Savage Nature (4 page)

She made the sign of the cross and left the church, anxious to be gone before Father Gallagher was finished hearing confession. She didn’t know if she could face him and not give herself away. The stress was getting to her, and her stomach had begun churning. She ran lightly down the steps and headed back toward the dock where she’d left her boat.

The night seemed darker, the shadows longer, reaching for her as she hurried toward the grove that would provide the shorter route back to the dock. Quickly, she moved along the narrow path through the thick stand of trees. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, goose bumps raised along her arms and she shivered, cursing under her breath as she hesitated, nearly turning back toward the lights of town muted by the fog. As if on cue, the rain began to fall, a downpour of warm drops that soaked her instantly. The deluge drove her into the grove where the overhead canopy might protect her a little from the onslaught. She hurried along the path, head up, searching for anything that might be causing her warning radar to go off.

A large shadow shifted in the trees. Her heart jumped and then began pounding. Something seemed to move, pushing against her flesh from the inside out, leaving behind an itch as it receded. Her skin felt tight and her jaw ached. She became aware of her hands hurting. She looked down to see her fingers curled tightly, sharp nails pressing into her palm. Behind her, cutting off her escape to town, she heard a soft chuffing noise and her blood ran cold. Her heartbeat accelerated out of control, thundering in her skull. Her breath came in ragged gasps.

She took a cautious step toward the dock, her hand slipping the knife from her belt. The hilt felt solid in her palm and she curled her fingers tightly around it like a talisman. Her own brothers wouldn’t kill her, would they? Her mouth was dry.

She tried to listen as she hurried, but her own heart and her gasping breath filled her ears, the thunder a terrible roaring, drowning out everything else. The veils of Spanish moss swayed, creating an eerie, ghostlike presence in all the trees. The branches, twisted and gnarled, reached out in the dark like ghoulish hands. She’d never been afraid in the rovf trees along the river. She’d never feared alligators or the swamp even at night. She was careful, as her father had taught her, yet now terror gripped her.

She knew better than to run, knew it would trigger the leopard’s instincts, but she couldn’t stop herself from picking up her pace, moving as fast as she could through the pouring rain without actually running. She heard a whoosh, like the rush of a freight train. Something hit her from behind, slamming into her back so hard, she felt as if her bones had shattered. The heavy weight of it drove her down so she hit the ground hard, landing with her hands pinned under her, the knife still firmly in her grip, but completely useless. She felt hot breath on the back of her neck and tensed, ready to fight. The thing was far too heavy to push up. She couldn’t get her knees under her, and the moment she started to struggle, it sank teeth into her shoulder.

Saria opened her mouth to scream, but got a mouthful of mud. Tears burned her eyes as she waited for it to kill her. Claws gripped her hips hard, warning her not to move. She went still beneath the heavy weight. For a moment neither moved. Very slowly she turned her head. The leopard shifted to bring his head beside hers. She found herself staring into yellow-green eyes. Wide and unblinking, the thing stared back at her. There was intelligence there, and a warning. Breath blew hot against her skin.

She shuddered as the large head drew near her face. The mouth yawned wide and she closed her eyes, certain those terrible teeth would close around her face. The rough tongue lapped once over her face, removing the stream of tears. She drew in a breath and then felt fire raking down her back, ripping through her shirt. She screamed again, struggling to throw him off. His claw dug into her flesh and carved four deep grooves from her shoulder blades to her waistline.

Deep inside of her, something wild lifted its head as if awakening. Adrenaline pulsed through her, rushing like a drug through her veins, strength and energy pouring into her, lending her phenomenal strength. She shoved up hard, gathering her legs under her enough to create a small separation, just enough to roll. At the same time, she brought the knife up, slashing toward the leopard’s jugular.

The cat’s front paw flew toward her knife hand, the heavy body pinning her as the great claw shifted, and to her horror, fingers caught her wrist and slammed her hand back into the muck. That human hand, coming out of a leopard’s body, terrified her. It was grotesque and wrong and not at all romantic like a young child had envisioned. Deep inside her own body, something shifted and moved, pushing aside fear to ignite a burning bright anger.

As they stared at one another, fury smoldered deep inside her body. She could almost feel something inside of her, living and breathing, furious that the leopard dared to touch her. Her skin itched and her jaw ached. Her entire body hurt, probably from the vicious hit when the cat brought her down.

“Go ahead,” she bit out, trying not to sob, trembling with a combination of fear and anger. “Just do it.”

He held her down with his heavy paws, breathing against her neck again. She closed her eyes and waited for the death bite. Unlike most large cats, leopards preferred to bite the throat of their prey and hold until the victim suffocated. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the large leopard backed away from her. She peeked out from under her lashes and watched it as it steadily backed up, one silent paw at a time. All the while, those yellow-green eyes remained on her facfont>

She didn’t dare move, afraid she would trigger more aggression in the animal. Long after he disappeared into the fog, she lay on the ground, shaking, tears running down her face. It hurt to sit up, her back on fire. The rain soothed the fiery streaks. The bite mark on her shoulder oozed. Infection was a real threat in the swamp. She couldn’t go to a doctor, and if she went to the
treateur
, what was she going to say? That a leopard attacked her in the cypress grove just outside of town? The woman would have her committed.

She sat in the rain, listening. Already the regular sounds of the night were resuming and deep inside her body, whatever had stirred subsided. For several long minutes, she sat in the mud with the rain pouring down on her, weeping. Her stomach lurched unexpectedly, and she rolled painfully to her hands and knees and retched again and again.

She was a Boudreaux and she’d been taught since birth not to trust outsiders. Her family was shrouded in secrecy and she was cut off from the world. She could leave the river—but she knew no other way of life. Where would she go? Who could she turn to? Saria lifted her head slowly and looked around her.

This was her home, the wilds of the river, the bayous and lakes, the swamps and marsh. She couldn’t breathe in a city. She wiped at the mud on her face with her sleeve. The movement caused a spasm of fire to chase down her back and small flames to burn over her shoulder. Her stomach lurched. Stifling a small sob, she pushed herself up with one trembling hand. Exhaustion set in. She stumbled her way to the dock, every step painful. She was afraid the leopard had broken something in her back.

It was difficult to step onto the pirogue, but she did a lot of deep breathing as she reached for her pole to push off. Her back muscles were on fire with every movement. She looked back at the grove as she thrust the flat-bottomed boat away from the dock. Her heart jumped. Red eyes stared back at her through the mist. He was still watching her. She stared right back at him as she pushed out into the current and let it take her back downriver. The red eyes suddenly disappeared and she caught a glimpse of the big cat running, using long leaping strides, weaving in and out of the trees, heading into the swamp.

Trying to beat her home? Did she believe any of her brothers would harm her? Could one be a serial killer? She’d found a second body three months ago, and now a third. She’d tried to mail the letter out herself, but found it taped to the bottom of her pirogue, scaring her nearly to death. Her brothers were tough men, all capable of killing should the need arise. But wantonly? Any of them? She shook her head, not wanting to believe it was possible. But the evidence . . . Maybe if she just told all of them when they were together, just blurted out that she’d found bodies, it might be possible to tell from their reactions.

Saria found it impossible to think the rest of the way home. Using oars or a pole required back muscles, and her body protested every movement. She didn’t even care to see if the leopard cut through the swamps and beat her home. There were several boats tied up to the dock and music blared out over the water. Lights spilled out over the river. A couple of men were standing outside the bar, but neither looked up as she tied her pirogue to the dock.

The bar was open, which meant at least one of her brothers was at home. She would have liked to peek in and see just which one was there, because that would rule him out as a suspect, but she didn’t dare take a chance of anyone seeflat-bott

The house was nestled back in the trees with the river running on one side and surrounded by trees on the other three sides. She used to find comfort in the trees, often climbing them and surveying the world from the heights as a child. Now she searched the branches frantically for signs of a large cat as she went around to the back of the house, hoping to avoid her brothers if any others were at home.

There were no lights on, and she paused on the back stairs, listening. Her hearing seemed more acute sometimes, like a switch that went on and off, as did her night vision. Right now, she could hear only her own ragged breathing. She crept into the dark house, not bothering with lights, trying not to make a sound as she made her way through the small rooms to her bathroom.

Saria stripped off her ripped jacket and examined the slashing tears before she shrugged out of her shirt. The shirt was soaked with blood. She held up the remnants, looking at the gashes that could only be made by a large cat’s claws. The sight of all that blood and the tears made her feel sick. She balled up the shirt, threw it into the sink and turned her back toward the full-length mirror. The glass was cracked in places, but looking over her shoulder, she could see the grooves marring her skin. They looked angry and red—definitely an infection waiting to happen.

She touched the puncture wounds on her shoulder and burst into tears. Saria stood in the shower, shaking, the hot water pouring over her, rinsing away the blood, her back and shoulder stinging horribly. Her legs gave out and she sank down onto the floor of the shower stall and cried, letting the water wash away her tears.

She drew her knees up and hugged herself tight, ignoring the burning along her back. Why hadn’t the leopard killed her? Clearly he knew she’d found the dead bodies. She breathed deep to keep from vomiting. She had no idea what to do, other than scrub to remove all scent from her body and then get rid of her clothes. Leopards had a great sense of smell, and she didn’t want any questions.

Forcing her body back up, she reluctantly took the soap and poured the gel over her back, using a scrub brush to work it into her wounds. She had to stop several times and breathe deep to keep from fainting. It hurt beyond anything she could imagine. She rinsed off and repeated the scrubbing with the bite on her shoulder. She patted her body dry and rummaged in the medicine cabinet until she found iodine.

Saria bit back a scream as the iodine burned through the gouge marks on her back and the puncture wounds on her shoulder. She pushed her head between her knees, breathing deep as blackness edged her vision. Bile rose and she fought hard not to get sick.

“Fils de putain.”
She hissed the words between clenched teeth, struggling to keep from landing facedown on the floor as the world around her darkened and white spots fluttered in front of her eyes.

It took several minutes for her world to right itself, and she was able to straighten again without her legs going rubbery on her, although her back protested with a fierce burning. She breathed through it and carefully bandaged the puncture wounds on her shoulder. She couldn’t do anything about her back and knew whatever she wore would be ruined, so she pulled on an old shirt and soft sweatpants.

She couldn’t just go to bed and hide beneath the covers, she had to get rid of her shredded clothes. She picked up the jacket and shoved it in the sinkhe shirt. Her brothers would smell them if she didn’t do something about the blood before she threw them away. The only thing she could think to do was pour bleach over them, which she did. She left them to soak while she went to get water and some aspirin.

The scent of bleach and blood had permeated the bathroom by the time she returned. This was not going to work. The bleach would definitely mask the scent on her clothes, but her brothers would be suspicious. She rinsed the shirt and jacket and cleaned the sink. She would take the clothes out to the swamp and burn them.

Saria tried to still her chaotic mind long enough to think the situation through as she slipped out of the back of the house and into the thick grove of trees toward the swamp. Why hadn’t the leopard killed her? The shifter knew she had found the body. Wouldn’t it have been simpler just to kill her—unless the killer was one of her brothers and he couldn’t bring himself to kill a family member.

“Saria! Where the hell are you,
cher
?”

Her heart jumped at the sound of Remy’s voice calling from the back porch. Lately, he’d been checking several times a night to make certain she was in her room.

Swearing to herself, she hastily dug a hole and shoved the tattered remnants of her clothing into it. She had to answer. He would have seen her pirogue tied to the dock and he would come looking for her. “I’ll be right in,” she called as she buried the evidence. “I just was getting a little air.”

“Hurry up, Saria, you shouldn’t be out alone at night in the swamp.” His voice was always gentle. That was Remy, but under all that soft, black velvet, there was steel. She knew he’d come after her if she didn’t get inside.