“Did you kill Jeremiah?” She pressed her trembling fingers to her mouth. Any movement was painful and she desperately wanted to remove her jeans and top and press a cool cloth to the throbbing puncture wounds.

“His death would have accomplished very little. I needed the kid alive to delay your man. Now he’ll have to live with the fact that he made the wrong choice in helping the boy. Each time he tries to touch you”—the pad of his finger slid over the wounds on her breast—“he’s going to see my mark, my brand.”

She wanted to slap his hand away, but she was too cowed. She’d never been beaten in her life. He’d done it with such objectivity, as if he was completely removed from the act. She tried to crawl away from him, finding the wall to lean against, the only way to hold herself up.

His fingers circled her ankle like a shackle. “Make certain you don’t get pregnant with his baby. I’d hate to have to kill a cub, and it would be much harder for you to forgive me.”

How could he think she could forgive the beating he’d given her? He’d terrorized her on purpose, a punishment that in his twisted mind she deserved. “Tell him to meet me and to come alone. If he doesn’t, I’ll be back periodically to visit until he does.”

“Where?” She whispered the word.

“He’ll know.”

She slid down the wall when he let go of her, crying softly, terrified for herself—for Conner. Ottila stood over her, once again taking his human form. Both were intimidating. “I can get to you anywhere. Anytime. If he tries to run with you, you’d better believe he can’t protect you, no matter where he takes you, I’ll find you. You tell him that.”

She bit down hard on her lower lip and stayed very still, afraid to move. He leaned into her, his mouth finding hers. She held herself very still, trying not to sob as he explored her mouth with his tongue, taking his time, his hands once again gentle. It was disconcerting, to have him go from violence to almost loving. He didn’t protest when she remained passive. He pulled back and looked into her eyes.

“Next time, you might remind him that leopards like to go high.”

He shifted right in front of her, a male leopard in his prime, his tail switching as he leapt up into the beams with casual ease and disappeared into the small attic. She didn’t hear him after that, but she remained huddled against the wall, terrified that he hadn’t really left and would come back.

SHE jammed her fist into her mouth and wept as quietly as she could. She didn’t want to see anyone, not Conner—especially not Conner. She felt bruised and battered. Ottila had completely broken her. She had no idea what to feel, only fear, intense fear. He’d stripped her down until she couldn’t recognize herself. She had to get her clothes off and treat the puncture wounds. He’d wanted to mark her, not maim her, so they couldn’t be as bad as they felt. But she couldn’t move. She stayed still, huddled against the wall, weeping quietly.

“ISABEAU! We’re coming in,” Conner’s voice made her jump, but she didn’t move, making herself as small as possible there against the wall.

CONNER waited uneasily when Isabeau didn’t answer him. He glanced at Rio, who was still pulling on his jeans. The cabin was dark, just as he’d told her to leave it. All the shutters were closed. There seemed no good reason for his uneasiness, although after tracking the large leopard back to the doctor’s house and into Jeremiah’s room, he could believe the leopard capable of anything. The boy had been helpless, lying hooked to an IV, fighting for every breath, and Ottila had raked deep claw marks in his belly. He could have disemboweled him. The general consensus had been that he’d been interrupted by Mary or the doctor as they’d looked in on him.

Many guests still remained in the house and Elijah patrolled outside, yet the leopard had managed to locate Jeremiah’s room and enter with so much stealth, no one had even known he was in the house. Conner knew the leopard could have killed all of them—Mary, Doc, his friends and certainly Jeremiah. He knew the others were wrong, Ottila hadn’t been interrupted, he hadn’t wanted to kill Jeremiah.

Conner put his hand on the door and inhaled. Was there a faint scent of a leopard? “I’m coming in, Isabeau, don’t shoot me.”

He unlocked the door and the smell hit him hard, waves of it. Leopard and blood. The mixture was potent. He whipped his head around, examining every inch of the cabin until his gaze found her huddled and bloody in the darkness.

“Is he here?” he asked. She looked in shock, her face starkly white. It took every ounce of control not to leap to her side and gather her up.

For a moment she was silent. Traumatized. He didn’t want to think about what had happened here. Not with her clothes bloody and that look of terror on her face.

“Isabeau,” he hissed, putting a flick of command in his voice.

“I don’t know. He went up there,” she pointed to the beams overhead. Her tone was so low he barely caught the words, even with his acute hearing.

Rio moved into the room, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor as he studied the rafters above his head. He leapt, catching one of the beams and swinging his body into position.

Conner crossed to Isabeau’s side, crouching down beside her, gently reaching for her. He made certain to keep his movements slow and deliberate. “Tell me, Isabeau,” he instructed.

A sob escaped and she pressed her fingers to her trembling mouth, moving back to make herself smaller. Conner let his gaze slide over her, looking for the worst of the injuries. She had blood on her shirt over her breasts and more was seeping through the material at the junction of her legs. His heart began to pound in alarm.