Wild Fire
Page 30
Conner couldn’t resist touching her. Cats were tactile and he needed not only to keep his hands on her, but to rub his scent over her. She rubbed her face along his chest and throat, without even realizing she was doing it. He remembered how often she’d done just that when they’d lain together, naked, skin to skin. He should have realized then. Scent and touch was tremendously important to their species—a necessary thing.
Isabeau had taught him to play. With her, he’d felt different—more. Often, when he’d be curled up on the bed, cat-napping after a long and satisfying sexual encounter, she would stalk and pounce on him, so they would end up in a rough-and-tumble play that led right back to much more sensual play.
He’d missed everything about her, especially the way she rubbed her scent all over him, like now. Just the feel of her soft body pressing close to his, the feminine fragrance rising around him, wrapping him up in her, so that when he inhaled he took her into his lungs. He wanted to hold her forever, to bury his face in that sweet spot between her neck and shoulder and just breathe her in until he knew she was real again.
He tensed when Elijah made his move, just a scant thirty feet from them, leaping on the gunman, dragging him to the ground and holding his prey with a suffocating bite to the throat until all struggle ceased. He heard the soft thud of the body, scented blood and then death. All the while, he kept his arms around Isabeau, grateful he had a reason to be close to her.
He knew the exact moment she scented death. Her body trembled slightly, and she snuggled a little deeper into him, but he was proud of her. She stood. There in the darkness, with enemies in the night, and violence and death, she stood. That was the kind of mother he wanted for his children. A mate who would stand with him no matter the circumstances.
How the hell had he been so blind? How could he have blown his chance with her? He’d more than disappointed her. Her first experience, her first love, had betrayed her, left her with nothing but a dead father and too many questions. She hadn’t even known his real name. How did one get forgiveness for that kind of betrayal?
Something moved off to their left and just in front of them. Leaves crackled. He felt Elijah’s sudden stillness. His hand slipped over Isabeau’s mouth, a gentle reminder to stay quiet. She looked up at him and his breath caught in his throat. There was no fear there. Her eyes were beautiful, like two jewels pressed into the pale moonlight. He held a finger to his lips and indicated she stay where she was. She nodded in understanding, but when he slowly loosened his grip to step away from her, she caught his arm.
He leaned into her, pressing his lips to her ear. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move. Not a muscle.”
He didn’t like leaving her, but the enemy was too close and Elijah couldn’t get to him before the man would discover them. Their adversary was moving closer, the tread of his boots loud in the night. Conner let his lips drift over her ear and into her hair, savoring her for just one moment before he moved away to intercept. He didn’t look back, but he listened. There was no rustle of clothing, no sound to indicate she’d moved, yet she must have been a little afraid left by herself deep in the rain forest with a leopard close by and men with guns hunting anyone human.
Pride stirred in him as he slipped close to the enemy. He crept close enough to reach out and touch the man. Dressed in combat gear, crouched low, his automatic rifle cradled in his hands, the man’s face was grim and businesslike. Conner caught the scent of fear as the head swiveled back and forth.
“Jeff,” he hissed. “It’s Bart. Answer me.”
Conner could have told him that a leopard had killed Jeff just a few feet away, but there was no point. Instead, he slipped out of the heavier brush into the open, directly behind Bart. As he reached for him, he heard a soft movement near Isabeau. She gasped, the sound audible in the night. Bart whirled toward that slight noise. His eyes widened as he saw the dark shadow inches from him. His mouth opened, no sound emerging as he brought the gun around, finger on the trigger, already firing as he tried to line up the gun with Conner’s chest. The muzzle blazed blue-white. Behind and around Conner, bark and leaves flew into the air.
Isabeau cried out, a choking cry of pain, and he scented blood. His cat went insane, snarling and raging even as he caught Imelda’s soldier by the throat, claws bursting through his fingertips. The man’s screams were cut off abruptly to a small gurgle. Conner threw him aside and spun around, rushing back through the thick brush to Isabeau.
He skidded to a halt just before he came through the brush out into the open. The scent of a male leopard mixed with man was heavy and mingled with blood—Isabeau’s blood. She was breathing. He could hear her, the air rushing in and out of her lungs, ragged and harsh. He felt her pain, knew she was hurt and his cat grew frantic. The scent of the other male inflamed the leopard even more, so that he clawed close to the surface, demanding to be let loose.
Conner forced himself to think, not react. He could see the stranger, eyes glowing red like a cat’s in the darkness. The hand on her throat was not human, the claws digging into skin. He held Isabeau in front of him like a shield, his attention on the brush to his right. Snarling, showing a mouthful of teeth, he snarled a warning toward something Conner couldn’t see in the brush.
Elijah. The leopard crouched, waiting for his opportunity. Cats had patience, especially leopards. They could wait for hours if they had to, and right now it was a bit of a standoff. Isabeau didn’t look toward Elijah, or even back at her assailant. She kept her gaze glued on the brush where Conner breathed away his fear. She knew he was there. And she knew he’d come for her. There was no panic in her eyes.
Isabeau had taught him to play. With her, he’d felt different—more. Often, when he’d be curled up on the bed, cat-napping after a long and satisfying sexual encounter, she would stalk and pounce on him, so they would end up in a rough-and-tumble play that led right back to much more sensual play.
He’d missed everything about her, especially the way she rubbed her scent all over him, like now. Just the feel of her soft body pressing close to his, the feminine fragrance rising around him, wrapping him up in her, so that when he inhaled he took her into his lungs. He wanted to hold her forever, to bury his face in that sweet spot between her neck and shoulder and just breathe her in until he knew she was real again.
He tensed when Elijah made his move, just a scant thirty feet from them, leaping on the gunman, dragging him to the ground and holding his prey with a suffocating bite to the throat until all struggle ceased. He heard the soft thud of the body, scented blood and then death. All the while, he kept his arms around Isabeau, grateful he had a reason to be close to her.
He knew the exact moment she scented death. Her body trembled slightly, and she snuggled a little deeper into him, but he was proud of her. She stood. There in the darkness, with enemies in the night, and violence and death, she stood. That was the kind of mother he wanted for his children. A mate who would stand with him no matter the circumstances.
How the hell had he been so blind? How could he have blown his chance with her? He’d more than disappointed her. Her first experience, her first love, had betrayed her, left her with nothing but a dead father and too many questions. She hadn’t even known his real name. How did one get forgiveness for that kind of betrayal?
Something moved off to their left and just in front of them. Leaves crackled. He felt Elijah’s sudden stillness. His hand slipped over Isabeau’s mouth, a gentle reminder to stay quiet. She looked up at him and his breath caught in his throat. There was no fear there. Her eyes were beautiful, like two jewels pressed into the pale moonlight. He held a finger to his lips and indicated she stay where she was. She nodded in understanding, but when he slowly loosened his grip to step away from her, she caught his arm.
He leaned into her, pressing his lips to her ear. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move. Not a muscle.”
He didn’t like leaving her, but the enemy was too close and Elijah couldn’t get to him before the man would discover them. Their adversary was moving closer, the tread of his boots loud in the night. Conner let his lips drift over her ear and into her hair, savoring her for just one moment before he moved away to intercept. He didn’t look back, but he listened. There was no rustle of clothing, no sound to indicate she’d moved, yet she must have been a little afraid left by herself deep in the rain forest with a leopard close by and men with guns hunting anyone human.
Pride stirred in him as he slipped close to the enemy. He crept close enough to reach out and touch the man. Dressed in combat gear, crouched low, his automatic rifle cradled in his hands, the man’s face was grim and businesslike. Conner caught the scent of fear as the head swiveled back and forth.
“Jeff,” he hissed. “It’s Bart. Answer me.”
Conner could have told him that a leopard had killed Jeff just a few feet away, but there was no point. Instead, he slipped out of the heavier brush into the open, directly behind Bart. As he reached for him, he heard a soft movement near Isabeau. She gasped, the sound audible in the night. Bart whirled toward that slight noise. His eyes widened as he saw the dark shadow inches from him. His mouth opened, no sound emerging as he brought the gun around, finger on the trigger, already firing as he tried to line up the gun with Conner’s chest. The muzzle blazed blue-white. Behind and around Conner, bark and leaves flew into the air.
Isabeau cried out, a choking cry of pain, and he scented blood. His cat went insane, snarling and raging even as he caught Imelda’s soldier by the throat, claws bursting through his fingertips. The man’s screams were cut off abruptly to a small gurgle. Conner threw him aside and spun around, rushing back through the thick brush to Isabeau.
He skidded to a halt just before he came through the brush out into the open. The scent of a male leopard mixed with man was heavy and mingled with blood—Isabeau’s blood. She was breathing. He could hear her, the air rushing in and out of her lungs, ragged and harsh. He felt her pain, knew she was hurt and his cat grew frantic. The scent of the other male inflamed the leopard even more, so that he clawed close to the surface, demanding to be let loose.
Conner forced himself to think, not react. He could see the stranger, eyes glowing red like a cat’s in the darkness. The hand on her throat was not human, the claws digging into skin. He held Isabeau in front of him like a shield, his attention on the brush to his right. Snarling, showing a mouthful of teeth, he snarled a warning toward something Conner couldn’t see in the brush.
Elijah. The leopard crouched, waiting for his opportunity. Cats had patience, especially leopards. They could wait for hours if they had to, and right now it was a bit of a standoff. Isabeau didn’t look toward Elijah, or even back at her assailant. She kept her gaze glued on the brush where Conner breathed away his fear. She knew he was there. And she knew he’d come for her. There was no panic in her eyes.
