The leopard took several experimental steps. His back leg dragged a bit, but he could walk. Pain crashed through him after the first few feet, the numbness wearing off.
“You need help?” Rio came up on his left side, his gun ready as they hurried through the swirling smoke toward the fence. His face was grim, eyes bloodshot, always moving, searching through the smoke for an enemy, but his hands were rock steady.
Conner shook his head, grateful he had a friend who watched his back. Blood coated his hindquarters and the pain in his back hip and leg was becoming unbearable.
Around them, it looked as if the world was on fire. Flames rolled and spun, reaching high, greedy for something to consume and finding it in the buildings and plants throughout the compound. Already, the tall fence surrounding the estate was on fire in several places. The smoke choked lungs, burned eyes and throats. The loud roar pounded through their ears, driving out nearly every other sound. The conflagration created its own wind, a fierce, hot breath that scorched anyone it touched.
Conner kept going, forcing the pain to the back of his mind, afraid for the children and Isabeau. He kept telling himself Elijah and the Santos brothers were with them. The fence loomed up in front of them, a fiery wall that seemed to surround the entire complex now. Bullets spit into the dirt near him and someone shouted hoarsely. Rio dropped to one knee and began firing.
Conner gathered himself and forced his cat to leap through the flames. Heat seared him, singeing whiskers and fur. For a moment the heat was so intense, he thought he was on fire. He landed on the other side and crouched, panting, his sides heaving as his leg gave way and he staggered and fell. Rio landed beside him, already reloading.
“You need medical attention. Get to the trees and let me take care of that,” Rio said. When the leopard shook its head, Rio’s mouth tightened. “That wasn’t a request.”
Conner snarled, showing teeth, but reluctantly followed his team leader’s order. Rio rarely put things as a command, but he ran the team when Drake wasn’t around—and Drake hadn’t been around in a long while.
They hurried away from the heat and roar of the fire. There were a few men running away from the flames, so they avoided them. The ones hunting the children and Isabeau were a different matter. The leopard sank down into the thick vegetation, while Rio withdrew his medical kit and found what he needed.
“I think the bullet’s still in there, Conner. I’m going to have to take it out.”
He injected the cat with painkiller to numb the area before feeling around to see where the bullet was lodged. Leopards could be unpredictable in the best of times, and digging around for a bullet was not something most would allow. Rio wouldn’t have tried it with just anyone. Conner was strong and held his cat in check through most difficult situations. And they had little time.
Rio could feel the leopard tremble as he probed the wound. Once he nearly had the slippery bit of metal with the tweezers, but the cat flinched. “Damn it. Hold still. The light’s no good here and I’m working blind.” Mostly the cat’s teeth were too close, making him nervous.
It took a few more minutes of digging before he managed to grasp the bullet enough to pull it out. The cat shuddered and hissed out a long protest, but resolutely kept its head turned away from him. Hastily, Rio cleaned up the wound site and injected him with antibiotics. “Don’t do anything crazy and that should hold until you can shift again. Let’s go.”
Conner tested the leg. With the painkiller, he could put more weight on it, but he was weak and a little disoriented. The two set out at a run. Rio slung his gun over his shoulder and tried to keep up with the wounded leopard. The men had set a fast pace with the children. Elijah was obviously carrying Mateo, his footprints were deeper than the others. They came across two bodies, both guards from Imelda’s compound, shot.
There were smears of blood after that, indicating someone had been injured. Deep inside the leopard, Conner’s heart pounded in fear for Isabeau.
“Not her,” Rio said. “Felipe or Leonardo I think.” He pointed to a broken stride. “Right here.”
Both inhaled deeply. “Definitely Felipe,” Rio said.
They took off running again. The sound of a gunshot reverberated through the forest. Beside the leopard, Rio suddenly jerked and went down on one knee. Blood splattered across the rotting vegetation as Rio fell facedown, sprawling out limply.
Conner used his powerful claws to grip a leg and pull the body into the deeper cover of the trees, sinking down beside his friend to gently roll him over. He was losing too much blood. Conner shifted, uncaring of the vicious pain slamming through his leg and hip as he crouched beside Rio, working fast to stop the blood.
There was both an entry and exit wound. The bullet had passed through Rio’s body, close to the heart, but it hadn’t hit it. He had no idea of what damage it had done, but Rio was breathing shallowly. Conner had no doubt who had targeted them. Just as they had stashed supplies and weapons in the forest, so had Ottila.
He worked on Rio for twenty minutes before he was satisfied he’d done all he could. Rio stirred, lashes fluttering several times. Conner leaned close to his ear. “Lie still. He’s out there hunting us. I’m putting the gun in your hand. It’s fully loaded. There’s water next to your other hand. I’m going to kill him, but it may take some time. I don’t want you getting all impatient on me and trying to move. You understand, Rio. Don’t move around.”
Rio’s nod was barely perceptible. Conner put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and bowed his head, looking for a little help. He didn’t want to come back to a dead body.
Shifting, he slunk low to the ground and bellied his way through the thick brush. He crept slowly. Patience on the hunt was essential. He couldn’t think about Rio or Isabeau. He had to turn his instincts completely over to his leopard.
He circled the area around Rio, stealthy and silent on his cushioned paws. The man would have to be protected. Ottila would certainly try to kill him, to make certain there would be no interference during his challenge for Isabeau. Conner had to be able to see Rio at all times, and to be able to get to him quickly.
His cat found a tree with a multitude of sweeping branches and went up. He was up against an enemy who was cunning and quick, one determined and very familiar with the territory. He was hunting in Ottila’s backyard. But, Conner decided, Ottila had no idea Conner had been born and raised in the Panama rain forest and he also was familiar with it. Granted, he’d been away five years, but he wasn’t one to forget.
He curled up on a branch and went still, relying on his heavy coat to camouflage him, fade him into the background. Now it was a waiting game. Ottila would feel the pressure more than Conner. He would think that Elijah and the others might backtrack and come looking for them if they took too long to catch up. Ottila had no idea orders were to see to the safety of the children before anything else. No, the leopard would come with his evil intentions and he would be forced to make the first offensive move. A game of chess then. The stakes were life for Rio and Conner and Isabeau, or death for them all. Ottila had a battle on his hands.
Conner had spent hundreds of hours as a sniper, locked into a position simply waiting for that perfect target. He felt the familiar calm that always seeped into his veins. Ice water, Rio called it, but it flowed through him bringing peace. He became aware of every nuance of the rain forest. The birds, the constant calls back and forth, the monkeys, all frightened and fleeing the heat and flames of the fire. The wind was carrying the fire toward the east, away from them now, but the smoke had settled in the trees like a gray, choking blanket.
There was no sound, nor did Conner think Ottila would make such a mistake. He watched the brush around Rio until he saw what he was looking for. A low branch on a bush shifted slightly when there was no breeze. That was all the warning he got—all he needed. His gaze locked on to the ground and brush. His tail twitched and he stilled it. Waiting.
The snarling face of a male leopard in his prime pushed through the foliage and froze. Conner could see the fur was darker than his own golden pelt—more of a tan or tawny base, with a sea of black rosettes covering his body. Ottila looked a strong brute, large with roped muscles and cunning intelligence burning in his yellow-green gaze. His ears lay flat on his head as he crept forward, never taking his eyes from the motionless boot sticking out of the bushes just yards from him.
The path chosen by the stalking leopard would take him close to the tree where Conner lay in wait. Conner gathered himself, every muscle coiling tight in preparation. Inch by inch, Ottila crept forward. The foot never moved. The body never shifted. Conner was afraid Rio had passed out again and wouldn’t be able to defend himself if he missed the initial attack.
He kept his gaze focused on the leopard, watching each freeze-frame step that took him closer to his prey. He waited until he could see the bunching of the muscles beneath the thick fur, the gathering as Ottila prepared to charge. With the darker leopard so focused on his prey, Conner launched his own attack, striking with the blurring speed of the leopard. At the last moment, Ottila must have sensed his presence, breaking off his focused stare to look up.
Conner hit him hard, knocking him off his feet. They rolled, a tangle of teeth and claws, raking at one another. Tails lashed as both rose up on their hind feet, digging deep into the ground for leverage as both tried for a suffocating hold on the throat. Ottila hissed and snarled his hatred of his rival, the roars reverberating through the forest, so that the birds rose screaming from the trees. Howler monkeys threw twigs and sticks down on the two leopards.
The cats separated, circled and met again in midair, eyes locked, both savagely ripping at the other. Ottila arched into a half-circle, his flexible spine enabling him to nearly fold into two. Conner timed his swipe perfectly, raking hard at the belly, ripping deep even as the darker leopard tore open his side. They landed, sides heaving, blood smearing the leaves around them both as they once again circled warily.
Ottila tried to take the fight closer to Rio, but Conner cut him off, refusing to give ground, springing once again and driving the other leopard off his feet. Ottila rolled over, spun, nearly somersaulting, his powerful front paw swiping with tremendous force across Conner’s injured back hip. Conner tried to get out of the way enough to at least lessen the blow, but the claw connected, sending fire shooting down his leg and rolling in his belly. His leg collapsed and he went down.
Ottila leapt on him, claws raking at his belly, breath hot in his face, the malevolent eyes glaring into his as they struggled, nose to nose, Ottila trying to sink his teeth into Conner’s throat. Conner slammed his legs into Ottila’s softer belly, ripping at the fur to draw blood, trying to go deeper while the leopard slashed and bit at his throat. With one last desperate heave, Conner managed to roll his body over and out from under the other leopard. He tried to stand and went down again.
Ottila circled, snarling, lips drawn back, exposing the bloody canines. There was blood smeared over his muzzle, turning the tawny color muddy. His eyes were red flames, shining with hatred and resolve.
Conner stayed in position, only expending the energy it took to stay facing the other leopard. His hind end was barely working, the leg weak, with a tendency to crumble beneath him if he put too much weight on it. He was careful to hide the weakness as best he could. Ottila was strong, too good and too experienced for Conner to give him any edge.
Ottila charged him, a burst of speed, striking with so much force that he not only drove Conner over, but it carried him past the golden leopard as Conner went down, the only thing that really saved Conner’s life. His insides felt broken, smashed to pieces, but he resolutely rolled over and regained his feet, shaking himself. Ottila rose, whirled back, snarling. Conner began limping toward the other leopard, his sides heaving, blood coating his hips, legs and now his sides.
Rio groaned and shifted position, drawing the enraged leopard’s attention. Ottila snarled again and, dismissing Conner as too injured to be much of a threat, crawled on his belly toward the body lying so still in the brush, now only feet from him. He didn’t want a bullet in his head when he went to finish Conner off. Rio raised his head, his eyes locking with the leopard. The rifle lay loosely in his hand, seemingly forgotten, or Rio was too weak from blood loss to even lift it.
The tawny leopard pulled back his lips in a grimace of hatred. He looked evil in that moment, using his claws to pull himself inch by inch closer to Rio, prolonging the agony, knowing the man was utterly helpless.
Conner followed the leopard grimly. As Ottila picked up speed on the ground, Conner struck, a desperation move, driving his two front claws as deep as he could into the leopard’s hips. He dug his back legs into the ground and pulled with every bit of strength he had, dragging the leopard away from Rio.
Ottila roared with rage and twisted, ripping a razor-sharp claw across Conner’s muzzle. Conner kept dragging him, back-pedaling, his grip relentless. Blood ran down the darker leopard’s legs, and each time he twisted, Conner dug deeper, refusing to allow even that flexible spine to interfere with his determination to remove the threat to Rio.
Ottila began to panic as the claws kept adjusting, puncturing deeper and deeper, the grip relentless, merciless, unbreakable. Conner sank his long canines into the spine and Ottila’s terror spread like a disease. He twisted and snarled, throwing his weight sideways in an attempt to roll, his claws ripping everything he could touch. He slashed at the golden leopard frantically, chest, muzzle, shoulders and front legs, but he couldn’t dislodge the other animal sawing through his backbone.
Ottila needed leverage, but the golden leopard countered every move. He seemed to anticipate every move before he made it. He knew Conner was weakening. His continual slashes were taking their toll. He raked the face, the chest and shoulders and arms, long, deep slices that spewed fountains of precious blood. He couldn’t get to the throat, although he’d come close, twisting and turning, and still those claws and teeth were relentless, hanging on, dragging him away from the man on the ground.