Cat's Lair

by Christine Feehan

  His body wasn't his own anymore. It belonged to her. To Catarina. He was hard every damn time he looked at her. His needs and cravings only grew with his addiction to her soft cries, her tight, hot body and the pleasure coursing through her at his touch.

  "Eli."

  A plea. Music. Such need. Such surrender. She never held anything away from him, not even her emotions, not even when she feared what they were together. She gave and gave. He needed to give just as much. More.

  He poured himself into loving her. Bringing her as high as he dared, watching her face for signals, for when the pleasure was too much for her, her body too sensitive and the need too great. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened in a long wailing scream as he sent her crashing over the edge.

  He loved her body clamping down like a scorching silken vise, milking him, gripping so hard his cock was strangling in all that hot, wet silk. He felt the explosion start, a wild ecstasy, somewhere in his toes, rocketing through his body, straight to his skull. His cock swelled, pushing back at those tight, vise-like muscles, stretching and burning her to the point where pain and pleasure came together in a single point to set off another wild, earth-shattering quake in her body.

  This time she took him with her, her keening cries and breathless whispers nearly shattering him just as much as the hot sheath surrounding him and her sweet declaration of love and surrender to him had. He threw his head back, wanting to roar with the shocking pleasure. It had never been like this, an all-consuming passion that wrung him inside out.

  No other man had ever had her. He was the one to be gifted with such a sensual woman, to teach her, to mold her into the lover he wanted and needed. She matched him, fire for fire. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck, holding her tight, feeling her body surround his, the aftershocks that shook them both. Her ragged breathing. Her hands in his hair, gripping and stroking as her tight delicate muscles did the same to his shaft.

  "God, Kitten, it's a damn good thing you have no idea how much I love you," he whispered into her soft skin. Feeling her pulse. Feeling her tight, feminine channel spasm around his cock at the admission. She could destroy him. So easily. So very easily.

  He had no idea when he'd surrendered himself body and soul to her, but somewhere along the line it had happened. He'd never felt more stripped down and vulnerable to a human being, but she needed to hear it. She needed the reassurance, and he wasn't about to allow pride or ego to get in the way of giving her anything she needed.

  She didn't say it back, didn't whisper in his ear, but her arms tightened around him possessively and her soft mouth moved on his chest, kissing him. He rolled, taking them to his side, not wanting to let go of her.

  "I like you close, baby," he said softly. "Skin to skin. Part of me." It was a small warning. He wasn't going to allow her to slip away from him and roll into that little ball as she sometimes did. "You get me?"

  She surprised him with her soft laughter. "Another Eli rule?"

  "Absolutely."

  "You're making this up as you go along, aren't you?"

  The laughter in her voice kept him semihard, enough that his body stayed connected to hers. "Gives me the upper hand." He stroked his palm down the curve of her spine to the curve of her buttocks, possession in his touch.

  "You always have the upper hand." There was no complaint in her voice.

  "Glad you think so, Cat," he acknowledged.

  "Eli." Her voice went serious. "Thank you for today. For Emma. For the laptop and books. For my gorgeous boots. Mostly thank you for understanding what something like today means to me."

  His heart jerked. He brushed her temple with a kiss. "Go to sleep, Catarina. You need your rest." He didn't want to exhaust her, but if she kept talking, he was making love to her again. Slow. Easy. Lazily. Until it turned rough and wild like it mostly did. She needed care. Love. Rest. He took that seriously, even if it meant lying next to her as hard as a rock.

  Eli didn't even mind that. He liked holding her close, his body alive, listening to her soft breathing. Knowing she was his.

  "Good night, honey," she whispered.

  He closed his eyes. Savored the moment. She was nearly there. She was trying--for him. He loved her all the more for that. He answered with a comforting kiss, too choked up to say another damn word.

  18

  THE storm came out of nowhere. Sheets of lightning lit the sky and thunder crashed with resounding booms, shaking the house. The rain poured down, the skies opening up to spill a wealth of water across the land, pounding into trees and grass to pool in small puddles everywhere.

  Dressed in Eli's flannel shirt, her wardrobe of choice late at night, Catarina wandered out to the porch with her coffee, enjoying nature's display. The turbulent weather reminded her of Eli. Wild and untamed. Fierce. The thunder and lightning also corresponded with her restless mood.

  She'd felt the buildup for a while now, the gathering tension that had spread across the sky, matching the ominous dark clouds, the jagged forks of lightning and roaring thunder. He was coming. He was close. The nightmares had started again, just like they had right before he found her the last time she escaped. Rafe was coming, and her perfect dream world was about to be shattered.

  She was so in love with Eli. She might have a difficult time articulating her emotions out loud, but she tried her best to show him. The days passed and she never thought of leaving. The ranch had become her home, a real home. She found herself smiling most of the time. She couldn't mention liking or wanting anything without the object appearing a couple of days later. Eli liked to give her things. He liked to surprise her, and he did it often.

  Her kitchen had been transformed. A gleaming new stove, the exact model she'd dreamt of, was installed there. Along with the stove was a set of cooking pots and pans, hanging now from the rack above the island. She'd ordered books and they'd arrived and were on the shelves behind her desk.

  Emma called her twice. A friend. They'd chatted and laughed and made plans for coffee at Emma's house. Life had been good--until now. Until this terrible tension had begun to coil in her gut. Until the nightmares had begun again and she couldn't stop wondering when she would lose it all--because she would. He would come. Rafe would come for her.

  She suspected Eli knew something about Rafe. Three days ago, Eli had shut down, become quiet, more watchful, his dark, brooding, moody behavior making her feel more nervous than ever. She'd waited for him to tell her something--anything at all--but he remained stubbornly silent and that only added to the terrors surrounding her nightly.

  Just a half hour ago, she'd woken from her nightmare, Eli's arms around her, his voice soothing, his hands caressing, his lips gentle on her forehead. She clung to him, to his protection, the shelter of his body, as he'd drifted back to sleep, but she couldn't forget the echoes of the terrible moment when Rafe's face, a mask of cold fury above her own, had forced her hands into a dying woman, smearing blood everywhere.

  Emma. Eli. Emma's children. If Rafe knew about them, they would live under a death sentence, there was no doubt in her mind. Eli drove her day and night, especially this past week, determined to get her in shape, to be able to fight in either form--human or leopard--as if he believed she could defeat Rafe.

  He didn't know Rafe. He'd never seen Rafe's leopard. He'd never seen Rafe's evil glowing eyes, or the madness in them. The rage. Life had not been kind to him, and she knew he was so twisted that the only peace he ever found was in other people's pain. He enjoyed watching others suffer.

  She took another sip of her coffee and stepped closer to the edge of the porch, the very edge of the storm. Sheets of rain pounded into the ground and she felt the spray as the wind shifted just enough to push droplets under the roof.

  Rafe had only looked at her with madness a couple of times--those times when she had escaped his control, even for a few hours. He had hurt her in unbelievable ways. Killing others. Hurting others in front of her. Showing her his leopard. Raking and biting her ba
ck and shoulder. But he'd never beat her or struck her. He'd been careful with her. Sometimes when he'd looked at her, she could actually see affection stirring behind the mask he wore.

  She sighed and set down the coffee to circle the porch column with one arm, resting her forehead there. She couldn't deny that Rafe had some feelings for her. They were nowhere normal, they were twisted just as he was, but he had them. Perhaps if she'd been older she might have been able to help him, but she was far too young and terrified of his reprisals.

  "Kitten." Eli's arms stole around her. "What are you doing out here? It's three in the morning."

  She never ever heard him walk. He was a big man and she should be able to hear at least a footfall. He pulled her back into his arms so her back was to his front, his hands clasped at her waist. His chest was bare, but he had pulled on some soft cotton drawstring bottoms.

  "I didn't mean to wake you," Catarina apologized. "You don't sleep as it is."

  He rubbed his face in her hair. "I sleep when you're in my arms, baby," he said softly. "Tell me what's wrong."

  She turned her head to look over her shoulder. "You tell me." Her eyes met his. "Do you think I don't know you well enough to know that you've been hiding something from me for the last three days? Actually, it started before that. When we went to see Jake and Emma--you've been pensive ever since."

  She felt his response more than saw it. His expression remained the same. His focused gaze didn't so much as flicker, but somewhere inside her, she felt him flinch.

  "I should have known I couldn't hide anything from you, Cat." He sighed and dropped his hands from her waist to slide his palm down her arm to catch her wrist.

  She always felt shackled when his fingers settled there. Shackled and then fluttery when he stroked caresses on her inner wrist so gently. He went for the chairs. She followed because she had no real choice in the matter. When Eli moved, she moved with him.

  "Sit down, Kitten. You're right, of course. I've heard some news and I've considered the best way to tell you."

  Tiny knots formed in her belly. She felt each one like a spike settling deep. She knew. She knew it was bad. And she knew it was Rafe. Her heart pounded, slow and hard, hammering in her chest as if trying to destroy her. The coppery taste of fear was in her mouth. She sank into the chair, grateful that Eli's fingers were around her wrist, holding her to him. She needed the connection, needed his strength and confidence. There was a reason Eli was arrogant.

  "Just tell me, Eli. When Rafe is involved, there's no way to pretty it up."

  His hand swept through her hair. His eyes went soft. "No, there isn't. I wanted to spare you, Cat, but I also don't like keeping anything from you. It smacks of deceit, and I promised myself I wouldn't deceive you no matter what the issue was. Even if that meant we clashed over it."

  She was grateful to hear that. She'd known he was bothered and brooding. "I prefer to know everything when Rafe is involved. I probably know him better than anyone else. If anyone can predict his movements, it's me."

  "Cordeau found Poetry Slam."

  He shifted position, his hand slipping from her wrist, the connection lost. She heard herself scream. The sound never came out of her, but it was there inside, a long, low wail of pain.

  "Who did he kill? How many?" She looked down at her hands. How much blood did she have there? How could she ever wash it off? Scrubbing her skin didn't work, she'd tried. The skin had come off, but not the blood.

  "David Belmont, and Bernard Casey. He also killed the man, Jase Fulton, who made a pass at you that one night. David was supposed to have gone on vacation. I warned him. He said he would, but he didn't. I guess he was afraid of losing more business and he went back after a couple of days. Malcom is safe. I hadn't considered Cordeau might think Bernard or Fulton were any threat to his hold on you."

  She shook her head. "You say that so gently as if he stole softly into their rooms, the silent angel of death, and just struck them down in their sleep. He tortured them, didn't he?" She looked up, her gaze meeting his. "Didn't he?"

  She saw the answer in his eyes. The wariness. The sadness. He was watchful of her, knowing how she felt. She waited. She knew, but she waited anyway. The silent screams kept coming but no one heard them but her.

  "Yes, Cat," he said on a soft sigh. "He tortured them."

  Her heart took a battering. Sore. Bruised. Her chest hurt. "How close is he to us? To Jake and Emma and their children?"

  "He can't touch them. I warned Jake. He won't find us."

  "He'll find us. You know he will, Eli. He's close. I can feel him. We have a connection. His leopard and mine. You don't want to hear that, but you know he made certain of our connection. She's out now. I let her run every day. Your leopard teaches her how to fight. His leopard feels her and he's coming after me that way. It's the only way he had, but he's using it." She knew with absolute certainty.

  Eli winced. He didn't like knowing about the connection between the two leopards. He didn't like knowing any man or their beast had a thread to his woman. She was hurting. He had known she would. He wanted to protect her from it, but deceiving her would have hurt her more.

  "Give me the rest, Eli. Knowing Rafe killed three people because of me has to be the worst of it, so just tell me the rest. Whatever Jake told you."

  Eli studied her face. She looked fragile. Vulnerable. He wanted to gather her into his arms and shelter her from everything, but she held herself too still. She didn't want his touch. She didn't want him close. Her body was stiff and her eyes too bright. Her teeth tugged hard at her lower lip, biting down until he feared she'd draw blood.

  "I told him how intelligent you are, Catarina," he admitted. "When we were talking at the fence line with Elijah, you said something that made me realize just how smart you really are. You educated yourself right under Cordeau's nose. You were able to get into his safe, and you managed to escape more than once. You lived with him, Cat. Right there. You made yourself disappear and no one noticed you, but you were there, listening, learning and you know every connection he has. Everyone who does business with him. You know which of his men are leopards and which aren't. I'm betting you know his deals and how to follow the money trail."

  He watched her carefully as he spoke. This was the worst for him. She knew what was coming, she was too intelligent not to know. He saw the reaction in her eyes. The wariness and suspicion. He hadn't wanted to discuss this with her for that very reason. He didn't ever want to see that look in her eyes.

  She didn't speak. She kept looking at him.

  Eli sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair. "Baby, I don't want to have this conversation with you. I know you can't help but think I'm speaking on behalf of the DEA, but I'm not. Rafe Cordeau can never be taken into custody. There can be no prosecution. When he's found, he's got to die and his body be burned. He's leopard. A shifter. A rogue. We have no choice but to hunt him. That's what we've been doing. Jake's men and me, trying to get a line on his whereabouts. We have to find him before the law thinks they have enough on him to arrest him."

  She kept looking at him. Watching him. She didn't blink and he could see her leopard there. The stillness. The focus. Eli cursed silently. Cursed Jake. Cursed himself for ever mishandling the situation with her. For betraying her trust.

  "Jake takes down businesses. He takes them apart. He hunts and destroys differently than the law. He can bring down Cordeau's business partners and find the money with your help. That's it. That's everything. I don't like it, but it can be done if you want to cooperate. We're not talking a court of law here. We're just saying we can take down that entire network Cordeau built so no one else can step into his shoes when he's gone."

  Her lashes swept down, veiling the look in her eyes, but her face was pale. "I can't breathe right now."

  His heart stuttered. He reached out to touch her but she drew back, shaking her head. "Kitten. Let me help you."

  She shook her head. "I can't breathe. I just can't."

/>   His heart broke for her.

  Abruptly, Catarina stood, a fluid, easy movement, all cat. She pulled the shirt over her head and flung it onto the chair even as she leapt off the porch into the rain. She was fast. He was faster. She ran, naked, shifting on the run just as Eli had taught her. A thing of beauty. A creature who had come into her own. She was running on bare feet one moment and on four paws the next.

  He shifted with her, keeping pace just behind her, the larger male protective, but staying back to let her work it out in her mind. Eli knew she had submerged herself in the little female. She needed time to process what he'd told her. He wished she would have flung herself into his arms and clung to him, but whatever she needed, including space, he would provide. He didn't have to like it, but he'd do it.

  The rain slid off her fur, feeling like thousands of fingers brushing over her thick coat. Catarina sank deep inside her leopard, just allowing sensations to penetrate. Her little female was happy to run free, to give her human time to process. She ran to protect Catarina from the overwhelming grief and fear. Catarina could feel her leopard's determination to surround her and keep her safe from everything and everyone--including the large male prowling behind them.

  It's all right, Cat whispered to her leopard. He's giving me time. He knows I need this. He's just making certain we're safe.

  He was. She knew she was right. Eli wasn't trying to pressure her into spilling everything she knew about Rafe. Why then, was she so reluctant to help others destroy him? He'd just killed three innocent human beings who knew absolutely nothing about her whereabouts. He'd tortured them, and he'd kill others to find her. Bernard and Jase had nothing really to do with her. They'd exchanged a few words. But David . . . She wanted to scream with anguish.

  What was wrong with her that she didn't leap on the chance to help Jake and Eli? She had to know why, because something was wrong with her that she couldn't turn completely on Rafe when she knew nothing--no one--could save him.