A wave of heat poured over her unexpectedly, nothing at all like the other times. This was hot and fast and robbed her of breath. She nearly dropped her plate with the slice of cake. There was no mere itching beneath her skin, but a strong pushing, the pressure tremendous. Very carefully she put the plate on the table, each motion precise. She tasted fear in her mouth. She knew the leopard was not going to wait much longer. Her skin felt too tight and her mouth and jaw ached, teeth sensitive. Her eyesight blurred, eyes aching.
"Conner," she whispered his name like a talisman.
"What is it, beloved?" he asked, and looked down into her face.
She saw the instant recognition. Her eyes had taken on the glow of the cat at night, wholly leopard now. There was panic on her face, something she couldn't help. She knew it was different this time. Her heartbeat was different. Her skin burned, the weight of the dress painful. She wanted to tear it off her body, dig her nails into her own skin and shred it, peel it away. The heat came in waves, washing over her so that she could barely breathe.
He put his cake plate beside hers, just as carefully as she had. "Don't be afraid, Isabeau. I'll be with you. You'll experience running free, feeling nearly euphoric. There's nothing to be afraid of."
She breathed deeply, great gulps of air, trying to suppress the urge to rub herself all over him. She'd thought her addiction to his body was powerful before, but now, with the leopard's needs surging to the surface, she couldn't stand still. She stared into Conner's face, despair in her gaze. She didn't want to ruin their perfect time by ripping the priceless dress from her body, her leopard emerging to leap on the buffet table and smash the cake. For one awful moment, she envisaged the carnage.
"Keep breathing, baby," he whispered, wrapping his arm around her waist and all but pushing her through the back door into the house. He glanced over his shoulder. "Mary!" His summons was sharp. Imperative.
When Isabeau tried to reply, no coherent sound emerged, not with the way her throat felt closed and swollen. She was acutely conscious of the mechanics of her body. The way she took in air, the way it moved through her body. Each individual strand of hair on her head. Scents grew stronger, flooding her system until she feared it might shut down. Her body burned, tension coiling tighter and tighter, the itch growing not only through her skin, but through every cell in her body.
"I've got you," Conner assured, thrusting her into the first room he came to.
She was moving continually, unable to stay still. The perfumed heat from the interior of the rain forest called to her. Walls seemed oppressive. She felt caged and claustrophobic. Her breasts felt swollen and achy, her nipples hard and so sensitive that with each step she took, as they rubbed against the material of the bodice, nerve endings sizzled and electrical charges raced straight to her core. She was melting from the inside out. Conner's masculine scent overwhelmed her, his body heat making her catch fire as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of her wedding dress.
Mary pushed open the door, took in the sight of Isabeau's flushed face and apprehensive expression and slid into the room, closing the door behind her. "You get everything ready that you'll need," she told Conner. "I'll help Isabeau. I've been through this." Her hands replaced Conner's on the buttons. Although she was older, she moved each satin-covered button deftly, quickly opening the back of the dress.
Conner leaned over to give Isabeau a quick kiss. "Give me five minutes, beloved."
Isabeau honestly didn't know if she had five minutes. The house was too stifling, and even Mary's presence, so close to Conner, sent her cat into a frenzy. She exerted control over her cat, annoyed that a woman who had treated her as a mother with such kindness could trigger bad behavior in her leopard.
"It's all right," Mary assured. "You'll handle her. She's emerging and her every instinct is centered on Conner. Let her run with him and flirt until she's worn out. She'll want to mate with his cat. She'll need his cat. And that's the way it's supposed to be. Once she's aware no one is going to take her mate from her, she'll settle down." She held the dress so Isabeau could step out of it.
"Does it hurt?"
Mary smiled at her. "It's a relief. By the time she emerges, you're going to want to be with anything that resembles a man. When she starts, just let it happen. You won't disappear, but it feels, the first time, as if she's swallowing you. The faster you let it happen, the less of a wrench. Your man will be there with you and he won't let anything go wrong."
Isabeau couldn't stand the feel of clothes on her skin, but she couldn't run across the expanse of ground to enter the forest naked in front of her guests. Mary thrust a thin robe into her hands and she put it on without even looking at it.
"You've been so good to me," Isabeau told her--or tried to do so. Her voice had turned to gravel, but she was determined to let Mary know what she had done for her, what this day had meant to her. "I don't remember my mother--either of them, my birth or adopted mother, but if I have children, I'm going to try to be like you." Ignoring her cat raking at her, she hugged the other woman, refusing to panic. If this calm, steady woman told her she would be all right, then she'd face this exciting, exhilarating moment with courage. "Thank you, Mary, for everything."
She could barely speak with the ache in her jaw and mouth. Her skin felt raw, every nerve ending inflamed. Her womb clenched, and feathers of arousal teased her thighs and belly. The roaring in her head nearly drowned out the sound of Mary's voice. She could barely hear her, as if from a great distance. Her vision was fully cat now, her hands curling until she was afraid to wait for Conner.
"I have to go." Her voice was no longer her own, strangled and growling, her throat reshaping.
Fur rippled and receded along her arms, down her legs and left her body crawling with sensation. Flames licked over her stomach as her muscles rippled as if alive. The burning increased until she was nearly squirming. The light robe hurt where it touched her skin. Everything hurt.
Conner thrust his head in the door, took one look at her and caught her hand, yanking her under the protection of his shoulder. "Let's go."
"Wait!" Mary caught at them. "Her jewelry. Put it in your bag."
Conner took her ring while Mary unfastened her necklace and earrings. When they were safely in the pack, Isabeau breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thanks for everything, Mary," Conner said.
"It was a pleasure," Mary replied. "Have courage, Isabeau," she added.
Conner was barefoot, and shirtless, wearing only light jeans and a pack slung around his neck. They hurried out the back door and began sprinting for the forest. Isabeau caught the low murmurs behind them, yet nothing mattered but her strange vision and the acute hearing, the myriad of unfamiliar sensations coursing through her body.
She felt as if she had a fever that kept rising until she was going to burn from the inside out. Everything felt too tight, especially her skull. The trees swallowed them and they kept running deeper into the darkness, but she wasn't blind. There was no fear of that dark interior; instead, her body embraced the brush of leaves, the rustles of the insects, the constant, never-ending hum of the cicadas and the flitting of birds and monkeys from tree to tree overhead.
Her legs went rubbery and she found herself on the forest floor, her muscles contorting. Her hands curved and knotted, knuckles extending. Muscles contorted and once again a wave of fur raced over her body and disappeared. Bones and joints popped. She cried out, the sound foreign, her vocal cords nearly crushed under the changes in her throat.
Conner was beside her in an instant, framing her face with his hands. "Let it happen, Isabeau, don't fight her. There's nothing to fear."
Tears burned in her eyes. She wanted this--she did, but the sensations were so frightening. The fear of the unknown. The twisting and gut-wrenching turning of her body inside out. Her spine bent, that long, flexible instrument that allowed her to twist and leap, to turn in midair. She breathed deeply, trying to call to her cat. Yes, she wanted this. This was part o
f her life with Conner, and she wanted her life with him, no matter what was thrown at them. She could do this, lie on the forest floor, her body contorting, the roaring loud in her head and the fear shimmering in her belly--for Conner. She could do anything for him.
Conner crouched beside her, shaking his head as she reached for him. "This is for you. This is who you are."
She heard his words as if far off. Already the night was rushing at her, the sights and sounds as her body reshaped, tendons and muscles protesting and aching. Sharp stabs of aching pain cut through her, but now she could barely acknowledge the transformation as her body reshaped. She felt her cat, her other half. The lithe, compact body, the heightened senses, the raging needs, but most of all, she would never be alone. The sense of oneness was gone as her cat emerged, the body rolling for a moment in the thick vegetation, but she leapt gracefully to her feet and let out her first purring chuff.
The leopard stretched languidly--seductively--and looked over her shoulder at the large male emerging beside her. At once she moved, enticing him, rubbing her scent on trees and brush, leaving him in no doubt how very alluring she was. The male followed at a more cautious pace, knowing females had their own time line and only when she was ready would she submit to his possession.
She deliberately enticed and seduced him, rolling in the leaves, rubbing her long, beautiful coat along the bark of the trees, sending leaves scattering with a brush of her paw. Conner could see she was enjoying her newfound freedom. Living wild was a lure all of them had to face. The natural law of the rain forest was easy to follow in comparison to the human world. Greed and deceit had no place here.
Conner widened his eyes and pressed his ears forward, signaling her leopard he wanted to play. All cats enjoyed playing--even the large ones. Within moments, they were chasing one another, wrestling, and tumbling over and over in the thick carpet of leaves. They played a long game of hide-and-seek. Isabeau hid and Conner stalked and am-bushed her, pouncing on her, rolling her over in a tangle of tails and legs, and then leapt away laughing.
All the while, the female leopard continued to entice the male with her seductive vocal communication as she rolled and stretched. Conner came close, staring into her eyes in the way of the leopard male. At first she reciprocated, gazing deeply into his eyes, but when he moved slightly toward her, she rebuffed him with a growl, spitting and hissing her refusal even as she leapt away in a seductive move, inviting chase.
Conner ran beside her, rubbing his scent from one end of her fur-clad body to the other. He found her beautiful and sensual, a heady mixture to his male leopard. She moved ahead of him along the narrow trail, winding in and out among the trees, heading to the river. Every few minutes she would stop and crouch in front of him. He approached her warily. A female not ready was dangerous. He waited for her to be very certain. Each time he approached, she'd leap away, hissing, swiping at him with a paw.
He loved the wild sight of her. Her scent, calling to him, was overpowering, a heady aphrodisiac as they continued deeper into the forest. Night creatures called back and forth. The continual flick of bat wings signaled the creatures hunting insects in the night sky. This was his world and he ruled. He approached her again, this time coming in straight behind her as she crouched. She stayed in position and everything in him settled.
His mate. His. He roared a challenge once to any male in the vicinity, and then he was on her, his teeth sinking into the back of her neck to prevent her moving, his body blanketing hers. All males were possessive and attentive when their female was in heat, and sex between cats could be rough. The large male leopard took his time with her, the drive to claim his mate overpowering. She cried out when he withdrew, spinning around to threaten him with her sides heaving and a grimace on her face, but when he rubbed his muzzle over her, she calmed.
They lay together in a heap of fur, tails twining around one another while he rested, and then he was on her again. They spent several hours together, but the male kept them moving slowly but steadily back toward the small cabin where their human counterparts were staying. They mated frequently and ferociously as was the way of the leopard.
As they neared the cabin, the female began to realize where they were and she tried to turn back to the forest and the freedom of living wild. The male, knowing the tremendous lure, prevented her, using his shoulder and upper-body strength to push her back toward the house. The reaction was very common for the first emergence, but it was necessary to curb it fast. Staying in leopard form for long periods of time could be dangerous, increasing the traits of the leopard in the human.
Isabeau smelled civilization and knew Conner was forcing her home. Already the change was beginning. The moment she recognized intellect, she knew her brain was already functioning as a human. The change started there, in her mind, a reaching for her human body. Almost immediately there was a reaction, a wrenching of muscle and bone. A small cry escaped, half human--half wild.
She felt the night air on her skin and she found herself facedown on the porch of their cabin, completely naked, her body in a terrible state of arousal. It made no sense when her leopard had been fully sated, but apparently the violent need manifested itself in the human--at least in her as well. She lifted her head to look at her husband.
Conner crouched a foot away from her, his golden eyes fixed on her face. He made no attempt to hide the stark, raw need burning through his body. With deliberate intent he reached for her, rolling her over onto her back, right there on the secluded porch. His gaze was fierce, almost as wild as his leopard as he came over her, his mouth seeking hers. He was ravenous for the taste of her, his hands moving, shaping, exploring, starved for the feel of her soft skin.
She lifted her head to meet him, their mouths fusing, welding, fastening together, tongues dueling while his hands kneaded and massaged her breasts, tugged and rolled her nipples until those soft little sobs of desperation began in her throat. Until neither could breathe and they were forced to break a scant few inches apart, drawing the air harshly into burning lungs and devouring one another with their eyes. His hands never stopped, moving down her belly until his fingers plunged inside her and she bucked helplessly against him. She felt as if she was so hot her center was melting.
"Hurry, Conner. Please hurry," she pleaded.
He knelt between her legs and lifted her hips, hesitating a moment at her entrance. She squirmed, her head thrashing, not wanting to wait, trying to impale herself on him. He surged forward and she cried out, a broken, whimpering sound of intense pleasure as she felt him drive deep inside. Her tight sheath gripped him hard, reluctant to open, forcing him to push through those hot folds so that she could feel every inch of his heavy thickness.
The floorboards had no give, and when he held her still and pounded into her, the flames licked over her like a fire out of control, sweeping her up into a vortex of pleasure. Each time he entered her, he seemed to stretch her to capacity, his heavy erection burning like a brand between her thighs and then deep, so deep, until she felt as if he was lodged in her stomach. She could feel her body pulse and throb around his, grasping greedily, reveling in the wild pleasure he brought her.
Isabeau writhed and bucked under him, her hips tuned to his wild, jackhammer rhythm. Her breath came in ragged, harsh gasps and she pushed with her heels, wanting to take him even deeper. That thick shaft, so hot, pounded into her, stroked caresses, varied the tempo until she was shuddering over and over with such pleasure she could only gasp his name and dig her nails into his arms to anchor her there. The tension grew, her body winding tighter and tighter as he thrust into her, his hands anchoring her to him. He adjusted the angle of her body, bending over her, driving harder.
Her soft, keening cry drifted from the porch to the forest, the sound of their bodies coming together in a rhythmic, frenzied mating as molten fire poured into her body, and the pleasure burst through her like the rush of a drug. She began to thrash under him, her breath now a sob as the building pleasure incr
eased until she thought she might not survive.
Conner's face was a mask of harsh lines, lust etched deep, love blazing in the golden eyes as he furiously claimed her, jerking her legs over his shoulder, pounding ever deeper until she stiffened, her body clamping down like a vise on his. Her orgasm tore through her, taking him with her, so that she could feel the hot splash of his release in the midst of the ferocious waves ripping through her. She screamed, a loud, long wail of pleasure as the release gripped her and refused to let go, a fiery inferno that burned both of them alive.
Conner collapsed over her, his breathing as harsh as hers. She could hear his heart beating wildly as she linked her fingers behind his neck. She would have told him she loved him, but she couldn't find enough air. He smiled and knelt back up, very slowly and deliberately running his hands from her breasts to belly and lower, and she knew it was a claiming. His. She loved being his.
She smiled at him, drinking him in there in the darkness. It felt to her like the perfect day. She had a fairy-tale wedding, and her leopard had finally emerged. She'd experienced running free as well as the kindness of strangers. They'd made love until neither could move and now they were here in their own little world where the ugliness of someone like Imelda Cortez couldn't touch them.
"Some days are just perfection," she whispered.
He leaned down again, kissing her mouth, nibbling on her lower lip and then licking his way down her throat to the slope of her left breast. "You are so beautiful to me, Isabeau. When I saw you walking toward me in that dress, my heart stopped." He couldn't bear to separate his body from hers. He knew her mouth would create miracles if he just gave her the chance, but her body was a cauldron of fire surrounding his. The little aftershocks rippling through her sent waves of pleasure spiraling through his belly and down his thighs.
"They were all so kind," she said. She reached up to stroke his cheek--the four scars adding to the masculine perfection.
"I don't want this to be over." He threw his head back and looked up at the night sky. Stars were so thick the inky dark appeared milky.
Wild Fire Page 32
