Wild Rain
Page 57
Rio made another careful sweep of the branches above and around him. He sighed as he bent and picked up a boot. The man had taken just enough time to wrap the wound to staunch the flow of blood, drop his rifle and clothes and had taken to the trees, using his leopard form to escape. It was much faster and more efficient to rush through the branches than to try to run wounded, weighed down with clothes, weapons and ammunition. Running down a wounded leopard at night was madness. Especially one of his own kind who had all the cunning and intelligence along with special training.
Rio scouted thoroughly, knowing leopards often backtrack and stalk their prey. Once he found blood smeared along a tree branch, and another time it was a bruised and twisted leaf, the only two signs marking the passing of the large cat. Franz joined him, scenting the air, snarling, eager to give chase.
Rio was much more cautious. They were chasing a professional, a man capable of changing form. Like Rio, he would have planned several escape routes. He would have stashed weapons and clothes along the routes and he would have set traps ahead of time for the possibility of pursuit.
Rio wanted to make certain the sniper hadn’t doubled back, but he didn’t want to leave Rachael for too long when he didn’t know the extent of damage to her leg. He dropped a hand to the top of Franz’s head, a gesture of restraint. “I know. He’s come at us twice now. We’ll hunt him later. We’ve got to move our wounded, boy.” He scratched behind the upright ears and resolutely turned back to gather the clothes and weapons the sniper had left behind. He doubted if he would find an identity, but he could learn something from them.
He made his way back toward the house, Franz beside him, taking his time to make a more thorough inspection of the floor and trees in his realm. He found the blind where the sniper laid waiting for just such an opportunity as Rio lighting a candle might give him. The shifting of shadows against the thin woven blanket was enough to give a marksman a chance of hitting a target. He stopped just a few steps from the verandah, breathing deeply, allowing the knowledge that Rachael could have been killed to wash over him.
He felt sick, his stomach churning. The sweat that broke out on his body had nothing to do with the heat. The wind rarely touched the forest floor. It was always uncannily still there, the dense canopy shielding it, yet high in the trees, the wind whispered and played and danced through the leaves. The sound was soothing to him, the rhythm of nature.
He could understand the laws in the forest. He could even understand the necessity for violence in his world, but he couldn’t imagine what Rachael had done to deserve a death sentence. If one of his people had contracted to kill a woman in cold blood, he knew the assassin would never stop until the deed was accomplished. His kind was single-minded, and the ego of the male would now be bruised. The slow, smoldering anger would flair into a dark, twisted hatred that would spread until it became a disease.
The male had missed twice and both times Rio and his clouded leopards, two lesser beings, had interfered. It would be personal now.
He stepped onto the verandah. “Rachael, I’m coming in.” He waited for a sound. For a sign. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he heard her voice. Tense. Frightened. Determined. So Rachael.
She was alive.
Rachael was still in exactly the same position on the floor as when he had left. The fact that she trusted his exper tise lifted his spirits even more. She looked up at him, sprawled out, his shirt barely covering her bottom, her legs splayed half under the bed, her hair tousled and wild, spilling around her face, and she grinned at him. “Nice of you to drop in. I took a little nap but was getting hungry.” Her gaze moved over him anxiously, obviously inspecting for damage. Her grin widened. “And thirsty. I could use one of those drinks you’re so fond of making.”
“And maybe a little help in getting up?” He found his voice was husky, almost hoarse, emotion catching him off guard. Fritz lay curled up at her side and the gun and knife were on the floor beside her hand.
“That too. I heard shots.” There was a little catch in her voice, but she managed to keep the smile on her face.
He knew he loved her. It was the undaunted smile. The joy in her eyes. The anxiety for his safety. He would never forget that moment. How she looked lying on the floor, blood seeping out of her leg, his shirt twisted around her waist exposing her luscious bare rump and her smile. She was so beautiful it took his breath away.
Rio hunkered down beside her, carefully inspected the damage to her leg. “We got lucky this time, Rachael. I know it hurts, but it isn’t that bad. I’m going to lift you up and it’s going to jar you some. Let me do the work.”
She was always surprised at his enormous strength. Even after the revelation of what he was, she was shocked at how easily he lifted her and set her back on the bed. She couldn’t help herself. She had to touch him, map his face, run her fingertips over his chest just to feel for herself he was alive. “I heard shots,” she repeated, demanding an explanation.
“I winged him. He’s one of my people, but I don’t recognize his scent at all. I’ve never met him. We aren’t the only ones. Some of us live in Africa, others South America. Someone could have imported a…” he trailed off.
“A hit man?” She supplied.
“I was going to say sniper, but that works. It’s possible. We hire out to take back kidnap victims. We make it a policy not to mix in politics if it’s at all possible, but sometimes it’s inevitable. Our laws are fair ly strict; they have to be. Our temperaments are not suited to everything and we have to keep that in mind always. Control is everything to our species. We have intellect and cunning, but not always the control needed to govern those things.”
Rio scouted thoroughly, knowing leopards often backtrack and stalk their prey. Once he found blood smeared along a tree branch, and another time it was a bruised and twisted leaf, the only two signs marking the passing of the large cat. Franz joined him, scenting the air, snarling, eager to give chase.
Rio was much more cautious. They were chasing a professional, a man capable of changing form. Like Rio, he would have planned several escape routes. He would have stashed weapons and clothes along the routes and he would have set traps ahead of time for the possibility of pursuit.
Rio wanted to make certain the sniper hadn’t doubled back, but he didn’t want to leave Rachael for too long when he didn’t know the extent of damage to her leg. He dropped a hand to the top of Franz’s head, a gesture of restraint. “I know. He’s come at us twice now. We’ll hunt him later. We’ve got to move our wounded, boy.” He scratched behind the upright ears and resolutely turned back to gather the clothes and weapons the sniper had left behind. He doubted if he would find an identity, but he could learn something from them.
He made his way back toward the house, Franz beside him, taking his time to make a more thorough inspection of the floor and trees in his realm. He found the blind where the sniper laid waiting for just such an opportunity as Rio lighting a candle might give him. The shifting of shadows against the thin woven blanket was enough to give a marksman a chance of hitting a target. He stopped just a few steps from the verandah, breathing deeply, allowing the knowledge that Rachael could have been killed to wash over him.
He felt sick, his stomach churning. The sweat that broke out on his body had nothing to do with the heat. The wind rarely touched the forest floor. It was always uncannily still there, the dense canopy shielding it, yet high in the trees, the wind whispered and played and danced through the leaves. The sound was soothing to him, the rhythm of nature.
He could understand the laws in the forest. He could even understand the necessity for violence in his world, but he couldn’t imagine what Rachael had done to deserve a death sentence. If one of his people had contracted to kill a woman in cold blood, he knew the assassin would never stop until the deed was accomplished. His kind was single-minded, and the ego of the male would now be bruised. The slow, smoldering anger would flair into a dark, twisted hatred that would spread until it became a disease.
The male had missed twice and both times Rio and his clouded leopards, two lesser beings, had interfered. It would be personal now.
He stepped onto the verandah. “Rachael, I’m coming in.” He waited for a sound. For a sign. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he heard her voice. Tense. Frightened. Determined. So Rachael.
She was alive.
Rachael was still in exactly the same position on the floor as when he had left. The fact that she trusted his exper tise lifted his spirits even more. She looked up at him, sprawled out, his shirt barely covering her bottom, her legs splayed half under the bed, her hair tousled and wild, spilling around her face, and she grinned at him. “Nice of you to drop in. I took a little nap but was getting hungry.” Her gaze moved over him anxiously, obviously inspecting for damage. Her grin widened. “And thirsty. I could use one of those drinks you’re so fond of making.”
“And maybe a little help in getting up?” He found his voice was husky, almost hoarse, emotion catching him off guard. Fritz lay curled up at her side and the gun and knife were on the floor beside her hand.
“That too. I heard shots.” There was a little catch in her voice, but she managed to keep the smile on her face.
He knew he loved her. It was the undaunted smile. The joy in her eyes. The anxiety for his safety. He would never forget that moment. How she looked lying on the floor, blood seeping out of her leg, his shirt twisted around her waist exposing her luscious bare rump and her smile. She was so beautiful it took his breath away.
Rio hunkered down beside her, carefully inspected the damage to her leg. “We got lucky this time, Rachael. I know it hurts, but it isn’t that bad. I’m going to lift you up and it’s going to jar you some. Let me do the work.”
She was always surprised at his enormous strength. Even after the revelation of what he was, she was shocked at how easily he lifted her and set her back on the bed. She couldn’t help herself. She had to touch him, map his face, run her fingertips over his chest just to feel for herself he was alive. “I heard shots,” she repeated, demanding an explanation.
“I winged him. He’s one of my people, but I don’t recognize his scent at all. I’ve never met him. We aren’t the only ones. Some of us live in Africa, others South America. Someone could have imported a…” he trailed off.
“A hit man?” She supplied.
“I was going to say sniper, but that works. It’s possible. We hire out to take back kidnap victims. We make it a policy not to mix in politics if it’s at all possible, but sometimes it’s inevitable. Our laws are fair ly strict; they have to be. Our temperaments are not suited to everything and we have to keep that in mind always. Control is everything to our species. We have intellect and cunning, but not always the control needed to govern those things.”
