The rain poured down, a steady drizzle that showed no sign of letting up. He turned his face toward the sky and let the drops run down his cheeks, hiding any tears burning there. He’d known hatred, but his mother hadn’t. She’d done her best to raise him to be like her, a gentle, loving creature who didn’t hold grudges. She hadn’t succeeded, and right at this moment he detested that he had many of his father’s dominating, cruel traits.
He couldn’t bear the idea of his mother thinking he hadn’t loved Isabeau. What if Isabeau had told her the story of his deceit? He swiped at a rotting log, rolling it over and sending insects in all directions. He kept tearing at the log, ashamed and disgusted with himself. He should have come home. Told her about Isabeau. Asked her advice. Instead, he’d slunk off to Drake, the only man who had ever treated him decently. Wanting what? Some kind of absolution? Knowing already what his mother would have said to him.
Long, night-piercing roars and growls emerged from his throat, filling space from floor to canopy with the threat of violence. He’d hid like a coward far away where no one could see the way Isabeau had shattered him, broken him inside to little pieces. He’d been in too deep by the time he’d known who she was and he’d allowed their relationship to go too far. The two women he loved he had hurt. And his mother was dead . . .
He raged to the heavens, pouring his grief out to mix with the rain. In his animal form it was more acceptable to allow wild emotions free, something that was far more difficult as a man. Splintered wood flew in all directions. Dirt and debris followed. Nothing escaped the terrible retribution of claws as he tore up trunks and smashed through the root cages of several large trees.
Small rodents shivered in tunnels and dens. Birds took to the air in agitation, adding to the chaos. The large leopard smashed a tall termite cone, flung the debris in all directions and dug his claws into a muddy slope, dragging himself up the steep incline to the next line of trees where he marked every one of them with deep gouges.
His nose wrinkled and he opened his mouth, testing the air. At once his lungs were filled with the scent of his mate. The leopard whirled around, his teeth showing, his golden eyes piercing, ferocious, the snarls still rumbling low in his throat. She stood a few yards from him, her chin up, eyes steady, but she was trembling and he could smell fear.
“They told me it was dangerous to follow you,” she greeted.
Her voice wobbled a little bit, but the leopard found it comforting. She had come to him of her own accord through the rain forest at night. It wouldn’t have been hard to follow the trail of his destruction, but she looked alone and fragile, and far too scared. Conner took hold of his cat, forcing the rage back, raising the flat ears and doing his best to look tame and gentle within the powerful body of the big leopard. It wasn’t easy. When he took a step toward her, her breath caught in her throat and her hand tightened on the torn tree branch she was using for support, but she didn’t back up.
Her body tensed. He froze in position, not wanting her to run. He was in control of the leopard, but if Isabeau fled, her action would trigger the leopard’s hunting instincts. He knew the cat would never harm her, but it would be unacceptable to frighten her.
“I know I said something to upset you, Conner,” Isabeau continued. “I wanted you to know, I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories. Your mother was wonderful—a kind, loving person who really helped me when I needed it.”
Another roar of anguish welled up. Conner fought it back. She looked so young to him, so inexperienced but brave, and love welled up for her so that his chest felt tight and his heart ached. How could he have blown it so badly? Handled everything so wrong? The moment he knew he was in over his head, he should have told her. He’d taken a chance talking to her father. It should have been her. He should have trusted her enough to give her the chance he gave her father. He hadn’t even considered the idea. He knew Marisa would have asked him why. She believed in talking. She was an intellectual and believed problems were solved by talking them over.
Isabeau took a cautious step forward. “I swear, Conner, I wouldn’t use your mother to hurt you in any way. Yes, I was angry with you over what you did, but I have come to some understanding about why you did it. Your mother was an exceptional person and I know she loved her son. I didn’t know your real name and she never mentioned yours. She just referred to you as ‘my son.’ She said it lovingly, Conner. Proudly. You were everything to her.”
He watched her, afraid to move, afraid of doing the wrong thing and making her run. She kept moving toward him, in a slow, freeze-frame stalk, one hand out tentatively. Her hand was small, and trembling. He kept his mouth closed over his teeth, and a close watch on the leopard. The cat trembled and slowly sank its hindquarters down, first into a sitting position, and then finally to a prone one, although the golden eyes never moved from her face.
Isabeau took a cautious look around at the torn trees and shredded bark and then looked down at the leopard’s heavy paws. Traces of blood streaked the golden fur where he’d deliberately smashed his paws, using them like clubs against the tree trunks. The sea of rosettes created an optical illusion so that the large cat appeared to be moving when he was actually stationary. His penetrating stare was nearly lost in the sea of black spots. His sides heaved with every heavy breath. She knew she would never forget that smoldering hunger in the leopard’s eyes, or the sharp intelligence.
It might not have been such a good idea to follow him. All the others had shouted to her to come back, but she’d hastened down the ladder and sprinted after the leopard once she’d heard the terrible anguish in his voice. She couldn’t bear to hear him. She knew grief when she heard it. The idea that he couldn’t express that same grief as a man tore at her heart. She’d known his mother, what kind of woman she was. Conner had to have loved and admired her. What son wouldn’t have?
She took the last three steps to the leopard and let her fingertips brush over the powerful head. Her hand trembled and she sunk her fingers into his fur in an effort to stop shaking. “Are you all right?”
The leopard arched his neck under her scratching nails, turning his head from side to side, allowing better access. She sank down onto the one flat rock she could find near him, circling his neck with her arm, shocked that fear was receding so rapidly. The leopard stretched out beside her while she stroked the fur.
What did she know of leopards other than they were considered dangerous and cunning? Just looking into his eyes she could see that same keen intelligence that had attracted her to Conner. He was there—the man. And he was suffering. She wasn’t certain what she’d said, but she knew she’d been the one to upset him.
“I talked to her about what happened,” she admitted, searching for the right thing to say. “She knew I was upset. How could she not? I’d lost my father and then discovered terrible things about his business. And finding out the man I thought loved me had deceived me in order to get to my father—that was difficult, Conner—but I was coming to terms with it with her help. She didn’t know it was you. How could she?”
His eyes went sad. Stricken. Those fierce, burning eyes, so open to her when the man wasn’t, and she saw the truth. Marisa had known. Somehow his mother had known, and Conner knew how. She let out her breath and buried her face in his roped, muscled neck, unable to look at him. Conner had to think his mother thought the worst of him when she died. As much as Isabeau thought she wanted him to suffer—it wasn’t like this—not about his mother.
She rubbed her cheek against his fur, needing as much comfort and soothing as he did. Did he think she’d done it on purpose? Tried to make him look bad in front of his mother? It hadn’t been like that at all. “I was hungry for companionship—for a mother or big sister. A female I could talk to. My own mother died when I was a young child. I can barely remember her. Well, I guess she was really my adopted mother. I didn’t know my birth mother.”
She hadn’t known she was adopted until after her leopard had clawed Conner’s face. Instinctively her fingers went to the cat’s face. Sure enough, there were four deep furrows there. She stroked small caresses along the four scars. She was somewhat sheltered from the rain by the thick leaves overhead, but every now and then a few drops ran off the broad leaves in a steady trickle down her back. She squirmed uncomfortably.
Instantly the leopard was on his feet. Sitting, he was taller than her. His face broad and strong. He looked up at the surrounding trees as if studying them before turning back to her. He waited while she slowly got to her feet. She knew he wanted to get her off the ground and up into the trees, a leopard’s instinctive reaction.
“We can go back to the cabin and sit on the porch,” she suggested hastily.
She was a little nervous surrounded by absolute darkness, those golden eyes glowing at her. And she didn’t want to see any insects coming at her in swarms. For the most part, mosquitoes and other stinging or biting bugs kept a distance from her, but there were always the swarms of ants to contend with. She would never admit it aloud, after all her chosen profession kept her in the rain forest, but ants in particular gave her nightmares. It was rather comical to be standing with her fingers buried in the fur of a leopard and be scouring the churning vegetation for ants.
Isabeau took a tentative step in the direction of the cabin. She’d always had an amazing sense of direction, even in the interior of the rain forest, although she never entered without a guide, but now she felt even more confident. She took another slow step, her heart hammering hard, wanting him to follow her. The leopard moved to her side, keeping his neck under her palm and his body against her leg as they moved together through the heavy brush.
Wanting to keep his mind fixed on her and away from the loss of his mother, Isabeau continued talking. “When I was a child, I remember my father used to try to take me to those parks where they have roller-coaster rides, and I hated them. I was very adventurous, so he could never understand why I didn’t like the movement. Every time I rode one of them, something inside me would go crazy. It must have been my cat, but of course I didn’t know it at the time.” She sighed. “I guess I didn’t know a lot of things then.”
They walked in and out among the trees. She could hear her heart pounding. She was going to tell him—and betray her father even more. But she owed him that much.
“I told your mother about the roller coaster—and the men my father always met at the parks.” She could hear the tremble in her voice, but she couldn’t quite control it and knew Conner could hear it too, especially with the sensitive ears of the leopard.
Beneath her hand, the roped muscles tensed, but he didn’t break stride. He kept walking with her and that gave her the courage to make the confession. “I never paid attention to the men he often met there, because I didn’t like them. There was something off about their smell.” Her fingers curled deeper in his fur. “I could smell things miles away. It drove me crazy. These men would come up to him when we would get a snow cone. Dad always took me to this one stand, and the same two men would meet him and hand him a package. He would give them an envelope. I was a child, Conner, and didn’t realize, or even question, that he was getting paid for something, or that the reason those men smelled ‘off’ was because they were doing something wrong.”