Sounds were enhanced, as if someone had turned on a loudspeaker. Her own breath rushing through her lungs sounded like a locomotive. Her heart thundered in her ears, but she could also hear the rustle of movement in the underbrush and knew, as she ran, exactly where other animals were. She caught the scent of a man's sweat and the arid smell of smoke. She could hear the crackle of flames and the screams of the monkeys and birds as they fled ahead of the blaze.
Her heart seemed to beat in rhythm with the forest itself, absorbing the frantic energy of the other creatures as she moved fast through the trees, deeper and deeper into the interior. She was acutely aware of Conner's hand pressing on her back, urging her to move even faster. She heard the whistle of a bullet and then a thunk as it slammed into a broad tree trunk a few feet to their right.
"They're firing blind," Conner said. "Keep going."
She wasn't about to slow down. She should have been terrified, but she felt absolutely exhilarated instead, almost euphoric, aware of each movement in her body, every separate muscle working smoothly and efficiently to carry her over the uneven terrain. A large fallen tree lay in her path and she didn't even slow down. Instead, she could feel the wonderful coiling of her body, the spring as she leapt over it, clearing the downed trunk by a good foot.
She smelled sweat off to her right just as Conner gripped her around the waist and tossed her to the ground, his body covering hers. He pressed his mouth to her ear. "Stay still. Absolutely still no matter what happens and look away."
She nodded her acceptance, although she didn't want him to leave her there alone, but she knew he was going to take care of the threat moving toward them. For one heart-stopping moment she thought he brushed a kiss along the back of her head.
"I won't be long." His lips moved against her ear and she felt her heart leap. Her fingers curled into claws and dug into the spongy, vegetation-covered ground.
"Don't get killed," she hissed back and then closed her eyes, feeling as if she'd just betrayed her father. She could pretend to him and everyone else that she didn't want him dead because she was afraid of being left alone in the rain forest, but she refused to lie to herself. She hadn't shoved the knife into his chest because the thought of him gone from the world was devastating to her. And it made her hate herself all the more.
"I'm a cat," he reminded softly and his voice had a roughened edge to it that slid over her skin like the lap of a cat's rough tongue. "I'm hard to kill."
He was gone, and even with her heightened hearing, she could barely follow his progress through the jungle of broad leaves. There was the soft slide of his body along the brush, no leaves crackling, only a whisper of movement as he crept closer to his prey. She turned her head slowly inch by inch, even though he'd told her not to look. Instinctively she knew it wasn't about drawing attention, as a fixed stare could do, but that he didn't want her to see death--and what it looked like.
Conner may have been in the form of a man but at that moment she knew he was all leopard, just without the form. She understood what he meant when he said to let her cat rise close to the surface. He looked like a large leopard, roped muscles sliding beneath his skin, his body moving in the freeze-frame stalk of a predator, head down, eyes focused on prey. He carefully positioned each foot, making certain he stepped in absolute silence as he crept toward his prey through the thick brush. When the man emerged just in front and to the left of him, halting to listen and look carefully around him, Conner was motionless, crouching low in a spring-loaded position, held frozen by the ropes of banded muscle power.
Isabeau's breath caught in her throat as she saw the man with the deadly automatic weapon slung around his neck emerge from the brush and turn his head to look directly at Conner. Her heart pounded in her chest and her fingers dug deeper into the thick vegetation, as if the cat in her was ready to spring, to attack. She held herself still, feeling that other presence now inside of her, smelling her--the itch under her skin, the ache in her mouth, the need to allow the animal to burst free.
Breathing deeply, she kept her gaze fixed on the life-and-death struggle playing out just feet from her. Overhead, wings fluttered and something heavy crashed in the canopy. A monkey screamed. The man looked up and Conner sprang. She saw the powerful movement, and yet she could barely comprehend the amazing physical leap that took him into the armed man. He hit with the power of a battering ram, slamming his prey to the ground, the sound terrible as the two bodies came together with tremendous force. Conner's body was so graceful and fluid flowing over the ground that she half expected him to use his teeth to tear out the man's throat and claws to rake his belly open. He rolled the man over and caught his neck in a powerful, unbreakable hold.
She would never forget that picture of him, all raw strength, his face a mask of relentless determination, the muscles in his arms bulging, the death grip, nearly identical to a cat sinking teeth into a throat and holding while prey suffocated. She should have been repelled. She should have despised him all the more. Broad leaves tried to camouflage the intense struggle as his prey kicked and hit at him, but she could see through the foliage. The man grew feebler until only the heels of his boots drummed into the soil. Then she heard the audible crack as the neck snapped and there was no more movement.
Conner released the man slowly, his head turning away from her, back behind them, as if he'd heard something else. His body remained coiled tightly, ready for another attack. He carefully removed the automatic weapon and belt of ammunition and slung it around his own neck. All the while he stayed very low, his eyes on something she couldn't see.
Isabeau strained to hear what had alerted Conner. Voices came. Faint. Two men some distance away. At first she couldn't make out the words, but then she realized she was listening with her own ears, straining, forgetting the cat inside of her, the amazing, acute hearing. She took a breath and tried to summon the feline closer to the surface.
"We can't go back empty-handed, Bradley," one voice said. "She'll bury us alive just to make a point. We need a body."
"How are we going to find that Indian?" Bradley snapped. "He's like a ghost in this forest."
"The fire will drive him to the river and the others will be waiting," the other voice said. "Come on. Just shoot and keep moving."
"I hate this place," Bradley complained.
Isabeau watched Conner. He wasn't surprised. He'd known all along what the attackers were doing. Everything living in the rain forest would be on the move away from the flames and heading toward the river. The forest was wet this time of year and the fire would burn itself out rapidly. They'd be safe from flames along the swollen banks of the river. Of course this was a trap. That was the point. Cortez had sent an assassination squad after Adan to make a point, because he'd written letters about the attack on his village and the kidnapping.
Imelda was going to kill Artureo. That happy seventeen-year-old boy who had been her guide for so many weeks. He'd been a good companion, explaining things to her every step of the way, patient and caring, interested in her work documenting the fauna. He'd been a font of information, explaining the tribe's uses for each plant. She couldn't bear the thought that he'd be killed because Adan refused to traffic in Imelda's drugs.
Her gaze went to Conner again--jumped to his face. That face etched with hard lines, with the four scars she'd put there. The tips of her fingers ached. He was a strong man. She could sense the danger in him, the wildness, as if his world really was reduced to kill or be killed. His code was different from hers, but maybe he was the only one who could stand up against someone like Imelda who had too much money and too much power.
Isabeau pushed herself to her feet and waited for him to tell her in which direction she should move. She wasn't afraid because she was with him--and that scared her more than her situation did. Deep inside, where no one else could see, she craved him. The man who had used her to set up her father and who'd then walked away, leaving her crushed. Devastated. Broken into little pieces. She wante
d to rake and claw at her own face, at her heart, at whichever part of her was so weak as to still look at him with wanting--no, more--needing.
Conner straightened, his eyes settling on hers, wholly yellow-green now, pupils dilated, fixed and focused, penetrating. Even the green was disappearing, leaving a burning gold. She shivered. She would never get over that look, more animal than man. Why had she never noticed how different he was? He mesmerized for a reason.
He moved and her breath caught in her throat, watching the flow of muscles under the shirt clinging to his roped skin. As he drew close to her she felt his body heat, scented the wild cat hidden beneath his skin. Her cat leapt and for a moment there was a burst of joy spreading through her. Isabeau quickly clamped down on the emotion, shocked at her own treacherous cat.
He moved into her space, towering over her, one hand sliding along the side of her face, his thumb tipping up her chin. "I don't like the way you look at me. I'm not going to hurt you."
Her mouth went dry. "You've already done that."
"I won't again."
It hurt just to look at him. To remember. To still want him. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I'm not afraid of you, Conner." But she was. Not physically. She didn't believe he would harm her, but he had an unbreakable hold on her.
He gestured toward the dead body. "I told you to turn your face away. What did you think was going to happen when you asked for my help?"
"I knew exactly what to expect. There're two more quite close to us and more in front of us. Do you know where Adan is?"
His expression hardened, his mouth set in implacable lines. "What the hell is up with you and Adan Carpio? He's old enough to be your grandfather. He may not look it, but he is."
Isabeau looked away from his piercing eyes. Accusing eyes. What exactly was he accusing her of? Having an affair with Adan? That was totally absurd. And what difference did it make anyway? He'd used her. He hadn't fallen in love with her.
"Go to hell, Conner," she snapped, and jerked her face from his hand before she was tempted to touch those four scars. Her fingertips ached.
Without warning the sound of gunshots rang out and bullets bit into the trees all around them. Conner flung her down, his body completely blanketing hers, the gun in his hands as he swiveled around to face behind them. Several large animals crashed through the trees to the left of them and above them. Leaves fell from the canopy as a migration of monkeys passed overhead.
It was hot. Steam rose along with smoke. She could hear the crackle of flames and the sounds of animals panicking. Swarms of insects passed over their heads, and leaves shriveled and blackened as the heat swept through the trees, turning the forest into an oven. Her cat fought for survival, suddenly frightened. She instinctively struggled, wanting to run with the other animals.
Conner's palm curved around the nape of her neck and he lowered his head to whisper into her ear. His voice was gentle. Soothing. Like a black velvet cloth stroking her inside and out. "Sestrilla, you can't panic. We can't move until I remove the threat behind us and the fire's coming. I'll get you out of here. Just stay with me."
She took a breath and forced herself back under control. She wasn't the panicking type, but the cat was definitely jittery. "It's not me."
Sestrilla. He'd called her that before. The word was foreign and exotic. She'd loved it before, when they'd lain together, their bodies wrapped around one another, but now she feared the power of that small word over her. She went soft and mushy inside. Opened to him. More vulnerable than ever.
"You and your cat are one. It doesn't feel like it to you, because she's just rising. But you're always in control. She's going to panic at the smell and feel of the fire, but you know you're safe. You have to trust me and she will too."
Trust him. Why had he used that particular word? Trust him? She might as well put a gun to her own head. Before she could reply, he pressed his fingers tighter around her neck, growling low in his throat. She froze. Her hands opened and she pressed her palms into the earth. Something heavy was running toward them.
A man burst out of the bushes just to their left, almost on top of them. His eyes widened and he fought to bring his gun around. At the same time, he tried to skid to a halt to keep from shooting past them. A wild yell of warning ripped from the man's throat, even as Conner squeezed the trigger, firing a single round. She heard the bullet hit, the terrifying sound of torn flesh, and it threw her back in time, to the moment when her father brought up his gun, aiming at Conner's head. The man's cry was cut off abruptly, but apparently his partner heard him and sprayed the entire forest with a hail of bullets.
She closed her eyes tight, trying not to smell the mixture of blood and gunpowder, but her stomach churned and bile rose in her mouth. Her father's body shimmered in front of her, blood splattering along the wall behind him. There was no face, only a mass of blood. So much blood. Daddy? A sob broke from her and Conner reacted immediately, pressing close to her, although his gaze was on the forest.
"Are you hurt?"
She fought for control, a little disoriented, caught between the past and the present. Now wasn't the time to lose it. What in the world was wrong with her? She could hear the blast so close to her ear, the scream of the bullet loud in the confined room. Her own scream, the shock hitting her body. She tried to reach him, before he crumpled to the floor. She didn't want him on the floor with all that blood.
Conner swore and rolled to one side, coming up on his knee, his body between hers and the gunfire. He nudged her. "When I fire, get up, stay low and run fast, staying to the right. We're going up, into the canopy."
She glanced up at the towering trees. Ashes fluttered through the air, looking like gray snowflakes. Her heart thundered in her ears. He wanted her to run, maybe right into more guns, with bullets spraying around them and a fire coming straight at them. And go up hundreds of feet into the canopy.
"Damn it, I'll get you out of this but you have to do what I say."
She didn't have much choice. If she stayed where she was, she was going to get shot. She nodded, setting her jaw.
He laid down a spray of cover fire and hissed "Go!" over his shoulder.
Isabeau scrambled to her feet and began to sprint to her right in a low crouch. It was easier than she thought, her cat nimble, moving over the uneven ground without hesitation. Once on her feet and in motion, the song of the forest was in her veins again. It was a little more chaotic and frantic, but her senses were acute enough that she could sort out her surroundings even while she ran.
She knew there were only animals ahead of her. She never heard Conner coming up behind her, but she caught the leap of her cat reacting to him. Stupid cat. Didn't it know he was more dangerous to them than any fire? She hated the surge of relief she felt at his presence, but told herself it was because without him, she didn't stand a chance of getting out of the situation alive. She resisted the urge to glance at him over her shoulder just to reassure herself that he was really there in his solid, masculine form. He gave her confidence, when he shouldn't have.
With the world around them turning a red-orange glow against the setting sun and the sound of the wind whipping through the trees generated by the fire itself, she felt more animal than human as she raced through the brush.
Conner caught the back of her shirt and halted her abruptly. "Here. We go up here. They won't be looking for us in the canopy. They're shooting blindly to drive us into another group. We can't be caught in a crossfire."
She was barely breathing hard, even after the hard run, her lungs and heart working more like the cat than the woman. She looked up the long tree trunk. The first branches were a good thirty feet above her head. "Are you crazy?" She took a step back. "I can't climb that."
"Yes, you can. You're powerful and strong, Isabeau. You've lived one life cycle already as a cat--with me. It will come back to you. Trust your cat and let her loose. She won't fully emerge, but she'll get you up the tree."
"Have
I ever mentioned, I have a problem with heights?"
"Do you have a problem with bullets?"
She blinked up at him, realized he was teasing her and sent him a scowl. "That's not funny." But at his raised eyebrow, a small smile managed to sneak through. He didn't look worried at all. He looked at her as if he believed she could do the impossible.
She took a breath and looked up the long tree trunk. It was covered in ropes of vines, a multitude of flowers and fungus. "How?"
He smiled at her, his teeth flashing white. "Good girl. I knew you'd do it."
She swore his canines might have been a little longer, a little sharper than they'd been before and ran her tongue over her own teeth just to check. They seemed normal enough and she was almost disappointed. His smile sent a flare of pride singing through her veins, and that was not tolerable so she kept her attention on the tree. "Then you know more than I do. Tell me how."
"Take off your shoes, tie them around your neck."
She hesitated, but he was already doing as he advised and she reluctantly followed suit, stuffing her socks inside the shoes and tying laces together so she could hang them around her neck. She felt silly, but she stood up and stood awkwardly waiting.
"Tell me how this works first."
"I'll be right behind you. You've seen cats climb. They use their claws to anchor themselves on the trunk. Leopards are enormously strong. You have her claws and her strength."
She held out her hands to him. "Does it look like I have claws?"
He took her hand in his, turning it, examining it. Her hand looked small and a little lost in his. His touch was gentle, but when she involuntarily tried to pull away, he tightened his grip, preventing her escape. His fixed gaze holding hers, he lifted her fingertips to his face, deliberately brushing the pads of her fingers into the four grooves there, following the scars from one end to the other. "You have claws."
She moistened her lips again, her heart thudding. "I didn't mean to do that. I didn't know." She hated that she apologized; he deserved the scars, but she was still ashamed of the violence, of the way she'd been so duped, of the things she'd done with him--and still wanted to do. All of it. She ducked her head, half convinced he could read her mind. "I meant to slap you, not scar you."