Wild Fire

by Christine Feehan

  "I know. And I don't blame you," he said, reluctantly releasing her hand. "I think of it as your brand on me."

  Her womb clenched and then spasmed. Her reaction was totally inappropriate and upsetting, but still she found herself damp and aching. He mesmerized people. It wasn't just her. She had to remind herself that if he turned that magnetic charm on Imelda Cortez, she would react exactly the same way. It wasn't real.

  "Tell me how to do this." It was her only out and, although it was terrifying, climbing to the canopy was better than thoughts of Conner Vega wearing her brand.

  "Step up next to the trunk. Pretend you're a tree-hugger." He slung the gun around to lie against his back, leaving his arms free.

  Isabeau did what he said. Instantly he stepped behind her, his arms coming around on either side of her, his fingers curving, tips against the trunk. She felt him against her back. It was--intimate. Shocking. When he took a breath, so did she. Every nerve ending went on alert.

  He tipped his head even closer until his lips were against her ear and his chin brushing her shoulder. "That's right. Mimic what I do. Don't be afraid. Don't look down. Just climb with me. I won't let you fall. Trust your cat. Talk to her. Now. Tell her to climb the tree. Tell her we need to escape the men and the fire. Feel her. Reach for her. She can't emerge fully, but she's already demonstrated to you that she'll come to your aid."

  It sounded so preposterous but she heard him whispering in her ear, or maybe it was her mind. Life or death. Survival of our mate. Take us up. It's harder in this form, but she can't fully emerge. Call to her. Let her smell you. Reassure her.

  Even as she watched, his hands curved into two claws. She smelled something feral--wild--untamed. The musk of a male cat in its prime. She felt the instant reaction inside her, her own cat leaping toward the scent, rising close, so close she felt hot breath in her lungs and strength pouring through her body. Adrenaline rushed through her bloodstream and she broke out in a sweat. Her skin itched and she felt fur sliding just beneath the surface of her skin. Her mouth ached, teeth hurting. Joints snapped and popped. Her fingers and toes tingled and burned.

  Isabeau gasped and forced air through her lungs, pulling back. Her head hit Conner's shoulder and rested there while she breathed away the strange and frightening feelings.

  "You're doing great, Isabeau. She was close. You felt her. She's rising to help you."

  She shook her head. "I can't do it. I can't."

  His lips brushed the side of her face. On purpose? An accident. In any case his touch steadied her. He hadn't moved, pressing so close to her she could feel him like a protective blanket surrounding her. "Of course you can. Block out the fire. The guns. They don't matter. Only your cat. Get past fear. You won't lose who you are, you'll grow. Let go of you and reach for her."

  It felt like giving herself to him all over again, but how could she explain that to him? His magic voice, so soft, and slow, like a thick molasses that moved over and into her, filling every empty space inside of her with him. Smoke drifted through the trees, animals scrambled above their heads and ash rained down on them. She heard the sound of gunfire, and a stray bullet hit around them, but he never flinched, never grew impatient. Just waited, his back exposed to danger, his body protecting hers.

  She realized she felt completely alive for the first time since she'd learned the truth about him. And that scared her more than anything.

  4

  FOR a long moment, Isabeau allowed her body to lean back into the comfort of Conner's. It would be better to die trying to get away than to be shot down by Imelda Cortez's assassins or killed in their fire. It was a good argument for trying to climb the tree--much better than wanting to please him--to prove to him that she had as much courage as he did--okay, to prove to herself. A matter of pride. She closed her eyes and forced herself to think of a leopard, to picture the large cat in her mind. She needed the sound of his voice, his encouragement.

  "Tell me what she's like."

  She felt rather than heard Conner's swift indrawn breath. His lips whispered over the vulnerable spot between her shoulder and neck. "She's beautiful, like you. Very intelligent, and that shows in her eyes. Everything was always a challenge to her and she could be very moody, one moment loving, the next, raking me with her claws."

  There was a soft, almost seductive note in his voice, and he didn't seem to notice that he was talking as if he'd known her leopard intimately. "She loved the night, and often, we'd have to go out under the stars and just walk for hours. She's wary of outsiders, slow to trust, smolders with fire. She's so beautiful, Isabeau, and secretive, mysterious and elusive. She has such a quick, intelligent mind."

  "What does she look like?" The words were strangled. He was describing her personality, yet not. She identified with everything he said, and his voice had grown husky, sexy, as he articulated his intimate knowledge of her innermost, guarded self.

  "She's graceful. Petite for one of our kind. Her fire shows in her smoldering eyes right along with her intelligence. More gold than green, the pupils dilated and dark, shining, reflecting the light. Her eyes are piercing and gorgeous. Once seen, never forgotten. I can close my eyes and see them among all those dark rosettes scattering through her fur. She's tawny, like your hair." He nuzzled her thick hair with his face. "She's sleek and muscled, with tawny, golden fur and patterns of rosettes that resemble the night sky she loves so much. Her paws are dainty, like your hands."

  His hands covered hers. "Do you feel her close to you?"

  Isabeau did. The cat was nearly emerging, so much a part of her, it was nearly a memory. She could see the feline just the way he described, and her hands, trapped beneath his, ached and burned.

  "It hurts, Conner," she whispered, frightened.

  "I know, baby." His voice lowered an octave. Turned husky. "Remember the first time I made love to you? There was pain, Isabeau, but so much pleasure. Take a breath and let it out. Call her, just let it wash over you."

  His voice was pure black velvet, an irresistible seduction. His warm breath. His heat. His body pressed so tightly against hers. Every vivid detail of that first time. His hands on her. His mouth. The way his body moved in hers, so confident, so experienced, hard and strong and right, as if they were made for one another.

  "Just let go," he encouraged, just as he had so many months earlier.

  His voice brought back a flood of memories, sending the crackling fire from the lowlying brush straight to the core of her body. She went damp. Her breasts ached, swelling with need, nipples hardening, desperate for his touch. His lips trailed kisses from her earlobe to her shoulder. His mouth nuzzled her, sending sparks of electricity leaping through her bloodstream.

  Isabeau reached for the female cat lurking in her body. At once she felt the leap of response, as if her cat had simply been waiting. Her fingers and toes burned and sizzled, a red-hot fire. Involuntarily her hands curled. The skin felt as if it might split wide open. Her breath caught in her throat and she stiffened, feeling something moving inside her hands and feet. Just as she was about to pull back, Conner leaned down and sank his teeth into her shoulder, a bite very reminiscent of when he'd taken her virginity, distracting her, holding her in place, the pleasure and pain of it sweeping through her body, turning her liquid and acquiescent.

  Stiletto-like switchblades burst through her skin, thick, hooked claws attached by a ligament to the bone at the very tip of each digit. The tiniest movement of her muscles and tendons allowed her to move her claws.

  "Breathe, Hafelina, you've done it. We're going up."

  Again there was no impatience in his voice, only pride. Isabeau trembled as he took her wrists and extended her arms over her head, anchoring her claws in the tree itself.

  "You climb with your dewclaws. Trust in your cat's strength. I'll be with you every step of the way and I won't let you fall."

  She believed him. Part of the reason she'd fallen so hard and so fast for him had been the way he made her feel completely prot
ected. She couldn't imagine anything happening to her as long as she was with him. No matter the circumstances, he was a man to inspire confidence.

  She dug her claws into the tree. He stretched his own arms above hers, caging her in, making her feel safe as she pulled. She was shocked at the strength running in her body. It was exhilarating to climb with such ease, claws curling into the trunk, roped muscles sliding beneath her skin as she heaved herself upward toward the canopy. She didn't look down, but up, at the broad branches interwoven like a highway. The thick veil of leaves hid the life of so many creatures hundreds of feet above the ground. It was an entire new world up there.

  She nearly forgot about the fire and the guns. There was more of a wind and she smelled the smoke, shocking her out of her surreal experience and back to real life. That had always been the way it was when she'd been with Conner. Each thing they'd done together, every place they went, had taken on a life of its own. She'd almost been afraid to go to sleep, afraid she'd miss something. Life with Conner was vivid--electric--passionate--everything she'd always wanted.

  She climbed methodically, finding a rhythm in the movement as she pulled herself up the tree trunk. Conner always covered her, in perfect sync, as if they were dancing--or making love. She felt the muscles in his body, hard and defined, sliding against hers. His thick thighs stayed beneath her at all times, his arms surrounding her, his chest tight against her back so they moved together, almost as if they were one person, not two.

  Raindrops splashed down as the roiling clouds above the canopy burst and dumped sheets of water onto the smoldering trees, effectively dousing the crackling flames. Black smoke rose to mix with the thick grayish vapor surrounding the canopy, creating a thick veil. Conner stepped easily onto a branch and pulled her next to him, keeping his arm around her waist. She felt like she'd stepped into the heavens.

  Conner was right: The gunmen couldn't possibly see them up in the thick branches, not with the thick mist blanketing them.

  "I want to keep moving. I doubt they'll notice the marks we made on the trunk, but I don't want to take any chances. The others will have made for the river and if they run into trouble, we'll be there to help them."

  She stared down at her hands. The claws had retracted as if they'd never been. She turned her hands over and over, inspecting them. "I saw it, but I can't believe it."

  "Come on." He took her hand. "It will be slippery with the rain, so watch your footing and don't let go of me. If you slip, Isabeau, trust your cat. Don't panic."

  "You say that a lot to me."

  "Our ability to land on our feet is legendary for a reason," he reminded. "It's true. Even if you somersault upside down, your cat will right you in under two seconds. You'll be fine and I'll be right behind you."

  She took a breath, a nervous laugh escaping. "I think I'll just take your word for it and skip the actual experience, if you don't mind."

  He grinned back at her. There, with the smoke and clouds surrounding him, his scarred face strong, his eyes a deep whiskey holding a trace of amusement, she found him far too attractive. She had to look away. Animals were everywhere, the canopy in constant motion, saving her from embarrassment.

  "This is amazing."

  "Yes it is."

  The coloring on the birds, up close, was vivid--brilliant blues and greens and even reds. She'd never really noticed individual feathers and how large and sharp beaks could look. He tugged on her hand. "Let's go. We've got to get out of this tree."

  "They'll never believe we could get up here."

  "Cortez has two rogue leopards on her payroll. They could follow us."

  Her heart jumped. "Men like you?"

  "Men a lot worse than I am." His gaze slid over her face. "You may not believe me, Isabeau, but I do have a code. I screwed up with you, but I've got one. These men don't."

  She ducked her head. She didn't want to talk about the past. It was too painful. He'd shattered her, left her half alive, an empty shell who would never be able to love another man. She knew that with absolute certainty. It would always be Conner she craved, as much as she despised him.

  She followed him, surprised by the ease with which she was able to balance as she stepped over the network of limbs and onto a branch from the neighboring tree. The rain increased in strength, as it often did in the wet season. It wasn't cold, and with the onslaught of moisture and heat, steam rose around them, turning the canopy into an eerie world.

  His fingers tightened around hers, signaling silence. She heard the sound of voices drifting through the veil of mist and a thousand butterflies took wing in her stomach. Her mouth went dry. Conner never even hesitated, walking along the branches as if they were a sidewalk, going from tree to tree. Twice he made a chuffing noise as if warning some larger creature of his presence, but most of the time, the sounds he made were somewhere between strange purrs and low, rumbling growls. Instead of menacing, the notes were soothing.

  She became aware of the creatures in the canopy. Where before the animals had been frantic, racing away from the fire and shrieking warnings to one another, now they were much calmer--like she was becoming. It was his voice--that beautiful, reassuring, comforting voice. It made no sense. She should have been terrified. She was a hundred feet above the forest floor, surrounded by smoke and mist so thick it was nearly impossible to see the hand in front of her face, carefully placing her feet on slippery branches. Somewhere below, men with guns hunted them and she was with the man who had shattered her world and left it in ruins.

  Birds settled in the trees around them rather than flying in fear. Monkeys merely looked at them curiously, but the frantic chatter had faded to normal. The rain poured down steadily and life seemed to return to usual just that fast. She looked at the man leading her with such confidence along the twisted highway of branches. It was Conner. The sheer force of his personality extended calm not only to her, but to the animals.

  She followed him, trying to figure out how to stop her reaction to him. How did one block his voice, his charisma, his sheer magnetism? He was the type of man who stood out in a crowd. How was she supposed to keep her blood cool and her pulse normal after sharing a wildfire with him? Every time he looked at her it was there again--that wild, passionate response she couldn't prevent.

  She should have known. She wasn't the kind of woman a man like him would want. His gaze was too focused, too absolute, making her feel as if she were the only woman in his world. As if he could never see anyone but her. It was the animal in him. The leopard. Stalking prey. She'd been his prey. A single sound escaped, a low and wounded cry she hastily choked back.

  At once he whirled around, his body graceful and fluid, almost balletic on the narrow branch. He bent to her, pulling her into the shelter of his body. "What is it?"

  You. The accusation was there in her mind. In her heart. God help her, in her soul. He was what was wrong. The way he moved. The sound of his voice. The memory of his hands and mouth and his body belonging to her. Isabeau shook her head. She hadn't known it would be so difficult to see him--to smell him. The wild, dangerous scent of him.

  "It's just a little scary up here," she lied. And she heard the lie in her voice. She could tell by his eyes that he heard it too.

  "Lies have a scent all their own," he said.

  "Do they? You taught me a lot of things, but you neglected to teach me that."

  "It wasn't all lies, Isabeau."

  She shook her head, her heart so painful she brought her hand up to press against her chest. "I don't believe you. And it doesn't matter anymore, does it? We have to find a way to get those children back. That's all that matters." She forced herself to say it. She wasn't a coward. "You weren't wrong about him--my father. I did a lot of digging and found out the truth. He was involved with the terrorist cell you uncovered. He was taking their money." Her eyes met his. "That doesn't mean I didn't love him, or that what you did was right, but he wasn't innocent."

  "I'm sorry, Isabeau. Finding those things out
must have hurt."

  "Not as much as watching him die." Or finding out that the man she loved above all else had only used her to get close to her father. She had believed in him with every fiber of her being--she'd given him everything she was or would ever be. And it had all been a lie.

  Conner's heart clenched. Isabeau would never be adept at hiding her feelings from him. Hurt wasn't the word for what he'd done to her. He'd shattered and disillusioned her. There was guilt and humiliation mixed with her pain. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Isabeau. I'm the one who acted without honor. You did nothing wrong."

  "I fell in love with the wrong man."

  "You didn't, Sestrilla, I'm the right man. It was just the wrong time for us."

  She lifted her chin, eyes flashing fire. "Go to hell, Conner. I'm not your job this time. Don't bother practicing on me; you really don't need it."

  Her voice cut like a knife, enough to make him wince. He deserved it, though. His gaze moved over her face with brooding intensity. She looked rebellious, defiant, so beautiful he ached inside. He'd told himself he'd walk away from her, but how? How could he give her up? He was already so in love with her there was no way out. He brought her hand up to his chest, pressed her palm over his heart. "You were never my job, Isabeau." He was going to find a way to win her trust back. There had to be a way.

  She swallowed hard and looked away from him, but not before he caught the sheen of tears. "Let's just go."

  "Damn it, Isabeau. How are we going to get past this?"

  "Get past it?"

  Furious, Isabeau wrenched her hand free and pulled away from him, stepping backward--into empty space. She threw out her hands, but she was already tumbling. Terror gripped her as she looked up and saw the mask slipping from Conner's face to be replaced by fear. She saw his jaw harden as he leapt from the branch after her. Then she was somersaulting through open air. Panic flooded her body with ice-cold adrenaline.