If it was an illusion, why was a cat moving forward, emerging out of the fog, staring intently, ferociously, at him? Its ropes of heavy muscle rippled like fluid beneath its mottled fur; its head was down, yet it never took its eyes off its prey. Mike tried to bring up the gun, his finger working at the trigger over and over in a desperate attempt to kill the thing, but his hand seemed paralyzed. The gun must have jammed. Nothing worked right.
He was still staring intently into the flame-red eyes when something hit him hard in the chest and he coughed once. It was the last sound he ever made. The leopard was so strong that when it attacked it crushed the man’s chest even as its razor-sharp claws pierced his throat for the kill. The leopard dragged the body of the man out from the doorway and into the yard toward the other human.
Drake was fighting his way through the terrible bands of fog toward where he believed Mike was waiting. Coils of the stuff seemed to wrap around him as if he were a mummy. He thought he could feel the coils brushing here and there against his body, yet when he tried to shove them away, his hands went completely through the mist. It was a frightening feeling. He felt claustrophobic in the soupy stuff, and he hated the insidious whispers coming from inside the fog.
“Mike?” he found himself whispering, moving his feet carefully, cautiously, feeling his way through the grass. He was searching for the brickwork signaling he was close to the house. The toe of his boot hit something solid. It didn’t feel like brick. Gingerly he felt around the object with his foot. A sick feeling began in the pit of his stomach. “Mike?” he whispered again as he bent down to feel with his hand.
Breath exploded from his lungs. It was Mike. Drake gasped aloud, swinging this way and that, his gun in his hand, his eyes wild as he searched for the enemy. With his free hand he explored the body, looking for a pulse. His palm landed in thick fur. He inhaled sharply, his hand moving of its own accord over the shape of a skull. The whiskers, the open mouth with sharp canines. Drake tried to scream, but the cat had already launched itself, burying its teeth deep in his unprotected throat before he could get off a warning. A sound gurgled deep, then died away.
Dayan shape-shifted immediately, catching the man in his arms, placing the gun in his waistband as he collected the second body. He took two running leaps with the men slung over his shoulders. Their weight was nothing to him as he soared through the sky under cover of the thick fog. He took a moment to snag the third body from the rooftop and once again headed for the forest miles out of the city.
It took minutes to dispose of the bodies the same way he had the other two. He incinerated them with a lightning bolt before burying them deep and strewing vegetation over the site so that it seemed undisturbed. The guns were buried deep in the earth with the ashes. Then Dayan returned to Corinne, dropping silently out of the fog beside the car.
* * *
Chapter 7
‘I am here with you, honey.’ Dayan made the calm announcement before he touched the door handle of the car, afraid of startling her. He was a shadow in her mind, knew she was already afraid, and worried about his safety. The fog was oppressive to her. He could feel how uncomfortable she was, sensed that the baby was kicking strongly, but her heart and lungs were laboring. He sent the warmth of his love into her mind, strong and intense, his reassurance that he was in good health.
Corinne reached for the door even as he opened it. At once she flung herself into his arms, uncaring what he might think. “I was so worried about you.”
He held her tight, savoring the feel of her fragile body against his. “Breathe, honey. You scare me to death when your heart tries to work so hard. I was never in any danger. Never. I told you that. You need to listen to me when I say important things.” He buried his mouth against her soft neck, inhaling her fragrance, breathing evenly, willing her lungs to follow the steady pattern of his.