She lifted her chin and indicated the tea. “Tell me what’s in that.”

“I don’t want you to feel what I’m going to do to you.” Her heart slammed so hard against her chest she was afraid it would burst. Fear breathed through her like a living entity. He said it so matter-of-factly, not blinking, no sympathy, no remorse.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Not you. Him. He has to be made to suffer. To be off his game. His leopard will go into a rage and he won’t be able to control it. I’ve studied him. He’s methodical. And good. I don’t believe in being stupid. I need an edge and the only way I’m going to get it is to hurt you, or crawl into the doctor’s house and savage his young friend. Either would set him off.”

She knew he deliberately threatened Jeremiah to coerce her to drink the drugged tea. “You’re going to hurt me?” she echoed. He was right, Conner would never forgive himself and he’d turn the rain forest inside out looking for Ottila. He’d follow him right into a trap. She looked into Ottila’s eyes, forcing courage into frozen muscles.

“You need to punish me, don’t you?” In his own sick way, he felt she’d betrayed him—betrayed their relationship. She’d been deceived by his absolute calm.

“Drink the tea, Isabeau,” he instructed softly.

She took the cup from him, her fingers trembling, looking down into the dark liquid. He’d made certain the water wasn’t hot enough to burn him if she threw it at him. He actually expected her to obey him and drink his drug. She brought the mixture to her mouth and flung the contents into his eyes, carrying the cup on through to smash it against the arms of the chair. She kept moving, whirling around as she slashed at him with the shard. It wasn’t like she had much to lose, he was going to hurt her on purpose.

The piece of glass cut a thin line across his chest, but he didn’t even wince. His gaze burned into hers, a fierce promise of retribution. Isabeau refused to be intimidated. She held the shard like a knife, down low, the jagged edge pointed up toward the softer parts of his body. Ottila sidestepped and then moved in on her, fast, so fast for a big man. His hand slapped her wrist away, turning aside the glass as he spun her around, trapping her body against his.

His hand controlled hers, slamming it hard against the wall. “Drop it,” he ordered. “Drop it right now.”

When she hesitated, he drove her hand a second time into the wall. The jagged edges cut into her palm and the force of the blow sent pain shooting up her arm. Tears burned in her eyes and she blinked them rapidly away, not wanting to show weakness. She was terrified of letting go of her only weapon, but he was just too strong.

“Drop it, Isabeau,” he ordered again.

There was no change in his inflection. He might have been talking about the weather. Shivering, she complied. He held her for a few more moments, his arms strong, holding her up when she might have collapsed.

“That was stupid. What did you gain from it?”

“I had to try.”

“I guess so.”

His hands were gentle as he put her away from him. So gentle, in fact, that when he struck her, she was more shocked than hurt. Blows rained down on her body, hard, fast jabs that had her doubling over and sliding down the wall. He kept hitting her, methodically, over and over. She tried crawling away from him, fighting back, using her arms to defend herself, but the blows kept falling all over her body. He never touched her face and when she curled into the fetal position to try to protect herself, he crouched beside her and continued.

There was no way to protect herself from the blows. They seemed to go on forever. She closed her eyes, sobbing, holding up her hands to try to block him. Just as abruptly as it started, he stopped hitting her.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded softly.

Tears swimming in her eyes, she obeyed him reluctantly. He bent his head toward her, shifting as he did so, until a male leopard in his prime held her pinned against the floor, his teeth sinking deep into her shoulder directly over the mark Conner had put there. At the same time, his back claw raked down her thigh. She felt the gash, the blood run free, and she also felt the burn spreading through her system. She could hear her own screams of anguish, but the leopard ignored her pleas, rolling her over so that she was on her back, her soft belly exposed to him.

His claws sank into her breasts, deep punctures that drew blood. She heard herself scream, but he wasn’t finished. His claws raked the insides of her thighs and then sank deep into her feminine mound. The pain was excruciating. She nearly passed out, the edges of her vision darkening, bile rising.

He lifted her onto her hands and knees, holding her head down to keep her from fainting. She was going to be sick, her stomach cramping and heaving in protest. He appeared just as patient, his hands stroking her hair, soothing her as if he hadn’t been the one to cause such damage in the first place.

Sobbing, Isabeau tried to crawl away from him, but he simply drew her into his arms and rocked her back and forth. She didn’t fight him. Any movement caused pain to rip through her body.

“We’re tied together, Isabeau,” he said softly, looking down at her shredded, bloody jeans. “You’ll need an antibiotic. He’s going to be so enraged he may forget, so you’ll have to be the one to remember.” Again he spoke matter-of-factly.

“Why?” she asked.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “When you think back on your wedding day, it will be me you remember, not him.” His hand stroked her hair, trying to soothe her when she was shaking uncontrollably. “And to prove a point. You’ll never be safe with him, neither will your children. I got to the kid right under the noses of his guards, and I got to you. I can do it again, anytime, anyplace. You need to think about what you want in a partner. We live by the law of the jungle, Isabeau, and if he can’t protect you, what use is he to you?”