Fantasy

by Christine Feehan

  “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 prey. 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.

  Maggie leaned against the door for a long time. She had been crazy to come here to this far-off place with danger at every turn. Her heart was racing and her blood rushed madly through her body. Yet a small smile touched her mouth in spite of the adrenaline pumping through her. She couldn’t remember feeling so alive before. She wasn’t even certain she had been afraid, she was so excited. It was as if she had been walking through life asleep to all the possibilities. Now, here, in the primitive jungle, every sense was enhanced and on fire.

  She stepped away from the door, looked up at the ceiling with its fans and wide beams. This house suited her with its wide-open spaces and interesting carvings. She began to walk through it, confident that there were no animals in her home. It was exhilarating to feel as if she had closed out all danger and left it on the other side of the door. She picked up her packs and began an inspection of the downstairs. The rooms were large and each had the same high ceiling and sparse furniture, all made with a hard, dark wood. Curiously, in two of the bedrooms she discovered claw marks, as if some very large cat had marked the wall up near the ceiling. Maggie stared at the marks, puzzled by how they had been put there.

  In the large kitchen she found a note on the small refrigerator penned in a masculine scrawl explaining how the lights worked and where to find everything she might need for the first night in her family home. There was a bowl of fresh fruit left for her and she gratefully ate a juicy mango, her parched throat savoring the sweetness. She touched the large, looping letters of the note in a silent thanks with a caressing fingertip, strangely drawn to the handwriting. She turned the note over and over, brought it to her nose, inhaling the scent. She could actually smell him. Brandt Talbot, the man who had written the note, had lived in the house.

  He was everywhere. His scent. He seemed to envelop her with his presence. Once she was aware of him, she realized his touch was everywhere. He lived in the house. The polished wood and gleaming tiles had to have been his doing. The artwork, which appealed to her, had to be his.

  The stairs were wide and curved in a sweeping circle up to the next level. Incredible photos of every wild creature imaginable hung on the walls going up the stairs. The photographs were rare treasures. The photographer had captured the very essence of wildlife, unusual action shots and beautiful pictures of plants, close-ups that depicted the dewy petals. She leaned closer, already knowing who had taken the photographs. In the corner of each picture was a four-line poem. Reading the words made her feel as if she had accidentally connected intimately with the poet. Each poem had been written in a looping masculine scrawl. The sentiments were thoughtful, beautiful, romantic even. It couldn’t have been written by anyone else. Brandt Talbot had the soul of a poet. He was an unusual man and she was already intrigued.

  She inhaled again as she climbed the stairs, drawing the scent of him deep into her lungs. He seemed to belong. Here in the house. Deep inside of her where she breathed. The mysterious Brandt Talbot with his incredible photography skills and his love of wood and wildlife and beautiful words. He seemed familiar, a man who shared her favorite things.

  Weariness was making her droop. Maggie became aware of how uncomfortable her skin was, wet and sticky, as she made her way up to the second story. She found a bedroom at the end of the hallway that was to her liking. The bed was made up invitingly, the fans were already circulating air, and there was a spacious private bath off the room.

  She put her packs on the dresser, silently claiming the room as her own. Above the bed, up in the corner, she saw the claw marks etched deeply into the wood and she shivered. Her gaze remained there as she tossed the khaki shirt aside and peeled off the wet T-shirt. It was a relief to have the soaked material away from her tender skin.

  Maggie stood in the center
of the room wearing only her low-riding jeans, and she sighed with relief. Wet clothes clinging to her skin called up a strange sensation, almost as if something lying dormant beneath her skin stirred for a moment, tried to break through her pores, then subsided, leaving her itchy and tender and very irritable. She stretched her sore muscles, lifted her hands to take down her hair, shaking it loose so she could wash the heavy mass in the shower.

  Her boots came off next, then her socks. It was heaven to be barefoot, her soles cool on the floorboards. Much more comfortable, she took the time to look around the large room. The second-story bedroom was spacious with wide beams and little furniture. The bed was huge with four intricately carved posters rising halfway to the ceiling. Several fans whirled above her head, providing a welcome breeze in the room. Her gaze touched once more on the strange claw marks, slid away, then returned as if drawn by some unseen force.

  She crossed the room to stare up at them, finally climbed up on the bed and stretched to touch them with her fingertips. She traced each mark. The wood was shredded; the claws had dug in deep. Was it from a long-ago pet kept in the house? Something wild that had marked its territory?

  The moment the unbidden thought came to her, she shivered, the marks taking on life, burning her fingertips so that she pulled her hand quickly away from the wall. Surprised, she glanced at her seared fingers but found them without a blemish. Maggie put her fingers in her mouth, soothing the sensitive nerve endings with her tongue.

  She wandered across the room to the windows. The panes in the room seemed overlarge, big enough to climb through should she need to do so. Each room had similar size windows with the inevitable balcony around them. A grid of bars shielded each window, making her very aware she was in a wild setting.

  Maggie stood at the window, staring out into the night. Into the rain and the forest. She could see the leaves waving and dancing in the trees as the wind increased in strength. Bone tired, she began to slowly peel away her jeans, wet from the tropical rain and sticking to her. She wanted a shower and then to lie down and sleep as long as possible. She didn’t want to think about how wild her surroundings were, how she seemed so different here in this exotic setting. She didn’t want to be aware of her body, every nerve ending heightened by the sultry air and danger surrounding her. She stood naked, staring out the window into the darkness, unable to look away.