A hand came into view and pressed, fingers splayed wide on her belly. He knew the significance of that with a woman in the throes of the Han Vol Dan. She slapped the hand away and retreated a few more steps until she was fully in the open. Jeremiah smiled and fit his eye to the scope.

“Now I have you, you bastard. Touch her again and you’re a dead man.”

The wind shifted and he caught the faint scent of cat. Without hesitating, he leapt, taking his rifle with him. Behind him, something hit the branch he’d been in hard enough to shake the tree. He landed in a crouch and sprinted fast, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He managed to make it into the dense foliage before he dropped to one knee and fit the rifle against his shoulder. He let his cat take over, senses flaring out to read the night.

He was being hunted. Definitely leopard. Probably Martin Suma. “Come on, you bastard,” he hissed between his teeth. There was no sound, but he wouldn’t expect that. Leopards didn’t make sound. They could creep into a house and select a victim in a bedroom, or even a living room where people were gathered watching television, and drag him out unnoticed. It happened more often than one would think at the edge of the jungle. He wasn’t going to hear Suma. And he probably wouldn’t smell him either.

He stayed low, keeping very still, making no noise. Suma had to know he was dealing with leopard. And he’d probably caught his scent. He wouldn’t expect much opposition from an untrained kid. That was the only advantage Jeremiah had. He waited, his heart pounding, expecting any moment for Suma to drop on him from above. His gaze continually swept the trees overhead.

The scent of wet fur hit his nostrils and he turned, squeezing the trigger at the leopard emerging from the brush just to his left. He rolled, shot again from a prone position and kept rolling. The leopard grunted in pain, roared once, and thrashed. Jeremiah jumped to his feet, bringing up the rifle a third time, but the leopard crawled into the brush. He knew better than to follow. He could see a trail of smeared blood. He’d scored, but it was no kill shot. A wounded leopard was extremely dangerous.

Swearing, he shouldered the gun and went up the tree fast, grateful for the hours Rio and Conner had forced him to keep practicing. If anything had happened to Isabeau, he’d never forgive himself. Now he had to watch his back trail as well as try to keep her from being attacked and possibly kidnapped. Where the hell was everyone?

“I DIDN’T catch your name,” Isabeau said, stalling for time. She’d drawn him out in the open and surely she was safe now. If she could stall him long enough, Alberto or Harry might come looking for her. Or she could try screaming, but she was afraid that might provoke him.

“Ottila Zorba.” His eyes had gone mostly eerie green-yellow, a cat’s eyes glowing in the night. He stepped closer. “Come with me without fighting. Don’t make me kill the old man.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m not ready. I would fight you to the death and you know I would. Why would you think your cat would allow that?”

He smiled. “Eventually your cat will emerge and when she does, she’ll need a mate.”

But not you. Never you. She wouldn’t let that happen. She was gaining control of her cat. The little hussy was definitely feeling the effects of her heat, but she was obeying Isabeau more readily.

“And then what, Mr. Zorba? Do you think we’ll live happily ever after?”

He smiled and it wasn’t pleasant. “At least I’ll be happy. Whether you are or not depends entirely on how much you choose to cooperate.”

He reached for her, his hands curling around her upper arms with enormous strength. Instead of fighting, she reached up to try to yank the barrette from her hair. He laughed and leaned close. “Did you think your friend was going to shoot me? We swept the trees the minute we realized you were leopard. Of course you’d have someone in the canopy. He’s probably dead by now. Martin doesn’t miss.”

She closed her eyes briefly, her heart squeezing down hard, afraid. “So he’s helping you out.” She tried to pull away from him but the movement only tightened his grip on her.

He leered at her. “We share. We always share.”

She shuddered. “Isn’t Imelda enough for you? She’s just as perverted as you.”

He laughed. “She liked it all right, but she’s disgusting. And she isn’t leopard. After a couple of times, we couldn’t stomach her.”

She stopped struggling and let him lead her a couple of steps. She breathed deep with both steps and summoned her cat. To her shock, the female leopard answered, roaring her rage, the sound echoing through the garden, claws bursting through her fingertips and strength coiling inside her, allowing her to twist free, raking and ripping through flesh. Twisting and turning with the cat’s flexible spine, she fought her way out of his grip. Hot blood streaked across the trees and splattered over vines and leaves, droplets sprinkling over her dress.

“Fucking wildcat,” he snarled, “you’re going to pay for that.”

She tilted her chin. “Go ahead and kill me. See what your friend says.”

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you, but I have a lot of ways I can make you sorry. I’ve learned a thing or two from Imelda.”

Her stomach lurched. She tried to remember what Conner had said. She’d backed away from Ottila earlier to get him to follow her out into the open. But backing away would draw him to her and she’d be off balance. She needed to step to the side, keep her feet under her shoulders, not be flat-footed. He wouldn’t be caught by her cat twice.