Leopard's Rage

by Christine Feehan

  He understood why she liked being in the ropes now. Not only why she liked it, but why she needed it. The ropes were tight enough that they felt good on her raw nerve endings. When she became sexually aroused, the bonds helped to keep the terrible burning from turning to pain. He wished she’d been able to articulate to him that she needed rough for a reason.

  He took his coffee outside and leaned on the railing. He was never going to be able to come onto their front porch again and look at those two end alcoves without thinking of the wild sex they’d shared. He was already thinking about their indoor garden and how he wanted her to incorporate places for their leopards, but also various heavy beams for suspension. He pulled inspiration from everywhere for his erotic tying. The more he had been around Flambé, watching her with her love of plants, the more he’d studied plants so he could share that interest with her.

  Because he loved the practice of tying, he recognized the rope—hemp—used for tying plants. Already, he bought hemp as a rule, and then prepared his own rope, boiling it and preparing it properly himself. He dyed the rope the colors he wanted and then stored the various ropes for use at the club. Now they were stored at the house for one person only. Immediately he had begun to see so many beautiful visuals in the plants and artistic ties with Flambé. He would be able to incorporate those ties with her in the indoor garden the two of them visualized together.

  He wanted a state-of-the-art garden so it would it be easy to care for. He didn’t want to have to employ gardeners to take care of something that he wanted private for the two of them. He frowned, thinking about that. Perhaps they should consider making their garden smaller. If they did, it would be less space for their leopards, and fewer ways they could escape if trouble came for them. He would have to talk to Flambé about it, get her opinion. He honestly didn’t give a damn what others thought about his love for rope art, but he knew she was more reluctant to have it known that she craved to be tied.

  Sevastyan was back inside the kitchen pouring himself a second cup of coffee when Flambé came down the stairs. She was naked, as he had requested, her hair damp from the shower and pulled back from her head with a cloth band. She had marks on her body, not rope marks, but his personal marks of possession, ones he’d never put on her before, and he found he liked them there.

  He went to her, cupped one side of her face to lean down and take her mouth in a gentle kiss. She looked like she needed it. Immediately, she parted her soft lips for him so he could slide his tongue inside her mouth. She tasted of flame and cinnamon. A little bit like nerves. His woman. Off balance when she should have all the confidence in the world. When he lifted his head she chased after him, needing more.

  He took her hand and led her into the den. The room was deliberately cooler by a few degrees than the rest of the house. She glanced at the small couch he’d positioned in the corner of the room, the chain and large ring above it. Her gaze flicked uncertainly to his face. He wore no expression as he walked over to the table where he’d set up his equipment.

  Flambé stretched. A good sign. She wanted to be ready for a long session with him. She might be sore from the long night and day of sex, fear and wild leopard shifting, but she was ready to be wrapped in the comforting embrace of the ropes. He loved her more and more for that.

  “Are you hungry? You don’t seem to eat breakfast, although it’s nearly two in the afternoon.”

  She shook her head. “No, for some reason, when I first get up, I have no appetite. I think, when I was a child, I never ate breakfast, which I know is completely wrong, but that’s how I was programmed. Thank you for yesterday, for helping me with Flamme. I was so afraid she’d be trapped in me forever. You . . . surprised me.”

  “You never expect much from me.” He kept his tone strictly neutral. He knew she didn’t.

  She started to protest. He could see it on her face, but then she stopped because, truthfully, what could she say? She didn’t expect much of him. She thought he would cheat on her. She thought he was a liar. That he would eventually beat her. Ania had told him the conversation Flambé had shared with her. She’d been very upset to discover Flambé had such a poor opinion of shifters.

  Flambé stared at the floor, looking lost in thought, even when he had selected his natural-colored hemp rope and come up to her using his decisive walk, the one that normally would have brought her full attention to him. The center point of the rope was automatically in his hand. He ran the rope through his fingers, checking over and over to make certain there were no splinters or debris in it, although he had never used it on anyone else and it had been stored properly. Still, just moving the rope could get kinks out of it so it would lie properly against Flambé’s skin.

  He ran his finger along her cheek and then down her shoulder and back, checking her body temperature before grasping both shoulders and moving her very quickly and decisively into position close to the couch in the shadowy corner of the room. He pulled her arms behind her back and quickly tied them. He used a breast harness going under her breasts and around each beautiful mound, knotting in the middle between them, framing them beautifully, straps coming up and around to the back so there was no weight on her neck. Both arms and her body would help bear the weight of her suspension.

  Sevastyan ran his hand down her belly and caressed her bottom every time he moved around her with the ropes as he created his webbing to the O-ring and her right leg, now outstretched, while she balanced on her left. Every touch increased her awareness of him and of her body, of her sexual needs.

  Her ankle, thigh—in two places—and waist were all connected to the O-ring for stability. He quickly wrapped his rope around her left thigh and connected it to her left ankle and slowly bent her leg until her heel touched the back of her thigh. He anchored her thigh and ankle to the O-ring so she was suspended just above the couch as if she was lying sideways on it.

  Very deliberately, Sevastyan ran his hand over her body once more to check for any problems. “Are you uncomfortable? Any tingling? Blood supply cut off? Nerve endings painful?” Again, he slid his hand into her palm, checking to make certain her hands were warm.

  She shook her head.

  “Good then.” He reached up and gently tugged on the rope until he swung her slowly around, added another smaller rope already knotted and pressed it into her mouth like a bit—a gag, bringing the two ends around to tie them into the harness at her back. “This is a patience tie, at least my version of it, Flambé.” He turned her back around very slowly so she was facing toward the center of the room.

  Sevastyan backed off until he was a distance from her. He crouched down and looked up at her, studying her carefully, her expression, her body language. He was very skilled at reading people. At reading shifters. At reading women. At interrogation.

  “We have quite a bit to work out between us because, contrary to what you believe, you aren’t going to run off to wherever you think you can go to get away from me. I know you’ve got that in mind. It’s not that I blame you. I really don’t.”

  He kept his tone mild. He refused to plead with her, nor did he want her to think he was asking for anything from her—he wasn’t. Shturm deserved to have his mate. He’d been good to the little leopard. He’d been careful of her. Like Sevastyan, he was rough, but he’d taken as much care as a wild brute of a creature could possibly do. There was affection there and it would only grow with each encounter between the mating pair.

  “But I’ve been in this relationship from the beginning and you haven’t. You kept pulling back no matter what I did to reach out to you. You didn’t tell me one damn thing that would have helped me understand what you were thinking or feeling. You didn’t give me a way to help you physically. You didn’t tell me about your fears of shifting or what could happen.”

  He could see the protest on her face, in her body language. He’d been right to gag her. She would have interrupted. Protested her innoc
ence. She was already forming her defense instead of listening. He fell silent and rose, walking over to the table. His coffee had grown cold. In any case it was time to switch to water. He had to stay hydrated as well. The leopards would be wanting to come out to run, play and mate later in the evening. He had to be at full strength to see Flambé through it.

  She looked so beautiful in the ropes. He liked this particular tie. It was simple. Not at all fancy, no special knots, and whenever he tied her hands behind her back like that, he made certain he could get them out fast in case she began to lose feeling.

  Walking back to face her across the room, where she could see him, he leaned against the wall, looking casual, taking a slow drink of water, studying her. Just looking at her could make his heart accelerate, the air move through his lungs faster. All that red hair, bright like the sun, those eyes that were green or gold by turns, depending upon her mood, but it was the little things he’d learned about her that moved him the most.

  “You told me you saw me first at the club and you were drawn to me. I saw you when you were talking to one of the workers on the property. A curvy, obviously shifter woman with dark blonde hair. She was hunched over and looked like she was upset. I was a good distance away and I couldn’t hear what you said to her, or read your lips because you were turned at an angle, but your body language was very protective.”

  He didn’t take his gaze from her as he talked and he could read the subtle difference in her. She had stiffened slightly, was holding herself very still, waiting.

  “You crouched down beside her, put your arm around her and talked to her for a long time. You weren’t in the least bit caring of time passing or being on the clock. You made certain that she was taken care of. I know that your business means everything to you. Your customers matter and those plants matter. That woman mattered to you more. I thought you were the most extraordinary woman I’d ever seen in my life.”

  He kept his gaze on her. That mattered to her. She didn’t want his opinion of her to affect her, but it did. She didn’t want to believe in him, but she heard truth, as did Flamme. She didn’t want to rely on her leopard’s senses, but they were there and she couldn’t help but draw on them.

  “I can’t help what I am. My father, Rolan, was a vor in the bratya. The lair was fucked-up, and he was cruel and enjoyed the power of hurting others every chance he got. His older brother, Lazar, was Mitya’s father and controlled a much larger lair. He was also a vor with a worse reputation, much deserved. It turns out, Lazar, not Rolan, was actually my father. While my mother, Tatiana, was pregnant with me, Lazar delighted in tormenting and terrifying her, saying that he would tell Rolan so he would beat her to death. He didn’t, of course, because that would end his fun.”

  Unexpected emotion welled up. It came out of nowhere and hit him hard. He turned away from her and took another drink of cool water, let it slide down his throat to soothe him. He’d been alone all of his life. He reminded himself he didn’t need anyone and he didn’t need what he’d never had. He waited until he was absolutely certain his voice was under complete control before he paced back in front of her with those same deliberate steps he’d used to walk away.

  “Lazar tormented both his wife and my mother, and eventually, when he thought Rolan was too close to me and I was getting to the point I might be able to aid his brother, he told Rolan the truth. Rolan murdered my mother and proceeded to make my life and Shturm’s life as miserable as he possibly could. I was beaten daily until Shturm couldn’t take it and he would emerge and Rolan would let his leopard loose on him. When Rolan wasn’t attacking us, Lazar was. They both despised us. Rolan despised Mitya as well and vowed to kill him.”

  He once more went to her, needing to touch her. She was compassionate. He didn’t want her pity. He could see that now in her expressive eyes. That look wouldn’t be there in another minute, but right now, while she was still looking at him with something close to caring, he was going to touch her again.

  First, he slid his arms around her to fit his hands over hers to ensure she wasn’t cold and hadn’t lost any feeling. He slipped his fingers through the ropes to check that none of the strands put any pressure on her skin. Very gently he allowed the pads of his fingers to skim down her belly to her mound. Next, he caught the ropes of her harness to tug her close. Her breasts were a temptation impossible to resist. So beautiful. So feminine. That was Flambé. All woman and willing to give herself to him when she was in his ropes.

  Sevastyan settled his mouth over her right breast, flicking her nipple with his tongue, his free hand feeding her to him. She was warm and soft and sensual, her body arching into him, even though there was little play in the ropes and nowhere for her to go. She still moved into him, making little delicious moans around the bit in her mouth. Abruptly, he pulled back. As much as he wanted her, he couldn’t fall into her trap and make this about sex. If he was going to clear the air between them, he had to get her on board.

  He put distance between them because it was impossible not to touch her if he was close. She didn’t need to know that. She thought him cold, and maybe it was far better that she always thought that.

  “I’m making a point, Flambé. I was raised in a lair, brought up to torture, to interrogate, to be the one to raid other territories Rolan wanted to take over. Eventually, I devised the plans to strike at Lazar’s drug and gun pipelines, to disrupt them, hoping to weaken him. When Mitya left Russia, he left without a word to me, but I still followed him, found him and guarded him as his cousin, not his brother. I do his dirty work for him. I always have. I’m always going to be that man, Flambé. I’m not a good man. I do my best to never hurt someone who doesn’t deserve it. I investigate carefully, but I’m ruthless and I don’t have the mercy and compassion in me that someone like you has in them.”

  Again, as he paced, he kept his gaze fixed on her face. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of him as he made his confession. He shrugged and once again crouched down in front of her.

  “The thing is this, baby. The moment I saw you, I wanted you for myself. Then, Shturm claimed Flamme. She was very certain. Then you both backed off. I couldn’t tell if it was you or your leopard, and I had to find out. When you’re in the ropes or anytime we have sex, you’re one hundred percent in, but then you retreat. You don’t really want to sleep in bed with me. You want to curl up in a little ball. You’d much rather sleep in the hammock above the bed, not with me. I try to reach out to you and your immediate response is sex.”

  She squirmed in the ropes, a flush coloring her body a soft rose. She couldn’t deny a single word he said. It was all true.

  “Shturm deserves Flamme whether or not I deserve you. I can provide you with a good home. I can give you the kind of sex you need whenever you want it and I’ll be faithful to you. I don’t believe in beating women. You don’t have to love me, Flambé, but I do want respect. And I won’t tolerate you going to the club or having one-night stands. I wouldn’t hurt you, but I would kill your lover.”

  He told her that truth in the same mild tone he had told her everything else, looking her straight in the eye, needing her to see that he meant it.

  “What I’m going to do now is ask you if you’re ready to tell me why you feel so strongly about shifter males being such bad mates. And what you’re really doing that you’re afraid to tell me with your rescue business.”

  She stiffened again and this time not only looked afraid, but gave a little shake of her head.

  He shrugged his shoulders again. “I have no problem if you feel the desire to hang around in the ropes all day. Sooner or later Flamme will rise. I’ll cut you free and we’ll let the leopards have their fun. We can start again when you’re rested. We’re going to get past this, because there really isn’t a way to begin a life together until you talk to me. I told you the truth about me. None of it was good, but then you made it plain you didn’t really want anything to do with me other t
han a sexual relationship. I’ve accepted that, although there are a few rules. We can go over those while you’re thinking things over.”

  A strobe went off. He turned, without seeming to hurry, making his way to the table where his tablet was. Matvei and Kirill were patrolling and had deliberately tripped a wire in the denser woods to the back of the property. He sent them a quick text to indicate all was well, in their prearranged code.

  “As I said, you will show respect for me at all times, particularly in front of others. I will expect you to sleep in the master bedroom with me in my bed unless we discuss it ahead of time for other reasons. As you’re very aware, like you, I enjoy a healthy sex drive and like to have you close to me. You will not sleep with others, male or female, as long as we’re mates. I’d prefer to get married, but as you seem violently opposed to the idea, I refuse to make that mandatory and will take that off the table.”

  He stayed at the table, looking out the window, completely out of her line of sight. His heart felt peculiarly heavy. He refused to acknowledge the feeling.

  “We’re going to be truthful with each other. If you ask me a question, be certain you really want the answer, because I will be giving you the truth. When I ask you a question, I will expect the truth from you.” He pressed his palm on the window, just for a moment, not letting himself breathe. Not letting himself admit that just once he’d wanted something for himself.

  There was a long silence. Minutes passed. Sevastyan forced himself to take another long drink of water and then he went to her and removed the rope circling her mouth, gently wiping her lips before holding the bottle up for her to take a drink. Her green eyes had golden flecks in them, and they stayed on his the entire time he took care of her.

  “Are you ready to talk to me, Flambé?” He kept his tone the exact same. Mild. Not trying to sway her one way or the other.

  “Are you finished with the rules?”

  “There are more, far too many to list in one day.”