Christine Feehan - Wild Rain

"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 reason, 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 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 the forest floor. The wind ruffled his fur and blew in his face but it couldn't rid him of the woman's enticing scent. Every step he took away from her brought uneasiness.

The leopard gave a soft grunting cough of protest, followed it with a sawing roar of temper. She would not leave him alone. Everywhere he went, she went with him. In his mind. In his churning belly. In his groin. He raked claws along a tree trunk, ripping the bark in a fit of foul temper, shredding it into long strips. She clung to him, would not let him go. The rain should have cooled his hot blood, but it did not nothing but fan the embers smoldering inside of him.

Rio should have been able to shed his human concerns and escape into the mind of the animal, but he could taste her. Feel her. She was everywhere he went, everything he did, the very air around him. There was no logic to it or explanation for it. She was a total stranger, without a real name or a past, yet she somehow had consumed him. It was alarming to him. He didn't trust her, and worse, he didn't trust himself.

He made his way back to the house in silence, padding slowly along the forest floor to give himself tune to think. It shouldn't matter so much that he thought about her. It was natural. He hadn't had a woman in a very long time-now one was lying in his bed. Rio told himself that had to be what it was. A simple case of lust. What the hell else could it be when he didn't even know her? Satisfied that he'd worked it all out, he leapt into the trees and returned to his house using the safer and much faster route.

RACHAEL floated somewhere between sleep and consciousness. She couldn't understand where she was. Everything looked strange, not at all like her home. Sometimes she thought she heard voices yelling at her, shouting at her, demanding things she couldn't tell them. Other times she thought she was lost in a jungle with wild animals stalking her. She tried to move, tried to drag herself out of the strange, hazy world she seemed to be locked inside of.

"Like a bubble," she said aloud. "I live in a glass house and if someone throws a rock, I'll shatter right along with the walls." She looked around, frowning, trying desperately to remember how she got to such a strange place. Her voice sounded different, far away and not at all like her.

And the pain was ripping through her with every move she made. Had she been injured? Tortured? Someone was trying to kill her. Why hadn't they just finished the job instead of leaving her half alive? She had always known it was going to happen sooner or later.

Something moved outside the window. The woven blanket covered the glass, but she knew something heavy passed by. Straining to hear, she looked wildly around for a weapon. Had they finally come for her? Her heart began to pound with alarming force and her mouth felt like cotton wool. A lethargic apathy had seized her body. She could hear the crackling of the fire, the steady rhythm of the rain. Thirst was overpowering, making it necessary to get up, but it was difficult, as though wading through quicksand. Attempting to sit up sent jagged pains racing up her leg. She found herself on the floor, her leg buckling beneath her. Surprised, Rachael looked around the room, trying to remember where she was and how she got there, trying to bring the room into focus. What was wrong with her? No matter how hard she tried, her mind refused to function properly. The lamp was burning brightly. She didn't remember lighting it. Her gaze shifted to the door. The bar was no longer across it.

Rachael swallowed, the tight knot of fear blocking her throat, and reluctantly looked down to inspect her useless leg. Her calf and ankle were unrecognizable, swollen almost to the point of bursting. Bright red blood seeped and oozed, making her stomach lurch. She'd been attacked by a wild animal. She clearly remembered the eyes. The cunning intelligence, the piercing danger. Terror welled up, nearly paralyzing her. It was only then, as she looked around the room, that she saw the two leopards curled up near the fireplace. One was watching her with a steady stare. The other appeared to be asleep.