Pain hit him then, and he didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate, shifting before he could think too much about the cost of the battle on his human body. He found himself on the floor, suppressing a moan. Fire burned over his belly and ribs. His bad leg screamed in protest and there were scores of bite and claw marks over his body. He lay there staring up at the night sky, just as the clouds burst and rain poured over him, washing some of the wildness out of him.

His heart beat too fast, and adrenaline poured through his body like the rush of a fireball. He breathed deep to clear his head, to get past the need for violence. A leopard was a perfect killing machine, and blending the cunning and temperament of a leopard with the intelligence of a human, his kind was extremely dangerous under the best of circumstances. He had barely managed to contain his savage beast, but he hadn’t killed—at least he didn’t think so.

With a groan he rolled over and pushed up onto his hands and knees, trying to ignore the screaming in his leg. His stomach lurched. He managed to make it to his feet, dizzy and weak. He’d lost more blood than he’d thught. Staggering, he made it back into the room, leaving bloody footprints on the mosaic tiles for the rain to wash away. The hardwood floor in the bedroom wasn’t so lucky; the smears remained as he made his way through to the bathroom.

The hot water stung, yet felt good as it poured over him. He stood on shaky legs while the water cleansed away the last of the wildness. He sent up a small prayer that he hadn’t killed Dion. The laws of his world dictated and he was within his rights, but intellectually, he knew Dion was simply trying to protect his world from a rogue—as Drake himself might have done.

He might feel regret about Dion if the man didn’t make it, but Dion knew the rules of combat and he’d chosen not to submit until it was nearly too late. All of them knew how difficult it was to control one’s leopard during a challenge. Coupled with a female nearing the emergence, he could hardly be blamed.

In spite of every injury, Drake rejoiced that his body had held up, he’d shifted in midair and he’d been damn fast about it. As a first time back after trying out his leg only once, his ability pleased him. He’d kept in shape, working out strenuously after he’d had plates and pins in his leg and couldn’t shift. He’d been determined to stay in fighting shape, although he hadn’t believed he’d ever have the chance to allow his leopard freedom. Jake and his surgeon had brought about a miracle. He’d ended the first battle almost before it had begun through sheer surprise.

Drake carefully assessed every aspect of his fighting technique. He’d been fast, but not fast enough. He needed more time for his leopard to run, to once again feel the strength and power in its body. He had experience on the members of the Louisiana lair, but the lair had numbers and if he’d had to fight them all, even one at a time, he would have been in trouble. Dion had scored some heavy gouges and he’d lost blood. Loss of blood meant weakness.

Toweling off carefully, he examined every wound. Cats could leave venom behind and infection resulted quickly. That meant the hated burn of the iodine. He poured it liberally into his wounds, breaking out in a sweat as he did so. Cursing with every stitch, he sewed up the three worst wounds, steri-stitched the others before putting an antibacterial ointment on each and covering them with gauze. All in all, he wasn’t in too bad shape. He had no doubt that in the morning he’d feel every bruise, but right now, only sleep mattered.

He scrubbed away the evidence of blood, carefully locked up his room and laid down gingerly on his bed. Smiling, fingers linked behind his head, he drifted somewhere between awake and asleep. At once Saria was there, a smile curving her soft mouth, her eyes bright with mischief. He reached for her, wanting to draw her down onto the bed with him. His heart pounded and he tasted desire in his mouth and he groaned with need of her.

A single sound escaped. Penetrated his layer of sleep. Not her answering moan, not even a whimper of desire, but a soft whisper of movement. His eyes snapped open and he lay silent, with the taste of her in his mouth and his cat roaring. Something moved out on the lawn. He eased to his feet, conscious that other leopards heard as well as he did. Very carefully, he padded to the French doors on his balcony and opened them enough to allow his body to slip through.

Below him, the yard was mostly shadows, but with his night vision, he could easily make out Pauline Lafont moving around the yard in her bathrobe. She held a shotgun in one hand and a large trash bag in the other.he meticulously picked up every scrap of cloth from Drake’s shredded clothes as well as his shoes and socks. She took her time, making certain to remove every tiny string and thread.

He stayed motionless, knowing she couldn’t see him. She wasn’t leopard, he knew that, he would have scented her leopard. She’d been forthcoming with information about the seven families that leased lands in the swamp and he hadn’t scented one lie, but clearly, she was aware of the leopard fight. She must have heard the horrendous noise. Leopards in a fury weren’t quiet about their rage. She had a shotgun for protection, but she didn’t seem too frightened. A woman alone out in the middle of nowhere, far from help, with leopards fighting on her front lawn should have been terrified. Yet Pauline Lafont walked slowly around her property, meticulously removing all evidence of the battle.

She had to know about the shifters. Her family had lived in the area for a hundred years and obviously had lived beside the shifter families. They’d intermingled. She’d said her sister had married into one of the families—the Merciers. Was it possible her brother-in-law or a nephew had been present and she was destroying the evidence to cover up for them? It made sense. Family was family and no doubt they’d been protecting their own for hundreds of years—just as the lairs in the rain forest did.