Savage Nature (28 page)

Jerico yanked open the door as Drake kicked aside shoes and began peeling off his jeans.

“I challenge for leadership,” Drake snarled, “as is the right of every leopard.” He shifted on the run, leaping from the living room straight through the door and landing twenty feet from Amos Jeanmard.

The leader of the Louisiana lair ripped hastily at his clothing, stumbling back from the snarling, hissing interloper. He couldn’t refuse the challenge—no leader could—but it was obvious he hadn’t expected a challenge to happen so quickly.

Drake’s vision was all banded heat. He located Saria, who looked disheveled. There was a bruise coming up on her cheek, her hair was wild, and her mouth set in grim lines. She stood very close to a tall stranger, a man he’d never seen—or scented—before, but he inhaled deeply, knowing he would never forget that scent now. The man stood so still he could have been carved from stone, and he wore a strange, almost desperate expression on his face. A few yards from them, Drake could see Lojos on the ground, unmoving.

The scent of blood reached him and he grimaced, prowling back and forth, roaring his challenge. The other lair members shifted back away from him each time he approached them. Twice he rushed Amos, stopping the charge only inches from the man as he finally stripped, his body contorting and cracking as he shifted.

Scents mingled and merged. Fear. Sweat. The swamp itself. Saria. Drake’s leopard took them all in, adding to the feral, wild need welling up. As old as time, the instinct was on him to protect his mate and drive away every hated rival. There would be no turning back and no remorse if a rival died.

The moment Amos was fully leopard, his teeth exposed, his old, wise eyes red with fury, Drake whirled around and slashed that snarling face. How dare he try to separate Drake from his chosen mate? How dare this old leopard rip Saria from him by force, allowing a male to put his hands on her, to mistreat her? Drake followed the first humiliating slap with a series of powerl, raking blows, driving the older leopard back, spilling blood down the face as he tore fur and carved deep furrows into flesh.

The old leopard rose onto powerful back legs, driving forward in an effort to gain supremacy. Drake met him with a violent charge, hitting him low. There was an audible crack as ribs broke. He fell onto his side and Drake was on him, closing his mouth around that vulnerable throat. His teeth sank deep and satisfaction well up. He snarled. The old leopard’s eyes blazed with a golden fury of hatred, an old warrior refusing for a moment to relinquish power. Almost immediately, his human took back control. Staring down, with blood and the thrill of victory filling his mouth, Drake watched those golden eyes slip to a human grayishgreen as the leopard submitted.

There was an eerie silence in the swamp, as if even insects were shocked by the swift change of leadership. A roar of protest went up. Behind him, a gun went off and Drake released Jeanmard and whirled to face the new threat.

Joshua stood grim-faced, his eyes flat and cold. “You want leadership, you challenge him in the way of our people or I shoot you dead right here and now.” Disgust and loathing filled his tone. He aimed his weapon at a man who was armed and obviously thought of shooting him.

Drake inhaled and pulled the scent of his enemy deep into his lungs. It was nearly the same as that of the man who had struck Saria. Drake welcomed the fight, roaring his challenge, signaling he was ready for any threat. He prowled back and forth, swiping a large paw over the ground to kick up dirt and leaves, sending them flying in the direction of his enemy.

“Gaston,” Remy spoke very quietly, but his voice carried easily. “You’d better shift now before I shoot you myself.”

This, then, was one of the families Drake hadn’t heard much about as of yet. He charged and pulled back, kicking more dirt at the man, snarling his disgust. Gaston Mouton slowly handed his weapon to Robert Lanoux. Robert was covered in bandages and favoring his right side. He winced as he reached for the gun. Gaston unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, all the while studying his opponent. As the edges of the shirt parted, his chest was revealed. He was a big man with the heavy, roped muscles of his kind. Not an ounce of fat. A washboard stomach. Narrow hips and thick muscular thighs. A male in his prime—one no doubt believing he would mate with Saria.

Drake saw a red haze of fury as Gaston shifted, his speed only a hair slower than Remy’s had been. He was far more confident than Drake expected, when he would have resorted to a weapon. Gaston and Drake paced back and forth, snarling and hissing at each other, each sizing up the enemy.

Without warning, the two leopards blasted into action, hurling themselves into the air at one another, bodies crashing hard as they met in midair, both going for the head and neck in an effort to inflict the most damage quickly. Blood spurted, ran down matted fur on both animals. They broke apart and slammed back together, a fierce, violent ballet of claws, teeth and sheer power.

The night echoed with roars of rage as the leopards broke apart, sides heaving, blood dripping, a brutal, primitive battle with neither male giving an inch. They exploded toward one another again, leaping into the sky, slamming together in an effort to get to a vital organ. Gaston fell back, claws ripping and tearing at Drake’s underbelly, trying to gut him. Using his flexible spine, Drake twisted as he came down on all fours, rushing the oher leopard to take advantage of the awkward landing. Gaston rolled, came up fast and met the charge head-to-head.

Drake didn’t want to kill the bastard and that knowledge only made him angrier. He shared the leopard’s fury on several levels, not the least was that they’d struck Saria. He was already thinking like a leader, trying to do what was best for his lair. He didn’t want leadership, he only wanted Saria.

This fighter was fast and deadly and it required every ounce of his skills to keep from getting killed while he held his leopard back, waiting for his moment. His leg was on fire, but the steel was there, the muscle and power. He had every confidence he would win, but he wasn’t so confident that he could keep from doing permanent damage.

The two leopards dove into the air again, came together and crashed to the ground locked in a deadly embrace of claws and teeth, raking and biting at each other. Drake saw his opening, twisted and sank his teeth into the vulnerable throat. Beneath him, he felt the wild heart, the taste of hot blood, excitement of the kill, and triumph of the win all mingled together.

They stared into one another’s eyes. There was no fear in Gaston and in a way, Drake admired him. He was a man he’d want on his team, yet there might be no other choice but to kill him.

“Submit, Gaston,” Remy ordered. “Are you stupid?”

As the shifter’s body grew still under his mouth, and the tension in Drake’s leopard eased a little, Drake heard a warning shout and he was hit from behind, driven off his feet with no chance to whirl around and defend himself. He went down hard, shaken by the ferocity of the hit, his insides jarred and bruised. As if in a distance he heard Saria scream and a man grunt as if in pain. Nothing mattered but rolling, getting to his feet and finding his attacker.

“Damn it, Drake, stop holding back your leopard. Kill them both. They don’t fight fair and the entire lot of them can go to hell,” Joshua shouted. “If you don’t take this one out, I swear I’m shooting every damned one of them.”

Joshua’s fury was mixed with a deep loathing and disgust. They lived by rules, firm, unbendable rules for survival in the forests of the world. Without those rules, leopards would be out-of-control killing machines. There had to be order and the Louisiana lair didn’t seem to have any rules of fairness or honor.

Joshua’s words penetrated the lair and the smiles of hope faded into worried frowns. If Drake had been holding back against one of their best fighters, what was he really capable of?

“Anyone else makes a move toward Drake and tries ambushin’ him,” Remy said, “will be going through me.”

On some level, everything around Drake penetrated, but he was in another realm, one from long ago when the main rule of the jungle was kill or be killed. Blood thundered in his ears, roaring like a massive waterfall drowning out generations of civilization. He leapt high, springing off powerful back legs, meeting the other’s charge in midair. His opponent missed his throathold and got a mouthful of loose, baggy fur-covered skin while Drake’s leopard sank his teeth viciously into the muzzle and bit down, shaking his head.

He drove his opponent over backward, claws tearing wide strips from the belly. The leopard nearly convulsed with pain, raking and tearing in desperation. Drake let go of the muzzle and drove in for the exposed throat. His attack was skilled, vicious and precise. His strength was enormous, fueled by rage and the need to dominate. In that moment, he was nearly all leopard, a primitive, perfect killing machine.

He lost track of time, shaking his enemy, punishing with claws and teeth, driving in again and again for the kill. The leopard had no chance to recover his feet, only to fend off the inevitable with increasingly feeble—yet desperate—claws and teeth. Drake’s leopard didn’t feel any of the bites and rakes, only the need to vanquish his enemy.

“Drake,” Jerico called to him. “Enough. Back off.”

He heard the voice, muffled and distant, unable to clearly make out the words. The sound penetrated the red haze of his mind but made no sense. No one approached him, as he roared his defiance and slammed into the fallen leopard again and again.

“Drake, please.” It was Saria. She didn’t yell.

The man beside Saria touched her arm. The leopard saw that. He instantly dropped his fallen enemy and whirled to face the new threat, growls rumbling deep in his chest. His gaze locked on her attacker. Drake’s leopard charged, stopping a few feet from the man who didn’t move a muscle, sweat pouring down his face. The leopard swiped at the earth with his massive paw before turning back to once again grip his prey in a suffocating bite.

“Drake, come back to me,” Saria said softly.

Drake tried to breathe away the rage. He forced his leopard away from the body. It took a lot of strength. Twice his leopard slipped out of control, rushed back and raked the fallen cat before he could get the beast inside him to use all the pent-up energy prowling back and forth, scaring the crap out of the rest of the lair.

It had been a fast, vicious fight, meant to intimidate, and it had. The men fell back each time the leopard approached them, roaring his challenge. Remy dropped to his knee first. His brothers followed suit. One by one the remaining members of the lair slowly complied until there were only the three fallen leopards who had already submitted and the man standing with Saria. As Drake approached, the scent of fear nearing terror permeated the yard.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Jules?” Remy demanded of the man who had taken Saria.

Jules cleared his throat. “I can’ move. Tell him I can’ move.” He looked down between his legs.

Drake could easily see the razor-sharp blade of a knife lined up tight across Jules’s balls. Saria held the knife rock steady. Her eyes met Drake’s. She grinned at him and shrugged her shoulders. Blood trickled down the inside of Jules’s thigh.

“He royally pissed me off.”

Drake inhaled deeply, calming the leopard so he could shift. Shifting hurt like a son-of-bitch, a hot, bright fire rushing through his entire body, but he ignored it and caught his jeans when Evan threw them to him. He forced his tired muscles to work when all he wanted to do was collapse on the ground like the other leopards. He would not show weakness to these poor excuses of shifters, not when they’d forced him to nearly kill someone. He wasn’t altogether certain he hadn’t.

“I see that, honey,” Drake managed, his breath a little ragged. “Hang on one ore minute for me.” He took several steadying breaths and crossed what felt like a football field, although it was only a few steps. Without any warning, he slammed his fist hard into Jules’s jaw, sending the man staggering back away from Saria’s blade.

Drake reached out to pull Saria close to him. “I guess I should have waited a minute or two to see if you actually needed rescuing.”

Her smile widened. “It was very sweet of you to make yourself leader of the lair just for me. I’m not quite certain what you’re goin’ to do now, but all the same, I appreciate the effort.”

He sighed and glanced at her brothers. They all wore huge grins, even Lojos. He gave them his best scowl. “Get these three medical attention. I want the word to go out to all families, those not already here. They have twenty-four hours to swear their allegiance or leave.” He lifted his head and looked around him, eyes like steel. “Things are going to change around here whether you like it or not. You’ll live by the rules of the lair or get out. I don’t much care at this point who stays or who goes, but if you stay, you’ll start behaving with honor. I will clean up this lair and you won’t like how I do it if you don’t comply.”

Not waiting for a reaction, afraid his rubber legs might give out, he wrapped his arm around Saria’s shoulders. She seemed to sense how weak he really was because she slipped her arm around his waist and walked with him to the house. Jerico and Evan dropped in behind them, walking backward, facing the members of the lair as they guarded Drake and Saria.

Remy slowly stood up, frowning at the others. “What the hell were you all thinking? If you had killed that man, I would arrest you, leopard or not. Idiots.”

“Maybe their problem is bad blood,” Joshua taunted. He stood in the shadows, his weapon ready, his eyes hard. “I haven’t seen much worth saving here, Remy. Cowards. Fucking cowards.” His gaze settled on the two older men who were in the back, both holding shotguns.

The two men looked at each other. One spoke. “Who are you?”

“The name is Tregre. Joshua Tregre. I believe you’re my uncles.” Joshua spat on the ground. “Although it leaves a bad taste in my mouth to admit it.”

The older of the two men sucked in his breath. “You’re Renard’s boy.” The two men exchanged another look. The older one pushed past Elie Jeanmard and stood in front of Joshua, clearly not intimidated. His face was lined and worn, his once blue eyes faded to gray. He studied Joshua carefully, almost suspiciously before letting out his breath and nodding his head as if he approved of him. “You look like your father.”