Lightning Game (GhostWalkers #17) -Christine Feehan Page 0,43

way. The last thing they wanted her to do was abandon her den and try to take her kittens to another, perhaps putting them in danger from a predator.

Once they were far enough away from the den, patrolling in a loose and wide circle around the cabin, Jonquille admitted to herself and him that she was happy to have actually seen the little cat.

“I was fairly certain the cry I heard was from a bobcat, but actually seeing her with my own eyes made me much less worried. I don’t know what I was thinking—that a child was lost up here in the mountains? That would be silly, right?”

“No, of course not. It’s happened. Just because we don’t have close neighbors doesn’t mean a child can’t be lost. We have systematically bought up the neighboring properties when they’ve come up for sale in order to keep the land from being torn apart. That doesn’t mean children weren’t running loose playing or hunting at times. We certainly did. Also, more and more, we have backpackers who take the trail looking for places where few people go. Most are respectful of the land, but a few run wild. Some have children with them and don’t watch them. It’s good to check everything out, but always be on alert.”

“It would be such a shame to lose all this to logging or mining,” she said. “I’ve been going off trail to sketch some of the plants, and you’ve got some very rare species here, ones I’m certain have healing properties.”

He nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. My mother used to go out into the woods when the neighbors were ill and she’d find certain plants. She’d use the flowers or the roots. Sometimes she’d make tea or some other concoction. I remember my father laughing and saying she was making a witch’s brew in her cauldron. That was sacrilegious. You were never supposed to make comments like that, but she laughed. When he was alive, she laughed all the time.”

Jonquille glanced at him sharply. He sounded sad. She wished she could ask if he would allow her to draw him. She’d be embarrassed, but it would be worth it. She wanted to take a little bit of him with her when she had to go—and she had to go. She had a little time. There wasn’t much, but some. She could take time and be with him before she went hunting, and she intended to hunt his enemies. Just because he showed up early didn’t mean her plan wasn’t solid. Now, after meeting him, she knew she was going to go through with it. Rubin Campo was too good of a man to let die. He would fight until his last breath, and she wasn’t going to take any chances with his life.

“I didn’t bring as many sketch pads as I should have,” Jonquille admitted. “I only brought a few because I didn’t think I’d be here that long and I don’t like to carry extra weight.”

He glanced at her as they walked a few feet in silence. Light was beginning to streak through the leaves of the canopy overhead, creating a theatrical effect. The early morning sun sent bizarre patterns spilling onto the forest floor. Rubin’s eyes were so dark they looked like twin chips of black obsidian, weighing her truths against the lies she mixed in. That velvet gaze drifted over her face like the touch of fingers, bringing up the inevitable goose bumps.

Jonquille had no idea how he did that. He wasn’t physically touching her, yet she felt as if he might be. It was just as well they weren’t going to be partners, because if they had arguments, all he would have to do was look at her like that and she’d blurt out everything he’d want to know immediately.

“Jonquille.” Even her name was a caress.

“I thought you said you didn’t have relationships with women.” She glared at him, narrowing her eyes belligerently. Maybe the only thing to do when she was alone with him was pick a fight. Push him away.

He stopped walking and turned, towering over her. She’d forgotten about their height difference. The uneven ground and his gentle demeanor had given her a false sense of security. Now he smoothly cut off her retreat. He looked down at her, his head tilted to one side, that dark gaze of his like a black velvet cloth moving over her skin in a slow perusal. He reached out and tucked