Wild Rain (4 page)

“Stop shaking.” There was impatience in his voice.

Rachael took a deep breath and forced her gaze down to her mangled leg. A single sound escaped and her world began to blur.

“Stop looking at it, you little fool.” He caught at her impatiently, jerked her chin up so that she was forced to meet his glittering stare.

Rio studied her pale face, so drawn with pain he could see lines etched around her mouth. Beads of sweat dotted her brow. The marks of his fingers showed around her throat, swollen and purple. His gaze dwelt for a moment of speculation on her right wrist, noting the swelling, wondering if it was broken. It was the least of his worries. “Listen to me, try to follow what I’m saying.” He bent close to her, his face inches from hers. His voice started out gruff, but even to his own ears, it gentled as his gaze drifted over her.

Rachael pressed back against the mattress, terrified that his face would contort and leave her staring at a beast rather than a man. She was floating in a sea of pain. A veil of haze blurred her vision, until she felt at a distance from everything. A look of resolution hardened his expression, warning her. She made an attempt to nod, to indicate she was listening, terrified of the intensity of his unblinking stare, afraid if she didn’t respond he would suddenly grow a mouthful of teeth. All she really wanted to do was slide down in the bed and disappear.

“Infections start fast here in the rain forest. We’re cut off by the river. This storm is a bad one and the river is over its banks. I can’t get you help so I’m going to have to take care of this the primitive way. It’s going to hurt.”

Rachael pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the hysterical laugh welling up. Hurt? Was he crazy? She was caught in the middle of a nightmare with no end. She was in a tree house with a leopard man and two mini leopards. No one knew where she was and the leopard man wanted her dead. Did he think her leg didn’t already hurt?

“Did you understand?”

He seemed to bite the words out between strong teeth. Rachael tried not to stare at his teeth. Tried not to imagine them lengthening into lethal weapons. She made herself nod, tried to look intelligent when she was certain she was insane. Men didn’t change into leopards, not even in the middle of the rain forest. She must have lost her sanity, there was no other explanation.

Rio stared down at her face, shocked at the way his stomach lurched at the idea of what he had to do to her. He’d done such things before. He’d done far worse things. It was the only chance they had of saving her leg, but the thought of hurting her further sickened him. He had no idea who she was. Chances were good she’d been sent to kill him. He was a wanted man. It had been tried before. Rio snapped his teeth together and swore silently. What the hell difference did it make if her eyes were too big for her face and she looked so damned vulnerable?

The ram poured down onto the roof. The wind howled and lashed at the windows. He was uneasy, hesitant even, something very unusual for Rio. He looked down, saw his fingertips brushing damp tendrils of hair from her face, his touch almost gentle, and jerked his hand away as if her skin burned him. His heart did a peculiar somersault. Rio pulled the small vial from the field medical kit strapped to his belt. One hand clamped around her leg to hold her still. He poured the entire contents over the gaping wound.

Rachael screamed, the sound tearing up through her ragged throat to pierce the walls of the house. She tried to fight him, tried to jerk into a sitting position, but his strength was implacable. He held her down easily. “I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know anything.” The words were strangled between trying to breathe through the pain and her swollen throat. “I swear I don’t. Torturing me isn’t going to do you any good.” She looked at him, pleading, tears swimming in her dark eyes. “Please, I really don’t know anything.”

“Ssh.” Distaste for hurting her was bile in his mouth and he didn’t know why. Most tasks were done without feeling. Rio had no idea why he would suddenly develop compassion for a woman sent to kill him. He filed her blurted revelations away for a better time to study them. The need to reassure her took precedence and that worried him. He was a man who always wanted knowledge. Information. He wasn’t the type to offer sympathy—especially for someone who had tried to take his head off. “It’s only to kill the germs and fight infection.” He found himself murmuring the words, his tone odd. Unfamiliar. “I know it burns. I’ve used it on myself more than once. Just lie still while I try to repair the damage.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” It was the last humiliating straw. Rachael couldn’t believe it was happening to her. She had planned everything so carefully, worked so hard, come so far. Everything was lost now. This man was going to torture her. Kill her. She should have known she couldn’t escape.

“Damn it.” He held her head while she was sick over and over into a bucket he dragged out from under the bed. She didn’t want to think what the bucket was used for. She didn’t want to think how she was going to get away from him with a mangled leg, in the middle of a storm with the river flooding.

Rachael lay back, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, trying desperately to force her brain to work. Weakness was an insidious enemy, creeping through her body so her arms felt leaden and she didn’t want to lift her head.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” he said tersely, as if reading her mind.

“What are you?” The words came out a whisper. The wind stilled for a moment so only the rain could be heard pounding on the roof. Rachael held her breath when he turned the full impact of his cold, merciless eyes on her. He didn’t blink. She saw that his pupils were dilated. She saw that same piercing intelligence, glimpsed the dangerous fire smoldering. Her heart pounded in time with the driving rain.

“They call me the wind of death. How could you not know?” His voice was as expressionless as his eyes. A faint, humorless smile drew attention to his mouth, failing to light his eyes. “They didn’t send you here with much information. Not very smart for an assassin. Maybe someone wanted you dead. You should give that some thought.” He dragged a chair to the side of the bed, lit a lamp and dug into his field kit for more supplies.

Something in his voice gave her pause. She studied his profile. There was acceptance in his voice of who and what he was, not bravado or bragging.

“Why would I be sent here to kill you?”

“Weren’t you? It’s been tried many times and I’m still alive.” He was telling her the truth.

She didn’t understand what he was telling her, but she heard the honesty in his tone. He had a needle in his hand and bent very close to her leg.

Involuntarily she jerked away. “Can’t you just tape it up?”

His hand clamped around her thigh, pinning her to the mattress, holding her still. “Damn cat made a mess of you. It’s all the way to the bone. The lacerations need stitches. There’s nothing I can do about the puncture wounds. I don’t like the look of this. It isn’t helpful with you shaking so much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Rachael muttered the words resentfully under her breath. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of her own blood. All the while, in spite of everything, she was acutely aware of his hand wrapped around her bare thigh. “You’re obviously one of those he-men seen only on film who can take forty-seven kicks in the ribs and keep on fighting. Don’t mind me for being human.”

“What did you say?” His head swung around, his eyes focusing on her face.

Rachael could feel his gaze stabbing at her but she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. Or at the needle. She’d already thrown up once; she didn’t think a second round would win her any points. “Was it my imagination or did you turn into a leopard?” Not just any leopard. Not a clouded leopard like his two companion cats. “Not like those little cats either. I’m talking a big, for-real large, predatory, man-eating leopard.” She could have groaned the minute the words left her mouth. It was utterly ridiculous. No one turned into a wild animal. Now he was going to think she’d lost her mind completely. And maybe she had. The image of his face contorting, the hot breath, the wicked teeth so close to her throat was very vivid. She’d even felt the brush of fur. And those eyes. She would never forget those eyes. She couldn’t possibly have made up that predatory stare. Unable to prevent herself, her gaze lifted to his, regarding him as if he had two heads. She could see she was really making an impression.

“It’s a bad habit of mine.” He said it casually. Easily. As if it didn’t matter. As if she really were crazy. And actually she thought he might be right.

Rachael watched him take a breath, let it out and take the first stitch. She tried to jerk her leg away from him, her breath hissing out between her teeth. “Are you insane? What do you think you’re doing?”

“Hold still. You think this is easy for me? You’ve lost too much blood. If I don’t repair the damage, you’re not just going to lose the leg, you’re going to die.”

“I thought that was the idea.”

“What was I supposed to think? You were here, waiting in my house for me.”

“I was in bed asleep, not lurking behind the door ready to bash your brains out.” She glared at him.

Rio turned his head again to look at her. Rachael had the grace to blush. Blood trickled down his temple to the dark shadow of stubble growing on his face.

“I thought you were trying to kill me. You were, weren’t you?”

“If I wanted you dead, believe me, you’d be dead and I’d be burying your body in the forest. Hold still and cut the chatter. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m soaked and have a few wounds of my own to take care of.”

“And all this time I thought you were he-man and didn’t care about the little things like wounds.”

He muttered something under his breath she was certain was uncomplimentary before once more bending over her leg.

Rachael gave up the idea of being a true heroine straight out of the movies. She’d been trying bravado just to concentrate on anything beside the excruciating pain in her leg, but he wasn’t helping with his tiny little needlework. It felt like he was sawing at her leg with a dull blade. She couldn’t just grab the pillow and suffocate herself because her hand wasn’t working properly. She could hear someone crying. An obnoxious, annoying sound that wouldn’t stop. A high keening kept breaking her concentration, making it impossible to lie still.

Grim-faced, Rio held her down as he worked. He was grateful when she finally succumbed to the pain, lying motionless, her breathing rapid, her pulse pounding. Her soft moaning set his teeth on edge. Ate at his heart. “Damn you, Fritz. Did you have to take her leg off?” It took him close to an hour in the dim light, tiny stitches, working on the inside. Straightening, he sighed, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his hands, smearing her blood over the stubble on his face. Now he could add torturing women to his long list of sins.

He brushed back her hair, frowning down at her white face. “Don’t you die on me,” he ordered, feeling for her pulse. She’d lost a lot of blood and her skin was clammy. She was going into shock. “Who are you?” He dragged blankets over her and built the fire back up to heat a large pot of water and added a smaller kettle to make coffee. It was going to be a long night and he needed a boost.

The cats lay near the fire, already asleep, but woke when Rio examined them for injuries. He murmured to them, nonsense really, showing his affection for them roughly as he removed parasites and ruffled their fur. He never admitted to himself he felt affection for them, but it always pleased him when they chose to remain with him. Fritz yawned, showing his long sharp teeth. Franz nudged him sleepily. Normally playful, the two leopards were worn out. As he washed his hands, Rio became aware of how uncomfortable his soaked clothing was. Every muscle in his body ached now that he was allowing himself time to think about it. He had to clean and stitch his own wounds, and the prospect wasn’t a pleasant one. His pack was still outside lying against a tree trunk and he needed the contents of the larger medical kit he always carried.

While he waited for the water to boil he searched his home for some evidence of who she was and why she was there. “Little Red Riding Hood, were you just walking in the woods?” He went through the backpack containing her clothes. “You come from money. A lot of money.” He recognized the designer labels from rescuing more than one rich victim. “Why would you be wandering alone in my territory?” His gaze shifted to her face, a silken thong crushed in his hand. He didn’t want to give life to the question in his mind by murmuring it aloud. Why did he ache every time he looked at her pale face? Why did it feel like a blow to his gut each time he saw his fingerprints around her throat? How the hell did she manage to make him feel guilty when she was the one invading his home, lying in wait for him? He shied away from the questions, tossing the silly little thong back in the pack. He would take care of washing clothes tomorrow. He was about out of steam at the moment, and he still had a long haul ahead of him.

Coffee warmed his insides and helped clear the fog in his brain. He stood over her, sipping the hot liquid and studying her face. She thought he wanted information enough to torture her for it. “What information? What do you know that someone might want bad enough to hurt you for?” The idea of it set a demon rising in him.

She stirred at the sound of his voice, moving restlessly, pain flickering across her face. He brushed back her hair with a gentle touch, wanting to soothe her, not wanting her to surface when he couldn’t ease her suffering.

Electricity ran through her body to his, sparked through his fingertips and whipped through his bloodstream. Every muscle in his body contracted. Wary, he took a single step back. He felt the change rise in him, threaten to take him in his tired state. He leaned over her and pressed his lips against her ear. “Do not make the mistake of bringing my emotions to life.” He whispered the warning, barely audible in the pounding of the rain on the roof and the howling of the wind at the windows. It was the only warning he would give her.