WILD RAIN 31
of the wind at the windows. It was the only warning he
would give her.
Rio ejected the shells from the shotgun, pocketed them and put the empty weapon in a small alcove out of sight. The moment he opened the door, rain lashed at him, piercing his soaked clothing. The storm showed no signs of abating, the wind ripping ruthlessly through the trees. The tree branches were slick, but he moved across them easily in spite of the heavy deluge of water.
Rio knelt beside his backpack to try his radio. He doubted if he could raise anyone there in the dense forest with the storm raging, but he tried repeatedly. He didn’t like the look of her wounds and she was going into shock. The forest had a way of deciding matters and he wanted her safe somewhere under a doctor’s care. When static was the only reply he glanced up at the house with a worried frown, cursed the leopards, the woman and everything else he could think of. Abruptly he gave up, shoving the radio inside the pack before returning to his house.
Rachael thought she must be asleep, caught in the middle of a nightmare, a horror film playing over and over. There was blood and pain and men turning into leopards with hot breath and wicked teeth. There was a strange floating sensation, as if she were removed from whatever was happening to her, but the pain was pushing closer to her, working its way through her body, insisting it couldn’t be ignored. She let her breath out slowly, afraid of opening her eyes, afraid if she didn’t, she would be trapped forever in that nightmare world. And she was tired of being afraid. It seemed she’d been afraid all of her life.
A rush of cold air announced she wasn’t alone. The door closed abruptly. Rachael’s fingers curled around the blanket, tightening into a fist. She lifted her lashes just enough to see, striving to keep her breathing even.
Her attacker dropped a heavy pack beside the sink and rummaged around in it, pulling out several items and laying them out on the table with care. His back was to her as
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Christine Feehan
he dropped his jacket near the pack. He wore a shoulder harness housing a lethal-looking gun. Between his shoulder blades lay a leather sheath with the handle of a knife sticking out. He took both weapons and hung them on a peg to the side of the fireplace.
The man turned slightly as he sat down in one of the chairs, grimacing as if it hurt to move. From his boot he pulled another gun, checked the load and placed it on the table near his hand. Only then did he peel off his shirt. She caught a glimpse of a barrel chest, very heavily muscled. He appeared to be an ordinary man. There was no excessive hair, no fur, just blood and bruises. Some of the tension seeped out of Rachael.
He groaned, the sound nearly inaudible. There was a hint of distaste. His chest and stomach carried bruises. There was a raw-looking wound seeping blood across his stomach and a small brown leech attached to his skin. He turned his back to her.
Rachael let out her breath, her stomach muscles clenching. He had scars on his back. Lots of them. And he had another leech. “You have another one on your back. Come over here and I’ll take it off for you.” The thought of touching the leech was disgusting, but it sickened her to see the thing sucking on him like the parasite it was.
His shoulders stiffened. Not a big movement, but one that told her she’d surprised him and he didn’t like surprises. He turned his head, a slow, animal-like movement. Rachael’s breath caught in her throat. His eyes glowed, much like that of a cat in the dark. The flames from the fireplace leapt in the yellow-green depths. There was a long moment of silence. A log hissed and shifted. Sparks flew.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m used to them.” Rio sounded gruff and abrupt and surly even to his own ears. Hell, all she’d done was ask to help him. He didn’t need to bite her head off. “I think your wrist is broken. I haven’t had time to splint it.” He couldn’t remember anyone offering to help