Dark Fire by Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 6

She had no actual warning that she was practically on top of the animal until she parted some bushes and saw a large mountain lion crouched above her on a rocky ledge. Its yellow eyes stared down at her with malevolence. The cat was heavily muscled, a bit on the thin side, and broadcasting as much hunger as pain. Why hadn’t she caught that before?

Tempest sank her teeth into her lower lip in agitation. Okay. This was it. The last straw. She was going to be in so much trouble when Darius found out about this one. The cougar was staring at her, frozen in place, only the tip of its tail flicking back and forth. Tempest thought about running, but she knew the animal would definitely attack her if she was that stupid. She reached for the cat’s mind.

Hunger. Anger. The cougar was moody and in pain. There was something in its paw, something sticking in and hurting each time it tried to hunt. The cat had tried to bite and gnaw it out but had been unsuccessful. The cat had not eaten in several days, and hunger was riding it hard. And now it was staring at easy prey with obvious satisfaction.

Tempest tried to soothe the cougar, tried to send the impression that she would help. She could remove the painful thorn; she could provide fresh meat. The yellow eyes continued to stare at her, an eerie portent of death. Tempest forced her mind away from the possibility of an attack and continued to send impressions of aid to the cat. She kept the fear from her mind so the animal would not leap at her.

The cougar shook its head, puzzled. Tempest sensed confusion, a need to feed, yet the animal found her strange, unfamiliar, perplexing. The mountain lion needed the thorn out, and Tempest concentrated on that. Images of the thorn removed, the paw healed. If she didn’t help the creature, it would remain unable to hunt, and it would perish. The cougar was young, a female; she could reproduce. Tempest knew the cat was extremely dangerous; hunger and pain could force any animal to strike out. But it just wasn’t in her to walk away without trying to help. She had managed to control large dogs. Once a tiger at a zoo had bonded with her.

She stood quietly, watching the animal closely for signs of acceptance. She had infinite patience. Hers was a God-given gift, and she believed in it implicitly. Others might call her a freak, but she knew she could help animals, really help them at times like this. She spoke quietly, soothingly in her mind, sending images of the thorn out, the paw feeling so much better. She swamped the cat with the images, kept the animal off balance.

Most cats were curious by nature, and this big one was no different. It snarled silently, but the resolve in its head to kill and feed instantly was fading. It wanted the terrible thorn out, the pain to be gone. Tempest pressed her advantage, sought to expand her mental images and vibrations of goodwill. The cat became more relaxed, the yellow eyes squinting, not so fixed and merciless.

Tempest allowed herself to breathe more deeply and moved cautiously closer, her gaze flicking to the sore paw. It was quite swollen and pustulent. “Poor baby,” she crooned softly. “We need to take that thing out of there for you.” All the while she built the images of the cat accepting her extracting the thorn. “It might hurt, so I’m thinking we should decide up front that you won’t lose your mind and eat me. In the long run, it would be far better for you if you just let me take the thing out.” She was quite close now, close enough to touch the animal.

The wound was worse than she first thought; infection had really taken hold. It was possible she couldn’t help the poor thing. Tempest sighed. She didn’t want to give up. There was always a chance that if she could remove the foreign object embedded so deeply in the paw, the cat might survive. It was more accepting of her, curious that she could communicate, that she understood its pain and hunger, overcoming, for the moment, its desire and need to eat.