Conner slipped both paws and growled, the sound swelling to a roar that shook the surrounding forest. Ears flat, lips drawn back, his tail switched viciously at the taunt.
Without warning, Jeremiah launched himself, claws extended, intending to rake Conner’s side and gain respect. Conner was too experienced to ever allow such an attack to work. Using his extremely flexible spine, he twisted in midair, allowing the lethal claws to miss by an inch, and turned in pursuit of his prey, swiping laterally, taking fur and skin from Jeremiah’s exposed side and belly.
Conner was heavier, more experienced and far more muscular. He changed direction in midair using hip rotation so that when he landed, he was nearly on top of the younger man. He didn’t want to end the fight so soon, needing the physical workout. He slammed into Jeremiah with the force of a battering ram, driving him off his feet. The smaller leopard turned as he went down to protect his soft belly, rolling and scrambling to get back on his feet.
Conner sprang, using the leopard’s natural agility and grace, knocking Jeremiah over and over so that he rolled across the clearing and up against a broad tree trunk. The two went at it, snarling, growling, bodies rolling on the ground. Blows landed. Claws occasionally ripped furrows in fur and skin. The hard jolt of large paws landing gave Conner satisfaction. It felt good to use up his energy and his cat’s anger in the rough-and-tumble way of his people.
Jeremiah surprised him. The kid held his temper and took a punishment without shirking. He got in a few solid blows Conner would feel for days, but he didn’t resort to illegal moves or try to rip his opponent into shreds. Conner had a lot more respect for the kid when they lay panting, side by side, nursing their wounds and eyeing each other warily.
“Are you two going at it all night?” Isabeau called from above them. “Or are you hungry?”
The two leopards looked at one another. Jeremiah rubbed a paw over his twitching nose and shifted. His naked body sprawled out on the grass, covered in sweat and blood and bruises.
Isabeau squeaked and turned away. “Take a shower before you come up. And put some clothes on.”
Conner studied the kid as he sprinted for the shower, clearly motivated by the idea of being fed. He looked to be somewhere between twenty and twenty-four. He had the muscle mass and the coolness under fire. He was young and eager and had no idea of what he was getting into, but he was game. He didn’t whine and he hadn’t run, even when Conner had given him a good beating, testing the kid’s resolve to take his punishment.
He moved like water over rock. They’d have to work on his stealth. He sounded like a damned rhino crashing through the brush, but he also was a bit of an eager puppy. He looked up and met Rio’s eyes. They’d all watched—partly to test the kid—partly to make certain Conner didn’t allow his cat to kill him. Rio nodded, confirming the boy had earned enough respect that they’d give him a try.
Conner waited until Jeremiah had gone up the ladder and the others had gone back into the cabin before he walked over to the shower. Feeling a little lazy, but good, he shifted and allowed the water to pour over him. It was cold, but invigorating. He could feel the bruises already starting to form up and down his body. There were one or two places where the boy’s claws had ripped skin, but his cat was calm, the first respite he’d had since he’d laid eyes on Isabeau.
He let the cold water pour over his hot skin and allowed himself to breathe, really take a breath. Before, Isabeau’s scent had been drawn into his lungs, surrounding him, inside him, overwhelming his senses until he felt a little crazy. He had to come to some kind of a balance in order to function properly. They had to get the children back and that would mean proceeding with the plan to get into the compound.
He dried off slowly and turned alternate ideas over and over in his mind. The thought of touching someone other than Isabeau was abhorrent to him. The idea of a woman as cruel and immoral as Imelda kissing him or touching him would inflame his cat to madness. He wasn’t certain he could actually do it. Not now. Not with her close and certainly not with her on the verge of the Han Vol Dan.
Isabeau had no idea what would happen when her cat emerged. She would never, under any circumstances, tolerate another woman near her mate. Conner shoved his fingers through his damp hair and stared up at the cabin, hesitant to go back in where his cat would react to the close proximity of the men around Isabeau. He was in for a long night. His body was not going to get a reprieve from the relentless urgent demands.
She had more power over him than she knew. On the nights he’d managed to sleep, he woke with the sound of her laughter in his mind. The image of her diving into water, looking over her shoulder, enticing him. His memories were mixed now, old and new. Past life and present one. All Isabeau. Everything good in his life was now simply Isabeau.
He’d been walking through the motions for a year. Hiding in the States. He’d heard her voice everywhere he went. His skin ached for the touch of hers. He couldn’t find a way to keep the blood in his veins from thickening and heating every time he thought about her—which was all the time. He hadn’t realized—until he saw her again—just how numb he’d been. Everything in him came alive when she was near.
Now he was faced with seeing her every day. Teaching her the ways of their people. How to protect herself in the rain forest. He had no idea how to stop wanting her. How to stop needing to kiss her and just try to be casual and indifferent around her. Not only did he have her and her emerging cat to worry about, but the kid was going to need training and looking after. He sighed. His life had turned very complicated, yet he felt more alive than he ever had.
Isabeau was close. Her warmth. Her scent. Her cat. He lifted his face to the rain and let it drop on his face, trying to cleanse his mind of her. She was swamping his senses. Driving out all sane thoughts until he was going to be useless to Rio and the others if he didn’t get a handle on his cat. And damn it all—he couldn’t blame the out-of-control emotions all on his cat. The man was feeling the same driving hungers—the same desperate need.
He’d fallen so hard for her. So fast. He’d been in too deep before he’d even realized she was burrowing into his heart and soul, winding around his bones and pressing her stamp deep into them, invading every blood cell until he couldn’t escape her lure. There was no way to free his soul once he’d fallen in love with her. He’d destroyed everything between them, shattered her in one horrible blow, but he hadn’t managed to disentangle himself from her in the process.
He knew being leopard mates played a huge part in the physical draw between them, but he loved her. The man and leopard both loved her. There was no one else for either of them and there never would be. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of her laughter. That little note in her voice had always managed to arouse him and soothe the beast in him at the same time. There were so many facets to her, so many intriguing parts to her character. He loved everything about her, everything from her generous heart to her nasty temper.
“Conner?” Isabeau called down to him. “Come and eat.”
He looked up because he couldn’t stop himself. One hand was wrapped around the post as she peered down at him. Her waist-length hair was unbound, flowing a little with the meager breeze moving through the canopy. Her jeans and tee emphasized the lush curves of her body, and he felt his cat purr low in his throat at the sight of her.
“I’ll be right up. I’m going to poke around a little, see what turns up.”
She put her hand on her hip, drawing his attention to the fact that she wasn’t using her injured arm. “Nothing’s out there, Conner. No one would ever find this cabin unless they knew where to look. There are enough cats here to smell anything within miles. Just come up and eat.”
It wasn’t so much her words as her tone that had him moving fast over the rotting vegetation to grasp the vine. In the midst of all the men, she was nervous without him there. And any way he looked at it, that was a good sign. He went up fast, hand over hand, using his leopard’s enormous strength to pull himself up to the porch. He dragged up the ladder after him so that there were no signs to give them away. Even if someone found the small makeshift shower, it was ice cold and no more than a crude but effective rain carved out of a sparse waterfall rushing down the slope.
He straightened slowly and drank her in. She stood, a little hesitant, but she didn’t retreat. She was waiting for him. He watched her inhale deeply, and involuntarily draw his scent into her lungs. His body tightened in reaction. He supposed he’d have to get used to the relentless ache. His gaze dwelt on the puncture marks on her neck; satisfaction welled up that he’d given the kid enough of a beating that he’d feel it for days. She looked a little bruised and battered, but beautiful, with her exotic looks and cat’s eyes.
Isabeau blushed. “You’re looking at me that way again.”
“What way?”
“Like you’re about to pounce on me any moment. I’m looking for a little comfort, not an ambush of some sort.”
He moved in close to her, reaching to tuck strands of hair behind her ear, the brush of his fingers gentle. “You were courageous tonight, when the kid grabbed you. You didn’t panic.”