by Maya Banks
Duncan watched in fascinated horror as she treated the man like her own personal chew toy. At one point, the man rolled away, curling himself into a protective ball. The cheetah hissed and stalked a circle around him, prepared to pounce again.
The man scrambled to his feet, evidently deciding he was going to die running. To Duncan’s surprise, the cheetah made no effort to pursue him. Instead, she turned her golden stare on Duncan.
Unease prickled up his spine. He was as vulnerable as a trussed up Thanksgiving turkey.
The cheetah circled behind him, and Duncan knew there was little point in trying to stagger up and run. In a foot race with the fastest land animal in the world? Yeah, he had a real shot at winning that one.
He tensed when he felt her teeth graze his hands. He waited, prepared for the pain, prepared to do anything to defend himself.
She began tugging and chewing. At the ropes. Not his hands. Un-fucking-believable. She was freeing him!
A few more tugs and the rope went slack. He pulled his hands to the front and rubbed at his wrists, unable to fathom that she hadn’t bitten him.
Carefully, he got to his feet and slowly turned to face her. She regarded him with complacency, as if she hadn’t just gone batshit on the hunter. As bizarre as it seemed, his ass had just been saved by a cheetah.
She slumped wearily to the ground, and he knew that the attack had cost her dearly. He felt an odd pang of guilt and sympathy for the creature.
He walked over to retrieve the jacket, and once again, he spread it beside her. She tried to lift her head, but her strength had fled.
The fear that had earlier taken hold of him vanished. For some strange reason, he knew this cat meant him no harm. She could have easily eaten him a dozen times over, and yet the only aggression she’d shown was toward the hunter.
He reached for her, pulling and turning her until he’d positioned her on the coat. Fatigue was taking its own hold over him, and if he didn’t get them both back to his truck, they were going to be spending the night out here.
He trudged over to get his rifle, and this time, he would keep it up and ready, despite making it more difficult to drag the cat.
Dusk was fast approaching by the time Duncan hauled the cheetah to his truck. The air had cooled around him as shadows fell, and the sweat that soaked his clothes covered him in a frigid cloak.
He dropped the sleeves to the jacket and dug for his cell phone. There was a weak signal but hopefully he could call Doc Robbins, the local vet, and have him come out with a cage and his truck.
He made the call and waited impatiently for an answer. He’d blown the entire day traipsing around the mountain and now had a cheetah he had no idea what to do with.
When the answering machine picked up, Duncan hung up in irritation. He wasn’t going to leave a message for Doc saying he had a damn cheetah he needed taking care of, nor was he going to hang around here until Doc called him back. Which only left taking the cheetah home with him.
He sighed and looked down at the cat, whose eyes were even more droopy. Pain glittered in the golden orbs, and that worried him. An injured animal tended to be unreasonable.
Usually he’d unload his rifle, case it, and put it in the back of his truck. But if he was going to ride home with the cheetah in the cab, he was damn well going to keep the gun handy.
With a look at the cheetah and an unspoken “stay” he walked around to the passenger side and pointed the end of the rifle to the floorboard, leaving the stock in the air. He then pushed the passenger seat forward so there would be maximum room in the extra cab.
Leaving the door open, he walked back around to the driver’s side where he’d left the cat on the ground. Her tail twitched, and she let out a low purr when she saw him. Sucking up his courage, he squatted down and gingerly extended his hand to her head.
She didn’t flinch or draw away from his hand. She didn’t move at all. He stroked her fur, and her eyes closed as the purring grew louder.
“Are you up for a ride home?” he murmured. “I need to get you into the truck. We need to get that arrow out of your leg. It has to hurt like hell.”
She bumped against his hand then licked his palm. When she struggled to try and get up, he automatically reached to help her.
He tensed, wondering if he’d just made a huge blunder. But she didn’t hiss or growl, nor did she try to make a meal of his arm.
He continued to talk to her, soothing, talking nonsense, hoping his tone would keep her calm as he urged her toward the truck door. Though nothing about this day should surprise him at this point, nevertheless, when she docilely crawled into the backseat of the truck, he shook his head and wondered if he’d somehow fallen into the twilight zone.
She settled onto the seat, her body stretched out, eyes closed, paws hanging over the edge. He quickly shut the door in case she changed her mind and decided she didn’t like strange, enclosed spaces.
He didn’t spare any speed getting home. On the way he called the dispatcher and gave her a description of the poacher and instructed her to put out an APB as well as call all the hospitals or clinics in the area. He really needed to be tracking down the fucker himself, but there was a little matter of a cheetah in his possession.
After he hung up with dispatch, he called Doc Robbins again. He got no answer and decided to make a quick run by the vet’s house just in case he was outside tending animals. Then he could leave the cheetah, and she’d get the care she needed.
He pulled into the driveway of the clinic that doubled as Doc’s residence. There was no sign of the beat up old Suburban, and Duncan sighed. Any other time, Duncan would be tripping over the older man. But now that he needed him, he couldn’t find hide nor hair of him.
“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Duncan muttered in the cheetah’s direction as he backed out of the driveway.
A few minutes later, he pulled up to a rustic cabin about two miles out of town. He turned the truck off and got out, quickly shutting the door behind him.
The warm interior of the cabin was a welcome change from the brisk evening air, and his clothing was still damp with sweat. A long, hot shower was a high priority. Just as soon as he got his cheetah squared away.
The back mudroom made the most sense. It wasn’t warm or inviting, but he could lock the cheetah in until Doc Robbins could come out.
Would she be hungry? And what did cheetahs eat? Red meat obviously. He rummaged in the fridge and found a thawed steak he’d planned to eat for dinner. He filled up a bowl with water and set the food and the dish in the mudroom.
Satisfied with his arrangements, he walked back out to the truck and cautiously peered in the window. She was just how he’d left her. He eased open the door, and she picked her head up, pain still evident in her eyes.
She made a low chirping noise that sounded strangely vulnerable. He soothed a hand over her head in an effort to comfort. She closed her eyes and let out a purr.
“Come on, girl. You’ll be more comfortable inside. And I have food. A nice, juicy steak.”
He pulled slightly at her nape, and she hobbled out of the truck, favoring her leg as she jumped down. Would she follow him? She hadn’t been resistant so far.
He started for the house and looked back to see her walking slowly, painfully behind him. He held the door open and felt a moment’s relief when she padded inside.
He led her to the mudroom, and when she went inside, he shut the door, locking it behind her. As he walked back to the kitchen where his phone was, he shook his head. What a day. Just when he’d thought he’d seen it all, something always managed to crack that theory.
He called Doc and the answering machine picked up, but this time Duncan left a short message for Doc to call him back as soon as possible. He tossed the phone aside then walked back out to his truck to unload his rifle and bring it in. As he walked back in, the phone was ringing and thinking it could be Doc Robbins, he hurried over to answer.
“He Duncan, I hear you had troub
“Yeah, I ran into some poachers,” Duncan replied as he headed toward the bedroom.
“Get a bead on them?”
“Yeah, I already gave Mandy a description of one of the assholes. I’ll follow up on the others when I come in tomorrow morning. They weren’t from around here, not that I’m surprised by that.”
“Figure out what they were hunting?”
Duncan paused. “Yeah, I did.”
“And?”
“I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow. I’m kind of beat. Long day.”
“Everything okay, man?”
“Yeah, just tired. I’m gonna hit the shower and head to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
After hanging up, he trudged to the bathroom, already salivating over the idea of a hot shower.
For several long minutes, he stood under the hot spray, letting it wash over him. He cracked a grin as he soaped his big body. A cheetah. He had a fucking cheetah in his mudroom. It didn’t get any more bizarre than that. He was going to take pictures because Nick would never believe him otherwise.
He took his time drying off and dressing. When he’d finished, he went into the living room to start a fire. His house was small, but it was his, and it was in his dream spot. He owned the acre of land the house sat on, and the view from his back deck was something you only found on postcards.
When the fire was crackling and a nice blaze had caught, he walked back to the kitchen, intent on fixing something to eat. The steak he’d planned was out, but he could make do with a sandwich.
Thoughts of the cheetah, and curiosity, niggled at him. Had she eaten? Was she in a lot of pain? Was she pacing the room, eager to be free?
Finally, he put the sandwich down and walked over to the door. A peek wouldn’t hurt.
He cracked the door and eased it open. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, bathing the small space in a harsh glow. But when he looked across the floor, it wasn’t a cheetah that he saw.
All the air escaped his lungs in a gigantic what-the-fuck whoosh. He staggered against the door and had to grope for the doorknob to steady himself.
Lying on the floor curled into a protective ball, an arrow protruding from her thigh, was a naked woman.
CHAPTER 3
Duncan nearly shut the door, but the woman stirred, and the same golden eyes of the cheetah stared back at him. Fear flashed in her gaze, and she gathered her arms protectively around herself, feebly trying to shield her nudity. He could see her shiver, and blood trickled down her leg.
Her discomfort moved him to action, despite the argument he waged with his sanity.
“Holy mother of God,” he muttered as he knelt beside her.
She shrank away from him, and a sound of fright rushed past her lips.
“Shhh, I won’t hurt you,” he soothed. He reached for her, to touch her, to offer comfort in some way.
She tensed when his hand rested on her shoulder, but she didn’t flinch away. Wide, frightened eyes regarded him questioningly.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said again. “I’m here to help you.”
She relaxed the smallest fraction underneath his fingertips, and the fear in her expression turned to pain.
“Who are you?” he murmured. What are you?
Her mouth opened, and she licked her lips. A hoarse sound rose from her throat, and she frowned. Her hand gripped her neck and massaged. She seemed to have difficulty in speaking.
He felt sudden guilt for having placed her in the mudroom. It was cold and uncomfortable, but Christ, he’d thought she was a cheetah. She was a cheetah. Cheetahs had fur. This woman was naked. Very naked. And very beautiful.
“Don’t speak,” he said firmly when she opened her mouth again. “Let me get you into the living room where you can warm up.”
“The arrow,” she whispered. “It has to come out.”
Her low voice slid over him with a shock. He couldn’t place the accent.
He curled his arms underneath her body and carefully lifted her, trying hard not to jar her wound. A small moan leaked from her lips as he shifted her against his chest.
“I’m sorry.”
She didn’t respond. Just let her head sag against his shoulder.
He carried her into the living room and marveled at the fact that she probably weighed more as a cat than she did as a human – was she human? Could you call someone who had been a cheetah just an hour ago a human?
“You can stretch out on the couch in front of the fire. I’ll get you something to cover up with and take a look at that arrow.”
“Thank you.”
The two simple words sounded exceedingly heartfelt, and he could feel the ache behind them. With extreme care, he laid her on her side on the couch then reached for the afghan hanging over the back. Her skin was ice-cold to the touch. Again he felt a pang of guilt for having stuffed her in the mudroom.
He arranged the blanket over the upper part of her body and over her behind to give her enough modesty while keeping the material a good six inches from the arrow. She clutched the ends of the afghan and pulled it tighter to her chin.
Without thought, he ran his hand through her hair, pushing it from her face to behind her ear. She was beautiful. Stunningly so.
And she was a cheetah.
He yanked his hand away and rocked back on his heels. There would be time to have his meltdown later. Maybe after he’d gotten the arrow out of her leg. Jesus. How was he going to get it out without filleting her leg? He needed a doctor, but how on earth was he going to explain how she got the arrow? Not to mention if he took her to the hospital and they did blood work, wouldn’t it come back all funky because she wasn’t human?
He could just see the tabloid headlines.
“What are you?” he asked softly. “Where did you come from?”
The bronze colored flecks in her eyes sharpened and glowed as she gazed at him. He could see the cheetah in her, knew it was there no matter how crazy it sounded.
She searched his face as if trying to decide whether she could trust him. Evidently she decided she couldn’t because uncertainty flooded her eyes, and she looked down. Interesting. The cheetah trusted him. The woman did not.
“My name is Aliyah Carver,” she said.
Well, that was something he supposed.
He glanced down at the wound in her leg. The broadhead was completely embedded in her thigh, probably resting against bone. No way for him to push it through, not that he would. Retracting it would be damn near impossible.
“Pull it out,” she said calmly. “I will heal.”
“Goddamn, do you have any idea how much that’ll hurt?”
She nodded solemnly. “There is no other way. I can’t go to a hospital. It isn’t necessary. Once the arrow is removed, my wound will heal rapidly.”
She relayed it so matter-of-factly. Clearly she had no idea how much a broadhead would make her bleed. And the pain. Jesus. He wasn’t the only one having a serious issue with reality.
“I know you don’t understand, but you have to trust me. The wound will heal. The arrow must be removed quickly.”
“Like you trust me?” he asked pointedly.
She flushed. “I can’t afford to trust anyone.”
That was fair. If he were a cheetah, he guessed there wouldn’t be a whole lot of people he could trust with that little tidbit.
He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Do you want a drink at least?” Hell, he could use one.
“Alcohol will impede the healing. I need my senses about me. It will require my full concentration.”
He shook his head, a little sick at what he must do.
“Just do it,” she begged. “Don’t make me wait. The anticipation is the worst part.”
He nodded grimly. If she could be so stoic then he damn sure wasn’t going to be a pussy. He got to his feet and stared down at the arrow. When he glanced back to her, he saw she’d closed her eyes, strain etched into her forehead.
He would do this quickly. There was no need for her to suffer the agony of waiting. He reached down and grasped the arrow just below the fletching. He sucked in a deep breath. His nerves screamed like a girl.
Not wanting to delay any longer, he yanked with all his strength. Her cry ripped right through his gut as he stumbled backward, the arrow in his hand. Blood poured from the wound, spilling onto his hardwood floor.
He dropped the arrow and fell to his knees in front of her. He yanked the afghan down to press on the wound in an effort to staunch the flow of blood. Goddamn it, he’d known this was a bad idea. How the hell was he going to explain a woman bleeding to death in his living room?
A low sob reached his ears. He reached for her, dragging her into his arms. “God, I’m sorry.”
She buried her face in his neck and held on tightly as pain quivered through her body. Then as if remembering the blood, she rocketed from his arms and scrambled to a sitting position.
“I’m sorry. I’m getting blood everywhere. All over your floor.”
He saw the paleness of her face, the evidence of shock in her eyes. Very gently, he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down.
He gingerly pulled the blanket back so he could assess the damage. Amazingly the blood had slowed to a small trickle. The flesh was open, raw and red. Angry. But the arrow should have caused a hell of a lot more injury. It was designed to inflict as much damage coming out as it did going in.
“Stay right here. I’ll get some towels and something for you to wear,” he said.
She looked down, as if just remembering her nudity. A bright blush worked across her smooth skin, and she reached self-consciously for the afghan that had fallen away and pulled it higher around her body.
It was a sight he wasn’t likely to forget. A beautiful, vulnerable woman with tawny hair and golden eyes curled on his couch with a blood-soaked blanket wrapped around her like a shield. Hell of an image.
Duncan left the living room in need of a stiff drink. Maybe two. He prided himself on being a highly logical, no bullshit law enforcement professional. He didn’t believe in hocus-pocus woo woo crap. But he knew two things. One, he’d locked a cheetah with an arrow in her haunch in his mudroom. Two, when he’d walked back in, a naked woman, also with an arrow in her thigh, had replaced the cheetah.
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