“Step out from behind Grand-mere. I want to see your hands.”

The room had settled. He kept an eye on the child. She was no ordinary toddler, that was for certain. She’d stayed too still. She hadn’t made a sound, not even when the ground shook and she’d been frightened. Her reactions seemed more animal than human to him. She would be unpredictable and he wasn’t dismissing the possibility that she was dangerous – not after seeing the reactions of the guards at the Wilson Plastics compound.

The woman took one step to her right – toward the baby. She didn’t look at the child, but he had the feeling she communicated with her. The woman was small, but she had all the curves a woman should have and then some. Her hair was thick and dark, like a pelt, woven into some intricate braid, but what was most unusual were the strange dark patterns stamped into the mass of nearly blue black hair.

For one moment, his entire being focused wholly on her. His heart did a curious somersault and his cock stirred in spite of the circumstances. She was built for long, lazy nights on the bayou, and images of her naked and writhing beneath him came out of nowhere.

Her eyes were unusual. Large. Framed with heavy black lashes. The color was difficult to define. One moment they looked normal to him, a deep nearly purple violet, nearly as rich as her hair, but there was a diamond ring around the dark center that spread through the darker color like a starburst. She was small, curvy and compact. Even from where he was standing, he could see the defined muscles in her slender arms and shapely legs – and he’d seen her run with a bullet wound in her.

He hadn’t been with a woman in a long time and he’d always been careful to stay away from the wild ones, because he knew himself. He was jealous and mean and wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off them once he got started. He’d sworn off women and he had no heart. He was blaming the momentary lapse on the knife. Bayou men loved women with knives – at least those in his family.

“How bad is it?” he asked, to break the tension and distract her – and himself. “And please don’ grab the baby like you’re thinkin’ and dive out the window. I don’ want to be fixin’ the damn thing tonight, and Grand-mere would have my hide for scarin’ you.”

Le Poivre, more simply called Pepper, tried not to stare at the mouthwatering man who had interrupted Nonny cleaning and binding their wounds. She had seen him in the swamp, just earlier, casually giving a guard a beating. He’d fascinated her with his fluid movement, the sheer savagery of his attack, the casual way he kept at the guard. He’d been breathtaking. Poetry in motion. Fascinating.

He’d walked into his grandmother’s parlor knowing she was there, but he’d entered with supreme confidence anyway. He dominated the room. Commanded it. She was used to men thinking they were in control, but none of those men had Nonny’s grandson’s command. Or his sheer sexual pull.

Everything about him screamed sensuality, from his dark, wavy hair to his hooded, intense eyes and a mouth that told her he could kiss the socks off a woman. She knew a dangerous man when she saw one, and this one looked like an avenging angel. She wondered, for just one moment, how it would feel to have a man like that charging to her rescue as he so clearly was doing with his grandmother.

He moved, a subtle almost imperceptible step, gliding just a little closer to the baby. Her baby. She needed to get to the child and run for it. Disappear into the swamp. No one would be able to get to them there. No one. Not even this man.

Wyatt studied the beautiful face of the woman. She looked as if she’d stepped out of a picture frame. She didn’t belong in the swamp, a bloody shoulder marring that perfect skin. The baby inched closer to the woman. He took another couple of steps toward his grandmother.

Hold off comin’ in, boys. Let me get this under control. His grandmother was still far too close to the woman and he’d seen her move. He didn’t want Ezekiel and Malichai to spook her into doing anything stupid.

I can feel the threat to you, Wyatt, Ezekiel said. That woman is dangerous and so is the kid.

“I’m warnin’ you now, ma’am,” Wyatt said. “I’m not alone. I know you’re fast, but you’re wounded and so is the baby. You know what I am. I know you do. My two friends are like me, and there’s no way we can’t track you. I don’ want to hurt you or the kid. I just want to talk for a minute.”

Wyatt took another step that successfully put him closer to the child, almost between them. The baby let out a small hissing sound, somewhere between a baby’s cry and the hiss of a snake. The little toddler launched herself at him, running the couple of steps it took to the coffee table, leapt up on it and flung herself into the air.

The woman gave a horrified cry. “No ne mordent pas, bébé, ne mordent pas.” She threw herself between Wyatt and the child.

The baby bit into the woman’s arm, biting hard with her tiny baby teeth. At once she lifted her head, looking up at the woman with strange, too-old eyes – horrified at what she’d done. There were tears swimming in the baby’s eyes, but she didn’t cry aloud. She stayed perfectly still. Utterly still. For some reason, looking at the two of them broke Wyatt’s heart.

“Take the baby, please, Ms. Fontenot,” the woman instructed calmly. Too calmly. “Ginger, you go with Grand-mere.” Her tone changed to one of sternness. “You are not to bite for any reason, do you understand?”

Wyatt heard the subtle change in the woman’s breathing. He caught her arm, his heart pounding hard. “Wait, Nonny. Don’ touch that child.” He turned the woman’s arm over and examined the wounds. “She’s venomous, isn’t she?”