Wild Rain
Page 10
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Grim-faced, Rio held her down as he worked. He was grateful when she finally succumbed to the pain, lying motionless, her breathing rapid, her pulse pounding. Her soft moaning set his teeth on edge. Ate at his heart. “Damn you, Fritz. Did you have to take her leg off?” It took him close to an hour in the dim light, tiny stitches, working on the inside. Straightening, he sighed, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his hands, smearing her blood over the stubble on his face. Now he could add torturing women to his long list of sins.
He brushed back her hair, frowning down at her white face. “Don’t you die on me,” he ordered, feeling for her pulse. She’d lost a lot of blood and her skin was clammy. She was going into shock. “Who are you?” He dragged blankets over her and built the fire back up to heat a large pot of water and added a smaller kettle to make coffee. It was going to be a long night and he needed a boost.
The cats lay near the fire, already asleep, but woke when Rio examined them for injuries. He murmured to them, nonsense really, showing his affection for them roughly as he removed parasites and ruffled their fur. He never admitted to himself he felt affection for them, but it always pleased him when they chose to remain with him. Fritz yawned, showing his long sharp teeth. Franz nudged him sleepily. Normally playful, the two leopards were worn out.
As he washed his hands, Rio became aware of how uncomfortable his soaked clothing was. Every muscle in his body ached now that he was allowing himself time to think about it. He had to clean and stitch his own wounds, and the prospect wasn’t a pleasant one. His pack was still outside lying against a tree trunk and he needed the contents of the larger medical kit he always carried.
While he waited for the water to boil he searched his home for some evidence of who she was and why she was there. “Little Red Riding Hood, were you just walking in the woods?” He went through the backpack containing her clothes. “You come from money. A lot of money.” He recognized the designer labels from rescuing more than one rich victim. “Why would you be wandering alone in my territor y?”
His gaze shif ted to her face, a silken thong crushed in his hand. He didn’t want to give lif e to the question in his mind by murmuring it aloud. Why did he ache every time he looked at her pale face?
Why did it feel like a blow to his gut each time he saw his fingerprints around 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 car e 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.
Electr icity 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.
Ther e 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.
He brushed back her hair, frowning down at her white face. “Don’t you die on me,” he ordered, feeling for her pulse. She’d lost a lot of blood and her skin was clammy. She was going into shock. “Who are you?” He dragged blankets over her and built the fire back up to heat a large pot of water and added a smaller kettle to make coffee. It was going to be a long night and he needed a boost.
The cats lay near the fire, already asleep, but woke when Rio examined them for injuries. He murmured to them, nonsense really, showing his affection for them roughly as he removed parasites and ruffled their fur. He never admitted to himself he felt affection for them, but it always pleased him when they chose to remain with him. Fritz yawned, showing his long sharp teeth. Franz nudged him sleepily. Normally playful, the two leopards were worn out.
As he washed his hands, Rio became aware of how uncomfortable his soaked clothing was. Every muscle in his body ached now that he was allowing himself time to think about it. He had to clean and stitch his own wounds, and the prospect wasn’t a pleasant one. His pack was still outside lying against a tree trunk and he needed the contents of the larger medical kit he always carried.
While he waited for the water to boil he searched his home for some evidence of who she was and why she was there. “Little Red Riding Hood, were you just walking in the woods?” He went through the backpack containing her clothes. “You come from money. A lot of money.” He recognized the designer labels from rescuing more than one rich victim. “Why would you be wandering alone in my territor y?”
His gaze shif ted to her face, a silken thong crushed in his hand. He didn’t want to give lif e to the question in his mind by murmuring it aloud. Why did he ache every time he looked at her pale face?
Why did it feel like a blow to his gut each time he saw his fingerprints around 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 car e 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.
Electr icity 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.
Ther e 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.
