Leopard's Rage (Leopard People 12)

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CURSING, Sevastyan turned and ran toward the front yard, calling into the phone for the snipers to take out teams two, three and four. He reiterated that all leopards with signature blue dots were theirs and not to be shot. Kill anything else. He was grateful that he’d had the foresight to call for help from his cousins, Elijah Lospostos and Drake Donovan, and even Joshua Tregre, all of whom sent teams of leopards to defend his cousin’s home.

He glanced down at his cell as he ran and his steps faltered. Flambé. Calling him home. She’d never called him for anything. Not ever. He answered her fast as he stripped. Fuck. Her leopard was rising. He gave her hasty instructions.

“How many coming at us, Ambroise?” he asked.

“Looks like about fifty. They have the house surrounded.”

The sniper rifles were sounding off, but leopards were shadows and they had made progress coming in behind the sacrifices, unseen for quite a distance. Sevastyan didn’t have time. He waited impatiently for Flambé to tell him she’d come. It wasn’t like he could send Kirill and Matvei after her. No male leopard could go near her.

He stared down at her text, not believing his eyes when her answer came, but he should have known. He swore at the top of his lungs in his native language and then shifted on the run, trusting Ambroise to lock up after the leopards exited the house. No one could get inside. Even if they tried burning Mitya and Ania out, they couldn’t get to them.

Sevastyan couldn’t think about Flambé and what was happening to her, not when vicious leopards invaded the property from every direction. They were coming at the house from the trees, across the rolling hills, the meadow, the paths in the woods, even the road in front of the house.

“Coming up over the back fence to try for the roof,” Christophe reported.

The leopards would find that a hard landing. Sevastyan had been prepared for them using the fences as a springboard to the rooftop of the house. The roof was ringed with hidden spears. As the cats landed on the sharpened points, they shrieked, the sound piercing the night. Their bellies were punctured, their bodies caught and held until one of the men on the rooftop turned and fired, putting them out of their misery, killing them.

“Back patio, going for the fence and patio,” Christophe continued.

The back patio seemed another good entry point. That was directly off the kitchen. The herb and vegetable gardens surrounded the patio where tables and chairs had a covered awning. Ania enjoyed sitting outside, especially in the mornings, with her coffee. Two leopards leapt onto the overhead covering and one clawed his way up the side of the column to the thick support beam, attempting to drag himself onto the roof from that angle.

The awning ripped slightly, just a minute tear, but all three leopards dug their claws into the support beam. Their thick stiletto-like claws struck metal in the beam. The three dug deeper for a better purchase and a flash went off, a small explosion knocking them backward, blowing them apart, so that fur, bones, blood and muscle and sinew rained down.

The first wave of leopards hit the front yard of the house, ten of them, coming in fast, males in their prime, scarred from numerous battles, confident in the knowledge that they were experienced. They expected their opponents, although mafia, to be from the city and easily overcome by their sheer numbers, not to mention weak, with few skills.

Sevastyan had already spotted the commander of the team, a big bastard, golden coat with large fancy rosettes. He had allowed his men to sweep into the yard, running at the house to come at the porch as if they could somehow break down the doors or windows just with their sheer numbers. They were big leopards and maybe that tactic had worked for them in the past, but Rolan should have prepared them better for his opponent.

Sevastyan’s leopards were either born in the same lair in Russia as he had been, or one of his uncle’s lairs. They’d trained as he had. If not in Russia, they’d been born and trained in the rain forests. All of his shifters were experienced fighters, skilled in every kind of battle with leopards or man. He would put his men or leopards up against Rolan’s anytime.

Shturm shouldered a big brute of a male out of his way, furious that these leopards were keeping him from his mate, and rushed toward the commander. The golden leopard hadn’t yet spotted him. He was too busy stalking Zakhar. Zakhar’s leopard was never that far from Shturm. He was a big Amur, very distinctive with his thick white undercoat, and his dark rosettes so close together and so large that he looked as if he had a black top coat over the white undercoat. No one had a pelt like Zakhar. His leopard was simply named Istrebitel, meaning fighter.

Had the golden leopard not been so confident, he might have been paying a little more attention to the scars in Istrebitel’s strange markings. Instead, he stalked the leopard, weaving in and out of the other combatants. Shturm went low to the ground, allowing two leopards who tried to ram into his sides to slam into each other hard while he slid between two fighting males, bringing him closer to his target.

The golden male bunched his legs under him, readying for the charge, his eyes in a focused stare. Zakhar faced a younger male, one coming into his prime, eager for battle, already charging the larger Amur leopard, attempting to drive him off his feet. Shturm knew it was a ploy to keep Istrebitel’s attention on him in order for the golden leopard to leap on his b

ack and break his spine, delivering the killing bite quickly.

At the last possible second, as the younger male came rushing in, Istrebitel leapt into the air, right over the top of him, whirling in midair to face the golden leopard who couldn’t stop his charge. Istrebitel landed hard on the younger male’s back, snapping the spine, just as the golden leopard’s intention toward him had been. The young male screamed, flopping to the ground, unable to rise.

Istrebitel reared up, going onto his hind legs to meet the incoming charge of the golden leopard. Shturm charged from behind him, seizing one of the commander’s back legs and snapping it in two with a vicious bite. The golden leopard fell over backward. Istrebitel rushed in and bit down on the throat of the leopard while Shturm eviscerated him with one sharp claw and then left Zakhar to finish both leopards off while he went looking for other prey.

It took time to kill all ten leopards and by that time, the next wave had swept into the side yard from the woods. Drake’s team was there to stop them, but security was Sevastyan’s job. He didn’t just simply hand it over to others. He shifted enough to get information.

“Ambroise. Closest threat.”

“Sneaking up on the garage. Two factions, looks close to twenty count. These leopards joined forces, coming in from your property and the meadow. They have someone directing them up on the hill just past the meadow out of my line of sight. He’s calling the shots.”

Sevastyan snagged his phone as he hurried around the side of the house toward the garage. “Christophe, send me another team. We’ll need at least another five leopards, maybe more.”

“Roger that,” Christophe said.

There were no more messages from Flambé. He read the last one from her again. So your cousin can have his laugh. Fuck you both. Did she really believe that?

Damn it. She’d made it more than clear that she believed Mitya thought her nothing but a sex object. Did she think he’d deliberately leave her if there was any way he could get to her? What if she couldn’t get to him?