Leopard 04 - Wild Fire

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.
    Blood dripped steadily down her left arm where a bullet must have grazed her. Conner’s gaze locked on Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    to his enemy. Leopard for sure. Most likely one of the rogues. He would never get out of the rain forest alive. Not with Elijah waiting in the brush. Or Rio creeping up behind him. Not with Adan closing in from one side, poison darts ready, or the Santos brothers crawling, belly down, approaching from the other side.
    Conner was aware of all of them, but dimly, as if far away. Every fiber of his being was focused on the leopard holding his mate hostage. He stepped out of the brush, facing the man. Isabeau gasped and shook her head. His cat leapt, hissing and growling, wanting to rip and slice his opponent to shreds.
    There was no way to calm his cat, so he didn’t try to suppress the animal’s natural instincts. He just took a firmer grip. Of course he wanted to destroy the man touching his mate, but keeping her alive was more important than anything else, especially pride.
    “Let her go,” he said quietly. “She can’t help you.”
    The rogue snarled with a great show of teeth and dug his claws deeper into Isabeau’s throat in warning.
    Droplets of blood ran down her skin. Conner marked each one, assessing the damage the leopard was doing to her throat.
    “Are you all right?”
    Isabeau pushed down the burning pain in her throat, nodding, terrified, not for herself, but for Conner. He stood without a weapon, facing the man holding her, and she had no way of warning him that her captor was enormously strong. She’d never felt such strength running through someone—like steel. He could snap her in half easily should he be so inclined. She tried a cautious movement. Instantly the claws went deeper.
    Isabeau coughed, and tried to drag air