Mary, Ruth and Monica insisted they cut the cake and feed each other a slice, and Isabeau did so, laughing at Conner’s wry expression. The wedding had been his suggestion, but he hadn’t counted on the women of the valley pulling off a traditional wedding. She rested her back against him and looked around her, committing her magical wedding to memory.

A wave of heat poured over her unexpectedly, nothing at all like the other times. This was hot and fast and robbed her of breath. She nearly dropped her plate with the slice of cake. There was no mere itching beneath her skin, but a strong pushing, the pressure tremendous. Very carefully she put the plate on the table, each motion precise. She tasted fear in her mouth. She knew the leopard was not going to wait much longer. Her skin felt too tight and her mouth and jaw ached, teeth sensitive. Her eyesight blurred, eyes aching.

“Conner,” she whispered his name like a talisman.

“What is it, beloved?” he asked, and looked down into her face.

She saw the instant recognition. Her eyes had taken on the glow of the cat at night, wholly leopard now. There was panic on her face, something she couldn’t help. She knew it was different this time. Her heartbeat was different. Her skin burned, the weight of the dress painful. She wanted to tear it off her body, dig her nails into her own skin and shred it, peel it away. The heat came in waves, washing over her so that she could barely breathe.

He put his cake plate beside hers, just as carefully as she had. “Don’t be afraid, Isabeau. I’ll be with you. You’ll experience running free, feeling nearly euphoric. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She breathed deeply, great gulps of air, trying to suppress the urge to rub herself all over him. She’d thought her addiction to his body was powerful before, but now, with the leopard’s needs surging to the surface, she couldn’t stand still. She stared into Conner’s face, despair in her gaze. She didn’t want to ruin their perfect time by ripping the priceless dress from her body, her leopard emerging to leap on the buffet table and smash the cake. For one awful moment, she envisaged the carnage.

“Keep breathing, baby,” he whispered, wrapping his arm around her waist and all but pushing her through the back door into the house. He glanced over his shoulder. “Mary!” His summons was sharp. Imperative.

When Isabeau tried to reply, no coherent sound emerged, not with the way her throat felt closed and swollen. She was acutely conscious of the mechanics of her body. The way she took in air, the way it moved through her body. Each individual strand of hair on her head. Scents grew stronger, flooding her system until she feared it might shut down. Her body burned, tension coiling tighter and tighter, the itch growing not only through her skin, but through every cell in her body.

“I’ve got you,” Conner assured, thrusting her into the first room he came to.

She was moving continually, unable to stay still. The perfumed heat from the interior of the rain forest called to her. Walls seemed oppressive. She felt caged and claustrophobic. Her breasts felt swollen and achy, her nipples hard and so sensitive that with each step she took, as they rubbed against the material of the bodice, nerve endings sizzled and electrical charges raced straight to her core. She was melting from the inside out. Conner’s masculine scent overwhelmed her, his body heat making her catch fire as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of her wedding dress.

Mary pushed open the door, took in the sight of Isabeau’s flushed face and apprehensive expression and slid into the room, closing the door behind her. “You get everything ready that you’ll need,” she told Conner. “I’ll help Isabeau. I’ve been through this.” Her hands replaced Conner’s on the buttons. Although she was older, she moved each satin-covered button deftly, quickly opening the back of the dress.

Conner leaned over to give Isabeau a quick kiss. “Give me five minutes, beloved.”

Isabeau honestly didn’t know if she had five minutes. The house was too stifling, and even Mary’s presence, so close to Conner, sent her cat into a frenzy. She exerted control over her cat, annoyed that a woman who had treated her as a mother with such kindness could trigger bad behavior in her leopard.

“It’s all right,” Mary assured. “You’ll handle her. She’s emerging and her every instinct is centered on Conner. Let her run with him and flirt until she’s worn out. She’ll want to mate with his cat. She’ll need his cat. And that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Once she’s aware no one is going to take her mate from her, she’ll settle down.” She held the dress so Isabeau could step out of it.

“Does it hurt?”

Mary smiled at her. “It’s a relief. By the time she emerges, you’re going to want to be with anything that resembles a man. When she starts, just let it happen. You won’t disappear, but it feels, the first time, as if she’s swallowing you. The faster you let it happen, the less of a wrench. Your man will be there with you and he won’t let anything go wrong.”

Isabeau couldn’t stand the feel of clothes on her skin, but she couldn’t run across the expanse of ground to enter the forest naked in front of her guests. Mary thrust a thin robe into her hands and she put it on without even looking at it.

“You’ve been so good to me,” Isabeau told her—or tried to do so. Her voice had turned to gravel, but she was determined to let Mary know what she had done for her, what this day had meant to her. “I don’t remember my mother—either of them, my birth or adopted mother, but if I have children, I’m going to try to be like you.” Ignoring her cat raking at her, she hugged the other woman, refusing to panic. If this calm, steady woman told her she would be all right, then she’d face this exciting, exhilarating moment with courage. “Thank you, Mary, for everything.”