Wild Fire

by Christine Feehan

  The cats separated, circled and met again in midair, eyes locked, both savagely ripping at the other. Ottila arched into a half-circle, his flexible spine enabling him to nearly fold into two. Conner timed his swipe perfectly, raking hard at the belly, ripping deep even as the darker leopard tore open his side. They landed, sides heaving, blood smearing the leaves around them both as they once again circled warily.

  Ottila tried to take the fight closer to Rio, but Conner cut him off, refusing to give ground, springing once again and driving the other leopard off his feet. Ottila rolled over, spun, nearly somersaulting, his powerful front paw swiping with tremendous force across Conner's injured back hip. Conner tried to get out of the way enough to at least lessen the blow, but the claw connected, sending fire shooting down his leg and rolling in his belly. His leg collapsed and he went down.

  Ottila leapt on him, claws raking at his belly, breath hot in his face, the malevolent eyes glaring into his as they struggled, nose to nose, Ottila trying to sink his teeth into Conner's throat. Conner slammed his legs into Ottila's softer belly, ripping at the fur to draw blood, trying to go deeper while the leopard slashed and bit at his throat. With one last desperate heave, Conner managed to roll his body over and out from under the other leopard. He tried to stand and went down again.

  Ottila circled, snarling, lips drawn back, exposing the bloody canines. There was blood smeared over his muzzle, turning the tawny color muddy. His eyes were red flames, shining with hatred and resolve.

  Conner stayed in position, only expending the energy it took to stay facing the other leopard. His hind end was barely working, the leg weak, with a tendency to crumble beneath him if he put too much weight on it. He was careful to hide the weakness as best he could. Ottila was strong, too good and too experienced for Conner to give him any edge.

  Ottila charged him, a burst of speed, striking with so much force that he not only drove Conner over, but it carried him past the golden leopard as Conner went down, the only thing that really saved Conner's life. His insides felt broken, smashed to pieces, but he resolutely rolled over and regained his feet, shaking himself. Ottila rose, whirled back, snarling. Conner began limping toward the other leopard, his sides heaving, blood coating his hips, legs and now his sides.

  Rio groaned and shifted position, drawing the enraged leopard's attention. Ottila snarled again and, dismissing Conner as too injured to be much of a threat, crawled on his belly toward the body lying so still in the brush, now only feet from him. He didn't want a bullet in his head when he went to finish Conner off. Rio raised his head, his eyes locking with the leopard. The rifle lay loosely in his hand, seemingly forgotten, or Rio was too weak from blood loss to even lift it.

  The tawny leopard pulled back his lips in a grimace of hatred. He looked evil in that moment, using his claws to pull himself inch by inch closer to Rio, prolonging the agony, knowing the man was utterly helpless.

  Conner followed the leopard grimly. As Ottila picked up speed on the ground, Conner struck, a desperation move, driving his two front claws as deep as he could into the leopard's hips. He dug his back legs into the ground and pulled with every bit of strength he had, dragging the leopard away from Rio.

  Ottila roared with rage and twisted, ripping a razor-sharp claw across Conner's muzzle. Conner kept dragging him, back-pedaling, his grip relentless. Blood ran down the darker leopard's legs, and each time he twisted, Conner dug deeper, refusing to allow even that flexible spine to interfere with his determination to remove the threat to Rio.

  Ottila began to panic as the claws kept adjusting, puncturing deeper and deeper, the grip relentless, merciless, unbreakable. Conner sank his long canines into the spine and Ottila's terror spread like a disease. He twisted and snarled, throwing his weight sideways in an attempt to roll, his claws ripping everything he could touch. He slashed at the golden leopard frantically, chest, muzzle, shoulders and front legs, but he couldn't dislodge the other animal sawing through his backbone.

  Ottila needed leverage, but the golden leopard countered every move. He seemed to anticipate every move before he made it. He knew Conner was weakening. His continual slashes were taking their toll. He raked the face, the chest and shoulders and arms, long, deep slices that spewed fountains of precious blood. He couldn't get to the throat, although he'd come close, twisting and turning, and still those claws and teeth were relentless, hanging on, dragging him away from the man on the ground.

  Conner began moving up, inch by inch, using his claws to crawl up the body, blocking the burning pain as the other leopard fought back with slashing swipes of powerful paws. Conner knew he had no choice but to hold the tawny leopard. He needed to find a way to deliver the killing bite, but his strength was waning fast. His back leg was on fire, the pain excruciating. He blocked out everything, the sounds of the battle, the pain, the thought of Rio lying helpless, the smoke swirling inches from the ground and veiling the trees, everything but Isabeau. This was for Isabeau. He had to defeat Ottila.

  Deliberately he brought forth every image of her mottled, purple bruises, the terror in her eyes, the deep puncture wounds this animal had inflicted on her just because he could. There is no way you're going to live. Not even if it meant both of them died there. Ottila Zorba's life was over. Conner yanked hard with his claws, dragging the other leopard beneath him with renewed strength, walking up the spine until he was at the thick neck. His claws dug into the heaving sides so that he was riding the other leopard.

  Ottila rolled, desperate to remove him from his back, desperate to get away from those wicked teeth and razor-sharp claws. He smashed Conner into the ground, deliberately landing hard on Conner's injured hindquarters, but the golden leopard refused to be dislodged. Like a demon, he hung on, slowly moving up the back, until those terrible teeth closed around the nape of his neck in a punishing bite.

  The canine teeth sank deep, seeking to separate the spinal cord. Ottila tried to flip, fear suddenly filling him. He actually felt the sudden, spreading paralysis, his legs stiffening, his body going limp. The leopard held him for a long moment until Ottila's eyes glazed over and the air left the lungs. He held him even longer, waiting until he was certain the heart had ceased beating.

  It was almost too much effort to release the leopard from his grasp. Conner collapsed on top of him, bleeding from too many places to count. He knew he had to get back to Rio, but he didn't have any energy left. He could only lie over the other leopard, his body consumed with such pain it was impossible to tell what part of him hurt the worst. It took minutes--or hours--he didn't know which, to gather enough strength to begin what seemed like a mile long journey of dragging himself across the ground to Rio's side.

  Rio raised his head slightly and sent Conner a sickly grin. "Don't you look a sight?"

  Conner grimaced. He had to shift and it was going to hurt like hell. He couldn't chance being caught as a leopard, not if they were to call in help in the form of a helicopter. And both of them needed medical care. He didn't wait, didn't dwell on it--he simply willed the change. Pain crashed through his body, his vision went red, then dark. His stomach lurched and nothing seemed to work. He found himself sprawled facedown in the rotting vegetation and wondered if the insects would eat him alive.

  He woke up sometime later. Time had to have passed, as the smoke had dissipated near the ground, although the smell of the recent fire was strong, and clouds of it still hung in the trees. Something moved close to him and he managed to turn his head toward the rustling leaves. Rio pushed a canteen of water into his hands.

  "Drink. You've lost a lot of blood."

  His vision was blurry. Everything hurt. Everything. There didn't seem to be a place on his body that wasn't slashed to ribbons. "Do I have any skin left?"

  "Not much. I don't think you're going to be such a pretty boy anymore," Rio cheerfully informed him. "The bastard did some real damage."

  Conner peered at him through bloodshot eyes. "I was never a pretty boy."

  Rio sn
orted. "Oh yeah you were. Your lady's going to give you hell for getting all torn up that way."

  "And yours is going to be happy?" Conner raised his head enough to drink. The water was warm and brackish, but tasted like heaven. "You were dumb enough to get yourself shot."

  "I've had plenty of time to think about how I can spin this to my advantage with her," Rio said. He stared up at the canopy and the birds gathering there. If they thought they were about to have a meal, they had another think coming. "I'm the hero, see, taking a bullet for you."

  Conner choked on the water and smeared blood across his face when he wiped his mouth. "It didn't happen that way."

  "But the point, my friend, is that it could have. And now it did."

  "What a load of crap."

  "It could have happened that way." There was amusement in his voice. "I don't actually remember it all that well. But I'm lying here with a hole the size of a baseball through me."

  It was Conner's turn to snort. "Slight exaggeration. You really are trying to think up stories to make your woman sympathetic."

  "I've been married longer than you. You come home all beat up, you're in for a lot of trouble. I'm imparting wisdom here, rookie. Listen up."

  Conner tried to smile but it hurt too much. "I don't think we have too much to worry about. I'm getting eaten alive by these damn bugs. Another hour and they'll have picked my bones clean."

  Rio managed a soft laugh. "I activated our 'come and get us, we're fucked' button."

  Conner worked at turning his head to survey their surroundings. "We're not exactly at the clearing where they can set down a helicopter. No road to drive to us. I'm going to let the bugs take care of me. I swear I'm not moving."

  "Pansy. I always knew you were a wimp."

  Conner laughed and immediately began to cough. He touched his mouth, and his hand came away with blood smeared on it. "Damn leopard. He did a number on me."

  "I was worried there for a few moments. Fight lasted nearly thirty minutes. He was strong," Rio said. "What the hell went wrong with him?"

  "Who knows?" Conner closed his eyes. "That poor kid. Mateo. First his mother throws him away like a piece of garbage because his father can't bear the sight of him, and then he loses his adopted mother--murdered right in front of him."

  Rio was silent a moment. "I'm sorry about your mother, Conner." He paused again. "You taking the kid in?"

  "He's my brother."

  "Half," Rio pointed out. "You're under no obligation."

  "He's my brother," Conner said stubbornly. "I know what it feels like to be unwanted, but my mother, rather than kick me out, left the old man and gave me a good life. I'm not letting that bastard ruin this boy. I want him," he said fiercely. "Isabeau is with me on this."

  "And if she wasn't?" Rio asked.

  Conner looked at him. His eyes burned bright gold behind the red. "Then she wouldn't be the woman I thought she was. I'm not leaving him behind."

  A slow smile softened the hard edge of Rio's mouth. "You're a good man, Conner."

  "That's bullshit."

  "Well. Probably." Rio grinned at him. The grin turned into a moan, and Rio put his head down. His face was gray-white.

  "You planning on dying on me?"

  "If those idiots take much longer," Rio said. He groaned again. "Damn this hurts."

  Conner didn't like the way he was breathing. He couldn't push himself up onto his hands and knees, so he dug his toes into the vegetation and propelled his body forward an inch at a time, using elbows and toes to push himself along the ground to get around Rio to the medical bag. It was the first time he wished certain parts of his anatomy were smaller. Dragging his very sensitive cock along the ground wasn't a great idea.

  He wasn't that far away from the medical kit, but the distance seemed like miles. He had to rest frequently. Sweat broke out to mingle with the blood covering his body. There was a roaring in his head, his pulse thundering loud enough to drown out the natural sounds of the forest. His mouth was dry and his arms like lead.

  He left a trail of blood behind him, but he managed to make it to the kit. It took longer to push himself into a sitting position. His hip screamed a protest and for a moment, everything swam in a dizzying circle. He rummaged through the bag, searching for the field IV equipment and more painkillers. Rio was trying to stay focused, but it was obvious he was becoming disoriented.

  "You fucking decide to die on me, and I'll put a bullet in your head," Conner muttered.

  "That's helpful," Rio pointed out.

  Conner's hand trembled as he tried to wipe Rio's arm over the vein. He smeared blood on Rio's forearm and cursed.

  "I'm thinking that you could be just a little more sanitary about this," Rio added.

  "You have bugs crawling all over you. You're lying in dirt and rotting leaves."

  "Thanks for letting me know." Rio coughed. The effort to talk was beginning to weigh on him. "I was trying to ignore the bugs."

  Conner poured water over his hands and wiped them, afraid they were so slippery he wasn't going to be able to get the needle in. "Hold still. And don't whine while I do this."

  "Ow. Quit poking me."

  "You sound like a girl. I told you not to whine." Conner took a breath and let it out in an effort to steady his hands. He was weaker than he'd thought. The two of them were very likely going to die there, bleeding out slowly, and the bugs were really going to pick their bones clean.

  He felt sluggish and found it hard to concentrate. Once again he wiped sweat and blood from his forehead with his arm, trying to keep his hands clean. Rio had good veins, but Conner's eyesight kept blurring.

  "Just do it," Rio encouraged and let his head loll back.

  Conner didn't like the shallow way he was breathing, as if he labored for every breath. He was as gentle as he could be with his blurred vision and shaky hands, but he got the needle into the vein. With a sigh of relief, he hastily set up the IV to give Rio fluids.

  "Come on, man, hang in there."

  "Hurts like a son of a bitch," Rio admitted.

  "A few minutes and you'll be feeling better."

  "If something goes wrong . . ."

  "Shut the fuck up."

  "No listen to me, Conner. If anything happens to me, you and the others take care of Rachel. She's got money. Elijah saw to that, but she'll need all of you."

  Conner swore and bent over Rio. "Look at me. Open your eyes and look at me, Rio."

  Rio's lids fluttered with the effort, but he managed.

  "You. Will. Not. Die." Conner enunciated each word individually so there could be no mistake. "I'll get you out of here if I have to pack you out on my back."

  Rio searched his face a long time and then a faint smile crept into his eyes. "I believe you would. You're a stubborn son of a bitch."

  "Watch what you call my mother. I'm the son of a bastard. Get it right."

  Rio managed another smile and nodded his head.

  Conner pressed his hand to Rio's shoulder and took another swallow of water. He meant what he said. If he had to crawl, he'd get Rio to help. It was a matter of finding the strength.

  He rested, drinking water to try to hydrate while he waited for the painkiller to take effect. Rio moaned a few times and grew restless, but eventually he quieted. Conner prepared for the journey slowly and with deliberation. The first thing to do was clean as many of his own wounds as possible. He used the Betadine, which burned like hell. Once he was certain he passed out, but as soon as he came around again, he sewed the worst of the wounds closed to keep from leaking more blood.

  He had to pause several times, his body shuddering with pain, shaking so uncontrollably at times he couldn't work the needle through his skin. He continued doggedly until he thought he'd done enough repairs to stay alive. The next step was to drag jeans over his lacerated legs. That was a hell of a lot harder than he'd imagined and hurt so much more that he actual rolled over onto his hands and knees and was sick.

  He gathered weapons ne
xt, methodically preparing for the journey. He had to get Rio to a clearing where a helicopter could come pick him up. The others would be looking at the coordinates on the map they'd used for every contingency including this one. They'd be coming, but they needed a place to set down.

  It took three tries to get Rio on his back. Each time Conner tried to heft him up, his legs turned rubbery and threatened to give out. Both men were sweating profusely by the time he managed to lift Rio up. Conner began with one step. One foot in front of the other. At first he was conscious of hurting Rio and tried to keep his stride smooth and even to jar him as little as possible, but within a matter of minutes, Conner realized it was going to be a long, bone-jarring journey for both of them.

  He walked, or more accurately, he staggered as far as he could go toward his destination until his strength gave out and drove him to his knees. He put Rio carefully on the ground, gave him water and drank himself, both lying down until the air stopped burning in his lungs and he could push himself again to another effort.

  By the second hour, Conner realized the others were long gone and no one was coming to relieve him. They were sticking to the plan and meeting at the rendezvous point with the helicopter. He really wasn't all that certain he and Rio were going to make it there.

  Rio was mumbling, his eyes glazed, his breathing shallow. Real fear bit at Conner with every step he took. He didn't want to risk taking any more breaks. He forced each leg to work, concentrating on foot placement, calling on his leopard's strength and endurance to help him put one foot in front of the other.

  He was still two or three miles from the agreed-upon meeting place when his legs simply gave out. The ground rose up to meet him faster than he would have believed. As he toppled over, he thought he saw a tribesman standing just in front of him, the hallucination very vivid. The Indian carried a blowgun and was dressed in the more traditional loincloth to hunt in the rain forest. The absence of clothes was normal. Clothes only got in the way, growing damp, clinging to the skin and adding to the heat and humidity.

  The tribesmen had it right, he decided, he shouldn't have worn clothes. They were so heavy on his skin. What good were they? Conner smiled and gave an odd salute from where he lay on the ground to the vision of the Indian. Rio's bulk weighed him down, nearly crushing his chest into the ground, but he didn't have the energy to ease the man off of him. He just lay there, watching the tribesmen.