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Authors: Christine Feehan

Tags: #General, #Fantasy, #Fiction

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BOOK: Leopard's Prey
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Drake shook his head. “We know better.”

Remy nodded and made his way carefully around the area to the back of the tree where Pete’s body hung. The old cypress had several letters carved into it, obviously over several years. The letters
P
and
M
had a fresh line drawn through them. His leopard gave a leap of recognition. This particular spot had been a favorite of those living up and down the bayous or close to the marshes and swamps, to meet and party. He remembered it from his youth.
His
initials were carved into the trunk, along with his brothers’ and even Saria’s.

“He didn’t choose this location randomly,” Remy said. “He wanted to use this specific tree. Gage, take a look at this. Have the photographer photograph the entire trunk.”

He studied the old carvings. The spot was easy to access from two different canals and a good place to meet where parents weren’t going to find you. Lovers had carved their initials into the trunk surrounded by hearts. Others had simply put their initials in.
S
and
B
definitely stood for his sister, Saria. He wondered if the bold
B
and
B
were Bijou’s initials, although he couldn’t imagine her ever coming to the swamp to party. He wanted a list of all initials and a confirmation of just who those initials belonged to and said as much to Gage. If the killer was choosing victims by those who had partied here, had this gone from random killings to actual targeted prey? Or had it been that all along?

2

 

Remy stood outside of the Lafont Inn staring up at the grand Victorian-inspired chateau. The Inn was old-style elegance, an era long gone by, but well loved. The chateau was a hidden jewel set back from the edge of the lake where cypress trees had given way to groves of white pine and oak. Marsh, swamp and lazy bayous all were within easy reach. Visitors could lie in the hammocks set in the shade of the trees a few feet from the water, staying cool in the trees while the breeze off the lake fanned them.

White with pale blue trim helped to veil the house when the fog poured in from the lake and bayous. A wraparound porch and large balconies on the second story invited guests to view all kinds of birds and wildlife in the comfort of intricately carved and spacious rocking chairs.

The Lafont Inn had been in the Lafont family for over a hundred years. Miss Pauline Lafont had inherited the house from her grandmother, who had married a Dubois. The name of the estate had changed at that time, but Pauline had returned the original name to the family property when she decided to modernize the house and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast some years earlier. On Saria and Drake’s wedding day, she’d given the Inn to Saria as she had no children and considered Remy’s little sister the daughter she’d never had. Pauline had then married the man of her dreams, the one man she’d loved always – Amos Jeanmard.

Remy rubbed his aching eyes. He didn’t want to be like Amos, sacrificing his personal happiness in order to preserve the leopard species. Amos had married the wrong woman, a leopard, and stayed with her for years. Only after she died did he marry Pauline, the woman he truly loved. A part of him understood, but he was tired of being alone. He wanted a family, a woman to come home to. He’d traveled the world looking in the rain forests in the hopes of meeting someone who not only attracted him physically, but who could live with a man like him. He had all but given up hope of finding a female that not only suited him, but who he could love.

Leopards were lethal cats, wild and savage and wanting a mate as well. A man couldn’t just bring home anyone, because if their cat became edgy and dangerous, so did the man. Sex could get rough and his temper could be short. He had great control, but lately his leopard had been displaying every negative trait a leopard had.

He sighed and forced himself to move through the trees toward the chateau. He’d been on for nearly seventy-two hours gathering evidence for a murder in the French Quarter and had been on his way home when Gage had called him.

He was edgy. Restless. His body hard and hurting. His mind a little chaotic. Not a good sign in the middle of a murder investigation and never good when he was going to see his wild sister. He didn’t need to say a word to her about going to the swamp at night, she’d know what he thought and she’d be on the defensive. If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t blame her.

His leopard needed to run. Leopards didn’t do well cooped up. If they weren’t let out every now and then, the human side became every bit as dangerous as the animal side and he’d never felt so edgy in all his life, not even when he was in the jungle.

“Saria,” Remy raised his voice. “Where are you, honey?” He walked farther into the darkened entryway. As always, his heightened animal senses took over. He could see easily even with the lack of lighting. He inhaled, taking scents into his lungs.

It always smelled good at the Inn. There was always a seemingly endless supply of fresh coffee and he could count on his sister to have a large pot of stew or meatballs and gravy simmering on the stove. Saria and Drake managed to give the old place a welcome feel of home from the fireplaces to the fresh-baked bread and home-style cooking. Besides the rich aroma of coffee and spices, he smelled the faint scent of lavender. Without thought, he followed that drifting, inviting scent through the hallway toward the kitchen.

“Saria? I’m lookin’ for a cup of coffee. Where the hell are you?” he called out again. She should have known he’d be coming no matter how late it was, if for no other reason than just to make certain she was all right.

“Saria is in her darkroom developin’ her photographs. I can get you a cup of coffee if you like.” The voice came from the kitchen. Smoky. Suggesting dark nights and silken sheets. Sex and Sin. Velvet like a neat whiskey so smooth, yet burning all the way down.

Remy closed his eyes. His body tightened, a savage, urgent reaction to that amazing voice. No woman should be allowed to sound like that. That candlelight and “come take me to bed” tone gave her unfair advantages over a man.

He turned slowly. No one could possibly live up to that sultry, southern drawl so erotic and sensual, an invitation to wild nights and temptation. She stood draped against the wall, one hand on her hip, her enormous eyes on his face. He would never forget those eyes. Before, they’d taken up her face, a wild cornflower blue fringed with impossibly long, thick feathery lashes, as dark as the cloud of hair tumbling around her face. Now, her eyes drew attention to her remarkable skin and the perfection of her bone structure.

As if her inviting skin and the wealth of thick black hair cascading down her back weren’t enough to bring a man to his knees, her body was all soft inviting curves, and firm defined muscle. Her legs were long and slender and she had a small waist, emphasizing her breasts and hips. Her generous mouth had full, curved lips, bringing on enough fantasies to last a lifetime. His breath caught in his throat and need slammed low and mean into his body.

His reaction to her shocked him. His leopard raked and clawed for supremacy. His body hurt, a deep savage ache, every muscle tense, his cock thick and hard, demanding to be sated
now
. He’d never had such a visceral, intense sexual reaction to a woman in his life. He wasn’t a gentle man, his cat was too aggressive, but he’d learned control and kept a tight grip on both the man and the leopard. What the hell was it about Bijou Breaux that sent him spinning out of control?

Remy was grateful for his ability to keep his features expressionless. Bijou was sixteen years younger than him – a damned baby – and his body had no business reacting to hers no matter how sexy she was. It was wrong in every way.

She pressed her lips together, the tiniest movement. Her lashes fluttered, veiling her eyes, but not before he caught a glimmer of hurt. “You probably don’ remember me. I went to school with Saria.”

She stepped forward – into his space. His leopard ripped at him. His body tightened until he almost felt sick with need. He actually flexed his fingers, his palms itching to run over all that glorious skin. Lavender engulfed him, nearly drove him out of his mind. She extended her hand.

“Bijou Breaux.”

Self-preservation or white knight?
He detested hurting her. She’d been hurt by enough people. Silently he cursed. He couldn’t stand seeing that small flash of hurt, not associated with him. He was going to race to the rescue and let her know he hadn’t forgotten her.

“I don’ forget faces, Bijou,” he admitted. Or eyes like hers. What the hell had happened to her in the growing phase? Her mouth should be outlawed. “Of course I remember you.” He took her outstretched hand and knew instantly it was a mistake to make physical contact. “It’s nice to see you again.” Damn. How absolutely mundane was that? He couldn’t take a step, his body hurting like hell, his leopard roaring at him.

Her hand was small, fingers slender, slightly trembling as she shook his hand – or attempted to. He placed his other hand over hers, holding her still, locking her to him while his eyes searched hers. Her lashes came down immediately, hiding her thoughts from him. She definitely had trust issues.

“Are you visitin’, or back with us?” He didn’t let go of her hand, waiting for her answer. His body went still, watchful, his cat coiled, every muscle locked and ready.

“I bought a club in the French Quarter. I’m home for good.” She smiled at him, a brief flash of perfect white teeth. “It’s difficult to stay away. I think the bayou gets in our blood and just doesn’t let go.”

Her voice stroked his body with caressing fingers. He felt her touch right through his veins so that his blood surged hotly and his cock jerked hard. He let her go to keep from pressing her palm on that throbbing, burning hard-on that wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“But you’re not stayin’ at the Breaux estate?” Hell. He had to keep the conversation going because he couldn’t move. He was grateful there were no lights on.

“I’d rather burn that place down then ever set foot in it again.”

That smoky velvet tone didn’t go with the words at all. It took him a moment to assimilate what she’d actually said, he was too busy trying to tame his wild craving for her. He told himself she was a baby. A kid. He was a damned pervert even thinking about her, let alone losing control and nearly throwing her up against a wall.

His cat had a vicious temper, a powerful, passionate animal he worked at keeping in check at all times. If his cat was influencing him sexually, it would be the first time – and it was a hell of a time to choose. He forced his chaotic mind to get a grip. Bijou would rather burn down a mansion than set foot in it again, and what did that say about her childhood? The sad part was, he was probably the only one who would ever understand.

“Are you puttin’ the estate on the market?” Reluctantly he allowed her hand to slip away. His heart ached for her. She was all woman on the outside, but there was still a small part of her that was that child who had never had a childhood.

Bijou turned and moved away from him, a graceful sway of her hips, her long hair a waterfall of living silk tumbling past her waist, the ends caressing the curve of her buttocks. She crossed the floor to the counter where the coffeepot waited.

“I don’ know. Bodrie was so famous, and so loved by everyone.”

Her voice remained soft and sultry, without a hint of bitterness, but he noticed immediately she didn’t call Bodrie Breaux
dad
or
daddy
.

“Not everyone,” Remy disputed as he tested his ability to walk. Sympathy for her helped ease the terrible need raging through him. He managed to make it over to the table where he toed a chair around, dropped into it and stretched his legs out in front of him to ease the pressure in his jeans.

She turned her head to look at him through her long feathery lashes and clouds of black silk. “Be careful, Remy, you can get death threats if you don’ give him his due adulation.”

Before he could read her expression, she’d turned back to pouring his coffee as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the room.

He took a breath to calm the explosive reaction deep in his gut to her announcement. Swearing under his breath, he exhaled, and shifted again to ease the muscles coiling and the adrenaline flooding his body. “What threats, Blue? Have you been gettin’ threats?” His nickname for her slipped out. He’d never called her Blue to her face, but mostly referred to her as Blue when he talked with Saria about her in the old days.

For some reason the moment he was around her he heard the song, “Blue Bayou.” More than that, when the sun shone on her thick, black hair, blue lights played through the strands, and then there were her striking blue eyes.

“Do you take your coffee black?”

“Of course.” He sent her a little smirk. “I’m Cajun, honey.”

A brief flash of a smile lit her eyes for a moment. “A manly man. How could I have forgotten? You were always scary.”

“Was I?” Remy asked. His eyebrow shot up. He was quite certain he had the ability to scare the hell out of anyone.

Bijou nodded slowly and took the chair across the table from him. She wasn’t safe. She might think she was, but she was well within striking distance, and somewhere in the back of his mind, that same fantasy was playing – throwing her up against the wall and ripping her clothes away from all that beautiful, soft skin.

“You still are,” she conceded. She glanced toward the door, clearly hoping Saria would appear suddenly to rescue her.

The sexual tension in the room was nearly as acute as their awareness of one another.

“That’s a good thing,” he said with a small grin, trying to ease the rising tension between them. “You were about to tell me about death threats.”

She sighed and took a cautious sip of the coffee she’d poured for herself. “I suppose I did bring it up so I can’t very well pretend I didn’t.” She ducked her head and thick strands of hair covered her face.

Remy leaned across the table and tucked the wild cloud behind her ear. Startled, her lashes flew up and her gaze collided with his. The tip of her tongue moistened her lower lip. He caught the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her shirt. It was interesting to him that she hadn’t turned on the lights.

BOOK: Leopard's Prey
8.53Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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