"Are we safe?" She asked the question softly, moving closer to her guides.
"Of course we're safe, miss," the third man replied, a tall blond with dark, brooding eyes. His gaze slid over her. "Nothing would attack so large a party."
The group wasn't that large. Four people tramping on a nonexistent path toward an uncertain destination. She didn't feel all that safe. She had forgotten what the third man's name was. It suddenly bothered her. Really bothered her. What if something did attack them and the man tried to protect her and she didn't even know who he was?
Maggie glanced back. The trail had disappeared completely behind them. She lifted her chin, another shiver finding its way through her body. Something watched and waited to attack. Were they walking into an ambush? She didn't know any of the men. She was trusting a lawyer she knew very little about. She'd investigated him, of course, to ensure he was legitimate, but that didn't mean she hadn't been deceived. Women disappeared every day.
"Miss Odessa?" It was the tall blond. "Don't look so frightened. Nothing is going to happen to you."
She managed a small smile. His reassurance didn't take away her fear of the unknown, but she was grateful he had noticed and had tried. "Thank you. The forest went so quiet all of a sudden, and it feels so . . . " Dangerous. The word was in her mind but she didn't want to speak it aloud, to give it life. Instead she matched her stride to the blond's. "Please call me Maggie. I've never been very formal. What's your name?"
He hesitated, glanced toward the left into the heavy foliage. "It's Donovan, Miss . . . er . . . Maggie. Drake Donovan."
"Have you been to the village often?"
"I have a home there," he admitted. "We all have homes there."
Relief swept through her. She felt some of the tension leave her body. "That's reassuring. I was beginning to think I had inherited a small hut in the middle of the forest or maybe at the top of one of the trees." Her laughter was low. Husky. Almost seductive.
Maggie blinked in shock. There it was again. She never sounded like that, yet twice now her voice had become an invitation. She didn't want Drake Donovan to think she was coming on to him. What in the world had gotten into her? Something was happening to her, something she didn't like at all. She knew it was wrong, everything about it felt wrong, yet her body was raging at her with an urgent, primitive need.
From several yards away, Brandt feasted his eyes on her through the thick foliage. She was everything and more than he had expected. She wasn't tall, but he hadn't expected her to be. Her body was curvy, with lush breasts and hips, a small waist, strong legs. Her hair was thick and luxurious, a wealth of red-gold silk. Her brows were reddish, her eyes as green as the leaves on the trees. Her mouth was a sinful temptation.
It was oppressively hot and she was sweating, a dark vee down the front of her shirt molding to her high, firm breasts. There was a damp line down her back, drawing attention to the sweep of her spine, the curve of her hips. Her jeans rode low on her hips, exposing an enticing expanse of skin and revealing a belly button that he found exceedingly sexy. He longed to capture her right there, drag her away from the other men, and claim what belonged to him. He had taken far too long in finding her and the Han Vol Dan was nearly upon her. He could tell. The others could tell. They tried not to look at what didn't belong to them, but she was so naturally sensuous, so alluring and compelling, the men were reacting with the same ragged hunger as he felt. Brandt felt bad for them. They were doing him a favor, despite the danger to all of them from the overpowering emotions. He had been tracking poachers when she had arrived, and the men had gone to meet her in his stead, to bring her to him.
The rain began, great sheets of it, working to penetrate the heavier foliage above them, sending the humidity up another notch. The downpour bathed the forest in iridescent colors as the water blended with light to make prisms so that rainbows washed across the vine-draped trees. The woman, his mate, Maggie Odessa, turned her face up in delight. There was no grumbling, no squeals of shock. She raised her hands over her head in silent tribute, allowing the water to cascade over her face. She was rain-wet. The drops ran down her face, her lashes. All Brandt could think of was that he needed to lap every drop from her face. To taste her petal-soft skin with the life-giving water running over it. He was suddenly thirsty, his throat parched. His body felt heavy and painful, and a strange roaring started in his head.
Maggie's white T-shirt instantly soaked through in the sudden deluge, rendering the material nearly transparent. Her breasts were outlined, full, intriguing, a swell of lush, creamy flesh, her nipples darker and twin hard buds of invitation. The richness of her exposed body drew his gaze like a magnet. Beckoned him. Mesmerized him. His mouth went dry, and his heart hammered out an urgent tattoo.
Drake glanced back at Maggie, his gaze lingering for a hot, tension-filled moment on the sway of her breasts.
A warning rumbled deep in Brandt's throat. The growl was low, but in the silence of the forest, it carried easily. He coughed, the peculiar, grunting cough of his kind. A threat. A command. Drake went ramrod stiff, jerked his head around, peered uneasily into the bushes.
Maggie's gaze followed Drake's to the thick vegetation. There was no mistaking the sound of a large jungle cat.
Drake tossed her the backpack. "Put on something, anything, to cover yourself." His voice was clipped, almost hostile.
Her eyes widened in amazement. "Didn't you hear that?" She held the pack in front of her, shielding her breasts from their view, shocked that the men seemed more concerned with her body than with the danger approaching them. "You had to have heard that. A leopard, and close, we should get out of here."
"Yes. That is a leopard, Miss Odessa. And running doesn't do a bit of good if they've decided to make a meal of you." Keeping his back to her, Drake shoved his hand through his wet hair. "Just put on something else and we'll be fine."
"Leopards like naked women?" Maggie quipped as she hastily pulled on her khaki overshirt. If she didn't make light of the situation, she might panic.
"Absolutely. First choice every time--you might want to remember that," Drake said, his voice tinged with humor. "Are you decent?"
Maggie buttoned the khaki shirt right over the soaking wet tee. The air was thick, the scent from so many flowers almost cloying in the oppressive humidity. Her socks were wet, her feet becoming uncomfortable. "Yes, I'm decent. Are we even close yet?" She didn't want to complain but she suddenly felt irritable and annoyed with everything and everyone.
Drake didn't turn around to check. "It's a bit farther. Do you need to rest?"
She was very aware of her escorts watching the heavy foliage warily. Her breath caught in her throat. She could have sworn she saw the tip of a black tail twitching in the bushes a few yards from where she stood, but when she blinked, there were only the darker shadows and endless ferns. As hard as she tried, she could see nothing in the deeper forest, but the impression of danger remained acute.
"I'd rather keep going," she admitted. She felt very out of sorts. One moment she wanted to entice the men to her, the next she wanted to snarl and rake at them, hiss and spit at them to go away from her.
"Let's continue then." Drake signaled and they were once more on the move. The three men were carrying guns slung carelessly across their backs. Each of them had a knife strapped to his waist. None of them had touched the weapons, not even when the large cat had made its presence nearby known.
The pace the men set was grueling. She was tired, wet, sticky, and far too hot, and most of all, her feet hurt. Her hiking boots were good ones, but not as broken in as she would have liked. She knew there were blisters forming on her heels. She was growing hungrier by the moment, but Maggie wasn't about to complain. She sensed the men weren't pushing her to be cruel or to test her endurance, but for some other reason that had to do with safety. She complied as best she could, hurrying along the trail in the sweltering heat, wondering why the jungle felt so close and where the trail had disappeared.
2
The house was surprisingly large, a great three-story structure set back in the middle of a thick stand of trees with a wide verandah that circled the entire building. Balconies on the second and third stories were intricately carved--a skilled artisan had etched the most beautiful jungle cats into the wood. It was nearly impossible to see through the branches intertwined around the house. Each balcony had at least one branch touching or nearly touching the rail to form a bridge into the network of trees, a highway high above the ground. Vines curled around the trees and hung in long, thick ropes.
Maggie studied the way the house appeared to be a part of the jungle. The wood was natural, blending into the trunks of the trees. An abundance of orchids and rhododendrons cascaded with at least thirty other species of plants and flowers from the trees and walls of the house.
The rain fell steadily, drenching the plants and trees. The rain was warm yet Maggie found herself shivering. She turned up her face to watch the individual drops fall to earth, threads of silver gleaming in the sky.
"Maggie, night comes fast in the forest. Wild animals prowl around. Let's get you settled in the house," Drake advised.
Dry clothes would be more than welcome. Or, the thought came unbidden, no clothes at all. Briefly she closed her eyes against that stranger inside of her, a part of her that the jungle was slowly awakening. She was uncomfortable with that side of herself, a sensual, uninhibited woman who wanted to be the object of a man's desire. She wanted to tempt. To entice. To seduce. But not these men. She didn't know whom she was looking for, she only knew her body had come to savage life and was making intimate demands she had no way of coping with.
Maggie took a deep, calming breath and forced herself to look around her, to concentrate on other things beside the edgy need crawling through her body.
"Maggie?" Drake prompted again.
"You're certain this was my parents' home?" she inquired, staring in awe at the craftsmanship. The way the house blended into the trees, vines, and flowers made it virtually impossible to spot unless she was staring directly at it or knew exactly where to look for it. It had been cleverly designed to appear a part of the jungle itself.
"It's been in your family for generations," Drake said.
In the waning light it was difficult to see, but it appeared as if there were several flat areas running the length of the roof, almost like paths. The room was steeply pitched and with jutting dormers and matching minibalconies. "Is there an attic?" The house was already three stories. It seemed incredible that it could have a full-length attic but the large windows indicated otherwise. "And what are those flat spots on the roof?"
Drake hesitated, then shrugged casually as he unlocked the front door. "The roof is flat in spaces to accommodate easy travel if it has to be used as an escape route. There's a basement with a tunnel, too. And yes, there's an attic."
Maggie stood at the threshold, watching Drake's face closely. "Why would I need an escape route? Who or what would I be escaping from?"
"You don't have to worry. We'll all watch out for you. The house was designed well over a hundred years ago and is meticulously maintained. Over the years its been modernized but all the original features designed for escape were kept."
She blinked rapidly, her hand going protectively to her throat. He was lying to her. It was in the sound of his voice. Her new, acute hearing picked up the strain, a sudden tension in him. His gaze slid away from hers for just a moment, touched on the forest long enough for her to have certain knowledge of his deceit. Uneasiness washed over her, through her.
Maggie took a tentative step inside, feeling as if she were being lured by the unique beauty and eccentricity of the house. By the secrecy of her past. She had such little knowledge of her parents. They were shrouded in mystery, and the idea of learning about them was far too great a temptation to resist. She remembered very little, vague impressions only. Angry shouting, the flash of torches, arms holding her tightly. The sound of a heart beating frantically. The feel of fur against her skin. Sometimes the memories seemed the thing of nightmares; other times she remembered eyes looking down at her with such love, such pride, that her heart wanted to burst.
Standing in the middle of the front room, she looked uncertainly at Drake as Conner and Joshua paced through every room in the house, ensuring there were no stray animals hiding. "Are you certain the village is close?" Before she had wanted to be alone, to rest and recover from the long journey. She was truly exhausted, having traveled for hours and definitely suffering jet lag, yet now she was afraid to be left alone in the large house.
"Just through those trees," he assured her. "The house has indoor plumbing and we set up a small power plant on the river. Most of the time we have electricity, but once in a while it goes off. If that happens, don't panic; there are emergency candles and flashlights in the cupboards. The house has been stocked, so you should have everything you need."
She looked around at the well-kept house. There was no dust, no mold. In spite of the humidity, everything appeared highly polished. "Is someone living here?"
Drake shrugged. "Brandt Talbot has been the caretaker for years. If you need anything, you can ask him where to find it. He's had the run of the house, but he's going to be staying in the village. I'm certain he'll help you with anything."
Something in the way he said the caretaker's name got her immediate attention. She glanced up at him as a frisson of fear chased through her body. Brandt Talbot. Who was the man that Drake had said his name so softly? Drake had sounded wary and his eyes had shifted restlessly to the heavy foliage outside the house.
The other men left her luggage in the front room, lifted a brief hand, and hurried away. Drake followed them at a much slower pace. He paused at the door, looking back at her. "You keep the bars on the doors and windows, and don't go walking around at night outside the house," he cautioned. "The animals around here are wild." His sudden smile removed all traces of grimness from his face, leaving him looking friendly. "Everyone has been looking forward to meeting you. You'll get to know us all quickly enough."
Maggie stood uncertainly on the shadowed porch of her parents' ancestral home and watched him go with a sinking heart. It was everything yet nothing like she had expected, a place of mystery and shadows that awoke something primitive and wild and very sensual deep within her.
Leaves rustled high in the trees above her head, and she glanced up. Something moved, something large but very silent. She continued to stare into the thick foliage, straining to make out a shape, a shadow. Anything that might make the leaves flutter in the night air against the wind. Was it a large snake? A python perhaps--they grew to enormous sizes.
She felt a dark premonition of danger, of something dangerous hunting her. Stalking her. Watching her intently with a fixed, focused stare. Defensively she put a hand to her throat as if warding off the strangling bite of a leopard. Maggie took a cautious step backward, toward the safety of the house, her gaze never leaving the tree above her head.
The wind plucked at the trees, stirred and shifted the leaves. Her heart slammed hard against her chest as she found herself falling into the hypnotic gaze of a large animal. She had always been fascinated with large cats, but every encounter had been in a controlled environment. This leopard, a rare black panther, was free, wild, and on the hunt. The stare was terrifying, unnerving. Power and intelligence shone in those unblinking golden eyes. Maggie couldn't look away, caught in the gripping intensity of the focused stare. She knew from her vast experience with exotic cats that the leopard was one of the most cunning and intelligent predators in the forest.
A single sound escaped her, a soft moan of alarm. Her tongue darted out, traced her suddenly dry lips. Maggie knew better than to run--she didn't want to trigger an attack. She took another step backward, felt for the door. All the while her gaze was locked with the panther's. The cat never looked away from her, a hunter beyond measure, a fast, efficient killer that was concentrated on p
rey. She was the prey. She recognized danger when she saw it.
He could hear her heartbeat, the fast acceleration that signaled intense fear. Her face was pale, her eyes wide as she stared deep into his. When her small tongue touched her lush bottom lip, he nearly fell out of the tree. He could almost read her thoughts. She believed he was hunting her, stalking her. She believed he was hungry. And he was. He wanted, needed to devour her. Just not in the way she thought.
She backed inside the house, slammed the door shut solidly. He heard the bar slide into place. Brandt remained very still, his heart hammering out his joy. She was his now. It was only a matter of time. The intensity of his need for her shocked him. The instinctual drive for a mate went far beyond anything he had ever experienced.
The night was falling. His time. It belonged to him, to his kind. He listened to the whispers as his world stirred to life. He heard the softest calls, knew every creature, every insect. Knew who belonged and who did not. There was a natural rhythm to life and he was in the midst of a change. Disturbing, disquieting, but he was determined to exert his discipline and handle it as he did all things, with iron control.
He shifted, roped muscles rippling beneath the thick fur as he padded in silence along the heavy branch, intent on following her progress as she moved from room to room. He couldn't take his eyes from her, drinking in the sight of her, torturing his body, his senses, with her. She moved him as nothing ever had. She stole his breath and aroused his body to such a fever pitch of excitement he found himself enthralled.
Nothing stood between them but his honor. His code. Nothing. No time or distance. He had resolved that issue with his cunning intelligence. He lifted his head and forced his body to take in air, to read the night, to know he was in control in the midst of the upheaval. His body was different. Heavy with need, throbbing, aching. Every sense was alive. Every cell needed. Hungered. His head roared and ached, an uncomfortable state for one of power and discipline.
The Awakening Page 2
