a powerful Persian leopard, the other two were Amur leopards. They paced back and forth, circling Diktator. Another two minutes, and there was no mistaking Shturm, Sevastyan’s leopard. Rolan’s heart sank. He should have known the reason the leopard hadn’t come in for the kill.
Conrad had tried to warn him a dozen times against coming to the States. He’d told him to leave it alone, that Mitya and Sevastyan were long gone and weren’t coming back. Even after Lazar had been killed by Mitya and Sevastyan, the betrayal had eaten away at Rolan until he couldn’t think of anything else. He wanted Lazar’s sons dead. He needed them dead.
Shturm trotted up to the other leopards and all of them looked in the direction of the trucks. It was clear Oliver was dead. Most likely, everyone was dead. He’d failed all around. Rolan was weary. Diktator was weary. He let Sevastyan come to him. There were ways. There were always ways. He could act conciliatory. Pretend he wanted to talk. He shifted, just partially, his head, luring Sevastyan in. Making him vulnerable. That was all Diktator would need.
Shturm stepped close. Rolan’s heart accelerated. He could see Sevastyan’s eyes looking back at him. He was going to shift. He told Diktator to be ready, to go for Sevastyan’s throat, his most vulnerable place, if he shifted only partially so they could talk.
“Lazar did us all such a disservice, teaching us such hatred,” he began, watching. Feeling triumphant. Gleeful.
Shturm leaned in before Rolan could shift back, put his jaws around the man’s head and bit down hard, crushing the skull as if it was no more than an eggshell. He pulled back and looked down at the leopard with contempt before delivering a second bite to the throat. He turned and followed the other leopards to the transports and the drivers.
Sevastyan was going to help with dispatching them and then he would leave the mop-up to his security force so he could get to Flambé and make certain she and Flamme were all right. He had no idea what was going on with her, since she wouldn’t answer him and he couldn’t send Kirill and Matvei up to the master bedroom to check on her. But the sense of urgency was riding him hard.
16
FROM very far away, Flambé heard voices talking in hushed tones. Strong arms lifted her, turned her. She cried out when pain burst through her. Sevastyan’s voice soothed her when nothing else could. His tone was like a velvet cloth stroking a cool liquid over the burning flames consuming her skin.
“It’s all right, baby. The doc is here.” The words penetrated but they didn’t make sense to her. He rocked her. Something sharp stuck her arm. She wanted to tell them she couldn’t bleed anymore or she would die. The bleeding would just go on forever but maybe that was the best way to go. She would just quietly slip away.
“No, you’re not going to escape me, not by dying, malen’koye plamya. Let’s see what the doc can do to make this better for you. At least make you comfortable.” Cool lips brushed her eyelids.
How could she be comfortable when her leopard could never emerge? It was agony to feel the sexual hunger, the terrible craving and burning through the nerve endings that were too raw and sensitive, so much so that she couldn’t handle the change. What shifter failed her leopard like that?
“She will come out, Flambé,” that steady voice replied. So certain. Strong. No doubts. So Sevastyan. She could always count on him whether she liked it or not. Right now, she had no choice. She was a mess. She was weak. Blind. Her body shaking uncontrollably.
“We will find a way to keep you from hurting so much.” His hand moved in her hair, stroking back the damp mass from her forehead.
“Get her in the shower. Get the blood off her and then get her into the tub.” That was another male voice. Very authoritative. “She nearly tore her own skin off trying to get her leopard out.”
Two men in the room? That terrified her. She tried to struggle. Sevastyan was far too strong and she was in no shape to do anything but whimper when her raw skin pushed too hard against his.
“The doctor is here, Flambé. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t get into the shower, even if the other man was a doctor. Didn’t he understand what that would do to her? The moment the water hit her skin, those drops on her already raw nerve endings would be agony. She wouldn’t be able to stand it. She’d go completely insane.
“We have to get the blood off you, baby. The moment I do, we’ll put you in the bath. There’s a compound in the water that will help to ease the sensations you’re feeling. He gave you a shot that will help as well. I know this will be bad, but only for a moment, and I’ll use the gentle rain setting. Hold on to me. Breathe with me. I’ll get you through it.”
She shook her head wildly. “Not gentle.” She could barely get the words out. Any light sensation was far worse. It caused terrible burning and painful jabbing through her body.
“I understand. Firm hold, hard rain. That’s why you like the rope.”
Sevastyan wasn’t giving her a choice. She was going to have to go under the water. She buried her face against his chest as he carried her, and his arms were tight. Although the idea of a shower was terrifying, and she’d made up her mind that Sevastyan was evil and cruel like all men, she took comfort in his presence. He was strong, solid and completely confident. She could rely on him.
Flambé could barely get her mind to work, but she was shocked that Sevastyan had brought a doctor to the house. She had never imagined that he would care that much. She could hear them still talking to each other as Sevastyan tested the water to make certain it was the proper temperature.
“She has a very rare genetic condition. There isn’t a lot of research associated with it because so few have it, and research dollars, as you know, Sevastyan, are a numbers game. I imagine there are others of her species who have the same condition.”
“Is it associated with being a hemophiliac?” Sevastyan asked. He put his lips against her ear. “Breathe, baby. I’m right here with you. Count in your head. This will only take two minutes. I’m going to lower your feet to the floor, but I won’t let you fall.”
She tried not to tense up. She wanted to hear the conversation. They were talking about her. Not just her. Other strawberry leopards. Sevastyan kept one arm around her as he allowed her feet to drop to the floor. She was dizzy, swaying. Her stomach protested. Lurched with the need to vomit. She tried to concentrate on the conversation.
“No, although, in this instance, both are genetic.”
The moment the water hit her skin she forgot all about listening and heard herself scream. A thousand knives stabbed point first deep into her body, causing an indescribable agony, but along with that, white-hot flames burned along every nerve ending, sending conflicting messages through her. Her breath slammed out of her lungs as Sevastyan used a handheld sprayer to remove the blood that had seeped from her pores and coated her body. The tears she’d made in her skin where she’d torn strips off with her own fingernails when the pain was too severe and her leopard had been so desperate were on fire all over again.
“Stop, stop, you have to stop.” She wasn’t above begging. Tears burned in her eyes and she didn’t care that he saw.
“Almost over, baby, I’m sorry. I know it hurts.” It didn’t matter that he sounded soft and soothing, or that he wanted to hold her close and rock her.
She didn’t know what to feel. How to feel. Her body was insane. “I can
’t take this. I really can’t. I can’t do this anymore, Sevastyan.” She couldn’t. He didn’t understand what it was like to be trapped in such an ugly cycle.
He turned off the water and lifted her again, his arms strong and tight. She hadn’t managed to open her eyes and she didn’t want to. She was too humiliated, afraid she was everything Mitya had implied. She was in agony and yet her body was desperate for sex. Burning. She couldn’t stop sobbing and she didn’t care that there were witnesses.
“Statistics show most are lost to suicide,” the other voice said. “No one can stay in that state for so long and survive. It’s so much worse for a shifter, particularly a female in a heat.”
“Well, that’s not happening to her,” Sevastyan declared, as if by his decree, she would obey. He sounded fierce.
He sank into the bath water, Flambé cradled in his arms as if she meant something to him. She felt as if she did when she was this close to him. It was so strange how he could make her feel that way, especially after being in the ropes. That was when he held her the tightest, the way the ropes did, locked to him, the pressure firm, not at all light, aggravating the sensation in her nerves. She braced herself as the water closed over her body, almost to her neck. Instead of hurting her, there seemed to be a soothing quality to it.
She tipped her face up and did her best to open her eyes, although that hurt even to make that small move.
“Don’t, Flambé. You need to rest up. There is no stopping Flamme. You can’t trap her in your body. She needs to emerge.”
The moment Sevastyan told her the truth she’d known all along, she panicked. She had done her best to help Flamme, but in the end, the pain was too great and her leopard had backed off to spare her.
“It will kill both of us. It would be kinder to just euthanize us like they do animals.” She said it to the doctor. “I tried. I couldn’t stand the pain. I’m really tough, but I couldn’t do it, not even for her.”
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