Wild Fire by Christine Feehan

splashed down as the roiling clouds above the canopy burst and dumped sheets of water onto the smoldering trees, effectively dousing the crackling flames. Black smoke rose to mix with the thick grayish vapor surrounding the canopy, creating a thick veil. Conner stepped easily onto a branch and pulled her next to him, keeping his arm around her waist. She felt like she’d stepped into the heavens.
    Conner was right: The gunmen couldn’t possibly see them up in the thick branches, not with the thick mist blanketing them.
    “I want to keep moving. I doubt they’ll notice the marks we made on the trunk, but I don’t want to take any chances. The others will have made for the river and if they run into trouble, we’ll be there to help them.”
    She stared down at her hands. The claws had retracted as if they’d never been. She turned her hands over and over, inspecting them. “I saw it, but I can’t believe it.”
    “Come on.” He took her hand. “It will be slippery with the rain, so watch your footing and don’t let go of me. If you slip, Isabeau, trust your cat. Don’t panic.”
    “You say that a lot to me.”
    “Our ability to land on our feet is legendary for a reason,” he reminded. “It’s true. Even if you somersault upside down, your cat will right you in under two seconds. You’ll be fine and I’ll be right behind you.”
    She took a breath, a nervous laugh escaping. “I think I’ll just take your word for it and skip the actual experience, if you don’t mind.”
    He grinned back at her. There, with the smoke and clouds surrounding him, his scarred face strong, his eyes a deep whiskey holding a trace of amusement, she found him far too attractive. She had to look away. Animals were everywhere, the canopy in constant motion, saving her from embarrassment.
    “This is amazing.”
    “Yes it is.”
    The coloring on the birds, up close, was vivid—brilliant blues and greens and even reds. She’d never really noticed individual feathers and how large and sharp beaks could look. He tugged on her hand. “Let’s go. We’ve got to get out of this tree.”
    “They’ll never believe we could get up here.”
    “Cortez has two rogue leopards on her payroll. They could follow us.”
    Her heart jumped. “Men like you?”
    “Men a lot worse than I am.” His gaze slid over her face. “You may not believe me, Isabeau, but I do have a code. I screwed up with you, but I’ve got one. These men don’t.”
    She ducked her head. She didn’t want to talk about the past. It was too painful. He’d shattered her, left her half alive, an empty shell who would never be able to love another man. She knew that with absolute certainty. It would always be Conner she craved, as much as she despised him.
    She followed him, surprised by the ease with which she was able to balance as she stepped over the network of limbs and onto a branch from the neighboring tree. The rain increased in strength, as it often did in the wet season. It wasn’t cold, and with the onslaught of moisture and heat, steam rose around them, turning the canopy into an eerie world.
    His fingers tightened around hers, signaling silence. She heard the sound of voices drifting through the veil of mist and a thousand butterflies took wing in her stomach. Her mouth went dry. Conner never even hesitated, walking along the branches as if they were a sidewalk, going from tree to tree. Twice he made a chuffing noise as if warning some larger creature of his presence, but most of the time, the sounds he made were somewhere between strange purrs and low, rumbling growls. Instead of menacing, the notes were soothing.
    She became aware of the creatures in the canopy. Where before the animals had been frantic, racing away from the fire and shrieking warnings to one another, now they were much calmer—like she was becoming. It was his voice—that beautiful, reassuring, comforting voice. It made no sense. She should have been terrified. She was a hundred feet