Leopard 02 - Wild Rain

going, digging into the branches with his claws to pull away.

    Rio dropped quickly to the ground to assess the damage to Fritz. The larger spotted leopard had delivered a grave injury, but left the smaller cat alive. Rio hissed an angry warning. He had to fight his own nature, the need to go after fleeing prey. Fight back the temper smoldering in his gut, red-hot and demanding revenge.
    There was no doubt in his mind he had faced one of his own kind, a cunning, intelligent mixture of leopard and man. This one had come to kill him. Rio knew most of his people; there were few left in the forest. Many were scattered in other countries and some chose to live as humans in the cities, but most were known to one another. Rio did not recognize the scent of his stalker, but he recognized the intelligence of the decision not to kill the clouded leopard in a fit of temper. The attack had been cold-blooded and well thought out in the short time available. The spotted leopard knew Rio would never leave the dangerously injured cat to track him. And that told Rio something else. His stalker knew he traveled with the two clouded leopards.
    He looked cautiously around, making certain to scent the wind. His cough was a demand to the tree dwellers for information. The cry came from the troupe of monkeys overhead. Rio reached for his human form, allowed the pain to engulf him as ropes of muscle and sinew contorted, contracted and stretched. He crouched beside the clouded leopard, assessing the damage to the animal. The puncture wounds were deep. He clamped his hand over the holes and applied pressure, murmuring reassurances as he did so, ignoring the deep claw marks on his own skin.
    “Franz, stay alert,” he ordered as he gathered Fritz into his arms. Rio had to keep pressure on the two puncture wounds as he raced through the forest, weaving his way between the trees, leaping over fallen logs, splashing through two small swollen streams, covering the uneven terrain as fast as he could. He was built much like a leopard with muscles meant for carrying large prey. He didn’t feel the burden of the clouded leopard, but in his human form, his skin was not nearly as tough as in his animal form and the forest tore up his flesh as he rushed through it.
    Rio leapt upon the wide low-hanging branch leading to his home with the ease of long practice and, balancing carefully, made his way along the maze of branches until he gained the verandah. He called out to warn Rachael, hoping she wouldn’t shoot him as he shoved open the door with his hip. Fritz, nestled so close to him, turned his head to look up at him in silent fear. The small leopard’s sides were heaving, straining for air, too much blood matting his fur.
    Rachael gasped, thrusting the gun beneath the pillow. “What happened? What can I do?” Rio’s face was a dangerous mask, fierce, warriorlike, his eyes alive with anger. He turned the full power of his unblinking stare on her, assessing her condition. Rachael met his piercing gaze steadily. “Really, Rio, let me help you.”
    He immediately switched directions, bringing the injured animal to the bed. “Can you sit up all the way by yourself?”
    Rachael didn’t bother with speech. She simply showed him, making certain to keep her expression serene when her heart was pounding and pain made her sick. She’d had enough practice hiding fear.
    The cat was badly injured and therefore far more dangerous than in its normal state. Her mouth went dry as he placed the animal in her lap and guided, first one hand, then the other to the puncture wounds.
    Rachael found herself with a fifty-pound leopard in her lap and her hands pressing into its neck covered in blood.

    Rio lit the lamp and brought his surgical supplies to the bed, kneeling down close to the animal’s head.
    “Be still, Fritz,” he murmured, “I know it hurts, but we’ll get you fixed up.” He didn’t look at Rachael, but worked on the animal, his hands gentle, steady and very sure.
    His head was bent, dark hair spilling around his face. There was sweat and blood on his skin, and he smelled wild and of wet fur. His face could have been carved from stone as he worked to save the cat.
    “These are deep puncture wounds, much like your leg. I sutured the lacerations on your leg but left the punctures to drain. I’ll have to do the same with Fritz. The best I can do is clean the wounds thoroughly, give him antibiotics and hope they don’t abscess. If they do,