Gato Negro

by Ali Katz

  Does this involve Carlos?

  The heat and the sound of insects told her it was probably midday. She'd been out for a couple of hours at least.

  She didn't always go back to the compound for lunch. It could be dinner time before the others missed her.

  The truck veered sharply to the right, throwing her against the side of the bed. This time, when she opened her eyes the dim light beneath the canopy shielded them. The pain eased a bit, but, off road, the jostling and beating her body took grew much worse. Finally, Beth's misery got the better of her. Her face crinkled. Silent tears fell.

  They stopped between the roots of a huge, buttressed oak where, she assumed, the truck would be partially hidden. A door slammed.

  A moment later, someone grabbed a foot and pulled her from the bed. Her legs didn't hold. The world spun out of control. Arms caught her about the waist before she fell to the ground, but she was useless to help. All her effort went into not throwing up behind the gag. Her captor spoke a few soft words in Spanish, as though trying to soothe her, and waited a moment for the dizziness to pass.

  It was the smaller poacher—the one who didn't speak English. She'd get no answers there even if his kindness extended to removing the gag. It didn't.

  Big Guy came around the side of the truck and grabbed several hanks of rope and a long parcel from the bed. He said a few word to his friend and took off through the trees.

  They followed. The little guy's fingers dug painfully into the soft underside of her upper arm. Any attempt to pull away only urged them tighter.

  Beth stumbled along for a few steps, her mind reaching for a quiet place to endure the misery and confusion. Her legs gave way. She fell to the ground. The painful grip tore at her shoulder, and her captor's attempts to jerk her to her feet sent jolts of fire through her shoulders and back. She cried out. He stopped pulling long enough to allow her to get her feet under her. When she fell again a few steps farther along, he called to his partner.

  The big guy came back, cursing in Spanish, passed what he carried to his friend and hauled Beth up, slinging her over a shoulder. The two continued deeper into the woods.

  The stink of unwashed male had a head-clearing effect. Her stomach heaved. She tried breathing through her mouth, but the gag made that difficult. Struggling for breath, Beth fought to free herself from the miasma.

  A rough, beefy hand slid up her inner thigh under her shorts, reaching. She froze.

  "That's it, mamacita. Better be still. You're making me hot."

  He did it to intimidate her—and it worked. Beth found the quiet place and fought to keep it, ignoring the pressure of his shoulder against her queasy stomach, the pounding her head took at each heavy step and the aches in her body as bruised muscle and bone stiffened.

  Their noisy progress went on for what seemed like hours to Beth but was probably twenty or thirty minutes—long enough that her sense of direction failed. She couldn't have pointed to the road if her life depended on it—and it very likely did.

  In an area of widespread canopy trees and little ground cover, they stopped. He set her on her feet while his partner caught up, dropped the load he was carrying beneath an oak, and walked over to where they stood.

  Beth felt a tug at the back of her neck. Her gag fell away.

  "Scream."

  She stared, uncomprehending, at the man's dark, foreboding eyes and did nothing.

  A blow to the side of her head came from nowhere. She cried out.

  "Good. Again."

  They wanted her to scream, and she wanted to know why. Teeth set, she refused.

  In one swift move, too fast for her to duck, Big Guy brought a knife to her cheek. Beth screamed.

  With a flick of his wrist, the four-inch blade disappeared into its handle. He dropped the weapon into his shirt pocket and laughed. “Good. Now we wait."

  The gag went back on before Beth could ask for what.

  He strode away, toward the pile of equipment they'd carried in. His partner came from behind, grabbed her waist, and led her to the foot of a tree in the middle of the semi-clear area. He shoved her to the ground between two roots, where the detritus from the canopy had created a nest of sorts, and waited while she squirmed into a more comfortable position. Then he brought out a length of rope and tied her feet together.

  Beth pulled her knees to her chin, feeling like a trussed turkey—or bait. But for what? For Carlos?

  Big Guy sat in the shadows ten meters away with a dart rifle across his lap.

  The sound of rain striking the canopy washed over the clearing. Very little fell as far as the ground, but the chill reached them.

  She buried her face against her knees and breathed.

  Time passed.

  The rustling of dead leaves from behind her warned the little guy was on the move. He tugged at her bindings, testing them.

  Satisfied she was not going anywhere, he whispered next to her ear, "Tu novio llega," and ran.

  The cat leaped into the clearing, giving chase.

  Carlos!

  She heard the loud pop of the gun. The cat stumbled, ran three more strides, then fell on his face with a yowl of pain.

  Beth fought against her bindings, bucking violently, tugging until the ropes cut into her wrists and bare calves. One look at the dart sticking out of his thigh added panic to her efforts. What were they trying to bring down? A rhino? Too much of the tranquilizer would stop his heart. She tried to cry out, to warn them of their mistake, but the men ignored her.

  Big Guy walked up to the cat, prodding his side with the butt end of the rifle before moving close enough to touch. He wore a huge smile. His hand ran the length of Carlos's back in an appreciative caress. “Your boyfriend will make us rich men, chica."

  The smaller poacher came out of the shadows carrying rope and the pack, the same expression on his face. He smiled in Beth's direction with a hint of remorse that disappeared when his gaze fell back on the cat. He tossed a coil of rope to his partner and, together, they bound the cat's legs, then dragged him out of the rain.

  "Ve por los guacamayos," Big Guy said.

  Beth heard the word for macaw. They wouldn't go after the birds, would they? How much more did they need?

  The little guy swiped up the pack and took off into the forest. His buddy settled back beneath his tree, the rifle again over his knees, lids drooping, the corner of his mouth lifted into a permanent grin.

  Couldn't the idiot see how Carlos's chest heaved? Her muffled calls for attention fell on deaf ears. She tried to remove the gag, rubbing against her shoulder, then the tree, but it was too tight. All her efforts produced nothing from him but that indifferent grin until Beth started inching her way toward Carlos.

  The poacher grunted a warning and waved the rifle in her direction.

  If he shot her with one of those elephant darts, she'd never survive. Beth settled back into her nest, eyes glued to Carlos. If his breathing grew any worse, she'd take the chance. She would get that dart out of the cat's thigh.

  "How was it, hey? Fucking a god?"

  Beth glanced up to catch him staring. His grin had changed to something more like the one he'd worn when they first met. She wanted to spit in his face.

  "I don't think a man will be much good to you now. What do you say?” He leered, then his gaze slid to the cat. “B'alam. Always there are stories. He is like your Big Foot, or the snowman. Everywhere people say they see him, but no one can ever find him. Until you make him careless. Careless, huh, to change before we are out of sight? You must be one hot fuck to make a god so."

  Tears ran freely down Beth's face now.

  Off in the distance, they heard a man shouting. Scream. Then nothing.

  Big Guy sprang to his feet, staring in the direction his friend had gone. He cursed.

  His hard glare traveled from Beth to Carlos. Walking over to the cat, he bent down, placed a hand on its chest.

  "He is going nowhere,” he said, looking pointedly at Beth. He tested the
binding around the cat's legs, did the same to Beth's while indecision cast his face.

  Beth was certain he'd knock her out. She prayed with his fist rather than a dart.

  He looked long into the forest in the direction his partner had gone.

  "Maldita sea!" he cursed, shaking his head. When he returned his gaze, she read surrender in his eyes and understood—he needed the little guy. He couldn't do this alone. He patted her cheek and took off through the trees after his friend without another word.

  Beth didn't waste a second sliding over to Carlos and pulling the dart out with her teeth. She spat it to the side, then working with swollen, numb fingers, fought the rope binding his front legs. If he woke, he could change and free them both.

  She grunted her frustration as the knot slipped from her fingers time and again. If she could only see what she was doing!

  The vibrations started in her arms and crept to her chest. By the time they reached her throat, the cat's low growl was audible—a sound that sent ice water through her veins. How much of Carlos remained when he was the cat?

  Enough. The cat had rescued her twice from the poachers. She went back to worrying the knot.

  Warm and wet, his sandpaper tongue ran the length of one forearm, then the other. She sobbed.

  The jaguar's teeth made quick work of the rope at her wrists. She tossed the broken strands aside and turned to find him freeing himself.

  The pain of returning circulation ripped through her hands as she tore at the knots binding his back legs.

  The cat raised onto his elbows. His cold nose nudged her arm. She glanced up and found herself confronted by his open jaw—fangs nearly two inches long a hair's breadth from her face. This time she needed no reminder what those jaws were designed to do.

  He was panting hard. His breath, hot and moist, bathed her face. He lowered his head. Carlos's eyes stared at her.

  Another nudge broke the spell. She redoubled her efforts with the knot while he licked from elbow to shoulder. His rough, broad tongue covered the exposed skin. His next stroke brushed the side of her breast through the fabric of her tank top. The next, more purposely, chafed the nipple.

  Beth hissed. A gush of arousal flooded her.

  The cat huffed, sniffing its way down her torso. His tongue bathed her hands as they worked. The warm strokes soothed the pain and brought movement back. Finally, the knot slipped away.

  While she freed her own ankles, the cat rose to its feet. A little wobbly, he shook himself and stretched.

  She stared in amazement as its shape blurred. One hind leg moved forward. He raised himself slowly. As each new muscle became part of the movement, it stretched or shrank, straightened or bent into the shape of a man.

  Without meeting her eyes, Carlos squatted and made short work of the knot.

  * * * *

  "Come. Hurry.” Carlos turned, walking quickly back the way he'd come, trusting she followed. He couldn't look at her. Not for shame—he had no regrets—but only to hold onto the memories: soft, sweet Beth melting in his arms, the heat of lust in her eyes as they made love. Those memories warmed his blood.

  What might he find in her face now to replace them?

  "Should we see if the man needs help?” she asked, her voice ragged, short of breath as she tried to keep pace with him.

  No reason to hide the truth now. “He's dead. The birds attacked before he robbed their nest. He fell from the tree.” He slowed a little to account for her shorter stride.

  "How do you know?"

  They were far enough from the clearing that the poacher's return would not complicate their escape. He turned to her. The sight of her tore his heart.

  "Listen,” he said, lifting her chin gently. The rustling of the trees floated down to them. “The forest tells me."

  He studied her uplifted face. He saw curiosity and wonder, but no sign of the disbelief he expected.

  She caught him watching and her expression didn't change. “What about the other? He'll tell."

  "He won't make it out of the forest.” This news was hardest. “I am sorry for their families. But TE'e-le protects me far better than I have protected her. Everyone who has ever known my secret is dead."

  Mouth open, eyes wide, she reacted with the shock he expected, but none of the fear or disgust. “Except me."

  "Yes,” he said. “And Kate. I worry. I watch over you. Beth, I put you in danger."

  He'd never forgive himself if something happened to her. She'd never forgive him if something happened to her friend.

  "Perhaps the forest trusts you. I think you are safe from her, but there are always more men—always.” He turned away, not wanting to know her reaction. “Let's go."

  They walked through the trees to the place where he'd thrown his clothes in his hurry to answer Beth's scream. They lay scattered as he'd tossed them, his pants draped over a shrub. He grabbed them up, pulled them on, and turned to find her standing close holding the shirt out to him. Every ounce of his strength went into stopping himself from taking her in his arms.

  "He said I made you careless."

  "Who said that?” He slipped the shirt on without buttoning it and began searching for his socks.

  "The poacher. They saw you change."

  "I thought as much,” he said, still searching. “The cat does not reason as a man would. He knew only I needed to find you."

  "Is that why you can't be with me? I make you careless?"

  He stopped in mid-search, unsure what the question meant, not liking the rush of hope her words sent sweeping through him. He couldn't look. He could barely speak. His voice, when the words finally came, cracked. “Beth, this is not your fault."

  "Then take me with you,” she whispered.

  Joy burst through him. She didn't know what she asked for, but the fact she'd asked made all the difference. With an involuntary step closer he gazed into her eyes. “Beth, I have nothing to offer you."

  "You call this nothing?” Her hand swept the area, taking in the whole forest as she mirrored his move.

  He smiled. “And how would my little colibrí handle life in the wild?"

  "You think I can't?” Her challenge raised a chuckle. How had he ever lived without her?

  "Are you immortal, Carlos?"

  Here was the other reason she should run from him. “Once, the forest was immortal. I will live as long as she does. Perhaps not so many seasons any more, but more than you will know in your lifetime. How long before you grow tired of a man who never changes?"

  "Does it matter?” she asked quietly. “You had a wife. Did she grow old and wrinkled? Did you love her to the end? Do you remember her?"

  How did she know about Choimha?

  "Kate's book,” she answered the unspoken question.

  "Yes, I remember her.” He was so full of memories, their weight more than anyone should be asked to bear. But he carried them for the sake of his forest and his people. “I remember everything."

  "Then that's enough. Take me with you."

  One more step and he closed the distance between them. He took her in his arms. “Do you know what you are asking?"

  "Probably not,” she admitted. “But I know what I want.” She pressed a kiss to his naked chest, hot breath bathing his skin, sending waves of want through him. “To be with you, Carlos, for as long as you'll have me. We aren't so different. We're both here to do what can be done to protect the forest. It's a noble goal. We can do it together, don't you think? Two are better than one, even if one is not a god."

  "I have never been much of a god."

  Her hand slid to the back of his neck and pulled him to her. She touched her lips to his and whispered, “Stop arguing and kiss me."

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  Ali Katz

  Ali Katz grew up in a house full of women who've proven to be a wonderful source of inspiration for strong, romantic heroines in her stories. The oldest of four girls, she's the black sheep of the family, though not much of one, as black sh
eep go. These days, she lives in Tucson, keeps her family close and has a job, not a career, which helps support her real life. That takes place in the wee hours of the night, while everyone is asleep, when she sits at the computer, cornered into weaving the tales her characters demand telling.

  * * * *

  Don't miss Salute, by Penny Dawn,

  available at AmberHeat.com!

  Liberty Wilson deserves a few minor indulgences.

  Her sister Bianca—also her roommate—is a catty bitch, constantly reminding her she hasn't had a decent relationship in months, and judging by her reflection in the mirror, she ought to spend more time at the gym and less time staring at the mysterious ex-soldier, Sergeant Jefferson Muldoon, performing his morning ritual across the street.

  But it's Liberty's birthday, the fourth of July, and she's in the mood for a few fireworks.

  There's no air-conditioning at Thirty-two Sprucewood Lane, and it's nearing triple digits. Yet the heat index is no match for what happens when she enters the patriot's lair. Libby and Jefferson light an unrelenting fire, making this a birthday she'll never forget. Who needs to declare independence when coupling is this hot?

  * * * *

  Don't miss The Wolfe Proxy, by T.D. KcKinney & Terry Wylis,

  available at AmberAllure.com!

  Ruthless CEO Quinton Wolfe sets off every alarm on sculptor Max Bowman's warning system. No way is that playboy getting near Max's sister, the newest shareholder in Wolfe's multinational corporation. No matter Quint's charming smile and sexy form, Max won't let his kid sister get taken in by that Lothario. Even if it means Max cuts a deal with Big Bad Wolfe himself.

  And what a deal! Max becomes Quint's play toy. Good thing Max enjoys it. He'll just play the game until he can turn the tables on the CEO. Or that's the plan. But somehow, even knowing the CEO is a ruthless snake at the core, Max still lets Quint worm his way right into Max's heart.

  Cutting Quint out of his life is the best thing Max can do. So why does it feel like Max might never be able to breathe again? It doesn't help that Quint's every bit as heartbroken and miserable. So maybe Max's view of Quint was skewed by the media. But can he separate the ruthless CEO from the gentle, caring man who loves him? And can he trust either one?