Leopard's Rage (Leopard People)

by Christine Feehan

  All of the shifters were out of the vehicles, weapons ready, prowling around, looking as if they were in a high state of awareness. Blaise shifted, uncaring of his nudity. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Where is she?” Matherson demanded. “What happened?”

  “She ran. She and that fucking woman ran into the house. It was some kind of setup. I thought you had it covered,” Blaise snapped.

  Matherson immediately whipped out his phone and texted. “They can kill her husband now, that lying, double-crossing bitch.” He stared down at his phone. Blinked. Stared. Texted repeatedly. Swore.

  “We gotta go now,” Blaise repeated. “Right now.”

  Matherson shot him between the eyes and watched the body drop to the ground. “Let’s go get that little bitch. Both of them,” he shouted, waving his gun. He signaled his crew toward the house in the distance.

  Like wraiths emerging from shadows high up in the trees, ghostly men dressed in combat gear appeared, guns aimed at those on the ground. “Drop your weapons.” Sevastyan gave the order in his usual calm, very quiet manner.

  “Fuck you,” Matherson yelled and lifted his automatic, spraying the trees.

  Immediately chaos broke out as for the next three minutes hell reigned. There was nowhere for those on the ground to hide from the barrage of return bullets coming at them and Matherson had made it impossible to surrender. Within three minutes it was once again quiet and those on the ground were either dead or dying.

  Sevastyan leapt from the tree, Zinoviy and Vikenti flanking him, while Zakhar stayed close, making it clear he was acting as a bodyguard. Sevastyan gave him an annoyed warning look, but as usual, Zakhar ignored him.

  The other team members came out of the trees as well, checking the downed shifters for any signs of life while Sevastyan went straight to Matherson.

  “You really could be the devil, Matherson,” Sevastyan greeted, seeing he was alive.

  Franco Matherson had been shot in both his shoulder and leg. The shoulder was shattered, but the leg wound looked no more than superficial. No one could be that lucky. His weapon had been flung some distance from him and he’d lain as if dead among the bodies, probably hoping no one would notice he was alive so he could slink off.

  Matherson groaned but didn’t respond.

  “Sevastyan,” Zakhar warned.

  Sevastyan had scented the two strange shifters coming up behind them. In spite of many guns trained on them, they kept walking toward the group with easy, ground-covering strides. Both men were tall and dark-skinned. They had the roped muscles and easy fluid, flowing movements of the shifters. They were very much at ease as they walked right up to Sevastyan and bowed slightly to him.

  “I am Luan. This is my brother, Arno. We’ve come a long way to find this man and bring him to justice. He has committed many crimes against our people. He has brought disgrace to our lair. I ask that you allow us to administer the final justice to him. We have to answer to the elders and our lair.”

  Matherson shook his head. “I stayed away from the lair. I didn’t go near any of the women.”

  Sevastyan ignored him. Luan and Arno ignored him.

  “It is important for the honor of our lair,” Arno continued, as if Matherson hadn’t interrupted his brother.

  “Of course. I understand completely. We have plenty of cleanup to do, but the man has to go. He’s been stalking my woman,” Sevastyan said.

  Luan nodded. “I am aware of his crimes.” For the first time he looked down at Matherson, his dark eyes settling on the man. There was no malice. No personal animosity. “You betrayed every sacred law of the lair, Franco Matherson.”

  “I have money. So much,” Matherson cried, thinking to bribe them.

  “You failed to protect and hold sacred our women or protect and treasure our children,” Arno intoned.

  “You committed crimes against the outside world and humanity,” Luan continued.

  “You hunted and killed others of our species knowing they were near extinction,” Arno added to the list of crimes.

  “You risked exposing all of us to outsiders,” Luan said.

  “You hunted and murdered other shifters, men and women, for the sole purpose of your pleasure. You have been sentenced by the elders of the lair to die as an abomination,” Arno pronounced.

  There was no waiting. No hesitation. Luan plunged a sharp blade directly through Matherson’s throat while simultaneously Arno’s blade went through the man’s heart. Sevastyan regarded the open, shocked eyes as they stared, horrified and unbelieving that anyone would dare take his life. He had too much money. Too much power. People did what he ordered. He bought and sold people. No one would dare kill him.

  “I heard his good friend Basil Andino disappeared recently,” Luan said matter-of-factly. He pulled his knife free and casually wiped blood from the ceremonial knife onto Matherson’s shirt. “He was last seen drinking in a bar with a young Russian woman. They left together and no one has seen either of them since.”

  Sevastyan raised an eyebrow. “I thought Andino was a married man. What would he be doing in a bar with a woman?”

  Luan nodded. “That is so. Perhaps the rumor is not true.” He bowed. “Thank you again. My lair owes you a favor.”

  20

  SEVASTYAN woke in the middle of the night the way he often did. The moon was high, a silver ball shining through the wall of glass, and stars scattered like diamonds across a dark sky. It was a perfect night. He turned his head to look down at the woman lying so still beside him.

  Flambé rarely moved in her sleep. She always curled up, her bright red hair a splash of crimson against the black sheets. The artist in him loved that picture, the contrast of red and black. It was why he often used those colors of ropes on her.

  She slept nude, the way he liked, and he was tempted to wake her. He would, but not yet. It was rare that he got the chance to touch her so gently, when her nerve endings allowed it, and he had taken full advantage. He’d made love to her as tenderly as possible the night before. Slowly. Making them both wait. His fingers threaded through hers. Looking into her eyes. Seeing into her heart. Her soul. Giving her his. God, but he loved her.

  He began to untangle his body slowly from Flambé’s. He liked to sleep with his arm locked around her waist. One thigh over hers. Sometimes her breast cupped in his palm. His cheek on top of her head. He wrapped himself around her. He knew it was because oftentimes it still felt as if she had one foot out the door. She would suddenly, inexplicably withdraw from him, and he knew she was second-guessing herself, becoming fearful again. He had a fear that she might try to run and instinctively, he held her closer.

  At first, whenever Flambé became afraid, Sevastyan would try to step up his tenderness, being thoughtful, making certain he spent more time with her and being more attentive. Over time, he realized those things backfired. She associated the niceties that shifters did for their women with setting them up for the bigger fall later. Once he realized she didn’t respond well to his sweetness, he would fall back on his rope art and the connection they had through that. Eventually, she would talk to him and after, when he held her, she would relax into him and be able to let go of her insecurities.

  The fact that she had those trust issues upset her more than it did him. He reached down and caught at her silky hair, letting it slide through his fingers the way he always slid the ropes through his fingers, feeling protective of her. She had worked hard on their property, more so on the outside than the inside of their home. She’d made few changes to the interior, but the outside was already so transformed he barely recognized the property. Ania had been shocked, admitting the landscaping was unbelievably beautiful and should be written up in a magazine.

  Very slowly, so as not to disturb his woman, Sevastyan slid from the bed and padded across the room to the long, thick glass wall. Ordinarily, he would have lowered the privacy screens so Flambé could sleep in going into the weekend, but he liked full moons, and so did
she. Most full moons, he kept the screens up so when he woke, he spent time absorbing the beauty of the night.

  Opening the door, he slipped out onto the balcony and wandered around to face the large two-story indoor garden. The two garages had fit seamlessly together. They had their own version of a lush garden of paradise in that giant glass rectangle housing trees, waterfalls and luscious plants of all kinds. Small stone pathways wandered through the garden where chairs or a couch invited one to sit and rest or read or play depending on the mood.

  Small lockers were hidden, housing his ropes in different areas as well as other toys and weapons they might need in an emergency. Sevastyan believed in being prepared for anything. For the leopards there were climbing routes as well as places for them to curl up and lie together up high in the loft concealed among the plants.

  In one corner of either end were bathrooms, thankfully already built in. Flambé had remodeled them to fit with the theme and they were artfully draped with plants on the outside. The doors were an archway with flowering vines crawling up. There was a small kitchen off either of the bathrooms where refrigerators housed their very cold water, something he always insisted on for both of them. He ran hot and she needed to stay hydrated.

  There was something very special about the indoor garden. He couldn’t quite decide if it was because the two of them had made the plans together and worked side by side doing quite a lot of the planting once her crew had gotten all the big items in. She’d showed him how to plant the smaller shrubs and flowers and he’d gotten good at it.

  They laughed a lot together while they worked. He took orders from her and she talked a lot about things that mattered to her. She’d been a little shy at first, but in the end, because he clearly was interested in anything Flambé, she talked more and more to him. He found that because she gave up little things about herself, he was more willing to answer questions about himself and give her things about him no one else really knew. That garden was the place they shared the most of themselves while they worked. It was still young, and there was still so much more work to do, but both looked forward to it.

  Sevastyan scented Flambé before he felt her hand move up the back of his thigh to his left buttock. It was an intimacy she would never have shown a few short weeks earlier and it set his heart tripping. Her hair slid over his skin, following the path of her fingers and he closed his eyes, absorbing the feel of the silky strands as they moved over his left cheek. Then he felt her lips, soft and warm, kissing him, shaping his firm muscles right before her teeth nipped daringly.

  He laughed softly and caught her arm, bringing her around to the front of him, locking her there, her back to his front so they were both looking out over their property. “It’s so beautiful, Flambé. The difference you’ve made not only to our land, but to me, to our home, defies all logic. I had no idea one woman could change my life the way you have.”

  “I haven’t done much in the house, Sevastyan,” she admitted, rubbing her chin on his forearm. “I just am not the best interior designer. I’ve been considering bringing various plants into the house. We’ve got the room. The ceilings are extremely high and the lighting is perfect. It’s good for the air. You’ve already got a few, but I think we could use more.”

  There was a little anxious note in her voice that surprised him. She still wasn’t sure of herself when it came to ascertaining ownership with him.

  “Babe, I told you to do whatever makes you happy. This is your home too. I put a ring on your finger. That’s what I cared about and you let me. I get all the sex I want, when I want, how I want. Our outdoor property is amazing. My woman is gorgeous and she indulges me.”

  “She can’t cook.”

  “You cook.”

  She burst out laughing. “Is that what you call it? Honey, your cooking is a million times better than mine.”

  “I heat up what the chef leaves us.”

  “I burned up what the chef left us the last three times.”

  He kissed the top of her head, wrapping his arms more securely around her. “That may have had something to do with you being tied up in ropes.”

  “But I forgot to tell you I had something in the oven. I was a little too enthusiastic. What if I’d burned down the house?”

  “The smoke alarms did their job.” Amusement burst through him the way it did most of the time now when he was with her. Or maybe it was pure joy. He couldn’t remember wanting to laugh before; now, it seemed, he was happy more often than not, and he attributed that to the woman who had taught him how to have fun.

  “I suppose they did.”

  “And you haven’t made the same mistake again since I tied you so beautifully in the corner of the kitchen, facing the stove . . .”

  “And the window,” she groused, “telling me I was to learn my lesson.”

  “Red rope again,” he pointed out. “Beautiful diamond pattern, the harness framed your incredible breasts. I’m very fond of your breasts.”

  “As I recall, you spent time playing when you were supposed to be working,” she pointed out, pretending to be pouting.

  “That’s only because you’re such a temptation.” There was no remorse. “I want to tie you in the garden tonight with the full moon shining down on your red hair.” He swept his hand through it. “It might take a little time for what I’ve got in mind, but it will be beautiful. It will leave marks on your skin, but nowhere you can’t cover up and only for a couple of days. It’s the kind of tie that will make me wild and very out of control for you. I’m just going to warn you, baby. I’m going to play for a while and tease you until you catch up with me and then I’m fucking you hard. You up for that?”

  Her hand went up to his wrist and then rubbed up his arm. “I’m always up for that, Sevastyan.”

  He could practically hear her purr.

  “After, we’ll have to let the leopards out. Shturm can’t go without Flamme any longer than I can go without you. If I deprive him, he gets edgy and moody.”

  She burst out laughing. “Believe me, Sevastyan, I’m well aware.”

  He turned her in his arms and found her mouth with his. Gently. Tenderly. Loving her. Giving her that because once they walked out to their garden of paradise, he knew it was going to be hot, wild and savage, the way they both could get when they showed each other their feral side.

  He lifted his head and cupped the side of her face, looking down into her eyes. “You know I love you. No matter how we come together, Flambé, you know I love you, right? You’re my world.”

  She leaned into him, tilting her head back, her gaze meeting his steadily. “I know you love me, Sevastyan. I love you more than you could possibly know. I love when we’re wild and crazy and I love when we’re gentle now. Before, that was what scared me, because I could feel the emotion. Now I feel the love no matter how we come together.”

  He bent his head and took her mouth again. This time he wasn’t quite as gentle.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  RECKLESS ROAD

  The next novel in the Torpedo Ink series by Christine Feehan

  Available February 2021

  FOG churned over the ocean, the wind blowing the roiling mass over the highway, turning the silvery night a dark, angry gray. Wisps curled around the truck as Gedeon “Player” Lazaroff maneuvered one of the severely tight curves on Highway 1 along the northern California coast. He was familiar with the highway, but most of the time he rode his Harley and had his brothers riding with him. In some ways he was thankful they weren’t with him, but he would have welcomed the comfort of their company.

  The dark gray mist thickened so it seemed an impenetrable wall and he slowed down, although he was so close to home his inclination was to step on the gas to get there faster. He was nearly desperate to make it back to the Torpedo Ink clubhouse and the solace of the room he used there. He owned a house and normally would have gone there, but at this point, he didn’t have the time. The clubhouse was much closer and the longer he
was out in public, even in the seclusion of the truck, the more dangerous it was. He knew that and he had vowed never to take chances with anyone’s life again.

  The cell played Master’s short tune, announcing a call, and Player hesitated, swearing under his breath. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his face. He wiped at it with his palm before hitting the Bluetooth. Cell phone service was spotty at best on Highway 1 and he hoped it wouldn’t work. Naturally, he wasn’t that lucky.

  “Yeah?” He was abrupt. Off-putting. Hoping Master would get the hint.

  “You okay? Where are you?”

  “About four miles from home.” Deliberately he hadn’t distinguished between the clubhouse and his residence.

  There was a small silence. Four miles from home meant Player had been pushing hard. Far too hard. Risking trouble. Already, they’d broken the rules by separating. Torpedo Ink members stayed close. When running a mission, they paired up, eyes on one another at all times. They’d gotten into unforeseen trouble and Player needed to get home fast. Master wasn’t able to drive as fast. He carried an unexpected passenger with him and Player couldn’t risk being in close proximity with her, not in his present state of mind, although he’d only told Master he was feeling very sick and needed to get home.

  Master had to drive the passenger’s vehicle home anyway, so it had all worked out for the best. They’d reported to Czar and let him know Player was coming in early without Master, and Master was bringing in “baggage.”

  “Tell me,” Master insisted.

  “Fog rolled in.”

  “Pull over. I’ll send someone to you.”

  “I’m close. I can make it. Just one of my damn headaches.” Player poured confidence into his voice, ignoring the way the road seemed to be coming alive with the fog wrapping it in loops and whorls like smoke from a pipe. “Less than four miles now.” He shook his head, trying to clear it. All that did was rattle his already hurting brain. He clenched his teeth against the pain.