Wild Rain (7 page)

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RACHAEL floated somewhere between sleep and consciousness. She couldn’t understand where she was. Everything looked strange, not at all like her home. Sometimes she thought she heard voices yelling at her, shouting at her, demanding things she couldn’t tell them. Other times she thought she was lost in a jungle with wild animals stalking her. She tried to move, tried to drag herself out of the strange, hazy world she seemed to be locked inside of.

“Like a bubble,” she said aloud. “I live in a glass house and if someone throws a rock, I’ll shatter right along with the walls.” She looked around, frowning, trying desperately to remember how she got to such a strange place. Her voice sounded different, far away and not at all like her.

And the pain was ripping through her with every move she made. Had she been injured? Tortured? Someone was trying to kill her. Why hadn’t they just finished the job instead of leaving her half alive? She had always known it was going to happen sooner or later.

Something moved outside the window. The woven blanket covered the glass, but she knew something heavy passed by. Straining to hear, she looked wildly around for a weapon. Had they finally come for her? Her heart began to pound with alarming force and her mouth felt like cotton wool. A lethargic apathy had seized her body. She could hear the crackling of the fire, the steady rhythm of the rain. Thirst was overpowering, making it necessary to get up, but it was difficult, as though wading through quicksand. Attempting to sit up sent jagged pains racing up her leg. She found herself on the floor, her leg buckling beneath her. Surprised, Rachael looked around the room, trying to remember where she was and how she got there, trying to bring the room into focus. What was wrong with her? No matter how hard she tried, her mind refused to function properly. The lamp was burning brightly. She didn’t remember lighting it. Her gaze shifted to the door. The bar was no longer across it.

Rachael swallowed, the tight knot of fear blocking her throat, and reluctantly looked down to inspect her useless leg. Her calf and ankle were unrecognizable, swollen almost to the point of bursting. Bright red blood seeped and oozed, making her stomach lurch. She’d been attacked by a wild animal. She clearly remembered the eyes. The cunning intelligence, the piercing danger. Terror welled up, nearly paralyzing her. It was only then, as she looked around the room, that she saw the two leopards curled up near the fireplace. One was watching her with a steady stare. The other appeared to be asleep.

She began to drag herself across the floor. It was purely instinctive, driven by fear. Rachael couldn’t focus her mind enough to know what was happening. It terrified her to remember the hot breath in her face. The feel of needle-sharp teeth tearing into her leg. The eyes staring at her with deadly intent.

She clawed her way up the wall, gritting her teeth against the sobs bursting from her throat, sweat blurring her vision. Tugging the gun from the leather, she leaned against the wall, the only thing holding her up. Her arms felt leaden and it was nearly impossible to aim the gun at the leopard, she could barely see it.

The door swung open as Rio stepped inside, arms filled with wood, his eyes immediately riveting to hers. His hair hung in wet strands, his naked body covered in droplets. Unhurriedly he closed the door with his foot and crossed the room to put the wood down carefully, almost directly in front of the leopards. “Put the gun down, Rachael.” His voice was very low, but it carried a hard authority. “It has a hair trigger. You breathe and it could go off.”

“They’re right behind you,” Rachael answered, clutching the wall for support. “Don’t you see them? You’re in terrible danger.” She tried to remember who he was, someone very familiar to her. Her beautiful naked man. She remembered the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. “Hurry, get away from them before they attack you.” She inspected his body, saw the bloody streaks on his belly, his hip. The gash on his temple. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, Rachael.” He kept his voice calm, soothing. “Give me the gun.”

“It’s hot in here.” All at once she sounded like a forlorn child. “Isn’t it hot?” She wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her hand to clear her vision.

Rio watched her through narrowed eyes, silently cursed as the gun swept close to her face. The blood on her leg was too bright, suggesting the need for immediate action. The muzzle of the gun wavered, far too close to her temple. She swayed slightly. He moved, casually maneuvering into a better striking position. “It’s all right, Rachael.” Deliberately he used her name, his voice soothing, persuasive. He gained another step. “They’re just pets. Clouded leopards. Small cats, really.”

Her eyes were overbright. She frowned at him. She kept wiping her eyes in an attempt to get rid of the blurring. “Look what they did to my leg. Come away from there and don’t turn your back on them.”

He moved with unexpected speed, slapping the gun away when it swung in his direction, his body slamming into hers, shielding her protectively as a deafening explosion reverberated in the small cabin. His body pressed hard against hers, her soft breasts pushing into his chest, her face against his shoulder. Her legs went out from under her and she began to slide to the floor.

Rio swung her up into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. She was burning up with fever. “Everything’s okay,” he soothed, trying to ignore the ominous thud of the bullet striking metal and what it meant to them. “Don’t struggle Rachael, you’re safe.”

She moved against his wet skin restlessly, the pain making her feel ill. His skin was so cool in comparison to hers she wanted to press herself closer. “Do I know you? How do I know you?” She frowned up at him, squinted through her spiky lashes to peer at his face. She made an effort to lift her hand, to trace the strong line of his jaw, his cheekbones, his mouth.

With great care, Rio laid her on the bed, trying not to jar her. He framed her face with his hands, forcing her to stay focused on him. “Can you understand me? Do you know what I’m saying to you?”

“Well of course I can.” For a moment her eyes cleared and she smiled at him. It wasn’t sexy, it was more angelic, and he felt it all the way to his toes. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not wearing clothes.” Rachael sank back against the pillow. “Turn off the light please, Elijah, I’m really tired.”

There was a small silence. Something deep inside him began to burn. Something dark and dangerous. Rio reached for her left hand, his thumb sliding over her ring finger to find it bare. He brought her fingers up to insure there wasn’t a tan line proclaiming she’d recently removed a ring. He had no idea why relief swept through him, but it did. “Rachael, try to follow what I’m telling you. It’s important.” He carried her hand to his chest, without realizing he did it, holding it there over his pounding heart. “I need to lance the wound, cauterize it. I’m sorry, but it’s the only way to save your leg. I think the bullet hit the radio, but even if it didn’t, I can’t raise anyone in this weather. The second wave of the storm is hitting now and there were three strong weather fronts coming back to back.”

Rachael continued to smile at him. “I don’t know why you’re looking so worried. They haven’t found us and I don’t think they can.”

Rio closed his eyes briefly, fighting for air. He wished her smile were for him, not some unknown man named Elijah. This was going to be hell, and she was so doped up he couldn’t prepare her for what was to come. He had performed the procedure once before and even then it had been unpleasant. He pushed back the hair from her forehead. She was looking at him with far too much trust. “I’m just going to do what has to be done. I’m apologizing ahead of time.”

She could see the reluctance and distaste in his eyes. “It’s all right, Rio, I understand. I do. It had to happen sooner or later. I’m sorry he asked you to take care of it. I can see it bothers you.”

“Take care of what?” he prompted. She was reassuring him, trying to make his job easier.

“I know Elijah wants me dead. I know he sent you. You look so tired and sad. It was wrong of him to ask you.”

Rio swore softly, hunkering down beside her. Her eyes were glazed, dreamy even, but they carried intelligence. She believed he was there to kill her, yet she looked at him as if she felt sorry for him. “Why does Elijah want you dead?”

She blinked, her breath catching in her throat on a wave of pain. “Does it matter? Just get it over with.”

“You’re just going to let me kill you?” For some reason her apathy made him furious. She was going to lie there and encourage him to take her life? He wanted to shake her.

That same little smile tugged at her mouth. She seemed far away again, slowly turning her head away from him. “Even if you handed me a very large stick I wouldn’t be able to lift it. I’ll have to pass on being that take-forty-seven-kicks-in-the-ribs-and-keep-on-going heroine. I don’t think I can lift my head.”

He leaned closer. “Rachael? You’re with me again.” She sounded like the woman who had bashed him in the head.

“Was I gone?” She closed her eyes. “I wish I hadn’t come back. What’s wrong with me? Where did I go?”

“You’ve been rambling. I have no choice, I have to work on your leg.”

“Then get to it. You’re so tired you’re going to fall on your face if you don’t get it done.” She made an effort to lift her lashes and study his face beneath heavy lids. “I’m not going to blame you if it hurts.” Her eyes were clear and in that moment lucid. “I don’t want to lose my leg, so by all means, do whatever is necessary to save it.”

Rio wasn’t going to talk about it any longer. Distaste for the ugly task glimmered in his eyes as he bent over her leg. The wound had to be lanced, thoroughly washed, cauterized and packed with more antibiotics. He had performed the surgery once out in the field when a friend had been shot and was bleeding profusely and the chopper couldn’t pick them up immediately. Small beads of sweat dotted his body, then ran into his eyes to blur his vision as he placed the blade of his knife in the flames.

Opening the wound to allow the infection to run out set his stomach churning. She screamed when he poured the burning antiseptic, nearly coming up off the bed. He hesitated only a moment, leaning his weight across her thighs, and taking a deep breath laid the blade of the knife against her flesh. The odor was sickening. He didn’t hurry, not wanting to make any mistakes, careful to cleanse and repair, before splinting her leg to hold it immobile in order to give it a better chance to heal.

He couldn’t look at her as he cleaned the bedding and packed blankets around her leg to hold her still. She hadn’t moved in a long time, her breathing shallow, her skin clammy. Definitely in shock, Rachael was trembling in reaction. Rio cursed softly. He eased down beside her, stretching out along the bed, drawing her close to him, unable to think of anything else to do.

“Rio?” Rachael didn’t pull away from him, instead burrowed against him like a kitten for comfort. “Thank you for trying to save my leg. I know it was difficult for you.” Her voice was thin. He barely caught the words.

Rio nuzzled the top of her head with his chin, blew at strands of hair caught in the stubble of several days growth. “Try to relax, I can’t give you any more painkiller for a while. Just let me hold you.” His arms tightened with possession. At the same time something was squeezing his heart like a vise. “I’ll tell you a story.”

Her body belonged with his—fit. He curved around her, thigh to thigh, her buttocks pressed against his groin, her head tucked safely against his throat, and she just fit there as if made for him. Her breasts were full and soft and pushed into his arms comfortably. He had lain with her before. Not once, but many times. The memory of her body was etched in his brain, in his nerves and flesh and bone.

He rubbed his cheek in the mass of silky hair. It wasn’t all physical. He felt something for her. Came alive around her. “That’s not necessarily a good thing,” he said aloud. “You know that, don’t you?”

Rachael closed her eyes, willing her body to stop shaking, wanting the pain to recede if only for a brief space of time to give her a moment to breathe normally. Rio was an anchor she clung to, the one bit of reality she had. When she closed her eyes, she saw men contorting, fur rippling over their bodies, eyes glowing a fierce yellow-green. In that nightmare world the sound of guns erupted and she felt the shock of a bullet. She looked into those same intelligent eyes and saw pain and madness. And she heard his voice screaming no. That was all. Simply no.

“I need to hear your voice.” Because it drove demons away. It drove the scent of gunpowder and blood from her mind, and she loved the deep caressing timbre of it.

“I don’t know a lot of stories, Rachael. I never had someone telling me bedtime tales.” He winced at the gruffness in his voice. It was just that she turned his insides to mush and made it difficult to remember she could have been sent to kill him. He believed in logic, and the way she affected him wasn’t logical.

“I’ll tell you one when I feel better,” she offered.

He closed his eyes. She was like a gift, handed to him. Sent to him in his unrelenting world of violence and mistrust. “All right,” he conceded to please her. “But try to go to sleep. The more you sleep the faster your leg is going to heal.”

Rachael was afraid to go to sleep. Afraid of teeth and claws and the all-encompassing pain. She was afraid she would lose her tenuous hold on reality. As it was, she kept forgetting who Rio was. He felt familiar. She recognized his voice, but she couldn’t remember their life together. When he talked to her, she floated on the sound of his voice. When his hands slid over her hot skin, she felt safe and cherished.

Rio told her some absurd tale of monkeys and sun bears he made up off the top of his head. It made no sense; in fact, it was fairly awful and showed he had no imagination, but she was quiet, slipping into a fitful sleep, and that was all that mattered to him. If the woman wanted storytelling on a nightly basis, he was going to have to hastily hone some nonexistent skills and learn to make up interesting tales.