44
Christine Feehan
swollen and infected, blood oozing from the wound. His stomach lurched.
“Rachael.” He said her name in despair. Her palm was burning a hole through his skin where it rested.
“You’re afraid for me.”
“Yes,” he answered honestly. Because he was. For both of them. He was as confused as she was. Abruptly he rose and prowled across the room to stand in the open door. The wind was dying down, a lull before the next wave hit. He was moody and restless and uncomfortable in his own home. The forest beckoned, the treetops swaying, leaves nearly silver as they rustled all around him with their own strange melody. He found the sound soothing in the midst of his uncertainty.
Rio knew Rachael intimately, yet he’d never laid eyes on her. Certain things were familiar, more than familiar, nearly a part of him, like breathing. He pushed a hand through his hair, needing the peace of the jungle.
Rachael’s gaze followed him wherever he went. “Look.” He didn’t turn around, didn’t want to meet the blatant appreciation in her gaze when she looked at him. He didn’t like the fact that the heat between them was a tangible thing when she was so obviously ill.
“I am looking.” She sounded amused and for some rea-. son, his stomach did that idiotic flipping thing he knew to associate with her.
“Go to sleep, Rachael,” he ordered sternly. ” I’m going to try the radio again, see if I can get you some help. I may be able to pack you out of here to an open area where we can bring in a chopper to take you to the hospital.”
Rachael frowned, shook her head in obvious alarm. “No, don’t do that. I’ll stay here with you.”
“You don’t understand. You could lose your leg. I don’t have the proper medicine or the skill you need. As it is, you’re going to have a mass of scars—and that’s if I manage to save it.”
She continued to shake her head, her bright eyes pleading
WILD RAIN
45
with him silently. His gut tightened. Abruptly, he stepped outside into the night, dragging air into his lungs. She was tying him up in knots. He didn’t know why. Didn’t understand it. Didn’t like it or want it. He didn’t know who she was or where she came from. He didn’t need the complication or the danger.
“Damn woman,” he muttered as he stretched his arms up to the driving rain. The drops fell on his hot skin, cool and tantalizing. His veins sizzled with life, thrummed with need. Even away from her, he felt her presence.
He was not wholly human, nor was he leopard. He was a separate species with characteristics of both. And he was dangerous; capable of killing, capable of great jealousy and outbursts of temper. The animal in him often dominated his thinking, a cunning, intelligent creature, but very flawed. He needed to be alone, a secretive solitary being by choice. Few things touched him in his carefully guarded world. There was something about Rachael that made him restless. Moody. Fear shimmered in him, blurred the edges of his control. “Damn woman,” he repeated.
He stretched again, wanting the freedom of the change. Wanting to go out into the night and simply disappear. The wildness rose in him like a gift, spreading so that his skin itched and his claws lengthened. He felt the muscles running like steel through his body. He smelled the feral scent of the cat, reached for it, embraced it. An extraordinary means of leaving behind Rio Santana and all that he was, all that he had done. Fur rippled over his body. His muscles contorted; bones cracked as his spine became supple, flexible, as his body took the form of the leopard.
The leopard raised its head and scented the night. Inhaled the smell of the woman. It should have repulsed him, yet it drew him, just as strongly as in his human form. The cat switched the tip of its tail, padded around the verandah beneath the windows, and then leapt to a neighboring tree branch. In spite of the pouring rain, the leopard ran easily along the network of branches, a highway above