WILD RAIN
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couldn’t just grab the pillow and suffocate herself because” her hand wasn’t working properly. She could hear someone crying. An obnoxious, annoying sound that wouldn’t stop. A high keening kept breaking her concentration, making it impossible to lie still.
Grim-faced, Rio held her down as he worked. He was grateful when she finally succumbed to the pain, lying motionless, her breathing rapid, her pulse pounding. Her soft moaning set his teeth on edge. Ate at his heart. “Damn you, Fritz. Did you have to take her leg off?” It took him close to an hour in the dim light, tiny stitches, working on the inside. Straightening, he sighed, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his hands, smearing her blood over the stubble on his face. Now he could add torturing women to his long list of sins.
He brushed back her hair, frowning down at her white face. “Don’t you die on me,” he ordered, feeling for her pulse. She’d lost a lot of blood and her skin was clammy. She was going into shock. “Who are you?” He dragged blankets over her and built the fire back up to heat a large pot of water and added a smaller kettle to make coffee. It was going to be a long night and he needed a boost.
The cats lay near the fire, already asleep, but woke when Rio examined them for injuries. He murmured to them, nonsense really, showing Ms affection for them roughly as he removed parasites and ruffled their fur. He never admitted to himself he felt affection for them, but it always pleased him when they chose to remain with him. Fritz yawned, showing his long sharp teeth. Franz nudged him sleepily. Normally playful, the two leopards were worn out. As he washed his hands, Rio became aware of how uncomfortable his soaked clothing was. Every muscle in his body ached now that he was allowing himself time to think about it. He had to clean and stitch his own wounds, and the prospect wasn’t a pleasant one. His pack was still outside lying against a tree trunk and he needed the contents of the larger medical kit he always carried.
30
Christine Feehan
While he waited for the water to boil he searched his home for some evidence of who she was and why she was there. “Little Red Riding Hood, were you just walking in the woods?” He went through the backpack containing her clothes. “You come from money. A lot of money.” He recognized the designer labels from rescuing more than one rich victim. “Why would you be wandering alone in my territory?” His gaze shifted to her face, a silken thong crushed in his hand. He didn’t want to give life to the question in his mind by murmuring it aloud. Why did he ache every time he looked at her pale face? Why did it feel like a blow to his gut each time he saw his fingerprints around her throat? How the hell did she manage to make him feel guilty when she was the one invading his home, lying in wait for him? He shied away from the questions, tossing the silly little thong back in the pack. He would take care of washing clothes tomorrow. He was about out of steam at the moment, and he still had a long haul ahead of him.
Coffee warmed his insides and helped clear the fog in his brain. He stood over her, sipping the hot liquid and studying her face. She thought he wanted information enough to torture her for it. “What information? What do you know that someone might want bad enough to hurt you for?” The idea of it set a demon rising in him.
She stirred at the sound of his voice, moving restlessly, pain flickering across her face. He brushed back her hair with a gentle touch, wanting to soothe her, not wanting her to surface when he couldn’t ease her suffering.
Electricity ran through her body to his, sparked through his fingertips and whipped through his bloodstream. Every muscle in his body contracted. Wary, he took a single step back. He felt the change rise in him, threaten to take him in his tired state. He leaned over her and pressed his lips against her ear. “Do not make the mistake of bringing my emotions to life.” He whispered the warning, barely audible in the pounding of the rain on the roof and the howling