Scents mingled and merged. Fear. Sweat. The swamp itself. Saria. Drake’s leopard took them all in, adding to the feral, wild need welling up. As old as time, the instinct was on him to protect his mate and drive away every hated rival. There would be no turning back and no remorse if a rival died.

The moment Amos was fully leopard, his teeth exposed, his old, wise eyes red with fury, Drake whirled around and slashed that snarling face. How dare he try to separate Drake from his chosen mate? How dare this old leopard rip Saria from him by force, allowing a male to put his hands on her, to mistreat her? Drake followed the first humiliating slap with a series of powerl, raking blows, driving the older leopard back, spilling blood down the face as he tore fur and carved deep furrows into flesh.

The old leopard rose onto powerful back legs, driving forward in an effort to gain supremacy. Drake met him with a violent charge, hitting him low. There was an audible crack as ribs broke. He fell onto his side and Drake was on him, closing his mouth around that vulnerable throat. His teeth sank deep and satisfaction well up. He snarled. The old leopard’s eyes blazed with a golden fury of hatred, an old warrior refusing for a moment to relinquish power. Almost immediately, his human took back control. Staring down, with blood and the thrill of victory filling his mouth, Drake watched those golden eyes slip to a human grayishgreen as the leopard submitted.

There was an eerie silence in the swamp, as if even insects were shocked by the swift change of leadership. A roar of protest went up. Behind him, a gun went off and Drake released Jeanmard and whirled to face the new threat.

Joshua stood grim-faced, his eyes flat and cold. “You want leadership, you challenge him in the way of our people or I shoot you dead right here and now.” Disgust and loathing filled his tone. He aimed his weapon at a man who was armed and obviously thought of shooting him.

Drake inhaled and pulled the scent of his enemy deep into his lungs. It was nearly the same as that of the man who had struck Saria. Drake welcomed the fight, roaring his challenge, signaling he was ready for any threat. He prowled back and forth, swiping a large paw over the ground to kick up dirt and leaves, sending them flying in the direction of his enemy.

“Gaston,” Remy spoke very quietly, but his voice carried easily. “You’d better shift now before I shoot you myself.”

This, then, was one of the families Drake hadn’t heard much about as of yet. He charged and pulled back, kicking more dirt at the man, snarling his disgust. Gaston Mouton slowly handed his weapon to Robert Lanoux. Robert was covered in bandages and favoring his right side. He winced as he reached for the gun. Gaston unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, all the while studying his opponent. As the edges of the shirt parted, his chest was revealed. He was a big man with the heavy, roped muscles of his kind. Not an ounce of fat. A washboard stomach. Narrow hips and thick muscular thighs. A male in his prime—one no doubt believing he would mate with Saria.

Drake saw a red haze of fury as Gaston shifted, his speed only a hair slower than Remy’s had been. He was far more confident than Drake expected, when he would have resorted to a weapon. Gaston and Drake paced back and forth, snarling and hissing at each other, each sizing up the enemy.

Without warning, the two leopards blasted into action, hurling themselves into the air at one another, bodies crashing hard as they met in midair, both going for the head and neck in an effort to inflict the most damage quickly. Blood spurted, ran down matted fur on both animals. They broke apart and slammed back together, a fierce, violent ballet of claws, teeth and sheer power.

The night echoed with roars of rage as the leopards broke apart, sides heaving, blood dripping, a brutal, primitive battle with neither male giving an inch. They exploded toward one another again, leaping into the sky, slamming together in an effort to get to a vital organ. Gaston fell back, claws ripping and tearing at Drake’s underbelly, trying to gut him. Using his flexible spine, Drake twisted as he came down on all fours, rushing the oher leopard to take advantage of the awkward landing. Gaston rolled, came up fast and met the charge head-to-head.

Drake didn’t want to kill the bastard and that knowledge only made him angrier. He shared the leopard’s fury on several levels, not the least was that they’d struck Saria. He was already thinking like a leader, trying to do what was best for his lair. He didn’t want leadership, he only wanted Saria.

This fighter was fast and deadly and it required every ounce of his skills to keep from getting killed while he held his leopard back, waiting for his moment. His leg was on fire, but the steel was there, the muscle and power. He had every confidence he would win, but he wasn’t so confident that he could keep from doing permanent damage.

The two leopards dove into the air again, came together and crashed to the ground locked in a deadly embrace of claws and teeth, raking and biting at each other. Drake saw his opening, twisted and sank his teeth into the vulnerable throat. Beneath him, he felt the wild heart, the taste of hot blood, excitement of the kill, and triumph of the win all mingled together.

They stared into one another’s eyes. There was no fear in Gaston and in a way, Drake admired him. He was a man he’d want on his team, yet there might be no other choice but to kill him.

“Submit, Gaston,” Remy ordered. “Are you stupid?”

As the shifter’s body grew still under his mouth, and the tension in Drake’s leopard eased a little, Drake heard a warning shout and he was hit from behind, driven off his feet with no chance to whirl around and defend himself. He went down hard, shaken by the ferocity of the hit, his insides jarred and bruised. As if in a distance he heard Saria scream and a man grunt as if in pain. Nothing mattered but rolling, getting to his feet and finding his attacker.