WILD RAIN
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his skin was not nearly as tough as in his animal form and the forest tore up his flesh as he rushed through it.
Rio leapt upon the wide low-hanging branch leading to his home with the ease of long practice and, balancing carefully, made his way along the maze of branches until he gained the verandah. He called out to warn Rachael, hoping she wouldn’t shoot him as he shoved open the door with his hip. Fritz, nestled so close to him, turned his head to look up at him in silent fear. The small leopard’s sides were heaving, straining for air, too much blood matting his fur.
Rachael gasped, thrusting the gun beneath the pillow. “What happened? What can I do?” Rio’s face was a dangerous mask, fierce, warriorlike, his eyes alive with anger. He turned the full power of his unblinking stare on her, assessing her condition. Rachael met his piercing gaze steadily. “Really, Rio, let me help you.”
He immediately switched directions, bringing the injured animal to the bed. “Can you sit up all the way by yourself?”
Rachael didn’t bother with speech. She simply showed him, making certain to keep her expression serene when her heart was pounding and pain made her sick. She’d had enough practice hiding fear. The cat was badly injured and therefore far more dangerous than in its normal state. Her mouth went dry as he placed the animal in her lap and guided, first one hand, then the other to the puncture wounds. Rachael found herself with a fifty-pound leopard in her lap and her hands pressing into its neck covered in blood.
Rio lit the lamp and brought his surgical supplies to the bed, kneeling down close to the animal’s head. “Be still, Fritz,” he murmured, “I know it hurts, but we’ll get you fixed up.” He didn’t look at Rachael, but worked on the animal, his hands gentle, steady and very sure.
His head was bent, dark hair spilling around his face. There was sweat and blood on his skin, and he smelled wild and of wet fur. His face could have been carved from stone as he worked to save the cat. “These are deep puncture
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wounds, much like your leg. I sutured the lacerations on your leg but left the punctures to drain. I’ll have to do the same with Fritz. The best I can do is clean the wounds thoroughly, give him antibiotics and hope they don’t abscess. If they do, I’ll have to put in drains.”
As Rio worked on cleansing the puncture site, Fritz opened his mouth, exposing his long, wicked canines, and yowled horribly. Rachael took a deep breath and kept her gaze locked on Rio, on his face rather than on his hands, afraid if she looked at the cat’s teeth she would do a little screaming herself.
Franz answered Fritz, pacing anxiously back and forth in agitation. Without warning, he suddenly leapt onto the bed, nearly crushing Rachael’s legs. Pain rushed through her body, took her breath and forced a small, strangled cry from her throat. For a moment the room spun, tilted, went black. “Rachael!” Rio’s voice was sharp, compelling, calling her back. Rio’s arm swept Franz from the bed. “Stay the hell down,” he snarled, his voice rumbling with menace.
To Rachael’s surprise, her hands were still in Fritz’s fur. She applied more pressure as she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting him to do that.”
“You’re doing fine,” he said. “Can you go on?” “If you can, I can,” she answered. He looked at her then with his vivid green eyes, something she couldn’t quite name swirling in the darker depths. His gaze drifted over her face, almost as if he were drawing strength from just looking at her. He turned his attention back to the cat.
Rachael let out her breath slowly, fighting down the bile rising in her throat from the throbbing pain in her leg. She would do anything to see that look on his face. A sharing. A connection. She listened to the sound of his voice as he talked softly to the cat, reassuring it as he stitched the deep wound. She found herself stroking the fur with her free hand as the animal trembled, but stayed still for Rio’s ministrations.