Wild Fire (2 page)

“Hang on,” Rio insisted between clenched teeth. “Damn it, Conner, we’re in plain sight. Control your cat.”

The Panama-Colombia leopards were the most dangerous of all the tribes, the most unpredictable, and Conner had always been a product of his genetics. Of all the men on the team, he was the most lethal. Fast, ferocious, deadly in a fight. He could disappear into the forest and disrupt an enemy camp nightly until they were so distraught—haunted by a ghostly assassin no one saw—they abandoned their position. He was invaluable and yet volatile—very hard to control.

They needed his particular skills on this mission. Conner was born in the Panama rain forest to the tribe of leopard people indigenous to the area, and this gave them a distinct advantage should they come across the elusive—and very dangerous—shifters. Conner also gave the team the advantage of knowing the local Indian tribes. The rain forest, most of it unexplored, even for other shifters, could be difficult to navigate. But the fact that Conner had grown up here and used it as his personal playground meant they wouldn’t be slowed down when they needed to move fast.

Conner’s head turned in a slow freeze-frame movement indicative of a hunting leopard. He was close to shifting—too close. Heat poured off of him. The scent of the wild animal, a male in his prime, strong and cunning, ripping and clawing to break free, permeated the air.

“It’s been a year since I’ve been in a rain forest.” Conner dropped his pack at Rio’s feet. His voice was husky, almost a chuffing sound. “Much longer since I’ve been home. Let me go. I’ll catch up with you at the base camp.”

It was a small miracle and a testimony to Conner’s discipline that he waited for Rio’s nod of consent before he began to walk fast toward the line of trees near the river. Six feet into the forest the sunlight became only a few dappled spots on the broad leafy plants. The forest floor—layers of wood and vegetation—felt familiar and spongy beneath his feet. He unbuttoned his shirt, already wet with sweat. The oppressive heat and heavy humidity took its toll on most people, but to Conner it was energizing. The natives wore a loincloth and little else for a reason. Shirts and pants grew wet fast, chafing the skin, causing rashes and sores that could quickly go septic out here. He peeled off his shirt and bent to take off his boots, rolling the shirt and pushing it inside a boot for Rio to retrieve.

He straightened, inhaling deeply, looking around at the vegetation surrounding him. Trees rose up to the sky, towering high like great cathedrals, a canopy so thick the rain fought to pierce the various-shaped leaves and hit the thick bushes and ferns below. Orchids and other flowers vied with moss and fungus, covering every conceivable inch of the trunks as they climbed toward the open air and sunlight, trying to pierce the thick canopy.

His animal moved beneath his skin, itching as he slipped out of his jeans and thrust them deep in the other boot. He needed to run free in his other form more than he needed just about anything. It had been so long. He took off sprinting through the trees, heedless of his bare feet, leaping over a rotten log as he reached for the change. He had always been a fast shifter, a necessity living in the rain forest surrounded by predators. He was neither fully leopard nor fully man, but a blend of both. Muscles wrenched, a satisfying pain as his leopard leapt to the forefront, taking over his form as his body bent and the ropes of muscles shifted beneath his thick fur.

Where his feet had been, clawed paws padded easily over the spongy forest floor. He went up and over a series of downed trees and through thick brush. Ten more feet into the forest the sunlight disappeared altogether. The jungle had swallowed him and he breathed a sigh of relief. He belonged. His blood surged hotly in his veins as he raised his face and let his whiskers act like the radar they were. For the first time in months he was comfortable in his own skin. He stretched and padded deeper into the familiar wilderness.

Conner preferred his leopard form to that of his man form. He bore too many sins on his soul to be entirely comfortable as a human. The claw marks etched deep into his face attested to that, branding him for all time.

He didn’t like thinking too much—about those scars and how he’d gotten them or why he’d allowed Isabeau Chandler to inflict them upon him. He’d tried running to the United States, putting as much distance as he could between him and his woman—his mate—but he hadn’t been able to shut out the look on Isabeau’s face when she found out the truth about him. The memory haunted him day and night.

He was guilty of one of the worst crimes his kind could commit. He had betrayed his own mate. He hadn’t known she was his mate when he’d taken the job to seduce her and get close to her father, but that didn’t matter.

The leopard lifted his face to the wind and pulled back his lips in a silent snarl. His paws sank silently into the decaying vegetation on the forest floor. He moved through the underbrush, his fur sliding silently along the leaves of numerous bushes. Periodically he stood up and raked his claws down the trunk of a tree, marking his territory, reestablishing his claim, letting the other males know he was home and someone to contend with. He’d taken this job to stay out of the Borneo rain forest where Isabeau lived. He didn’t dare go there, because he knew if he stayed there, eventually he’d forget all about being civilized and he’d let his leopard free to find her. And she wanted nothing—
nothing
—to do with him.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as he tried to choke off the memories. He burned for her. Night and day. It didn’t matter that he’d put an ocean between them. Distance would never matter, now that he knew she was alive and he’d recognized her. He had all the traits of a leopard, the reflexes, the aggression and cunning, the ferocity and jealousy, but most of all the drive to find his mate and keep her. The man in him might understand jungle law was no longer a way his people could live, but here in the rain forest he couldn’t keep the primitive needs from rising sharp and strong.

He thought coming back to his home would help, but instead the wildness was on him, gripping him by the teeth, slamming into his body with urgent need until he wanted to rake and claw, to tear open an enemy and roar to the heavens. He wanted to track Isabeau down and claim her whether she wanted him or not. Unfortunately, his mate was a shifter as well, which meant she shared all the same ferocious traits, including fierce, abiding hatred.

He looked up to the towering trees, the thick canopy shutting out the sunlight. Flowers wound up the tree trunks, a riot of color, vying with moss and fungus, all reaching toward the light above. Birds flitted from branch to branch, the canopy alive with constant motion, just as the spongy floor was with millions of insects. Beehives hung in great chunky masses, hidden by broad leaves, and snakes wound around the twisted limbs, nearly impossible to see amidst the multitude of interlocking branches.

He wanted to drink in the beauty of it all. He wanted to forget what he’d done to his own mate. She’d been so young and inexperienced, an easy target. Her father, a doctor, had been the way into the enemy camp. Get close to the daughter and you had the father. It was easy enough. Isabeau had fallen under his spell immediately, drawn to him not because of his animal magnetism, but because she had been his in a previous life cycle. Neither had known.

Unfortunately he’d fallen just as deeply under her spell. He was supposed to seduce her into caring for him, not sleep with her. He’d been obsessed with her, unable to keep his hands off of her. He should have known. She’d been so inexperienced. So innocent. And he’d used that to his advantage.

He hadn’t considered anything beyond his own pleasure. Like what would happen when the truth came out—that she didn’t even know his real name. That she was a job and her father was the mark. He groaned and the sound came out a soft rumble.

He had never crossed the line with an innocent woman. Not once in his entire career until Isabeau—human or leopard. She had not yet experienced the Han Vol Dan, a female leopard’s heat, nor had her leopard emerged. It was the reason he hadn’t recognized her as a leopard or as his mate. He should have. The flashes of erotic images in his head every time she was close, the way he couldn’t think when he was with her: These facts alone should have tipped him off. He was only in his second life cycle and he hadn’t recognized what was in front of him. The need burning in him so strong, growing stronger each time he saw her. He’d always been in control, but with her a wildfire had swept through him, robbing him of common sense, and he’d made the ultimate mistake with a mark.

He’d needed. He had burned. He’d tasted her in his mouth. Breathed her into his lungs. He’d slept with her. Deliberately seduced her. Reveled in her until she was stamped into his very bones. He’d given in to his instincts and he’d done irreparable damage to their relationship.

Overhead a howler monkey screamed a warning and threw a twig at him. Conner didn’t deign to look up, merely leapt into the low branches and made his way up the tree. The monkeys scattered, screaming in alarm. Conner leapt from branch to branch, climbing his way up to the forest highway. Branches overlapped from tree to tree, making it easy to navigate. Birds took to the air in alarm. Lizards and frogs scurried out of his way. A few snakes lifted their heads, but most ignored him as he made his way steadily into the interior.

Deeper into the forest, the sound of water was constant again. He had moved away from the river, but was coming up on another tributary and a series of three falls. The pools there were cool, he remembered. Often, when he was young, he would swim in the pools and doze on the flat boulders jutting out of the mountain.

The cabin where he was meeting Rio and the rest of the team was just ahead. Built on stilts, it was positioned in the crook of three trees. The cabin became part of the network of branches, easy for leopards to access. In the shadow of the tallest tree, he shifted back to his human form.

To the left of the cabin a neat pile of folded clothes had been left for him beside a small outdoor shower. The water was cold but refreshing, and he took advantage of it, scrubbing the sweat from his body and stretching out his muscles after his forest run. His leopard was nearly purring, happy to be home, as he dressed in the clothes Rio had left for him.

Conner paused on the small porch in front of the house built into the tree. He sniffed the air. He recognized the scents of the four men inside. Rio Santano, the man running the team. Elijah Lospostos, the newest member of the team. Conner didn’t know him as well as the others, but he seemed extremely capable. They’d only worked together a couple of times, but the man didn’t shirk and he was fast and quiet. The other two men were Felipe and Leonardo Gomez Santos from the Brazilian rain forests, brothers who were brilliant at rescue work. Neither ever flinched under the worst circumstances, and Conner preferred working with them to anyone else. Both were aggressive and yet had endless patience. They got the job done. Conner was pleased they were on board with this mission, whatever it was. He had a feeling the mission was going to be difficult, since Rio had specifically asked for him.

He pushed open the door and the four men looked up with quick smiles but serious eyes. He caught that right away, as well as the elevated tension in the room. His stomach knotted. Yeah—this was going to be a bad one. So much for being happy about coming home.

He nodded to the others. “Good to be back.”

“How’s Drake?” Felipe asked.

Drake was probably the most popular of all the leopards they worked with and often ran the team on rescue missions. He was the most methodical and disciplined. Leopard males were notoriously bad-tempered, and when so many were in close proximity, outbreaks of anger quickly escalated. But not with Drake around. The man was a born diplomat and leader. He’d been injured so severely during a rescue that he’d had plates put in his legs, plates that prevented him from shifting. Everyone knew what that meant. Sooner or later he would be unable to live with the loss of his other half.

“Drake seems to be doing well.” Drake had gone to the States, putting distance between himself and the rain forest in an effort to alleviate the pain of not being able to shift. He had taken a job with Jake Bannaconni, a leopard unknowing of their ways, since he lived in the United States. Conner had followed Drake to the States and had worked for Bannaconni. “We had some trouble and Drake was injured again, same leg, but Jake Bannaconni arranged for a bone graft to replace the plates. We’re all hoping it works.”

“You mean Drake might be able to shift again?” Leonardo’s eyebrow shot up and some of the worry in his black eyes receded.

“That’s what we’re hoping for,” Conner replied. He glanced at Rio. “I wouldn’t have come back, with Drake in the hospital, but you said it was urgent.”

Rio nodded. “I wouldn’t have asked but we really need you on this one. None of us is familiar with this territory.”

“Have you informed the locals?” Conner meant the elders of his own village. They were reclusive and difficult to find, but the leopards could send word when they were passing through one another’s backyards.

Rio shook his head. “The client’s representative warned us that a couple of the leopards have gone rogue and now work for this woman.” Rio tossed a photograph on the rough tabletop. “They call her
mujer sin corazón
.”

“Woman without a heart,” Conner translated. “Imelda Cortez. I know of her. Anyone growing up in those parts knows her family. She’s also known as
víbora
, the viper. You don’t want anything to do with her. When they say she has no heart, they mean it. She’s been murdering the local Indians for years, and stealing their land for her coca growing. Rumor has it she’s been pressing deeper and deeper into the jungle, trying to open up more smuggling routes.”

“Rumor is right,” Rio said. “What else do you know about her?”

Conner shrugged. “Imelda is the daughter of the late Manuel Cortez. She learned her cruelty and arrogance in the cradle and took over his connections after his death. She pays top dollar to all the local militia and buys officials like they are candy.”