“Mommy.” The little chubby arms went up.

Emma bent down to pick up Andraya, and as she settled her against her hip, the little girl brushed against her breast. It hurt. Really hurt. So much so that she immediately put her daughter back on the floor, inhaling sharply. Her muscles ached. She didn’t want to come down with the flu and have the children get it.

As the afternoon wore on, her symptoms increased. She developed a sensitivity to sound. The light bothered her eyes. At times her eyes would abruptly change vision, so that bands of color appeared before her eyes. Her joints hurt, cracking and popping with every movement she made.

But more than the physical pain, the soreness invading her body was something much, much worse, something insidious and frightening.

She was very aware of her body. Every curve. Every square inch of skin. The heat building inside of her. The tension stretching along nerve endings. She rubbed at her arms as an itch spread, not over the top of her skin, but under, as if something long dormant was rising and trying to get out.

Emma tried to play with the children, but as evening approached she found herself watching the clock, her teeth set grimly, hoping the time would pass faster so she could put them to bed. Her emotions swung out of control in either direction. One moment she was close to tears and the next she was snapping at everyone. Several times Susan asked her what was wrong, and she caught the girl looking at her strangely, as if even her appearance was different.

By dinner time, Emma was certain she was going insane. Her body ached with need. If Jake hadn’t gone to his office she would have been begging him to make love to her. Her breasts ached beyond belief, her nipples hard, brushing against her bra with every step she took until she wanted desperately to rip her clothes off to get some relief. It felt as if a million ants were crawling over her skin, soft, tiny brush strokes feathering up and down every nerve ending. Deep inside, she burned, empty and desperate to be filled. She was hotter than she’d ever been, her temperature rising by several degrees, and not even an ice pack on her neck alleviated the heat.

The brewing storm added to her growing discomfort and unrest. Twice she picked up the phone, and then dropped it back down. She couldn’t let fear put Jake in danger. The weather forecasters had been sending nonstop warnings about possible flooding, and already the rain had started.

With the wind picking up, the rain was being blown sideways. She didn’t want Jake out in danger because she was uneasy and becoming afraid.

Emma put together a nice dinner, trying to do something positive with the restless energy building up inside of her, but she was ready to crawl out of her skin. It hurt to wear clothes. The sexual need came in waves, each one stronger than the last, so that her skin flushed and she wanted to tear her clothes off and rub her body against anything to relief the terrible pressure.

“Susan, after the children finish and while I do the dishes, do you want to give them a bath for me? They like to play in the tub and it might keep them occupied for a few minutes until I can finish up and read to them.” And get everyone out of the way so she could find out just what was happening to her.

“Sure. They’re good in the bathtub. I know where all their toys are.”

Emma didn’t trust her voice. She wanted—no, needed—to strip, to get the weight of her clothes off her too-sensitive skin. She couldn’t stop moving. Her body was undulating with need now. The heat was building, the pressure on her most sensitive bundle of nerves causing her hips to seek relief. She wanted to cry with the ache between her legs.

Emma kissed Kyle and Andraya on top of their heads and gratefully sent them upstairs. Hanging on to the sink, she hung her head, taking huge, deep breaths. She could barely walk, her feet aching, the knuckles on her hands burning along with her fingertips. She kicked off her shoes and dropped to the kitchen floor, crawling toward the intercom, terrified now, desperately needing Jake.

Her body moved with a sensuous slide, her bottom lifting, her arms pushing back, as if her body was separate from her mind and she could no longer control it. She had the urge to touch herself, to trace the curves of her body, to find her burning center and alleviate the ache. Her mind screamed for Jake. She needed Jake.

Outside the rain lashed at the windows and her pulse beat in time to the wild rhythm of the whistling wind. The fever built in her blood. Images of Jake filled her mind, naked, his body muscular, demanding, conquering hers. Not the lovemaking she craved from him, but something altogether different. Her pulse pounded deep inside as blood pooled and demanded. Her mind turned chaotic and her hands—oh, her hands—curling, bending, raking at the floor in frustration.

Sobbing, she hit the intercom button. “Drake.” Her voice was different. Her throat ached. Was raw with burning need. There wasn’t a place on her body that didn’t ache. If the lacy material of her bra brushed against her nipples one more time, she might go insane.

“What’s up, Emma?” Drake’s voice was tense.

She knew he was working to secure the ranch for the storm. Everybody would be. She coughed, felt her hands sliding over her breasts, trying to ease the terrible ache and quickly pulled her hands down. “You have to come here. The kitchen.” And God help her if anyone else came. She had to have Drake tell her what was happening. She knew he was the one with all the knowledge of their species. She knew he talked to Jake. Her mother had never said a word about the change, but something terrifying was happening and it had to be her leopard.

Minutes. Hours. Each wave of sexual hunger was worse than the last one. She was nearly sobbing when she heard the door open.