Leopard's Wrath (A Leopard Novel)

by Christine Feehan

  He smiled at her and held out his arm. “You’re awake.”

  “Yes. And you’re having a meeting.” There was the slightest hint of accusation in her voice. She looked up and smiled at the others. “Hello, everyone. I didn’t know you were coming. I would have made certain you had dessert and coffee at least.”

  “We won’t be long,” Mitya assured.

  “I suppose that’s the cue for me to leave, especially when you seemed to be talking about my family.” She kept her tone mild, but he heard the bite in her voice. He couldn’t blame her. Had he overheard someone talking about his family, he would want to know what they were saying.

  “Yes, kotyonok,” he said as gently as he could, “that is the hint for you to leave. When we’re done, I’ll come to you and—” He broke off, seeing the hurt on her face. He detested that he put that there.

  Ania shrugged. She couldn’t entirely blame Mitya. Okay, she couldn’t blame him at all. This was squarely on her shoulders. She wanted things to work out with him. She loved everything about him, but not his life. Not when a good portion of who and what he was couldn’t be shared. She’d never really have him. The in-between, no matter how good, couldn’t make up for her lack of closeness with a man she loved. One moment everything was wonderful and then the bottom seemed to drop out just as fast, as if she were on a roller coaster. She thought they’d made a breakthrough, but looking at him, she knew it wasn’t so.

  It hurt to know that he would discuss her family with others and not with her. She had known that going in to the relationship. She’d grown up on the fringe of crime families. They’d all been decent to her, more than decent. They’d been friendly and nice. She hadn’t known for years that they were involved in anything shady and she’d been shocked when she’d found out.

  She ignored Mitya’s outstretched arm. She wasn’t about to play that game in front of his friends. He would pull her to him, give her that smile of his that always melted her insides, kiss her, take her breath away, rob her of her heart, and then dismiss her because she was little more than an ornament on his arm, or a toy in his bed, one he was extremely good at controlling with sex.

  Ania turned her back on the men sitting around the table and went out the door, her back ramrod stiff, her shoulders straight. She half expected to hear laughter following her, but instead there was silence. She kept walking.

  The house had a similar floor plan to the one she’d grown up in. Mitya’s house was a little more ornate. It also didn’t look lived in. When she’d first moved in, she’d been excited to realize the house needed work to turn it into a home. She liked changing things around in order to warm rooms and make a home look inviting. Her mother had been an interior designer, and she’d grown up watching and helping her transform homes. Now, when she looked around, all the excitement was gone.

  She’d done this to herself. She hadn’t listened to reason. Her leopard’s heat was pushing her, and if she was telling herself the truth, she loved sex with Mitya. It didn’t matter how he touched her, she craved it. She’d gone so far as to let him dictate to her that they were getting married immediately. Mitya was a smart man, he knew sooner or later she would wake up from her dream state and realize what they had together would never be enough for her.

  “Ania?”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin at Sevastyan’s soft voice directly behind her. She turned, shocked to see that he was so close. Jewel hadn’t warned her, which meant he was that stealthy.

  “You scared me. Jewel didn’t warn me.” She might as well admit her leopard’s flaws. She didn’t mind, only in the sense that she felt safe in the house, but it was difficult to tell Sevastyan the truth. “She seems to sleep a lot in between coming out to run with Dymka.”

  His expression became even more difficult to read as his gaze moved over her speculatively. “Mitya will talk to you about everything as soon as the others are gone. He doesn’t like exposing you to anyone, especially when we know there are enemies in our midst.”

  She was shocked beyond comprehension. Why in the world would Sevastyan try to smooth things over between Mitya and her? She took a couple of steps back to put space between them.

  “I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you that I was upset with Mitya relegating me to a safe room. I’m used to making my own decisions and being part of my family’s lives. My grandfather and father raised me to take over their business. They trusted me with family secrets. My mother and grandmother did the same. I’m not used to being shut out just because I’m a woman.”

  “I can understand that you would feel that way.”

  She attempted a little smile, which was genuinely difficult when her world was crumbling and she knew there was nothing she could do about it. “It is what it is.”

  “You know better than that,” Sevastyan said gently.

  She hadn’t known there was any gentleness in him at all, and for some reason his tone made her eyes start to burn.

  “Some women are very content to be an ornament for their husbands, Sevastyan. There’s nothing wrong with that if that makes both parties happy. I’m not that kind of woman. I’ll take the blame for letting it get this far. I love him. I do. I feel it deep down. Everywhere. It’s deep and true and protective. I even understand what drives him to shove me in a safe room or act like I don’t have a brain in my head and pretend I have no idea what he’s doing. But it isn’t something I can live with forever. I’d never be happy.”

  “You need to tell him these things.”

  “He knows.”

  “Tell him, Ania,” Sevastyan urged. “He might know, but he doesn’t want to. He wants you safe. That’s his number one priority. I know what that feels like, that deep sense of urgency. I can barely function when he doesn’t do the things necessary for his protection. And now I have you. Both of you are stubborn and throw yourselves straight into the line of fire.”

  Ania knew what he said was true. Mitya did that, and so did she. She could see how that wouldn’t be fair to a man dedicated to protecting the two of them.

  “You have no need to apologize to me. I was happy to put the cuffs on you and tie you to that bed. I’d do it again without hesitation. I’d do it to Mitya too if I didn’t think he’d pull out a gun and blow my head off the instant he was free.”

  In spite of the knots in her belly and the lump in her throat, Ania found herself wanting to laugh at the idea of cuffing Mitya to a bed.

  “I have to agree, he would most definitely be in a killing mood if you did that to him. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t mind putting me in cuffs, it matters that I disrespected your job and you when it was a difficult time for you. I really am sorry, and I hope you can accept my apology.”

  He studied her face. “Little cousin, I don’t like you hurting this way.”

  She stepped back again, not wanting to face what had to be looked at. The mess she’d created. “I’m heading upstairs to the balcony. The night air soothes me.”

  Sevastyan sighed. “I don’t like you exposed that way. I think we’ve got a couple of snipers prowling around. I’d much rather you use the back patio. It’s completely protected. Fenced in, no one will know you’re out there.”

  He’d couched his preference in terms that would allow her to argue if she chose, but she knew, in the end, like Mitya, Sevastyan would get his way. She nodded and flashed a fake smile. “No problem.” She switched direction.

  “Give him the chance to explain things to you.”

  She just shrugged, lifted a hand as if to wave and started across the room to get to the patio, which was outside the kitchen.

  “Ania.” He waited until she turned back to him, one eyebrow raised. “He’ll never let you go. You made the commitment. You need to find a way to make it work. He isn’t easy, but he’s worth it.”

  Before she could reply, Sevastyan had turned away to stride
back in the direction of the den. She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her waist. She didn’t like the feeling of being shut out. It hurt. Her family had been so close and loving. She couldn’t settle for less than what she’d grown up with.

  She detoured long enough to pull her grandfather’s journal out of the drawer where they kept it. They’d both read through it and couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary, but it was the only thing they had that might tell them what her grandfather had kept.

  Her grandfather, by turns, could be short and to the point, or poetic or detailing some place he’d seen that he thought they all had to go because it was so cool. Like Ania, he liked to doodle. Each entry had a drawing beside or around it. He actually was quite good at drawing cartoon characters and animals, but frankly sucked at any human or plants or trees. They often laughed together over his progressively worse drawings.

  She remembered sitting with him for hours as a child, paper on the floor, brushes and paints scattered between the two of them, checking each other’s artwork and giving advice. He always listened to her as if every word she spoke was gold. Out of politeness, she’d done the same for him, although his suggestions were outrageous and made her giggle.

  Tears burned again. She missed her grandparents and parents. She missed that close connection she’d had with them. She felt lonely and sad.

  She caught up a blanket and headed toward the kitchen. Two shifters were there. She recognized Vikenti and smiled at him. He was always nice to her. The other one was named Josue. She’d met him only once, but had seen him a couple of times outside with the others patrolling and once in the house drinking coffee. She sent him a tentative smile as well.

  Both men rose when she walked in. She wiggled her fingers indicating for them to sit. “Just heading outside to sit under the stars, Vikenti,” she said. “I need the fresh air.”

  “Did you pass it with Sevastyan?”

  She nodded, trying not to be resentful. Evangeline never seemed upset by the bodyguards accompanying her everywhere. Ashe, who was definitely independent, had them as well, and she tended to ignore the entire situation. Why couldn’t she be more like them? She already knew that answer. She went to the back door and yanked it open, needing to be alone.

  Evangeline and Ashe knew without a doubt that they were loved by their partners. Timur and Ashe worked as a team. Fyodor definitely led the way, but Ania was certain that when Evangeline asked a question, her man answered. She knew what was going on in his life. She wasn’t shut out.

  Forcing her mind away from Mitya, Ania pulled two chairs together and got comfortable with her feet up. She wrapped a blanket around her because the wind had a definite bite to it. The outside temperature had dropped, and adding in the wind only made the temperature all the colder.

  Vikenti stuck his head out of the kitchen. “You want something hot? Coffee? Hot chocolate? Anything at all?”

  She dug her fingers into the journal. That was something her grandfather always did if she got in trouble. He’d sneak her hot chocolate with whipped cream. Her parents always pretended not to notice.

  “Hot chocolate would be lovely, thank you,” she agreed.

  “Coming right up,” he said and winked before closing the door.

  She liked him. She liked Zinoviy. There were a couple of others she was getting to know. Kiriil and Matvei. Miron. They seemed part of Mitya’s family. Now she didn’t know what she was going to do. If she decided she had to leave, it would break her heart, but if she stayed, she knew she would grow resentful and angry. She wouldn’t do well in the environment Mitya wanted her to live in.

  What did she want out of their relationship? Respect. She wanted him to respect the fact that she had certain skills. She wasn’t a shrinking violet. She also was intelligent. She would go to a safe room if there was immediate need; otherwise, she wanted to be able to help as much as possible. She was an excellent shot. She could drive better than any of them. Mitya had at least acknowledged that, but she was no longer certain he’d meant what he’d said about her being able to drive for him.

  Very slowly she opened her grandfather’s journal, almost reverently. She had things her family members had left to her, but it was the little things she found she treasured. Everything in the journal was in her grandfather’s handwriting. Every drawing, every cartoon and doodle was done by him. He had entries that went back years. Loving things to her grandmother. Memories of her mother. He’d written specific passages to Ania. She treasured her memories of her father sharing those entries with her.

  She ran her finger down the last page, where her grandfather had several entries. Each one was sloppier than the one before it. That was one unusual thing. Her grandfather never hurried, and he was proud of his handwriting, and most of the notes were written with a flourish. The last three appeared to have been scribbled. At first she entertained the idea that someone else had written the last few logs, but she knew every swirl of her grandfather’s writing, and these had all been written by him.

  He’d been agitated, or his writing wouldn’t be such a mess. She put her head back to look at the stars. They were desperately trying to peek out through the swirling clouds. “Think, Ania. Put the pieces together. Who called to hire a driver?”

  She tapped the pages in the journal while she considered. Ordinarily, whoever had the package called and paid to have it delivered. She sat up straight. Her grandfather had come into the kitchen to taste the spaghetti sauce his wife was making. She had laughed and playfully slapped at his fingers. He’d told them—her mother, grandmother and her—how Bartolo Anwar had asked him to go pick up a package in New Orleans for him. He hadn’t wanted to go because he was getting older and he didn’t like the distance he would have to drive. Bartolo had promised him double his normal fee. That wasn’t unusual, but the fact that the caller sending out the package hadn’t been the one to ask for a driver was.

  For the first time a little frisson of excitement slid down her spine. Bartolo had to have had a name and address where her grandfather would go to pick up the package. Someone had to have that information. Her grandfather couldn’t have stood on a street corner and called out that he was there to drive for someone. She could ask Bartolo.

  She pulled out her phone and hit the light to better see the entries in her grandfather’s journal, specifically the one written to her the day before his death.

  I love your smile, my angel, so sweet. Do you remember the day I found your bed frame? We lay on the mattress together laughing in that old secondhand store when they told us we couldn’t be on the furniture. Your laughter warmed my heart then as it does now. I am blessed to have you for my granddaughter.

  She loved that entry and she would always treasure it. A part of her wanted to frame it and hang it on the wall of her bedroom. She remembered that day they’d shopped together. Her grandfather had been the king of looking for old furniture. No one had found better pieces or better bargains. He’d promised her a “magnificent” bed, one she would want to keep her entire life. The frame he’d found was unique, one of a kind, and she’d fallen in love with it.

  She ran the pad of her finger over the entry in a little caress, blinking back tears. She missed his booming laugh. She missed everything about him. The way he’d loved his wife and daughter. He’d been so close to her father, treating him as a son, and he’d been so proud of Ania. He hadn’t cared that she wasn’t a boy. They’d raised her to take over the business, as if she’d be fully accepted by their clients. Now she knew better. Most wouldn’t have accepted her, but it was what she wanted—and needed—from Mitya. It shouldn’t matter that she was a woman.

  She traced the little sketches her grandfather had made around the entry with her finger. Naturally, it was the bed frame. He’d done a much more complex drawing than he usually did, and although he wasn’t the best of artists, he was good. She recognized every twist and turn in the intricate
artwork adorning the carved frame. Vines and leaves ran around the spindles in the headboard, continued along the thick, wooden sides and around to the footboard. The lianas and plants continued to spread across the wood and into the small drawers that couldn’t be seen because the carvings hid them so well. That had been the biggest selling point to Ania at the time.

  She sat up straight, tapping the drawing. Looking at the entry. Was her grandfather trying to tell her something? Could the package be so small that it could be hidden in one of the little drawers in her bed frame?

  The kitchen door opened and Vikenti carefully carried a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream swirled artfully on the top. “Here you go, sweetheart. Josue has a small plate of cookies for you.”

  Josue placed them in front of her. “Enjoy.”

  “Who made them?” she asked. “They look delicious.”

  “I think it was Evangeline,” Vikenti said. “If Mitya tells you he did, don’t believe him. He’d burn down the house if he tried to cook.” Vikenti stepped back and then frowned down at her. “Are you all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Mitya answered from the doorway. “Thanks for bringing her the hot chocolate.” His voice was barely restrained.

  Ania flicked him a glance. His face was an expressionless mask, but those eyes of his were telling her there was a lot going on beneath the surface.

  Vikenti shrugged. “No problem, Mitya. We’re heading back out on patrol.” He led the way back into the house.

  Mitya stepped out of their way and closed the door after them. “It’s a little chilly out here, Ania.”