Leopard 04 - Wild Fire

out of her mouth. Her heart was so shattered she didn’t think she could ever feel its rhythmic beat again.
    It had been hell, sheer torment without him, but now, seeing him, breathing him into her body, feeling him so close, the burning started all over again, like a wildfire out of control. He made her his puppet, his slave, a woman with such need no other could ever fill her or satisfy her. She hated him with every fiber of her being, yet the idea of him touching another woman sickened her.
    And the way he looked at her. That focused stare, filled with possession, as if he knew she wanted him in spite of every sick thing he had ever done. So damned smug, knowing it would take one move on his part, crushing her mouth under his, knowing she longed to go up on her toes and fasten her mouth to his and she would melt into him, give herself away all over again. She hated herself with the same fiery passion she hated him. He’d destroyed her heart and he’d stolen her soul. She was left with nothing but ashes and pain.
    For one horrible moment her fingers tightened on the hilt of the knife, but she could no more have shoved it into him than she could have done it to herself. He was a part of her. She hated herself, but he was a part of her and she knew she couldn’t live with the knowledge that she’d killed him.
    Her mouth trembled. Her hands. And then her body. She ducked her head and tears fell on the backs of his hands where he gripped hers so hard. “Tell me what you want,” her voice barely a thread of sound as she capitulated, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She was lost and she knew it. “To get those children back. Tell me what you want, how to do it.”
    His grip eased on her hands until she could slide them away. She rubbed her palms up and down her jean-clad thighs as if she could rid herself of the urge to rip and tear at him—or touch him.
    “Keep doing that, as if it’s going to help you,” he said. “It isn’t going to stop the itch, little cat, and we both know it. You need scratching, you have one place to come. One , do you understand me?”
    “I’d rather die.”
    “I don’t care. You want me to get those children out, I’ll do it, but you don’t go near any other man.”
    “You can’t dictate that to me.”
    “You persist in thinking in human terms, Isabeau,” he said. He stepped close again, inhaling her scent, forcing her to inhale his. “I have news for you. I’m not human and neither are you. You’re in the rain forest, and here, we have a whole different set of laws. Higher laws. You’re close to heat, close to the Han Vol Dan, the first emergence of your cat. Her first need is your first need. No one touches you but your mate. And whether you like it or not, that would be me.”
    “You’re crazy.” She jerked back away from him. “I’m human.”
    He touched his face, drawing her attention to the scars there. Her brand. “You did this with your claws, little cat.”
    She closed her eyes tight for a brief moment but not before he caught a glimpse of pain, of confusion and guilt. She shook her head in denial, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “How could I possibly do that to you?”
    Conner knew she’d been so shocked by all the revelations that night. Her father dead on the floor—the evidence of his guilt all around them. One dead prisoner and two others weeping. The discovery that the man she’d trusted, the one she loved, used her to get to her father—that she didn’t even know his real name—the betrayal of that moment—the shock. She’d stepped toward him in spite of the restraining hands holding her back—more evidence of the power of her leopard—and she’d slapped him. Only in that split second, before her palm connected with his face, the pain had been so acute her cat had leapt Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    to shield her, her hand shifting to a claw. She’d gone white, her eyes too large for her face, her knees nearly giving out so that he’d caught at her to keep her from falling, even with his face torn and ravaged, blood dripping steadily.
    Isabeau had shrunk away from him and he could see clearly that over time, she’d convinced herself the entire thing hadn’t happened. It couldn’t have happened. How could it be possible for a woman to shift even partially into a leopard?
    She shook her head again. “My father was Dr. Arnold Chandler. He may have lost his way and done some