Wild Fire (44 page)

She told herself she was leopard and there was no modesty in that world. She didn’t want to provoke him into showering with her and possibly raping her. If she could, she would stall enough to allow Rio and Conner to pick up his trail and realize he’d circled back to the cabin. She wanted to keep her back to him as she stripped, but she needed to see him. Because if he moved to touch her—she wasn’t going down without a fight.

She got under the water, her gaze on his, fixed and defiant, daring him to try to come near her as she soaped off under his intense scrutiny. He reached for the water at the same time she did, his fingers brushing hers, and she jerked her hands back, both coming up defensively.

That seemed to amuse him. He handed her a towel. “Do you really think you can fight me and win? Don’t be silly. I’m not a man who would deliberately hit a woman. There has to be a very good reason.”

“Why in the world did you ever work for Imelda Cortez, let alone kidnap children for her?” she asked, rubbing the water—and Conner’s scent—as best she could from her skin.
Keep him talking and calm,
she reminded herself.
Be interested in him.

She pushed past him and found her backpack, jerking out a pair of jeans and yanking them on quickly. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You sold out your own people.”

He watched her with the unblinking eyes of a cat. “They aren’t my people. They threw me out. I owe them no loyalty.”

She frowned as she pulled a T-shirt on and turned to face him, doing her best to look a little sympathetic. “Why would they do that?” She was interested, that part wasn’t a lie. She hoped she was staying close to the truth. She’d admitted she was scared of him. Maybe he’d make allowances.

He shrugged, but for the first time a ripple of emotion crossed his face. “Our laws are archaic and make no sense. If a hunter kills one of us in leopard form—even though it’s against the law of man—we’re to just allow them to get away with it. One killed my baby brother. I hunted him down and killed him. The elders called it murder and banished me. In other words, I’m dead to the village. I figure if I’m dead to them, they are to me and I owe them no loyalty.”

“How terrible.” And she meant it. If a family felt there was no justice in a killing, how did they go on? “That still doesn’t explain someone as evil as Imelda Cortez and why you would choose to reveal your species to her.”

He stepped back to allow her to proceed him through the door into the next room. “Cortez offered me a living and I took her up on it. Eventually I knew I’d kill her, so what the hell difference does it make what she knows? She can’t prove it and if she tells anyone, they’ll think she’s insane—which she is. I can smell it on her.”

She swallowed fear. He said it so casually.
Eventually I knew I’d kill her.
“Is that what you’re going to do to me eventually? Kill me when you get tired of me?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.” He caught her wrist, jerking her around, forcing her palm to circle the hard length of him, his fingers fisting tight around hers. “You put this there. I go to bed like this and get up like this. It isn’t going to go away until we’re together. And I imagine it will be back often, every bit as painful.”

She stomped as hard as she could on his instep and spun, slamming her elbow into his ribs, continuing around as he freed her hand, aiming a back-fist at his face. He was already on her, taking her to the floor, dropping hard so that she slammed into the wood, cracking her head, his superior weight on top of her. She saw stars, and had to fight to keep from passing out. Struggling wildly, she tried to throw him off. He drove a knee into the small of her back and pinned her wrists together, his strength enormous. She lay crushed beneath him, tears burning in her eyes and throat.

“You don’t know much about men, do you, Isabeau,” he said softly. “Some men get turned on by a woman fighting him. Lie quietly. Just take a breath. I said I wouldn’t hurt you if possible, and I meant it.”

She let herself weep for a moment before making an effort to pull herself back together. His free hand stroked her hair as if soothing her. When the tension drained out of her, he got off her and pulled her to her feet, forcing her across the room to the same chair. Once she was seated in the chair, he put both hands on the arms of the chair and bent his face close to hers.

She gathered herself. Head-butting might work. Or punching him hard right in the middle of that very large erection.

His eyes met hers and he shook his head slowly. “The first time, I let it go because you’re frightened of me. But you attack me again and I’ll retaliate.”

She blinked up at him, one hand going defensively to her throat. “Today’s my wedding day,” she admitted. “I married him.”

His expression didn’t change. “I don’t really give a damn. You knew better, or at least you should have.”

She studied his face, that strong, masculine face. She needed to keep him talking because it was the only defense she had. The sound of their voices, the passage of time. Conner had to come back soon.

She drew in her breath. “Did you tell Imelda about all of us being leopard?”

“Why would I?” He picked up her teacup and moved across the floor to the teapot.

Isabeau covered her sigh of relief with a small throat clearing. He was so
big.
Intimidating. He seemed invincible to her. And where was Conner? Surely he must have unraveled Ottila’s trail and should be back.

“Imelda should never have taken those kids. I tried to tell her, but she likes being the boss. I knew Adan would never sit still for it. She’s so arrogant she doesn’t listen to her advisors, not even her security advisors.”

“So you’ve left her on her own.”

From the small pack he carried around his neck, he drew a small vial and, thumbing it open, poured it into the cup of tea right in front of her. Her entire body tightened up. She half rose, but he gave her a stern look and she subsided.

“I’m not drinking that.”

“Then we’ll do it the hard way and pour it down your throat. It really is all the same to me, Isabeau.”

“What is it?”

“Not a date rape drug. I haven’t stooped so low that I’d rape a woman. When I take you, it will be because you can’t help yourself, you’ll need me.”

She wasn’t going to argue how illogical that was, not when he was coming at her with the teacup. She leapt out of her chair, this time remembering her cat, calling on the lazy hussy to help out. Why wasn’t she outraged? Why wasn’t she fighting for their survival? For Conner’s survival. And, God help her, where was Conner?

Deep inside her, her cat stirred, scented the air and found her own mark on Ottila. Another rival for her affections. She stretched languorously. Isabeau hissed at her to subside. Where was the famous leopard loyalty? She cursed herself for not knowing the rules.

“What is that?”

“Choose for him, life or death.”

She couldn’t look away from his eyes. It was difficult not to believe him. He seemed invincible and absolutely sure of himself. She touched her tongue to her lip, for one awful moment considering going with him. By why hadn’t he just knocked her out and taken her out of the cabin? This wasn’t about choice, it never was. It was about something altogether different. Her brain went
click, click, click
as pieces fell into place.

“You were always going to kill him, right from the beginning, weren’t you?”

He caught her around the throat, letting her feel his immense strength. Isabeau didn’t struggle. There was a warning in his eyes she heeded. “He’s been inside you. His mark is on you. He can’t live.”

She swallowed hard. “You were never going to share me with Suma.”

“Not in a million years.

She lifted her chin and indicated the tea. “Tell me what’s in that.”

“I don’t want you to feel what I’m going to do to you.” Her heart slammed so hard against her chest she was afraid it would burst. Fear breathed through her like a living entity. He said it so matter-of-factly, not blinking, no sympathy, no remorse.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Not you. Him. He has to be made to suffer. To be off his game. His leopard will go into a rage and he won’t be able to control it. I’ve studied him. He’s methodical. And good. I don’t believe in being stupid. I need an edge and the only way I’m going to get it is to hurt you, or crawl into the doctor’s house and savage his young friend. Either would set him off.”

She knew he deliberately threatened Jeremiah to coerce her to drink the drugged tea. “You’re going to hurt me?” she echoed. He was right, Conner would never forgive himself and he’d turn the rain forest inside out looking for Ottila. He’d follow him right into a trap. She looked into Ottila’s eyes, forcing courage into frozen muscles.

“You need to punish me, don’t you?” In his own sick way, he felt she’d betrayed him—betrayed their relationship. She’d been deceived by his absolute calm.

“Drink the tea, Isabeau,” he instructed softly.

She took the cup from him, her fingers trembling, looking down into the dark liquid. He’d made certain the water wasn’t hot enough to burn him if she threw it at him. He actually expected her to obey him and drink his drug. She brought the mixture to her mouth and flung the contents into his eyes, carrying the cup on through to smash it against the arms of the chair. She kept moving, whirling around as she slashed at him with the shard. It wasn’t like she had much to lose, he was going to hurt her on purpose.

The piece of glass cut a thin line across his chest, but he didn’t even wince. His gaze burned into hers, a fierce promise of retribution. Isabeau refused to be intimidated. She held the shard like a knife, down low, the jagged edge pointed up toward the softer parts of his body. Ottila sidestepped and then moved in on her, fast, so fast for a big man. His hand slapped her wrist away, turning aside the glass as he spun her around, trapping her body against his.

His hand controlled hers, slamming it hard against the wall. “Drop it,” he ordered. “Drop it right now.”

When she hesitated, he drove her hand a second time into the wall. The jagged edges cut into her palm and the force of the blow sent pain shooting up her arm. Tears burned in her eyes and she blinked them rapidly away, not wanting to show weakness. She was terrified of letting go of her only weapon, but he was just too strong.

“Drop it, Isabeau,” he ordered again.

There was no change in his inflection. He might have been talking about the weather. Shivering, she complied. He held her for a few more moments, his arms strong, holding her up when she might have collapsed.

“That was stupid. What did you gain from it?”

“I had to try.”

“I guess so.”

His hands were gentle as he put her away from him. So gentle, in fact, that when he struck her, she was more shocked than hurt. Blows rained down on her body, hard, fast jabs that had her doubling over and sliding down the wall. He kept hitting her, methodically, over and over. She tried crawling away from him, fighting back, using her arms to defend herself, but the blows kept falling all over her body. He never touched her face and when she curled into the fetal position to try to protect herself, he crouched beside her and continued.

There was no way to protect herself from the blows. They seemed to go on forever. She closed her eyes, sobbing, holding up her hands to try to block him. Just as abruptly as it started, he stopped hitting her.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded softly.

Tears swimming in her eyes, she obeyed him reluctantly. He bent his head toward her, shifting as he did so, until a male leopard in his prime held her pinned against the floor, his teeth sinking deep into her shoulder directly over the mark Conner had put there. At the same time, his back claw raked down her thigh. She felt the gash, the blood run free, and she also felt the burn spreading through her system. She could hear her own screams of anguish, but the leopard ignored her pleas, rolling her over so that she was on her back, her soft belly exposed to him.

His claws sank into her breasts, deep punctures that drew blood. She heard herself scream, but he wasn’t finished. His claws raked the insides of her thighs and then sank deep into her feminine mound. The pain was excruciating. She nearly passed out, the edges of her vision darkening, bile rising.

He lifted her onto her hands and knees, holding her head down to keep her from fainting. She was going to be sick, her stomach cramping and heaving in protest. He appeared just as patient, his hands stroking her hair, soothing her as if he hadn’t been the one to cause such damage in the first place.

Sobbing, Isabeau tried to crawl away from him, but he simply drew her into his arms and rocked her back and forth. She didn’t fight him. Any movement caused pain to rip through her body.

“We’re tied together, Isabeau,” he said softly, looking down at her shredded, bloody jeans. “You’ll need an antibiotic. He’s going to be so enraged he may forget, so you’ll have to be the one to remember.” Again he spoke matter-of-factly.

“Why?” she asked.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “When you think back on your wedding day, it will be me you remember, not him.” His hand stroked her hair, trying to soothe her when she was shaking uncontrollably. “And to prove a point. You’ll never be safe with him, neither will your children. I got to the kid right under the noses of his guards, and I got to you. I can do it again, anytime, anyplace. You need to think about what you want in a partner. We live by the law of the jungle, Isabeau, and if he can’t protect you, what use is he to you?”

“Did you kill Jeremiah?” She pressed her trembling fingers to her mouth. Any movement was painful and she desperately wanted to remove her jeans and top and press a cool cloth to the throbbing puncture wounds.

“His death would have accomplished very little. I needed the kid alive to delay your man. Now he’ll have to live with the fact that he made the wrong choice in helping the boy. Each time he tries to touch you”—the pad of his finger slid over the wounds on her breast—“he’s going to see my mark, my brand.”