He squeezed off three shots in rapid succession, looking to wound his targets rather than kill them.

Tomas would be forced to carry his men to safety rather than keep up the chase. Rio scooted backward on his belly, seeking the heavier cover of brush, trying to keep larger trees between him and the river.

The bandits returned fire, a rapid burst of bullets that chewed the bark from the trees and spit leaves and needles close to him. He stayed very still, not giving away his position as he marked new targets.

Tomas was no fool. He knew whom he faced. He’d run up against Rio’s marksmanship many times and he didn’t want to lose any more men. He signaled them back into the timberline. They melted away, carrying their wounded. Several discharged their guns in a last show of anger, but they moved off rather than try to cross the river in the open to track him. They might try it further upriver, but by that time, Rio hoped to have Joshua deep inside the forest and in the hands of his people.

Worried that they may have left a sniper behind, Rio took his time coming out of the bog. He felt the sting of a couple of leeches as he crawled into deeper forest. It took several minutes to remove the creatures with his knife. As he retrieved the pulley and sling from his pack and rose, a bullet whistled by his head. Rio threw himself to one side, eyes examining the surrounding area. He thought he’d been well hidden, but his enemy had guessed where he would go to escape the leech-infested ground.

The bullet had missed him by inches, but he had more of a problem than a few leeches. He had to hunt.

The bandit would be patient, lie in wait for him, knowing he would have to move soon. The river separated them and Joshua was cached up in a tree, wounded and in dire need of medical attention.

In the shelter of several thick trees, Rio shed his clothes, folding them neatly and setting the pile on a tree branch along with his boots. He shifted into his other form, embracing the power within him. The brute strength. The perfect hunting machine. Bold and clever, highly intelligent and cunning, the leopard began his stalk. Staying in the shadows of the trees, the large cat angled downstream, padding swiftly through the vegetation. The leopard scented blood and gunpowder as it leapt onto the low-

hanging branches of a tree at the edge of the river. The cat snarled as the sniper fired repeatedly, sweeping the area where Rio had been.

The leopard plunged into fast-moving water, using powerful muscles to swim across to the other side.

The cat climbed up the embankment, slinking across the open area in small stop-and-start bursts, going to ground and freezing behind the cover of the shrubbery. He gained yards, then feet, until he was a short distance from the bandit.

The man hurried quickly through the trees, intent on the other side of the river. He never saw the leopard crouched only feet from him. He never saw the rush, only felt the hit, hard like a freight train, driving him backward with powerful legs and muscles. He was hit so hard he never felt the crushing weight of the jaws that ended his life.

Rio fought the wild nature of the beast, pulled back from the heady scent of the kill and shifted shape quickly. He still had to get Joshua across the water. It would take too much time to set up the pulley and sling. He hurried back to the man, grateful to find him still alive.

“We’re going into the river, Josh; I’m taking you to the village.”

“You don’t have to do that, Rio. Don’t put yourself in that position.”

Rio hoisted him onto his shoulder. “I don’t give a damn what they think about me, Josh. You need help as quickly as possible.”

“Did you lose your clothes?”

Rio grinned, a show of teeth. “I left them on the other side of the river in a tree.”

“You’ve always been crazy, Rio.”

Rio heard the utter weariness in the voice. Joshua hung like a dead weight, not even attempting to hold on. Worried, Rio plunged into the river, using every bit of his strength to fight the current to get them both to the other side. Then he began to jog.

It was a hellish, nightmare journey. Joshua’s body slammed against Rio’s. Brush tore at his skin. The rain soaked them both as the miles passed. Rio began to tire, his legs rubbery, his lungs burning for air.

His feet, although tough and used to the travel, were torn and bloody. It took several hours and he stopped three times to rest, give Joshua water and tighten the pressure bandages over the wounds.

Rio staggered into the village, tired and hot and soaked from the rain just before dawn. No one came out of their houses, although they knew he was there. Joshua’s blood soaked Rio’s skin where the man was pressed tight against him. The rain continued, a steady cascading fall that created a haze between Rio and the houses. He started toward the house of their only medic. Movement caught his attention.

The elders came onto their verandahs, watching him through the downpour.

Rio stood for a moment, swaying with weariness, feeling anger wash over him. Shame. He was twenty-two again and standing before the council with his mother ‘s blood and the blood of her murder er on his hands. He lifted his head and set his jaw. They would never accept him. Never want the taint of his lif e to touch theirs. He could protect their people, give them his share of the money, but he would always have blood on his hands and they would never forgive him. His mouth hardened and he squared his shoulders. His eyes were fiercely proud, his jaw strong and stubborn. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t welcome in their village. He didn’t want to be there. He refused to believe that he could miss the inter action with others of his kind.