“Sweetheart, you’re going to have to wake up. Do you need to use the bathroom before I put you to bed?”
She nodded against his shoulder and he took her on through to the master bath and set her on her feet, one arm around her waist to hold her steady until she got her balance. She swayed a little and clung for a minute, looking around her while he removed the handcuff from her wrist. Her long lashes swept up and down, blinking, and something shifted in his chest. She was beautiful and sexy just standing there half asleep. Without even trying she was under his skin and wrapped around his heart.
Eli pushed back the sweep of hair from her face and bent to her. “You good, Cat, if I leave you here? There are new toothbrushes in the second drawer. And toothpaste. I’ll go get your bags if you promise me you won’t fall on your head while I’m gone.”
She nodded and lifted her hair from the back of her neck, exposing her back. His breath caught in his lungs and his leopard slammed so hard against him, he felt the animal in his throat. Raking. Snarling. Roaring with rage. Mad with the need to be free. Eli’s hands tightened on Catarina just for a moment.
A shifter had marked her. Claimed her. A leopard. He could see the top of a rake mark. The unmistakable scar of two puncture wounds up near her shoulder. He’d marked her in a callous, brutal, ugly way. Branded her his. His own leopard responded, roaring against another male trying to take his female.
Eli knew then without a doubt. He knew by his own reaction. By the reaction of his leopard. Catarina Benoit was meant for him. She belonged to him. Cordeau had made certain her leopard would recognize him – accept him – when she emerged, but she wasn’t Cordeau’s mate. She was Eli’s.
Catarina blinked sleepily up at him. “I really need to be alone for a few minutes.”
She had no clue. He dropped his hands, and it was a difficult thing to do with his leopard so close. He didn’t speak because he knew his voice would be too much of a growl. She was exhausted and he’d wanted to get her in bed. Now he had one more thing to do, and she wasn’t going to like it.
He turned away from her and hurried out of the house to retrieve her bags and put the truck in the garage.
Catarina’s emergence was close. She was at her time – the Han Vol Dan of his people – where the human’s and cat’s cycles came together, allowing the leopard to emerge. That couldn’t happen until he knew her leopard would accept his as her mate.
Cordeau would be frantic to get to her. Eli knew he would pull out all the stops to find her. Eli knew that because, again, Catarina had been right about him. He was like Cordeau in some ways and if a man took his woman, he would hunt that man to the ends of the earth. Eli knew if he wanted to keep Catarina Benoit, he would have to kill Rafe Cordeau, and he was definitely keeping Catarina.
She was standing in the middle of the bedroom looking around her a little helplessly when he returned. He walked up to her and took her hands, turning them over to examine the bruised ring on her skin. “Fucking Tuttle put the cuffs on too tight, didn’t he?”
She gave a halfhearted attempt to pull her hands away but subsided when he tightened his fingers around hers. She nodded.
“I’m going to beat the crap out of him.”
He slid the pad of his thumb over the bruises on her inner wrist lightly. She shivered. She definitely wasn’t immune to him. She was every bit as aware of him as he was her, but she didn’t like it. He had to find a way to change that. Right now, she was too sleepy, too exhausted to protest anything he did so he took full advantage.
He brought her wrists to his mouth and brushed a kiss over each. Her cobalt blue eyes went wider. Darker. Shades of violet. Again he felt her tug and he allowed her fingers to slip from his. She pressed both wrists to her thighs, but he didn’t rub his kisses away. He reached out and tucked strands of hair behind her ear.
“You need to climb in bed, sweetheart. You’re so exhausted you’re nearly falling over.” He kept his voice gentle.
Tenderness crept in and that shocked him. He didn’t know he knew how to be tender. She stripped him bare, looking so young, the terrible bruise standing out so starkly on her pale skin.
“Something’s wrong with me.” She whispered the confession to him, her eyes avoiding his. He scented her. The age-old call. The need rising in her. Her breasts lifted, her nipples peaked beneath the thin tank. Her legs moved restlessly and color swept through her body.
The moment she admitted it, tension filled the room. He almost groaned aloud. His cat roared at him, desperate to get at his mate. His body flooded with hunger, the need so strong it shook him. He’d blown it with her once already; he wasn’t about to do it again by stripping the clothes from her body and pounding into her.