her throat? How the hell did she manage to make him feel guilty when she was the one invading his home, lying in wait for him? He shied away from the questions, tossing the silly little thong back in the pack. He would take care of washing clothes tomorrow. He was about out of steam at the moment, and he still had a long haul ahead of him.
Coffee warmed his insides and helped clear the fog in his brain. He stood over her, sipping the hot liquid and studying her face. She thought he wanted information enough to torture her for it. 'What information? What do you know that someone might want bad enough to hurt you for?' The idea of it set a demon rising in him.
She stirred at the sound of his voice, moving restlessly, pain flickering across her face. He brushed back her hair with a gentle touch, wanting to soothe her, not wanting her to surface when he couldn't ease her suffering.
Electricity ran through her body to his, sparked through his fingertips and whipped through his bloodstream. Every muscle in his body contracted. Wary, he took a single step back. He felt the change rise in him, threaten to take him in his tired state. He leaned over her and pressed his lips against her ear. 'Do not make the mistake of bringing my emotions to life.' He whispered the warning, barely audible in the pounding of the rain on the roof and the howling of the wind at the windows. It was the only warning he would give her.
Rio ejected the shells from the shotgun, pocketed them and put the empty weapon in a small alcove out of sight. The moment he opened the door, rain lashed at him, piercing his soaked clothing. The storm showed no signs of abating, the wind ripping ruthlessly through the trees. The tree branches were slick, but he moved across them easily in spite of the heavy deluge of water.
Rio knelt beside his backpack to try his radio. He doubted if he could raise anyone there in the dense forest with the storm raging, but he tried repeatedly. He didn't like the look of her wounds and she was going into shock. The forest had a way of deciding matters and he wanted her safe somewhere under a doctor's care. When static was the only reply he glanced up at the house with a worried frown, cursed the leopards, the woman and everything else he could think of. Abruptly he gave up, shoving the radio inside the pack before returning to his house.
Rachael thought she must be asleep, caught in the middle of a nightmare, a horror film playing over and over. There was blood and pain and men turning into leopards with hot breath and wicked teeth. There was a strange floating sensation, as if she were removed from whatever was happening to her, but the pain was pushing closer to her, working its way through her body, insisting it couldn't be ignored. She let her breath out slowly, afraid of opening her eyes, afraid if she didn't, she would be trapped forever in that nightmare world. And she was tired of being afraid. It seemed she'd been afraid all of her life.
A rush of cold air announced she wasn't alone. The door closed abruptly. Rachael's fingers curled around the blanket, tightening into a fist. She lifted her lashes just enough to see, striving to keep her breathing even.
Her attacker dropped a heavy pack beside the sink and rummaged around in it, pulling out several items and laying them out on the table with care. His back was to her as he dropped his jacket near the pack. He wore a shoulder harness housing a lethal-looking gun. Between his shoulder blades lay a leather sheath with the handle of a knife sticking out. He took both weapons and hung them on a peg to the side of the fireplace.
The man turned slightly as he sat down in one of the chairs, grimacing as if it hurt to move. From his boot he pulled another gun, checked the load and placed it on the table near his hand. Only then did he peel off his shirt. She caught a glimpse of a barrel chest, very heavily muscled. He appeared to be an ordinary man. There was no excessive hair, no fur, just blood and bruises. Some of the tension seeped out of Rachael.
He groaned, the sound nearly inaudible. There was a hint of distaste. His chest and stomach carried bruises. There was a raw-looking wound seeping blood across his stomach and a small brown leech attached to his skin. He turned his back to her.
Rachael let out her breath, her stomach muscles clenching. He had scars on his back. Lots of them. And he had another leech. 'You have another one on your back. Come over here and I'll take it off for you.' The thought of touching the leech was disgusting, but it sickened her to see the thing sucking on him like the parasite it was.
His shoulders stiffened. Not a big movement, but one that told her she'd surprised him and he didn't like surprises. He turned his head, a slow, animal-like movement. Rachael's breath caught in her throat. His eyes glowed, much like that of a cat in the dark. The flames from the fireplace leapt in the yellow-green depths. There was a long moment of silence. A log hissed and shifted. Sparks flew.
'Thanks, but I'll pass. I'm used to them.' Rio sounded gruff and abrupt and surly even to his own ears. Hell, all she'd done was ask to help him. He didn't need to bite her head off. 'I think your wrist is broken. I haven't had time to splint it.' He couldn't remember anyone offering to help him before. He rarely spent more than a few minutes in the company of others, and her close proximity was unsettling. She made him feel vulnerable in a way he couldn't understand.
Rachael looked with some surprise at her swollen wrist. The pain radiating up from her leg consumed her to the point she hadn't noticed her wrist. 'I guess it is. Who are you?'
She watched him take his time before answering, pulling the leech from his stomach with the ease of practice and disposing of it. His strange eyes immediately focused fully on her. 'Rio Santana.' He obviously was expecting a reaction to his name.
Rachael blinked at him. The intensity of his gaze made her heart pound. She'd never heard his name before, she was certain of it, yet something about him seemed familiar to her. She shifted position and pain knifed through her.
Impatience flickered across his face. 'Stop moving around. You'll start bleeding again, and I haven't even cleaned up the first mess.'
'You spend a lot of time working on your manners, don't you?' she observed.
'You tried to bash in my head, lady. I don't think I need you to lecture me on manners.' He stalked across the room to draw the knife from the sheath.
Her heart jumped, then settled into a steady pounding. Everything about the way he moved reminded her of an animal. The flames from the fireplace made the blade of the knife glow an eerie red-orange as he held it up.
'Stop looking at me like I have two heads,' he snapped, sounding more impatient than ever.
'I'm looking at you like you're waving a big knife around,' she said. Her leg was throbbing with pain, forcing her to grit her teeth and try to relax. How was she supposed to keep from moving around when it felt as if someone was using a dull saw on her flesh? 'And I didn't exactly try to bash your head in. It wasn't personal.'
'The knife is to remove the leech from my back. I can't reach it any other way,' he explained, although why he felt compelled to explain what should have been perfectly obvious, he didn't know. 'And I always take it personally when someone tries to remove my head from my shoulders.'
She made a face. A silly, feminine expression of exasperation. And she did it with little white lines of pain etched around her mouth. It fascinated him, that wholly feminine expression. His stomach did a weird flip.
'You don't hear me complaining that your little pet chewed off my leg. Men are such babies. It isn't even that big of a gash.'
He had the urge to laugh. It came out of nowhere, blind-siding him, bursting over him unexpectedly. He didn't laugh, of course; he frowned at her instead. 'You put a hole in my head.'
'You're going to put a hole in your back with that knife. Stop being macho he-man and let me take that horrible thing off of you.'
His eyebrow shot up. 'You want me to put a knife in your hands, lady?'
'Stop calling me lady, it's becoming annoying.' Pain was beating at her so strongly now that she wanted to throw up again. It was definitely making it hard to think. She kept fear at bay with her usual chatter, but she wouldn't be able to keep it up for much longer. And she dared not think what might happen then.
'I don't exactly know your name. Where I come from, lady is a compliment.'
'Not in that tone of voice,' she objected. 'Rachael Los…' she trailed off, casting around for a name, any name. She couldn't think clearly; she'd already forgotten her new name, but it was imperative she hide her identity. Pain throbbed in her head, beat at her body. 'Smith.'
If it were possible, his eyebrow went higher. 'Rachael Los Smith?' His mouth softened for the briefest of moments, a rusty attempt at a smile. Or a smirk. She couldn't tell. Her vision was beginning to blur.
Rio moved closer to her, his mouth once more twisting into a frown. 'You're sweating.' His palm settled on her forehead. 'Do not get an infection. We're stuck here without help for the duration of the storm.'
'I'll make sure I follow your orders, Rio, because I have the power to determine that, you know.' Rachael's gaze followed the path of the knife as it moved close to her. 'If you don't let me help you now, I don't think I'm
