Wild Cat (Leopard People 7)

She blinked. Looked vulnerable. "You threw me out."

He leaned down and brushed a kiss across her forehead and then straightened. "I fucked up, Siena. You're going to find I do that a lot. I'm leopard. I've got all those traits that make me leopard . . ."

She shrank away from him, fear stark in her eyes.

"Don't. Don't you ever be afraid of me. Don't look at me like that. I'm not like Paolo. I would never physically hurt you. I'd hurt myself before I'd ever harm you. I'm willing to die for you, Siena. More importantly, I'm willing to kill for you."

"I don't want you to do that," she whispered.

"Paolo shouldn't have laid his fucking hand on you." He slid the pad of his thumb across the bruise fading at her temple and then down over her eye. "No one does that to you. No one."

Elijah turned abruptly and stalked to the door. He couldn't take the look in her eyes. She was afraid of him, and he couldn't really blame her. He had to have scared her to death when he'd turned on her and put a gun to her head. What a damn fool. It was going to take time to repair that damage.

"Make a list," he reiterated. "Be thorough. Pen and paper are on the nightstand. I'll be back in a few minutes. I want to make certain our team is fully in place."

Siena watched him leave the room, her heart pounding. She glanced at the phone on the nightstand. She could call a taxi, but if she did, how would it get through the gates? Elijah would never let a taxi through. So all right. She was going to have to stay for a few days, at least until she felt stronger and her leg and hip didn't hurt so much.

She tried to figure out Elijah's motives. If he was really a good man as Drake had tried to convince her in the car, then none of this made sense. She knew better than to think he was attracted to her, no matter what he said. Her world had been turned upside down. She knew Paolo had tried to come to the hospital on several occasions, ostensibly to talk to her about her grandfather's memorial service. She hadn't been able to go. She had a raging fever, the infection spreading through her body like a wildfire. She knew her grandfather's body had disappeared and why.

Leopard. She moistened her dry lips and pushed off the bed. She was leopard. A shifter. Instead of being upset by the news, she was grateful. Her leopard was company. Part of her, yes, but still company, and she'd felt very, very alone most of the time.

She found an enormous closet through double doors. The closet was so large it appeared to be a room all in itself. Just to the left of that was the master bathroom. An apartment could fit into the bathroom. It was a room one would indulge themselves in. An open shower with beautifully appointed gold hardware and a long marble sink with double faucets, a makeup mirror and a beautiful, deep bathtub-Jacuzzi took up one side of the room. On the other was a deep, inviting pool. The cover appeared to be thick glass. Steam fogged the glass on the inside so she was certain she was looking at very large hot tub.

She couldn't imagine Elijah living here. He was just too--rough. She swallowed hard and forced herself to walk over to the bank of full-length mirrors behind the pool of steaming hot water. Her hands shook as she stopped and slowly raised her eyes to her image. In the hospital, she had felt the bandage, but no one had given her a mirror and she hadn't asked for one. She didn't want to see herself with anyone around.

The side of her face, from her temple to the high point of her cheek, was covered in gauze. Very slowly she worked the tape loose in order to see the actual laceration. Her breath caught in her throat as she observed the jagged, puckered scar. Pain exploded through her and her body shuddered, remembering the pain of the claw tearing through her flesh. Her face, once pretty, had been patched together with tiny neat stitches. The actual stitches were gone, but she could see where they had been.

A small sound escaped but she choked it back and slowly undid the buttons on her dress. It was long, almost to the floor, and she let the dress slide off her shoulders to pool around her ankles. The material was soft and flowing to prevent hurting her skin when it touched her leg and back. She turned sideways to look at the laceration running from above her hip all the way to her knee.

Paolo's leopard had held her down with his teeth--she touched the back of her shoulder without taking her eyes from the horrendous, ugly line of raised, red, stitched skin that looked as if someone had created her by throwing pieces of flesh together and then using a needle to sew them together. The stitches weren't gone from that laceration; it had been too deep and they'd had to stitch up the inside as well as outside.

She couldn't tear her gaze from the horrible sight. Bile rose in her throat. Everything she'd ever had was gone. Her grandfather . . . She blinked rapidly to keep tears from falling again. It seemed the only thing she knew how to do these days was cry. She had nothing left, and now she didn't recognize her own body. How could everything in her life be ripped away in twenty-four hours?

She swallowed down the lump in her throat threatening to choke her and turned so she could look at her back. Her heart thudded loudly as she saw the four long furrows Paolo's leopard had ripped down her back. The pain had been excruciating. Even now, after all the time that had passed, her body throbbed with pain.

The marks ran from the top of her shoulders all the way to her spine. Those stitches had also been removed, but she could see where they'd been. The marks had been deliberate. Paolo had shifted his head halfway down, placed his mouth against her ear and taunted her.

"No man will ever want you with my mark on you. You belong to me and, by God, you will marry me. You and all of this is mine. I earned it. A little slut like you is not going to take it away from me."

No man will ever want you with my mark on you. You're the worst I've ever had.

She stared at herself in the mirror for a long time, mesmerized by the sight of her patchwork body. The shine of tears in her eyes. The absolute hopelessness in her mind. She thought she was lost before, but now, she didn't even know who she was.

If she could shift there might be a chance she could escape--and she had to. She couldn't stay here, not with Elijah. That was the worst thing she could possibly think of. Elijah had seen this. He had been there, when pain engulfed her completely, when every breath she took was so difficult she tried desperately not to breathe. He was there.

He'd been so gentle, his voice soothing her, his arms trying not to hurt her more, to jar her pain-wracked body. She remembered that. She remembered the blood everywhere--her blood. Elijah had been covered in it. His face had been grim, set in stone, the lines carved deep and his eyes alive with ice-cold fury. She hadn't moved or spoken, afraid if she did she would shatter. Still, he had come to save her. Paolo had run, and she was left . . . broken. Torn apart. Ripped to pieces. Elijah had seen her like that. He'd seen--this.

She felt her cat rise, push close to the surface in an attempt to comfort her. She stroked a hand over her tummy. The doctor had come in to talk to her before she left, giving her a pep talk on how she was so lucky to be alive. But no one had mentioned a baby again. A part of her shied away from the thought. Thinking it might make it real, but on the other hand, if she had a baby and she could get away from everyone, she could take it far away from this mess. She wouldn't be alone.

She'd have a part of Elijah. The dream part. The man she had believed he was. The one who had fallen in love with her and wanted to be with her forever. Not this one. Not the mean, jerky, arrogant, cruel man who said those terrible things to her. Things that woke her in the middle of the night. She would have thought her nightmares would mostly be of Paolo attacking her, or the more familiar ones of her kidnapping, but no, they were of Elijah, throwing her naked out of his house, slamming and locking his door, leaving her alone and vulnerable with the terrible things he'd said forever branded into her mind.

Elijah's words in her brain. Paolo's marks on her body. That was who she was now. Except . . . She pressed her hand tighter over her stomach. Maybe she was more. Maybe there was something inside her left to protect. Something worthwhile. Her eyes burn

ed as she stared at her image in the mirror.

She was so ugly now. What would a child think of her? What could she even tell her child? She would be bringing an innocent baby into a world of ugliness. Of vile deceit and murder. Their mother was a product of that and she was disgusting. She'd helped murder four men and then her actions had caused the death of her grandfather. She'd been so selfish she hadn't considered what Paolo would do if she stripped him of all chances to inherit his kingdom.

"Siena." The name was spoken softly. A reprimand.

Startled, her gaze flew up to see Elijah standing right behind her. He looked handsome. No, more than handsome, gorgeous, in a rough masculine way, of course. Sheer beauty. His skin was a deep olive, his eyes alive with passion and focus. She didn't understand how he could even look at her patchwork of a body.

She froze, unable to move. Unable to cover up. He had come in so silently and she'd been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't heard him. Deep inside where no one could hear her, she screamed and screamed.

6

"SIENA, the lacerations will heal over time," Elijah said gently, his hand settling on the nape of her neck.

Gentle. So gentle. So at odds with his personality. When he touched her like that, she could almost believe he cared. As it was, she stood frozen, shocked that he could see her nearly naked body. Her breasts were bare, she hadn't worn a bra because she couldn't stand anything tight against her back. She had worn panties, although the material hurt against her hip. She was grateful she had done that much--she'd been tempted to go without.

A slow flush began somewhere in her sex and began to move upward toward her face. Instead of covering her breasts with her hands as she should have, she moved her palm over the bandage on her face. It was difficult enough to face him, but to have him see her like this--so exposed--so vulnerable--was the absolute worst.

Elijah reached around her to capture her wrist. "Don't, baby. Don't hide from me or anyone else. You're beautiful and you'll always be beautiful, even if these scars didn't fade, which they will. You're shivering. The fireplace is going in the bedroom and I'll get one of my shirts for you to wear."

He didn't move. He stood directly behind her. She could see his head and shoulders above her own in the mirror. "Stop looking at the lacerations, Siena; look at you. Your beautiful body. You take my breath away, you're so beautiful."

His eyes on hers in the mirror, he bent his head and brushed a kiss over the puncture marks on her shoulder. Her heart stuttered and her breasts tingled. She moistened her lower lip. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. His unruly, dark hair brushed her back, a sweep of silken strands that caused a flutter deep in her core. His mouth, featherlight, moved down the first rake mark. Small butterfly kisses, so soft and barely there that she held her breath, afraid of missing the sensation.

His hands moved under her arms on either side of her, slowly sliding down the sides of her breasts, so gently over her rib cage to her narrow waist where his fingers bit in possessively. All the while his mouth continued to distribute soft kisses down each terrible rake mark. Wherever his mouth went, the pain seemed to subside just a little.

He was so tender she felt the burn of tears. How could he touch her like that? How could he stand to put his lips on those rigid puckers of red, mottled flesh complete with stitch marks? She stood frozen, unable to move, mesmerized by the sight of his darker skin against hers. By the way his fingers at her waist made the statement that she belonged to him.

Her heart pounded, hurting her chest. Her breasts heaved, drawing her eye. He murmured softly in Spanish against her painful skin, the touch of his lips drawing out the fire, the language beautiful, even hypnotizing.

Elijah took his time, even when her body trembled and she drew in ragged breaths. He kissed his way down to the small of her back, crouching low, and then, in the mirror, she saw him moving around to her side. His head was level with her panties, the little boy shorts that cupped her rounded cheeks and rode low on her hips.

His fingers curled in the stretchy band. "You shouldn't be wearing these, mi corazon. They'll aggravate that wound. The doctor told you he wanted you to expose these stitches to the air. No more covering up like this."

She cleared her throat. "I can't go around naked." She had no choice but to drop her hand to his shoulder to steady herself or she would have fallen face-first right into the mirror.

"Of course you can. No one is going to see you." There was a growl to his voice, as if having someone else see her was a sin. Not him, she realized, he expected to see her. He took it for granted that she was going to move in with him and stay with him because his child might be growing inside her.

She had refused to listen to the doctor when he came in to tell her he'd run another test on her. She couldn't hear it at the time. Denial was the only way she could get through seconds and minutes and hours. Now her gaze went to the mirror, looking at the uncontrollable, very thick hair, all the waves and whorls falling like silk down the back of Elijah's head. She could imagine a child with that hair. Hair so thick and inviting, she had to dig her fingers into his shoulder to keep from burying her fingers in it.

She closed her eyes when his mouth moved over the curve of her hip, her panties sliding down with the coaxing of his fingers.

"Elijah." She said his name in a warning tone.

"Let me, carina. I need this."

She swallowed hard. There was need in his voice. It wasn't his usual demand. Or command. His tone was soft, distressed. A note in there said this was essential, beyond his capability to stop. She didn't know why she gave him that. She just stood there, shaking, tears running down her face, burning along the laceration on her cheek as his mouth took the pain from her hip and leg. As his hands took down her cute little boy shorts to leave her completely exposed.

She told herself it wasn't anything he hadn't already seen. She told herself he was being impersonal, but having his mouth on her mottled flesh was the furthest thing from impersonal she could imagine. His lips felt like a kind of worshiping against her skin.

Siena forced her eyes open so she could see him. He was beautiful. That was all there was to it. So beautiful. She could look at him forever. She could dream about him. Fantasize. But she would never, ever, be so stupid as to allow her feelings for him to show again. It didn't matter how beautiful he was. She knew she could never match his sexual expertise. Heat crept up her body again, coloring her skin a deep rose.

She found herself mortified, his assessment of her skills reverberating through her mind. A single sound escaped. How did this happen again? Her stripped naked. Him fully clothed. She was an idiot when it came to him.

Instantly he lifted his head and blinked up at her, as if coming out of a deep fog. "Siena. Stop it." His hand circled her thigh. He brushed his fingers along her skin, right next to the long laceration, soothing the tightly pulled edges. "You have to let that go."

"I can't. I don't want to talk about it, but I can't. I need clothes on. And you have to stop." Her breath came in ragged, choppy gasps so her declaration sounded tattered and frayed and very, very weak.

His gaze drifted over her face and then her body. Her nipples, to her absolute horror, peaked under his possessive stare. He looked up at her with raw hunger on his face. She felt the answering hunger deep inside. Her leopard leapt toward the surface, as if she felt it as well.

"Please," she whispered softly. She didn't have the strength to fight him. She needed to shore up her defenses, and she didn't want to feel the things he made her feel.

Siena wrapped her arms around her middle, one hand sliding protectively over her womb. She knew the baby was there, but she still wasn't quite ready to admit it aloud. She didn't want him to say anything, not until she'd had a chance to process everything. Her mind still shied away from that. It was barely allowing her to manage her grandfather's death, let alone her guilt in how it all came about.

A knock on the outer door of the bedroom startled them both.

Elijah stood and whipped around in one fluid movement, his body instantly between her and the door. He cursed under his breath. Siena realized he hadn't heard someone approaching. He'd been that caught up in what he was doing to her--feathering light healing kisses up and down the wounds on her body.

"I'll be right there," Elijah snapped, impatience in his voice. He took her arm, his grip gentle but very firm. "Let's get you in bed."

She moistened her lips. She detested being naked in front of him even though he didn't look at her like she was something out of a horror film. "I need clothes."

"Can you tolerate soft fabric against your back?"

She nodded, remaining perfectly still. She wasn't strutting around naked. Doc had told her she could expect that the lacerations would heal fairly quickly because she was leopard. There was a lot less pain. Especially on her face. That wound hadn't been quite as deep as the others. Even her ribs were less painful. The four furrows running down her back hurt, but not like the terrible wound that had almost been to the bone on her leg. Paolo had really hurt her. She'd run from him and he'd brought her down, slamming her facedown in the dirt and digging a claw into her hip.

She closed her eyes, feeling that terrible moment. The excruciating pain ripping through her body. The need to curl into the fetal position and protect her belly was so strong she'd done so, leaving her back and face exposed. She'd been more terrified than she had ever imagined possible, even more than when she'd been kidnapped as a child. A soft sound escaped. She jammed her fist into her mouth to stop the whimper of fear, of memory.

Elijah wrapped his arm around her waist and urged her back toward the bedroom. "You have shadows in your eyes, baby. Don't think about him. He can't get to you here. You're safe." He halted her by the walk-in closet and pulled out a soft, long-sleeved shirt. It was a beautiful slate blue. Very gently he wrapped the shirt around her, sliding her arms into the sleeves and buttoning it up himself. She felt the brush of his knuckles against her skin with every button.

"Elijah." Drake's voice was insistent. "We have a situation. I need you out here now."