Savage Nature - Christine Feehan [65]
“That doesn’t give you any right . . .”
“I take it you aren’t familiar with the lease your father signed?” Drake cut him off. “Step back, Mercier. I don’t like anyone getting in my face.” When the other man hesitated, Drake stepped into him. “Do it now.” He kept his voice low, soft even, but the steel was there—and the threat.
Armande stared him directly in the eyes, but Drake’s cat was already leaping to meet the threat. His gaze remained unblinking, the stare of the predator, his eyes nearly completely golden rather than his usual green. Armande gave ground reluctantly.
“I don’t know why you would react with such anger and rudeness even if you thought we’d inadvertently trespassed on your land, but now that you know I have every legal right to be here, perhaps we can start over.”
“I don’ know you have a legal right to anything,” Armande snapped.
Behind him, Saria shifted her weight, but she didn’t react. Drake appreciated that she stayed quiet, waiting, as he was, to see what Armande intended. One wrong move and the man was certain to erupt into violence. Drake wanted to ease the tension. He needed to find a way to get the lair to accept his claim on Saria without bloodshed.
Armande’s furious gaze leapt from Drake to Saria. “Damn right I’m angry. I don’t want that little slut usin’ my land as her own personal brothel. Do you fuck all your clients, Saria, or just the rich ones?”
Drake backhanded him. Hard. The blow rocked Armande and knocked his glasses sideways. So much for easing the tension. Fur rippled beneath his skin, and his jaw ached as his mouth filled with teeth. He fought the change, breathing deep to keep his furious leopard at bay. Cooler heads had to prevail, and right then the man wanted to beat Armande to a bloody pulp, but the leopard wanted to kill him.
Armande tore his glasses from his face and ripped at his shirt, as though to tear it from his body.
Drake stepped closer to him. “You do that, and I won’t be able to control my leopard. He’ll tear you apart. You’ve seen him and what he can do. You’re angry, but not because Saria’s a slut. You tried to force your leopard on hers and she didn’t like it. You’re the lowest kind of man, Mercier, thinking you’re entitled to whoever you want regardless of their feelings. Saria is off-limits to scum like you.”
Armande’s fury erupted into a threatening growl, driven by the ferocious need of his cat.
“Armande!” The feminine voice cracked like a whip.
Armande froze. It took great effort, but he hung his head, breathing deeply to steady himself before turning away from Drake and Saria to face the newcomer. Charisse Mercier was breathtaking. She knew she was a beautiful woman and she walked as if everyone was watching her, her hips swaying gently and long dark hair flowing down her back. She wore a long pencil-thin skirt, slk shirt and fitted jacket that suited her figure and showed off her small waist. Her boots were fashionable, but looked out of place even on the edge of the swamp.
“Saria, cher, how good to see you,” she greeted, with genuine affection in her voice. “Armande, I gave Saria permission to picnic here.” She smiled at Drake and offered her hand. “I’m Charisse Mercier and this is my brother Armande.”
Drake took her hand. She was trembling, but trying to hide it. There was no lie, she was genuinely happy to see Saria, but she was shaking with fear for her brother. News traveled fast in a lair and the intruder had taken down two of their best fighters. She didn’t want him attacking her brother.
“Drake Donovan.” He identified himself and moved his body subtly. Saria, bless her, took the cue and moved up beside him, offering Charisse a kiss on both cheeks.
“Thanks for letting us use your land, Charisse. It’s so beautiful here.”
“Bien merci. I think so,” Charisse said easily. She put her hand on her brother’s arm and looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Armande,