Leopard 02 - Wild Rain

what I was going to do. I planned it carefully while I took care of her. I couldn’t bear to think about what I was doing, the burning of her body, so I planned out each step as I worked.”
    “Rio, she was your mother, what did you expect to feel?” Rachael asked gently.
    “Grief. Not madness. He didn’t kill a woman, he killed an animal. It’s acceptable in society. It isn’t legal, but it’s still acceptable. He didn’t deliberately kill a human being—and in a sense, he didn’t.
    We’re taught that mistakes can occur and we have to be prepared for them. Each time we take our alternate form, we are taking a chance by running free. Poachers often enter our realm, I knew that. I was taught that. So was my mother. She took the chance just as I do nearly every night. It was her decision and her risk. That’s what we’re taught by the elders, and they’re right. We aren’t supposed to look upon it as murder. We’re taught to view it as an accident.”
    “I’m not certain that’s entirely possible, Rio. Admirable maybe, but not very likely when it comes to one’s family.”
    He touched her mouth. That tempting, beautiful mouth so ready to defend him. There had been no one to defend him all those years ago. He’d been a hothead, rage riding him hard. Defiance his only weapon. “I don’t believe in an eye for an eye.” He looked down at his hands. “I didn’t even back then. I know my killing him didn’t accomplish anything. It didn’t bring her back. It didn’t make me feel better.
    It certainly changed my life, yet I still can’t bring myself to be sorry that he’s dead. Do I wish I hadn’t done it? Yes. Would I do it again? I don’t know. Probably. It was like a sickness inside of me, Rachael, a hole burning in my gut. I tracked him and found his hunting camp. Her pelt was hanging on the wall to dry. There was blood, her blood, on his clothes. I learned how to hate. I swear, I’d never even felt such an emotion before. He was drinking, celebrating. I didn’t even give him a chance. I didn’t say anything at all to him, I didn’t even tell him why.” He looked up to meet her eyes, wanting her to know the truth about what he was. What he’d done.
    “I think I was afraid to tell him, afraid I’d see remorse or regret. I wanted him dead and I simply ripped out his throat. Her pelt was hanging on the wall behind him.”
    Bile rose in his throat, just as it had all those years ago. He had been physically ill, over and over, yet he had dragged the pelt from the wall and burned it as he was taught before returning to the elders to tell them what he’d done.
    “You condemn yourself for going after the man who killed your mother, yet you make your living pulling people out of dangerous situations, using your skills as a marksman to free them.”
    “It isn’t the same thing as defending my life or the life of someone else, Rachael,” he said. “If I’m sent out to bring someone home, back to their family, I believe anyone in the scope of my rifle put themselves there by kidnapping and threatening the life of another. It isn’t the same thing at all.”
    Rachael shifted her weight, bent forward to circle his neck with her arms in an effort to comfort him.
    Something whizzed past her ear so fast it hummed, thudding into the wall, sending splinters in all directions.
    Ten
    Rio reacted instantly, wrapping his arms around her and dragging herto the floor, his body covering hers. The movement jarred her leg, sent pain radiating up her thigh and through her stomach so that she wanted to scream. It was only then that she heard the boom of the distant rifle reaching them. At once a series of spits peppered the room, tearing up the wall and showering the room with splinters of wood.
    Rachael jammed her good hand into her mouth to keep from crying. Her leg burned and throbbed. It felt as if it might have burst open but she couldn’t move with Rio’s weight on top of her.
    “Stay down,” he hissed. “I mean it, completely flat on the floor, Rachael. Don’t you move, not for any reason.” His hands were moving over her, inspecting her for damage. “You aren’t hit, are you? Tell me.” He was shaking with rage. It welled up like a funnel cloud, dark and twisted and ferocious. The bullets hadn’t been aimed at him, the marksman had gone after Rachael. There were no lights on in the house and the blanket was over the window. The flickering candle was the only light and it had been