Wild Rain

Chapter Two

RACHAEL came awake, instantly aware of impending danger. The smell of wet fur mixed with the scent of something feral, something dangerous. There had been no sound, but the feeling was so overwhelming she instinctively reached for the shotgun. Fingers circled her wrist in a vise-like grip, crushing bone against tendon. The shotgun was torn from her hand easily, her attacker strong beyond her wildest imagining. She jerked her captured wrist toward her as if to struggle against his hold. Simultaneously, she brought up her left hand, gripping the short rattan-filled stick and slamming it with sickening force against her assailant's head. She rolled sideways away from him to drop to the floor, the bed between them.

To her horror, Rachael landed inches from glowing red eyes, hot breath in her face, gaping, hideous jaws filled with teeth coming straight at her. Not just any teeth, she was staring at what looked like a saber-toothed tiger. Thrusting the stick between the dripping fangs, she scrambled away, desperate to reach the fireplace and a weapon, any weapon to defend herself. A hand grabbed at her, missed, slid off her legs. She nearly made it across the room, reaching out for the heavy metal poker just inches from her fingers. Another step, a lunge and she'd have a chance. Something caught her ankle in a savage trap, tearing at her flesh, dragging her down, slashing mercilessly with sharp teeth.

Rachael imagined it was like being hit by a shark. Hard. The force of a freight train. She could hear someone swearing, animals breathing loudly, a terrible chuffing noise. Something hissed. Panic overwhelmed her, nearly shutting down her brain. Red-hot pain shot through her entire body, the agony taking her breath away. Gathering itself for another attack, a second leopard leapt at her. Gritting her teeth, Rachael threw herself forward, a scream ripping her throat as the lance-like teeth pierced and shredded flesh to crunch on bone. Her fingers curled around the poker, swinging it at the animal with desperate strength. A hand caught her wrist, abruptly stopping the vicious cut in midair.

A man loomed over her, dark and powerful, his face that of an avenging devil, thrust close to hers. To her horror the face contorted, fur bursting through skin, teeth filling the strong jaw. A leopard's hot breath blew in her face, the teeth at her throat. Not a small, clouded leopard, but a huge black leopard. The leopard's gaze fixed on her with merciless intent. Rachael saw the piercing intelligence in the brilliant yellow-green eyes. The haunting stare, smoldering with fire, with deadly danger, was etched into her mind. She closed her eyes, willing herself to faint, yet she could not shut out the focused stare.

Rio struggled against the beast rising in him. Too many wounds, too many days without sleep made it difficult to maintain control. He fought the change before he could make a kill. He breathed in and out. Drew the air deeply into his lungs. Forced the wildness in him back down, to settle somewhere deep inside until he was once again completely ruled by his brain and intelligence.

"Release," he snapped. The cats obeyed, letting go of his assassin's leg, dropping to the floor, still on guard. "Now you. Give it to me."

Rachael was incapable of letting the poker go. Her fingers were locked around it, her mind numb with horror. She could only stare at him in shock. Terror held her mute. "Damn you, drop it," he hissed, increasing the pressure on her wrist, knowing he could easily snap the bone if she continued to resist. His free hand clamped around her throat like a vise, instantly cutting off her air, elbow digging into her breast, knee across her thighs. His body effectively pinned hers to the floor with his superior weight. "I could break your neck," he pointed out. "Drop it."

Rachael would have cried out, screamed for help, for salvation, just screamed for the hell of it. She was more afraid of the man, or whatever he was, than the cats and their evil eyes. He'd successfully choked off all sound, but the pain radiating up her leg seemed to engulf her so that she had the incredible sensation of melting into the floor.

Rio swore again as he felt her go limp beneath him, the poker clattering to the floor. He shoved it out of her reach and as he did so, his hand encountered a warm, sticky substance. Instantly his hands moved down her leg. He muttered an expletive at his find. Clamping a hand over the wound, he jerked her leg into the air. "Don't you faint on me. Is there anyone else here? Answer me, and you'd better tell the truth." He was fairly certain they were alone, someone else surely would have revealed their presence during the short but intense fight. The house held no other human scent, but he wanted no more surprises.

A shudder ran through her body, trembling in reaction to the terrible wound on her leg. There was hard authority in his voice. A distinct merciless edge that carried inherent danger. "No." She managed to gasp out the word through her bruised throat.

Rio signaled to the clouded leopards. "I hope to hell you're telling me the truth because they'll kill anyone they find."

He applied a field tourniquet quickly, knowing the animals would alert him if they found another intruder. He couldn't imagine who would be stupid enough to send a woman after him. Rio lifted her with ease, carried her to the bed and set her on it. She didn't look capable of murdering anyone, her face white and her eyes too big for her face. He shook his head and went to work on the ugly wound in her leg. The puncture wounds were deep and had done considerable damage. The cat had savaged the leg as she'd tried to get away, tearing deep gouges out of her flesh, an unusual wound for a clouded leopard to make. It was an ugly mess and needed more skill than he possessed.

Rachael could barely breathe through the pain. In the darkness, the man looming over her appeared invincible. His shoulders were wide, his arms and chest powerful. He carried most of his upper body weight in sheer muscle. There were bloodstains on his clothes. Blood trickled from the ugly gash near his temple. He was drenched, his clothes torn and soaked completely through. Water dropped from his hair onto her leg as he bent over her, the droplets cold on her hot skin. He had a dark shadow along his jaw and the coldest eyes she'd ever seen on a human… or a beast. Brilliant yellow-green eyes.

"Stop shaking." There was impatience in his voice.

Rachael took a deep breath and forced her gaze down to her mangled leg. A single sound escaped and her world began to blur.

"Stop looking at it, you little fool." He caught at her impatiently, jerked her chin up so that she was forced to meet his glittering stare.

Rio studied her pale face, so drawn with pain he could see lines etched around her mouth. Beads of sweat dotted her brow. The marks of his fingers showed around her throat, swollen and purple. His gaze dwelt for a moment of speculation on her right wrist, noting the swelling, wondering if it was broken. It was the least of his worries. "Listen to me, try to follow what I'm saying." He bent close to her, his face inches from hers. His voice started out gruff, but even to his own ears, it gentled as his gaze drifted over her.

Rachael pressed back against the mattress, terrified that his face would contort and leave her staring at a beast rather than a man. She was floating in a sea of pain. A veil of haze blurred her vision, until she felt at a distance from everything. A look of resolution hardened his expression, warning her. She made an attempt to nod, to indicate she was listening, terrified of the intensity of his unblinking stare, afraid if she didn't respond he would suddenly grow a mouthful of teeth. All she really wanted to do was slide down in the bed and disappear.

"Infections start fast here in the rain forest. We're cut off by the river. This storm is a bad one and the river is over its banks. I can't get you help so I'm going to have to take care of this the primitive way. It's going to hurt."

Rachael pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the hysterical laugh welling up. Hurt? Was he crazy? She was caught in the middle of a nightmare with no end. She was in a tree house with a leopard man and two mini leopards. No one knew where she was and the leopard man wanted her dead. Did he think her leg didn't already hurt?

"Did you understand?"

He seemed to bite the words out between strong teeth. Rachael tried not to stare at his teeth. Tried not to imagine them lengthening into lethal weapons. She made herself nod, tried to look intelligent when she was certain she was insane. Men didn't change into leopards, not even in the middle of the rain forest. She must have lost her sanity, there was no other explanation.

Rio stared down at her face, shocked at the way his stomach lurched at the idea of what he had to do to her. He'd done such things before. He'd done far worse things. It was the only chance they had of saving her leg, but the thought of hurting her further sickened him. He had no idea who she was. Chances were good she'd been sent to kill him. He was a wanted man. It had been tried before. Rio snapped his teeth together and swore silently. What the hell difference did it make if her eyes were too big for her face and she looked so damned vulnerable?

The ram poured down onto the roof. The wind howled and lashed at the windows. He was uneasy, hesitant even, something very unusual for Rio. He looked down, saw his fingertips brushing damp tendrils of hair from her face, his touch almost gentle, and jerked his hand away as if her skin burned him. His heart did a peculiar somersault. Rio pulled the small vial from the field medical kit strapped to his belt. One hand clamped around her leg to hold her still. He poured the entire contents over the gaping wound.

Rachael screamed, the sound tearing up through her ragged throat to pierce the walls of the house. She tried to fight him, tried to jerk into a sitting position, but his strength was implacable. He held her down easily. "I can't tell you anything. I don't know anything." The words were strangled between trying to breathe through the pain and her swollen throat. "I swear I don't. Torturing me isn't going to do you any good." She looked at him, pleading, tears swimming in her dark eyes. "Please, I really don't know anything."

"Ssh." Distaste for hurting her was bile in his mouth and he didn't know why. Most tasks were done without feeling. Rio had no idea why he would suddenly develop compassion for a woman sent to kill him. He filed her blurted revelations away for a better time to study them. The need to reassure her took precedence and that worried him. He was a man who always wanted knowledge. Information. He wasn't the type to offer sympathy-especially for someone who had tried to take his head off. "It's only to kill the germs and fight infection." He found himself murmuring the words, his tone odd. Unfamiliar. "I know it burns. I've used it on myself more than once. Just lie still while I try to repair the damage."

"I think I'm going to be sick." It was the last humiliating straw. Rachael couldn't believe it was happening to her. She had planned everything so carefully, worked so hard, come so far. Everything was lost now. This man was going to torture her. Kill her. She should have known she couldn't escape.

"Damn it." He held her head while she was sick over and over into a bucket he dragged out from under the bed. She didn't want to think what the bucket was used for. She didn't want to think how she was going to get away from him with a mangled leg, in the middle of a storm with the river flooding.

Rachael lay back, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, trying desperately to force her brain to work. Weakness was an insidious enemy, creeping through her body so her arms felt leaden and she didn't want to lift her head.

"You've lost a lot of blood," he said tersely, as if reading her mind.

"What are you?" The words came out a whisper. The wind stilled for a moment so only the rain could be heard pounding on the roof. Rachael held her breath when he turned the full impact of his cold, merciless eyes on her. He didn't blink. She saw that his pupils were dilated. She saw that same piercing intelligence, glimpsed the dangerous fire smoldering. Her heart pounded in time with the driving rain.

"They call me the wind of death. How could you not know?" His voice was as expressionless as his eyes. A faint, humorless smile drew attention to his mouth, failing to light his eyes. "They didn't send you here with much information. Not very smart for an assassin. Maybe someone wanted you dead. You should give that some thought." He dragged a chair to the side of the bed, lit a lamp and dug into his field kit for more supplies.

Something in his voice gave her pause. She studied his profile. There was acceptance in his voice of who and what he was, not bravado or bragging.

"Why would I be sent here to kill you?"

"Weren't you? It's been tried many times and I'm still alive." He was telling her the truth.

She didn't understand what he was telling her, but she heard the honesty in his tone. He had a needle in his hand and bent very close to her leg.

Involuntarily she jerked away. "Can't you just tape it up?"

His hand clamped around her thigh, pinning her to the mattress, holding her still. "Damn cat made a mess of you. It's all the way to the bone. The lacerations need stitches. There's nothing I can do about the puncture wounds. I don't like the look of this. It isn't helpful with you shaking so much."

"I'll keep that in mind." Rachael muttered the words resentfully under her breath. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of her own blood. All the while, in spite of everything, she was acutely aware of his hand wrapped around her bare thigh. "You're obviously one of those he-men seen only on film who can take forty-seven kicks in the ribs and keep on fighting. Don't mind me for being human."

"What did you say?" His head swung around, his eyes focusing on her face.

Rachael could feel his gaze stabbing at her but she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. Or at the needle. She'd already thrown up once; she didn't think a second round would win her any points. "Was it my imagination or did you turn into a leopard?" Not just any leopard. Not a clouded leopard like his two companion cats. "Not like those little cats either. I'm talking a big, for-real large, predatory, man-eating leopard." She could have groaned the minute the words left her mouth. It was utterly ridiculous. No one turned into a wild animal. Now he was going to think she'd lost her mind completely. And maybe she had. The image of his face contorting, the hot breath, the wicked teeth so close to her throat was very vivid. She'd even felt the brush of fur. And those eyes. She would never forget those eyes. She couldn't possibly have made up that predatory stare. Unable to prevent herself, her gaze lifted to his, regarding him as if he had two heads. She could see she was really making an impression.

"It's a bad habit of mine." He said it casually. Easily. As if it didn't matter. As if she really were crazy. And actually she thought he might be right.

Rachael watched him take a breath, let it out and take the first stitch. She tried to jerk her leg away from him, her breath hissing out between her teeth. "Are you insane? What do you think you're doing?"

"Hold still. You think this is easy for me? You've lost too much blood. If I don't repair the damage, you're not just going to lose the leg, you're going to die."

"I thought that was the idea."

"What was I supposed to think? You were here, waiting in my house for me."

"I was in bed asleep, not lurking behind the door ready to bash your brains out." She glared at him.

Rio turned his head again to look at her. Rachael had the grace to blush. Blood trickled down his temple to the dark shadow of stubble growing on his face.

"I thought you were trying to kill me. You were, weren't you?"

"If I wanted you dead, believe me, you'd be dead and I'd be burying your body in the forest. Hold still and cut the chatter. In case you haven't noticed, I'm soaked and have a few wounds of my own to take care of."

"And all this time I thought you were he-man and didn't care about the little things like wounds."

He muttered something under his breath she was certain was uncomplimentary before once more bending over her leg.

Rachael gave up the idea of being a true heroine straight out of the movies. She'd been trying bravado just to concentrate on anything beside the excruciating pain in her leg, but he wasn't helping with his tiny little needlework. It felt like he was sawing at her leg with a dull blade. She couldn't just grab the pillow and suffocate herself because her hand wasn't working properly. She could hear someone crying. An obnoxious, annoying sound that wouldn't stop. A high keening kept breaking her concentration, making it impossible to lie still.

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 territory?" His gaze shifted to her face, a silken thong crushed in his hand. He didn't want to give life 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 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 going to be able to at all." Her voice was funny, tinny and far away. "That awful leech is going to just stay there, getting high on your blood. Maybe it's a girl leech and she's going to have babies and they'll all live on your back, sucking your blood. A little leech community. How perfectly lovely."

He muttered something under his breath.

"And don't swear at me or I'm going to cry. I'm doing my best here and you aren't giving me anything to work with."

His fingers were gentle in her hair even though he didn't mean to touch her. "Don't you dare cry." The thought was more alarming than someone coming at him with a gun. Her tears might turn him inside out. "The morphine is wearing off, isn't it? I didn't give you very much because I was afraid you'd go into shock."

A small humorless laugh escaped. She sounded on the verge of hysteria. "I am in shock. I think I lost my mind. I thought you turned into a leopard and tried to rip my throat out."

He slipped the tip of the knife between his back and the leech, flicked it to the floor and hastily disposed of it. "Leopards don't rip throats out. They bite the throat and suffocate their prey." He dipped a cloth into a cool bowl of water and sponged her face. "They're tidy killers."

"Thanks for the information. I wouldn't want to think my death would be a messy one."

Rio was uncomfortably aware of her gaze studying his face. Her eyes were large, too old for the rest of her. There was something sad in the dark depths that tugged at his heart. Her lashes were incredibly long, spiky from her tears. He actually felt as if he were falling forward into the depths of them, a corny and totally ridiculous notion he was impatient with. His heart began to pound in his chest. Anticipating-what, he didn't know. He deliberately wiped the cloth over her eyes, a gentle stroke to save himself from falling under her spell.

"Are you always this sarcastic, or should I put it down to you being in considerable pain?"

Rachael tried to laugh but it came out a gasping sob. "I swear it feels like my leg is on fire."

"It's swelling. I'm going to give you a little more painkiller and splint that wrist for you." Rio's fingers trailed in her hair, a thick mass of silk. There was a strange color surrounding her body, like a shadow that wouldn't go away. No matter how many times he blinked, or swept his hand over his eyes to clear his vision, the strange surrounding color remained.

"I think you need to take care of yourself," Rachael said, her gaze drifting over his face. He had the physical sensation of fingers touching him lightly in a caress. She didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him, and he was grateful.

"You look tired. I honestly can't even feel my wrist at the moment, although I think a painkiller is a good idea. Maybe a huge dose of painkiller." Rachael tried to smile at him, tried to make it a joke. If he didn't find something to stop the pain she was going to ask him to knock her out. He had a big enough fist.

She was shaking beneath the blanket, a sure sign of fever. He had packed the wound with antibiotics earlier, but it obviously wasn't going to be enough. Rio shook pills into his hand and helped her lift her head to swallow them. She pressed her teeth together, but a small sound, much like that of a wounded animal, escaped. "I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but you have to get these down." If she had come there to kill him, he was making a hell of a fool of himself, but it didn't matter to him. He had to remove the desperation from her eyes. She looked so helpless it twisted his gut into hard little knots. He gave her another small dose of morphine along with the antibiotics and waited until her eyes clouded over before splinting her wrist. Her skin was hot, but he didn't dare leave his own wounds much longer or they both would be in trouble.

Rachael felt herself drifting away. The pain was there; she didn't want to squirm around and provoke it, but she could handle the intensity floating above it. Rio moved away from her with his curious animal grace. He intrigued her. Everything about him intrigued her. She couldn't keep from staring at him, although she tried to think of other things. The wind. The rain. Leopards leaping at her throat. Her lashes drifted down. She listened to the rain and shivered. Before she had been burning up; now she felt inexplicably cold. The sound of the rain driving down on the rooftop added to her discomfort. She couldn't hear him moving around the house. It wasn't that the storm drowned out the sounds, he was simply that quiet. Like a great jungle cat.