It took several minutes for her world to right itself, and she was able to straighten again without her legs going rubbery on her, although her back protested with a fierce burning. She breathed through it and carefully bandaged the puncture wounds on her shoulder. She couldn’t do anything about her back and knew whatever she wore would be ruined, so she pulled on an old shirt and soft sweatpants.

She couldn’t just go to bed and hide beneath the covers, she had to get rid of her shredded clothes. She picked up the jacket and shoved it in the sinkhe shirt. Her brothers would smell them if she didn’t do something about the blood before she threw them away. The only thing she could think to do was pour bleach over them, which she did. She left them to soak while she went to get water and some aspirin.

The scent of bleach and blood had permeated the bathroom by the time she returned. This was not going to work. The bleach would definitely mask the scent on her clothes, but her brothers would be suspicious. She rinsed the shirt and jacket and cleaned the sink. She would take the clothes out to the swamp and burn them.

Saria tried to still her chaotic mind long enough to think the situation through as she slipped out of the back of the house and into the thick grove of trees toward the swamp. Why hadn’t the leopard killed her? The shifter knew she had found the body. Wouldn’t it have been simpler just to kill her—unless the killer was one of her brothers and he couldn’t bring himself to kill a family member.

“Saria! Where the hell are you, cher?”

Her heart jumped at the sound of Remy’s voice calling from the back porch. Lately, he’d been checking several times a night to make certain she was in her room.

Swearing to herself, she hastily dug a hole and shoved the tattered remnants of her clothing into it. She had to answer. He would have seen her pirogue tied to the dock and he would come looking for her. “I’ll be right in,” she called as she buried the evidence. “I just was getting a little air.”

“Hurry up, Saria, you shouldn’t be out alone at night in the swamp.” His voice was always gentle. That was Remy, but under all that soft, black velvet, there was steel. She knew he’d come after her if she didn’t get inside.

She dusted off her hands and pushed up. “I’m coming. No worries. I’m tired tonight.”

When she heard voices in the front of the house, she hurried in and made a point of closing her bedroom door loudly. She lay on her stomach, awake most of the night, listening for the sound of her brothers, but after their voices faded, there were only the comforting sounds of the swamp.

2

THE sun dropped from the sky, a molten, fiery ball, pouring red and orange flames into the darkened waters of the Mississippi River. The air was heavy, nearly oppressive with humidity, just the way he liked it. Drake Donovan stepped from the barge with casual grace, lifted a hand to the men on board, and stopped for a moment there on the wooden walkway to admire the rolling river. With night falling, shadows delved sweetly into the ripples, giving the water a mysterious, beckoning feel. The pull of the river’s secret places was strong.

Groves of trees, tupelo and cypress, graced the water’s edge enticingly. He had seen many such inlets and isles as they approached the banks. Great blue herons walked in the shallower waters of the bayous, canals and marshlands, graceful figures drawing one’s eye to the beauty of the surroundings.

He listened to the night sounds creeping in as he watched the first of the bats, dipping and wheeling in the air overhead, catching the insects drawn to the massive body of water. Not too far from the river’s edge, a small fox darted toward a mouse scurry a minto the leaves. An owl sat very still in the dusk, waiting for the sun to sink into the river, leaving the night to blanket the swamps and bayous.

The wildness in him reacted, rising with a great leap, demanding freedom. It had been so long. Too long. His thick five-o’clock shadow composed of tangible hairs embedded deep into the tissue supplied nerve endings with tactile information. Always, that guidance system would plug him into the air currents and enable him to read objects, and this time, unexpectedly, when he gathered information, his cat reacted aggressively, raking at him, snarling with his demands.

Drake lifted his nose to the airways, drawing the night deep into his lungs, drawing in—her. His heart skipped a beat and then began to pound. Every nerve ending in his body came to life. Need punched low and mean, a wicked, unexpected blow that staggered him. Her scent was alluring, captivating, unleashing a deep primal command impossible to ignore.

The animal in him leapt hard, challenging the man. Fur rose beneath his skin in a wave of demand, leaving behind a terrible itch. His jaw ached and he felt the slide of canines pushing into his mouth. He tried to breathe, tried to calm the lethal beast pushing so close to the surface. His muscles rippled, contorting before he could get himself under control. He’d experienced his cat’s edgy need before, but not like this, not this dangerous—the temperamental leopard pushing so close he couldn’t distinguish between man and beast.

His mind became a haze of red, primal instincts drowning out civilized man. Drake had always had enormous strength, holding back his animal side with more discipline than most of his kind, but this time the struggle for supremacy was more like mortal combat. Bones ached and his left leg pulsed with wrenching pain. Strangely it was the pain that allowed him to hold on. He was out in the open, a danger to any male—human or leopard—near him. He kept his face in the shadows and simply breathed in and out, relying on the simple mechanics of an automatic reflex to keep the wild animal caged.