Savage Nature by Christine Feehan

would be edgy, moody and at times in a thrall—the most dangerous condition a male leopard could find himself in.
    He walked naked through the spacious room, toweling himself off, testing his leg as he went. The fiery pain had subsided into a dull, throbbing ache. It would hold. Just to be certain, he placed weapons throughout the room and on the balcony. A knife went up under the eaves. He was a careful man and he knew leopards and their tempers. It would be best to be prepared for anything.
    He dressed in a loose pair of drawstring pants, something he could easily rid himself of, and padded barefoot out to the balcony. Placing a chair close to the wall, but well back from the overhang, he sat outside and waited patiently for the company he knew would come.

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    DRAKE had learned many years earlier to take advantage of any downtime and get sleep. In the middle of the worst battles, when there was a lull, he often managed a little catnap. He allowed his eyes to close, but he put his cat on alert. His leopard would let him know when the enemy came.
    He dreamt of her. Saria. Her soft skin. Her curves. The silk of her hair. The shape and feel of her fantasy mouth. He dreamt of taking her, a wild primitive mating that left him insatiable for her, desperate for her. Addicted to her. He stroked his hand over her slender legs and felt the inner heat of her thighs. He needed to taste her, to find her wild, exotic scent and devour her. He wanted to know every inch of her, every erotic place that made her moan and writhe beneath him, every single spot that would make her purr and tremble.
    That soft junction between her neck and shoulders called to him to claim her, to mark her. To put his personal brand on her. The need to let the others know she was taken was a living, breathing, urgent demand that would never let him rest until he’d managed to make her his. He heard the soft deep growl of warning, an insistent rumble that rose in volume, warning the other males of his kind away from what was his.
    Drake’s eyes snapped open, his mind clear immediately. The music of the night filled his every sense. He stretched languidly, a sinuous, feline movement, a ripple of sheer power. It had been a long time and he welcomed the coming battle, was even eager for it. The call of the wild was on him now, a thrall, an urgent need to defend what was his.
    The leopards were out there, stalking silently through the fog, hoping to catch their enemy unaware. He knew they were unused to having to defend their lair or their females. They had been rulers of this territory for a long time unchallenged, unknown to outsiders. He was a shifter who had been honed in battles around the world. He fought whenever it was necessary—and sometimes when it wasn’t. He was skilled, vicious, and very fast.
    The territory he’d claimed had been open—and that was their mistake. They’d left him the loophole of a legitimate claim, and he was within the law defending it. By rights, they couldn’t come at him en masse—they would have one fighter challenge him. He waited, stretching out muscles, testing his leg, readying himself.
    His leopard waited in the silent, coiled way of their kind. He would have one moment of weakness, landing on his bad leg, but he’d tested the injury and knew it would stand up to a battle, especially a short one. He intended to dominate fast, to take control so there was no question the other would have to submit or die. He hoped his opponent chose submission. He wasn’t altogether certain in his present state, with a female— his female so close to the Han Vol Dan—that he could control his leopard should the other refuse to submit.
    A bellowing roar shook the night, the sound carrying across the lake and into the swamp. The insects went silent. The alligators and frogs ceased their calls, knowing a predator stalked the night. Drake had been waiting for that ferocious challenge. Instantly, he zeroed in on the