Savage Nature - Christine Feehan [93]
“Damn it, Drake, stop holding back your leopard. Kill them both. They don’t fight fair and the entire lot of them can go to hell,” Joshua shouted. “If you don’t take this one out, I swear I’m shooting every damned one of them.”
Joshua’s fury was mixed with a deep loathing and disgust. They lived by rules, firm, unbendable rules for survival in the forests of the world. Without those rules, leopards would be out-of-control killing machines. There had to be order and the Louisiana lair didn’t seem to have any rules of fairness or honor.
Joshua’s words penetrated the lair and the smiles of hope faded into worried frowns. If Drake had been holding back against one of their best fighters, what was he really capable of?
“Anyone else makes a move toward Drake and tries ambushin’ him,” Remy said, “will be going through me.”
On some level, everything around Drake penetrated, but he was in another realm, one from long ago when the main rule of the jungle was kill or be killed. Blood thundered in his ears, roaring like a massive waterfall drowning out generations of civilization. He leapt high, springing off powerful back legs, meeting the other’s charge in midair. His opponent missed his throathold and got a mouthful of loose, baggy fur-covered skin while Drake’s leopard sank his teeth viciously into the muzzle and bit down, shaking his head.
He drove his opponent over backward, claws tearing wide strips from the belly. The leopard nearly convulsed with pain, raking and tearing in desperation. Drake let go of the muzzle and drove in for the exposed throat. His attack was skilled, vicious and precise. His strength was enormous, fueled by rage and the need to dominate. In that moment, he was nearly all leopard, a primitive, perfect killing machine.
He lost track of time, shaking his enemy, punishing with claws and teeth, driving in again and again for the kill. The leopard had no chance to recover his feet, only to fend off the inevitable with increasingly feeble—yet desperate—claws and teeth. Drake’s leopard didn’t feel any of the bites and rakes, only the need to vanquish his enemy.
“Drake,” Jerico called to him. “Enough. Back off.”
He heard the voice, muffled and distant, unable to clearly make out the words. The sound penetrated the red haze of his mind but made no sense. No one approached him, as he roared his defiance and slammed into the fallen leopard again and again.
“Drake, please.” It was Saria. She didn’t yell.
The man beside Saria touched her arm. The leopard saw that. He instantly dropped his fallen enemy and whirled to face the new threat, growls rumbling deep in his chest. His gaze locked on her attacker. Drake’s leopard charged, stopping a few feet from the man who didn’t move a muscle, sweat pouring down his face. The leopard swiped at the earth with his massive paw before turning back to once again grip his prey in a suffocating bite.
“Drake, come back to me,” Saria said softly.
Drake tried to breathe away the rage. He forced his leopard away from the body. It took a lot of strength. Twice his leopard slipped out of control, rushed back and raked the fallen cat before he could get the beast inside him to use all the pent-up energy prowling back and forth, scaring the crap out of the rest of the lair.
It had been a fast, vicious fight, meant to intimidate, and it had. The men fell back each time the leopard approached them, roaring his challenge. Remy dropped to his knee first. His brothers followed suit. One by one the remaining members of the lair slowly complied until there were only the three fallen leopards who had already submitted and the man standing with Saria. As Drake approached, the scent of fear nearing terror permeated the yard.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Jules?” Remy demanded of the man who had taken Saria.
Jules cleared his throat. “I can’ move. Tell him I can’ move.” He looked down between his legs.
Drake could easily see the razor-sharp