His mind became a haze of red, primal instincts drowning out civilized man. Drake had always had enormous strength, holding back his animal side with more discipline than most of his kind, but this time the struggle for supremacy was more like mortal combat. Bones ached and his left leg pulsed with wrenching pain. Strangely it was the pain that allowed him to hold on. He was out in the open, a danger to any male--human or leopard--near him. He kept his face in the shadows and simply breathed in and out, relying on the simple mechanics of an automatic reflex to keep the wild animal caged.
"Just for now," he whispered--a promise he intended to keep no matter the cost. His leopard had been caged long enough. "Wait a little longer."
The beast subsided, snarling his reluctant obedience; more, Drake was certain, because the alluring scent had drifted away on the night breeze than because the man was stronger. He wanted to follow that scent--he needed to follow it, but it was as elusive as the females of his kind were. The sexy fragrance was gone and he was left with a clawing need and an aching groin as the scent gave way to the normal smells of the river's edge.
"Mr. Donovan? Drake Donovan?"
He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the melodic sound of a woman's tone. She had the sultry lilt of Cajun country in her voice. He turned his head slowly, not believing any woman could match that voice. He didn't know what he expected, but he sure as hell hadn't expected his reaction to her. That same low, mean, wicked punch to his groin, the same assault on his raw senses he'd experienced earlier repeated itself even harder.
She stood several feet from him but he was instantly aware of everything about her. His senses were heightened by his leopard, he had no doubt about that, but this time his reaction was all man. She wore faded and ripped blue jeans and a short tee that clung to her curvy form lovingly. Her face was young, but her eyes were old. Her hair was thick, a dark blonde, but heavily streakedith silver, gold and platinum strands. Beautiful dark chocolate eyes spiced with golden flecks seemed at odds with the sun-kissed hair that was worn in a ragged, jagged cut that would never have suited anyone else, but somehow only enhanced her appearance.
Drake could barely breathe, knew he was staring, but couldn't stop himself. She stood there, just looking at him with a curious expression, waiting for an answer. Her lashes were long, and she had a tiny scar on her chin, and melting dimples. Her mouth was a thing of fantasy, full lips like a fascinating bow, her teeth small and white, although her canines were sharper than normal. He had a strange urge to drag her into his arms and taste her.
She regarded him with a mixture of reticence and wariness. "I'm Saria Boudreaux, your guide. You are Drake Donovan, aren't you?" She tilted her head to one side, studying him with concern. "If you don' feel good from the trip, it's all right, we can wait before we get you back on the boat. Maybe get you somethin' to eat?"
Her accent curled in his stomach. He could feel the reaction pulse through his groin. "I'm fine, Miss Boudreaux. I'll be staying at the Lafont Inn, as you recommended. You said it was close to the canals and marshes I'll be visiting?" He'd made certain the bed-and-breakfast she'd recommended was rarely visited and near the bayou where there were groves of trees, marsh and swamp. He'd rented the entire B&B on the chance he'd need his team as well as to ensure their privacy.
She nodded. "Call me Saria, it will be easier since we'll be spendin' a week together. Is that your bag?" She indicated his small war bag with a nod of her head.
He'd be damned if she carried it for him. He reached down and lifted it himself, sending up a silent prayer that his very full groin would allow him to walk. "Just Drake then. Thanks for meeting me so late." He never had such a reaction to a woman. It had to be the fierce need of his cat.
She shrugged and turned away from him, walking down the wooden sidewalk toward the grove of cypress trees dipping long shimmery beards of moss into the water. She made no sound as she walked, a graceful, silent sway of her hips so enticing his breath caught in his throat. He was not a man given to shocking, erotic images at the sight of a woman walking, but every cell in his body went on alert and he had the mad desire to leap on her, to pin her under him and devour her. He shook his head to try to clear madness from his brain.
It was his leopard; that was the only sane answer. He'd been injured too long ago and his cat had been unable to emerge. Recently the man he chose to work for, well okay--Drake actually winced before admitting it--his friend, Jake Bannaconni, had arranged an operation for him, grafting the bones of his kind to his bad leg in the hopes that he could someday shift. He wasn't quite healed, and when he was tired he still walked with a limp, but his cat was growing more restless as each day passed, eager to test out the new material in his leg.
More and more the leopard fought him to surface. He had purposely asked their guide to find a bed-and-breakfast in a remote area with the idea that he might try to allow the animal side of him freedom--it was that or go insane. He pushed down the voice of his surgeon warning him to take it slow. He'd taken it so damn slow he really was losing his mind, and his poor, unknowing, beautiful guide was in danger of being savaged.
He was a man who aumatically noticed everything and there was no way not to watch Saria walk. He felt so damned old and she looked fresh and innocent and so far out of his league it wasn't funny--but still--she wasn't wearing a wedding ring and the wildness receded even more. He breathed normally now, years of discipline taking over. The small breeze caressed the wispy ends of her sun-kissed hair and his heart stuttered.
Saria turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder, a slight frown on her face, her eyes assessing him. She slowed her pace. "Are you all right?"
He gave her a direct stare, the kind that usually scared the hell out of people. "Why wouldn't I be?" He was gruffer than he intended but she looked so damn young and innocent and he wasn't having a great deal of success controlling the images of her naked body writhing under his--and that made him feel like a lecherous old man.
"You're limpin'."
There it was again, that little accent that seeped into his skin and made his cock jerk hard. And he wasn't limping. No way. He kept his stare steady, regarding her without expression. "I don't limp." He walked with ease now, fluid and strong, and damn it all, he'd gone from a lecherous old man to a decrepit one in her eyes. Faced with the sexiest woman alive, he had obviously forgotten suave and power.
Her eyebrow raised slightly. A dimple melted into that full, tempting mouth. She gave him a small half smile. "I'm glad we got that straight because the bed-and-breakfast is a distance away. We can cut through town and a sort of Christmas tree forest and maneuver the edge of a cypress grove. That will save a few steps."
He gave her a faint grin, not admitting a thing. "The quicker we get started, the better."
The setting sun dropped a fiery shower of light just before it sank fully into the river, bathing her in red and orange flames. The silken fall of her hair beckoned him, impossible to resist. He reached out and tucked a stray strand behind her ear, his heart pounding. He felt a rush of heat pour through his bloodstream. Blood roared in his ears, thundered in his head.
She was potent, no doubt about it. She went completely still when he touched her, but she didn't bat his hand away as she had every right to do. Her eyes went liquid and she blinked, locking her gaze with his. She looked untamed, unattainable, and everything male in him responded to that challenge. He felt the ripple of response run through his heavily roped muscles, felt the strength and power of his body. She made him wholly aware of his power.
He had the ability to leap huge distances with absolute agility. He could land gracefully in either form--cat or man. He could slink like fluid water over the ground, so silent not even the leaves dared move. Like his cat, the sheer power of his muscles enabled him to move fast to control prey. Those same muscles allowed him the stealth of freeze-frame motion, holding completely still until he disappeared into his surroundings.
He was power, and in that moment,
he knew she was completely aware of it. The gold flecks in her eyes grew until they ringed the darker chocolate. She didn't look away. Didn't blink. His body went into overdrive, hard and full and suddenly aggressive. The woman triggered the same reaction in the man as the elusive female of his kind had done to his leopard. He would have to revise his opinion of her. Saria Boudreaux was more than the young woman he first thought h be--much more--and he intended to uncover every secret she had.
Saria shivered as she stared into Drake Donovan's unusual piercing eyes. His steady, direct stare was disturbing. She had the feeling he could see right through her into her deepest thoughts. She blushed at the idea, thankful darkness was falling fast. Drake Donovan was an unusual man. He had stood so still that, although outlined by the river, she had barely managed to see him--and she had unusually good night vision. He seemed to have a trick of disappearing into the background around him.
It didn't make sense that he could fade into his surroundings so easily. He was an impressive if not striking man. His shoulders were wide, his chest thick and muscular. He had the strongest arms of any man she'd met. Ropes of muscle rippled enticingly every time he took a step. He had a wealth of thick blond hair and a face that was carved in strong lines. The moment she laid eyes on him, her heart beat too fast and a million butterflies took wing in her stomach. Even now she felt jittery.
She was used to being around men, even being alone with them. She worked the bar, sometimes alone, and she'd never before felt so aware of herself as a woman. She could barely breathe. The heat of the evening seemed just a little worse. She could feel sweat trickling down the valley between her breasts and it was a struggle to keep her breathing even. Every breath she took just brought his wild, unusual scent deeper into her body. She had never been so utterly, acutely aware of a man in her life.
He was so silent when he walked she couldn't stop herself from glancing over her shoulder every now and then to assure herself he was following her. He was the type of man she normally would avoid at all costs. She had seen other women around her succumb to physical attraction, or even genuine love, and all had ended the same way, doormats for demanding, needy husbands. That was so not going to be her.
She was not even close to his league and she wasn't stupid enough to pretend she was. He had a hard-won sophistication about him, and he carried authority as easily as he breathed. Physical attraction died fairly quickly when everyday life set in, and then where would she be? Donovan was the kind of man who ruled everything and everyone in his domain with an iron fist.
He wore his blue jeans low on his hips, and his thighs were strong twin columns. She couldn't help darting a couple of furtive glances at the impressive package in the front. Drake Donovan was perfect as eye candy, but she needed to pull herself together fast. He would eat a woman alive.
She searched a little desperately for something to say to him, feeling awkward. "Have you been here before?" She was a professional guide, for heaven's sake, yet she couldn't even make small talk.
"No."
She swore under her breath. A week with him. An entire week. The money was good, but she couldn't control her reaction to him and it was very clear he didn't want to even engage in polite conversation. She bit down hard on her lip and picked up the pace. Another quick glance over her shoulder told her he kept up with her easily.
"You seem a little young to be a guide in the swamps," Drake said.
Saria bit back her first retort. Great. Her first real hot-tie and he thought she was young. She kept her back to him, trying not to stiffen her shoulders. Who cared what he thought? Jt because he was the hottest guy on the planet didn't mean a thing. She didn't want anything to do with him, but he could see her as a woman, not some little kid.
"I grew up here. If you aren't familiar with the swamp it can be very dangerous." She couldn't help the little bite to her voice. "There aren't any landmarks out there. If you prefer another guide there are others available. You won't have any trouble gettin' anyone with the kind of money you're payin'." Like she could afford the loss of income. Pride was a terrible thing, she reminded herself, but she wasn't going to beg for the job.
"When we asked for someone who knew the swamp, plants and wildlife throughout this area, you came highly recommended by several people," Drake said. "And you did say it was possible we could extend the time if needed."
She couldn't help risking another small glimpse of him. Mon Dieu, he was beautiful. She could spend a lot of time with him--he was that easy on the eyes. And at least he was talking to her now. "Yes, if you let me know a few days in advance, I can arrange it." Maybe not. Every time she looked at him she lost her mind. There was something compelling about his eyes, those deep gold-green eyes framed with impossibly long lashes. He had a five-o'clock shadow that made him look even more rugged.
She made her way through the small town, avoiding getting too near the church, afraid of running into the priest. She hadn't been back to confession since she'd given him the letter, and now she didn't want to chance contact. The long streaks on her back and the bite mark on her shoulder were healing a bit, but they left enough of an ache that, along with the nightmares, she was convinced to mind her own business. She didn't want Father Gallagher asking her any questions. She'd managed to avoid her brothers, and now, by taking this job, she'd be out in the swamp for at least another week.
"You married?" Drake's voice was very casual.
Her heart jumped. "No."
"I didn't think so. No man in his right mind would let someone like you take strangers out alone into the swamp."
She touched the knife at her belt. "I can take care of myself." Why had he asked? She'd seen the way his gaze drifted over her, taking in everything. He couldn't have failed to note her lack of a wedding ring. Still, maybe some women didn't wear their ring. She let her breath out. Maybe under that expressionless face he was a little more interested in her than he let on. "Are you?" She couldn't image it. She couldn't image any woman holding his interest for long.
Silence stretched between them until she stopped again and looked at him. He gave her a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I doubt I could find a woman who would put up with me."
Her eyebrow shot up. "Are you that difficult?"
"I imagine I might be, yes," he admitted. His voice dropped an octave--became soft, seductive, an intimacy she was totally unfamiliar with. "You'll be living with me for the next week. You'll have to tell me."
Her mouth went dry. Her heart jumped and damp heat collected. His gaze locked with hers and she immediately experienced the sensation of falling into him. It was bizarre, but she couldn't look away, as if he'd managed to take her captive in gave her imitive manner. His stare was both charismatic and alarming. Her heart began drumming a very real warning. Everything feminine in her responded to him, yet at the same time urged her to run.
She was lost in his gaze, so she witnessed the abrupt change. The green with golden flecks suddenly went antique gold. The round pupils dilated three times wider. He moved, or did he? She didn't think she'd blinked, but his body was close to her, almost protective, shielding her from something he'd seen without so much as turning his head. Icy fingers crept down her spine. Her warning radar exploded, and this time the threat wasn't emanating from the man in front of her. Maybe it hadn't been all along, but his predatory magnetism had confused her. Whatever the reasons, she hadn't recognized her alarms for what they were.
"A man is back in the shadows just at the entrance to the trees. He's watching you." His voice was pitched very low, nearly inaudible. Had she not had such good hearing, she would have missed the whisper. "Do you know him? Look over my left shoulder." He took another step closer, bending his head toward hers as if he might kiss her.
Her breath caught in her throat. Everything in her stilled. She placed the palm of her hand on his chest, right over his soundly beating heart, but whether to push him away or to steady herself as she raised her head, she wasn't certain.
>
She flicked a quick glance into the tree line and her throat nearly closed. Red eyes glowed back at her. Something was there all right--someone. They knew she cut through the stand of trees to the docks whenever she came into town. Had they known she was picking up a customer? She couldn't tell who it was, only that human eyes didn't reflect back light in that manner. Whoever was in the forest of Christmas trees was probably her attacker.
"We don' need to cut through the grove to get to the dock. This road curves around and then goes back toward the canals. It's a little longer but . . ."
"I think a stroll through the grove is just the thing," Drake interrupted.
She shook her head. "I don' know if you've been readin' about the ghost cats people think they've been spottin' in the swamps, but sometimes those things are more real than we want them to be. I'd just feel safer if we stayed in town."
"Look at me." He kept his voice low, and she swore the tone was almost a purr it was so soft and alluring, but he'd definitely given an order.
Beneath her skin, she felt an itch. If she'd been a cat she would have sworn he'd ruffled her fur the wrong way, but before she could stop herself, her gaze jumped to his. Instantly she was caught by that commanding, focused stare. His eyes were gorgeous, frightening and sexy all at once.
"You're safe with me."
His tone was just too intimate, too certain--so certain that when she stared into his eyes, in spite of her brain telling her to be logical, she believed him--and how dumb was that when she knew there was a leopard stalking and killing people? Drake Donovan might be a powerful man in his world, and clearly everything about him shouted he could handle himself--but not with a killing machine like a shifter. Cunning and intelligent, the shifter used both man and beast to bring down prey.
Savage Nature Page 4
