Leopard's Prey

kissed you.” He looked past her, his smile widening. “Eulalie, so good to see you.”
    Bijou let out her breath and turned around to face the owner of the store. Eulalie Chachere was absolutely beautiful with flawless, dark skin and chocolate eyes with feathery lashes. She was tall, with an amazing figure and made Bijou feel like the little kid Remy had just reduced her to.
    “Have you come for a love potion, Remy?” Eulalie teased and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him on first one cheekbone and then the other.
    Bijou’s breath hissed out of her. Her fingers flexed. Ached. Her nail beds hurt. Her jaw felt as if someone had punched her. Eulalie’s form swam in front of her eyes, shimmering like a heat wave, red and yellow images.
    Remy kissed Eulalie’s cheek and then firmly put her to one side, keeping his body between Bijou’s and the voodoo priestess. He reached for Bijou’s hand, his fingers soothing the aches running down the back of her hand to her fingers. He rubbed her knuckles gently, although he didn’t look at her, which, she decided, was a good thing. Fury burned through her for no apparent reason. She had a visceral reaction to Eulalie so intimately and blatantly touching Remy as if they were old friends—or lovers.
    “I don’ think a love potion will be necessary . . . yet,” Remy said. “We’ll see. I may come beggin’ later.”
    Bijou ran her tongue over her teeth. Remy sounded like such a flirt. Clearly he flirted with every woman he came near. Unexpectedly she wanted to claw and rake at him—or Eulalie. She couldn’t decide who would be the best target.
    Remy’s hand tightened around Bijou’s and he stepped close to her—so close the heat from his body washed over her. She could feel strength flowing through him. His fingers bit into her hand. She glanced at him. His eyes had gone that strange green, nearly glowing. He shook his head, an almost imperceptible movement as he brought his mouth close to her ear. “Just breathe.”
    “I’m glad you called ahead, Remy,” Eulalie continued, clearly unaware of the tension in the room. “I was about to leave for a couple weeks. I put off traveling until tomorrow so I could look at this for you. Is it the same man that was killing a few years ago when you brought me the photographs to look at?”
    Bijou was aware of everything in the room. The position of each item. Scents. The windows. She knew someone else lurked in the back room behind the veil of beads—a man, and he was somehow connected to Eulalie. Her scent was all over him. Sounds were acute, so much so that she could hear conversations outside the shop and knew that several fans as well as a couple of paparazzi were outside waiting.
    Remy’s pressure on her hand kept her grounded and she forced her lungs to work. In and out. That strange, elusive wildness unfurled, stretched and retreated, leaving her feeling limp and wrung out. What in the hell was wrong with her? She’d always been accused of being moody, but now she really was. Moody. Edgy. In desperate need of sex. Her skin itched, felt too tight on her body, and she could feel the beginnings of a bad headache.
    Remy dropped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her close to him. As much as one minute ago she had wanted to claw his eyes out; now she just felt grateful that he was there, holding her up. She was going to have to go back to her therapist. Her emotions were all over the place.
    “I believe he’s the same man, Eulalie,” Remy answered the voodoo priestess, keeping her attention centered on him. “Did you take a look at the photographs?”
    Eulalie frowned. “If this is the same man, he’s evolved as far as his altar from several years ago, but he is not a true practitioner.”
    “Clearly he’s practicing black magic, summoning demons to aid him, right?”
    Eulalie smiled at him. Bijou couldn’t help noticing how the rows of long braids emphasized her beautiful cheekbones and the way her smile lit up her dark eyes. “You’ve been reading. I suspect he’s reading as well, but he’s never gone to a practitioner before. He’s mixing things up. His altar is far better than a few years ago, I’ll give him that.”
    “But he isn’t really a follower of voodoo?” Remy prompted. “A
bokor
perhaps? One who focuses on dark magic rather than light?”
    Eulalie shook her head. “Certainly not in the traditional sense. In traditional voodoo, a human sacrifice would be considered