Wild Fire
Page 123
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Ottila leapt on him, claws raking at his belly, breath hot in his face, the malevolent eyes glaring into his as they struggled, nose to nose, Ottila trying to sink his teeth into Conner’s throat. Conner slammed his legs into Ottila’s softer belly, ripping at the fur to draw blood, trying to go deeper while the leopard slashed and bit at his throat. With one last desperate heave, Conner managed to roll his body over and out from under the other leopard. He tried to stand and went down again.
Ottila circled, snarling, lips drawn back, exposing the bloody canines. There was blood smeared over his muzzle, turning the tawny color muddy. His eyes were red flames, shining with hatred and resolve.
Conner stayed in position, only expending the energy it took to stay facing the other leopard. His hind end was barely working, the leg weak, with a tendency to crumble beneath him if he put too much weight on it. He was careful to hide the weakness as best he could. Ottila was strong, too good and too experienced for Conner to give him any edge.
Ottila charged him, a burst of speed, striking with so much force that he not only drove Conner over, but it carried him past the golden leopard as Conner went down, the only thing that really saved Conner’s life. His insides felt broken, smashed to pieces, but he resolutely rolled over and regained his feet, shaking himself. Ottila rose, whirled back, snarling. Conner began limping toward the other leopard, his sides heaving, blood coating his hips, legs and now his sides.
Rio groaned and shifted position, drawing the enraged leopard’s attention. Ottila snarled again and, dismissing Conner as too injured to be much of a threat, crawled on his belly toward the body lying so still in the brush, now only feet from him. He didn’t want a bullet in his head when he went to finish Conner off. Rio raised his head, his eyes locking with the leopard. The rifle lay loosely in his hand, seemingly forgotten, or Rio was too weak from blood loss to even lift it.
The tawny leopard pulled back his lips in a grimace of hatred. He looked evil in that moment, using his claws to pull himself inch by inch closer to Rio, prolonging the agony, knowing the man was utterly helpless.
Conner followed the leopard grimly. As Ottila picked up speed on the ground, Conner struck, a desperation move, driving his two front claws as deep as he could into the leopard’s hips. He dug his back legs into the ground and pulled with every bit of strength he had, dragging the leopard away from Rio.
Ottila roared with rage and twisted, ripping a razor-sharp claw across Conner’s muzzle. Conner kept dragging him, back-pedaling, his grip relentless. Blood ran down the darker leopard’s legs, and each time he twisted, Conner dug deeper, refusing to allow even that flexible spine to interfere with his determination to remove the threat to Rio.
Ottila began to panic as the claws kept adjusting, puncturing deeper and deeper, the grip relentless, merciless, unbreakable. Conner sank his long canines into the spine and Ottila’s terror spread like a disease. He twisted and snarled, throwing his weight sideways in an attempt to roll, his claws ripping everything he could touch. He slashed at the golden leopard frantically, chest, muzzle, shoulders and front legs, but he couldn’t dislodge the other animal sawing through his backbone.
Ottila needed leverage, but the golden leopard countered every move. He seemed to anticipate every move before he made it. He knew Conner was weakening. His continual slashes were taking their toll. He raked the face, the chest and shoulders and arms, long, deep slices that spewed fountains of precious blood. He couldn’t get to the throat, although he’d come close, twisting and turning, and still those claws and teeth were relentless, hanging on, dragging him away from the man on the ground.
Conner began moving up, inch by inch, using his claws to crawl up the body, blocking the burning pain as the other leopard fought back with slashing swipes of powerful paws. Conner knew he had no choice but to hold the tawny leopard. He needed to find a way to deliver the killing bite, but his strength was waning fast. His back leg was on fire, the pain excruciating. He blocked out everything, the sounds of the battle, the pain, the thought of Rio lying helpless, the smoke swirling inches from the ground and veiling the trees, everything but Isabeau. This was for Isabeau. He had to defeat Ottila.
Deliberately he brought forth every image of her mottled, purple bruises, the terror in her eyes, the deep puncture wounds this animal had inflicted on her just because he could. There is no way you’re going to live. Not even if it meant both of them died there. Ottila Zorba’s life was over. Conner yanked hard with his claws, dragging the other leopard beneath him with renewed strength, walking up the spine until he was at the thick neck. His claws dug into the heaving sides so that he was riding the other leopard.
Ottila rolled, desperate to remove him from his back, desperate to get away from those wicked teeth and razor-sharp claws. He smashed Conner into the ground, deliberately landing hard on Conner’s injured hindquarters, but the golden leopard refused to be dislodged. Like a demon, he hung on, slowly moving up the back, until those terrible teeth closed around the nape of his neck in a punishing bite.
The canine teeth sank deep, seeking to separate the spinal cord. Ottila tried to flip, fear suddenly filling him. He actually felt the sudden, spreading paralysis, his legs stiffening, his body going limp. The leopard held him for a long moment until Ottila’s eyes glazed over and the air left the lungs. He held him even longer, waiting until he was certain the heart had ceased beating.
It was almost too much effort to release the leopard from his grasp. Conner collapsed on top of him, bleeding from too many places to count. He knew he had to get back to Rio, but he didn’t have any energy left. He could only lie over the other leopard, his body consumed with such pain it was impossible to tell what part of him hurt the worst. It took minutes—or hours—he didn’t know which, to gather enough strength to begin what seemed like a mile long journey of dragging himself across the ground to Rio’s side.
Ottila circled, snarling, lips drawn back, exposing the bloody canines. There was blood smeared over his muzzle, turning the tawny color muddy. His eyes were red flames, shining with hatred and resolve.
Conner stayed in position, only expending the energy it took to stay facing the other leopard. His hind end was barely working, the leg weak, with a tendency to crumble beneath him if he put too much weight on it. He was careful to hide the weakness as best he could. Ottila was strong, too good and too experienced for Conner to give him any edge.
Ottila charged him, a burst of speed, striking with so much force that he not only drove Conner over, but it carried him past the golden leopard as Conner went down, the only thing that really saved Conner’s life. His insides felt broken, smashed to pieces, but he resolutely rolled over and regained his feet, shaking himself. Ottila rose, whirled back, snarling. Conner began limping toward the other leopard, his sides heaving, blood coating his hips, legs and now his sides.
Rio groaned and shifted position, drawing the enraged leopard’s attention. Ottila snarled again and, dismissing Conner as too injured to be much of a threat, crawled on his belly toward the body lying so still in the brush, now only feet from him. He didn’t want a bullet in his head when he went to finish Conner off. Rio raised his head, his eyes locking with the leopard. The rifle lay loosely in his hand, seemingly forgotten, or Rio was too weak from blood loss to even lift it.
The tawny leopard pulled back his lips in a grimace of hatred. He looked evil in that moment, using his claws to pull himself inch by inch closer to Rio, prolonging the agony, knowing the man was utterly helpless.
Conner followed the leopard grimly. As Ottila picked up speed on the ground, Conner struck, a desperation move, driving his two front claws as deep as he could into the leopard’s hips. He dug his back legs into the ground and pulled with every bit of strength he had, dragging the leopard away from Rio.
Ottila roared with rage and twisted, ripping a razor-sharp claw across Conner’s muzzle. Conner kept dragging him, back-pedaling, his grip relentless. Blood ran down the darker leopard’s legs, and each time he twisted, Conner dug deeper, refusing to allow even that flexible spine to interfere with his determination to remove the threat to Rio.
Ottila began to panic as the claws kept adjusting, puncturing deeper and deeper, the grip relentless, merciless, unbreakable. Conner sank his long canines into the spine and Ottila’s terror spread like a disease. He twisted and snarled, throwing his weight sideways in an attempt to roll, his claws ripping everything he could touch. He slashed at the golden leopard frantically, chest, muzzle, shoulders and front legs, but he couldn’t dislodge the other animal sawing through his backbone.
Ottila needed leverage, but the golden leopard countered every move. He seemed to anticipate every move before he made it. He knew Conner was weakening. His continual slashes were taking their toll. He raked the face, the chest and shoulders and arms, long, deep slices that spewed fountains of precious blood. He couldn’t get to the throat, although he’d come close, twisting and turning, and still those claws and teeth were relentless, hanging on, dragging him away from the man on the ground.
Conner began moving up, inch by inch, using his claws to crawl up the body, blocking the burning pain as the other leopard fought back with slashing swipes of powerful paws. Conner knew he had no choice but to hold the tawny leopard. He needed to find a way to deliver the killing bite, but his strength was waning fast. His back leg was on fire, the pain excruciating. He blocked out everything, the sounds of the battle, the pain, the thought of Rio lying helpless, the smoke swirling inches from the ground and veiling the trees, everything but Isabeau. This was for Isabeau. He had to defeat Ottila.
Deliberately he brought forth every image of her mottled, purple bruises, the terror in her eyes, the deep puncture wounds this animal had inflicted on her just because he could. There is no way you’re going to live. Not even if it meant both of them died there. Ottila Zorba’s life was over. Conner yanked hard with his claws, dragging the other leopard beneath him with renewed strength, walking up the spine until he was at the thick neck. His claws dug into the heaving sides so that he was riding the other leopard.
Ottila rolled, desperate to remove him from his back, desperate to get away from those wicked teeth and razor-sharp claws. He smashed Conner into the ground, deliberately landing hard on Conner’s injured hindquarters, but the golden leopard refused to be dislodged. Like a demon, he hung on, slowly moving up the back, until those terrible teeth closed around the nape of his neck in a punishing bite.
The canine teeth sank deep, seeking to separate the spinal cord. Ottila tried to flip, fear suddenly filling him. He actually felt the sudden, spreading paralysis, his legs stiffening, his body going limp. The leopard held him for a long moment until Ottila’s eyes glazed over and the air left the lungs. He held him even longer, waiting until he was certain the heart had ceased beating.
It was almost too much effort to release the leopard from his grasp. Conner collapsed on top of him, bleeding from too many places to count. He knew he had to get back to Rio, but he didn’t have any energy left. He could only lie over the other leopard, his body consumed with such pain it was impossible to tell what part of him hurt the worst. It took minutes—or hours—he didn’t know which, to gather enough strength to begin what seemed like a mile long journey of dragging himself across the ground to Rio’s side.
