Chapter 4 #2
He knew when silence was enough.
Rain began less than an hour later. There was almost no warning beyond the gradual thickening of clouds overhead and several birds becoming louder before the first heavy drops struck the canopy.
Within minutes, water poured through the trees. I shoved the camera into its waterproof cover and looked toward the path back to the station.
I should have left immediately. Instead, the leopard rose and moved farther beneath the exposed roots. Then he looked toward me.
Come here, the leopard instructed, shifting his large body enough to create room beside him.
I hesitated.
“You're inviting me into your little cave?” I asked the leopard, clutching my camera beneath my shirt as rain began running down the back of my neck.
Unless you prefer to stand in the rain, the leopard replied, his ears twitching when another heavy burst of water struck the leaves outside.
“Good point,” I told him, ducking beneath the roots before the storm could soak the rest of me.
The space was tighter than it looked from outside.
I settled against the trunk with my knees pulled toward my chest, leaving enough room that I wasn't pressed against his injured side.
The scent of wet soil and bark was stronger beneath the shelter, mixed with the warm, earthy smell of the leopard's fur.
I noticed that scent more than I should have. There was something strangely comforting about it. My Omega instincts had been quiet since arriving at the station, helped along by my regular blockers, but sitting this close to him caused a soft awareness to settle beneath my skin.
Not attraction.
He was an animal as far as I knew, and nothing about the sensation felt sexual. It was closer to the relief I felt after locking the door of my apartment at the end of a long trip.
Safe.
That didn't make any sense either. I shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the direction of my thoughts. The leopard noticed immediately.
Are you hurting? the leopard asked, lifting his head while his attention moved over me.
“No,” I assured him, rubbing my damp palms over my shorts. “I'm fine. Just wet.”
His gaze lingered for another second before he settled back down. Rain hammered against the surrounding leaves, turning the creek beyond our shelter louder as the water level slowly rose.
“This is temporary, by the way,” I told the leopard, leaning my head back against the trunk while trying to ignore how naturally I'd settled beside him. “Don't start thinking I've moved into your house.”
You came into my shelter, the leopard replied, shifting a few inches farther away so I had more room.
“And you're making room for me,” I pointed out, turning toward him with a small smile.
The leopard closed his eyes.
You take up too much space, the leopard answered, his deep voice carrying enough dry amusement that I knew exactly what he was doing.
I stared at him.
“I am significantly smaller than you,” I told him, gesturing toward his massive body while the rain continued pouring beyond the roots.
And louder, the leopard added without opening his eyes.
I gasped.
“Rude,” I told him, although I couldn't keep the laughter out of my voice as I settled more comfortably against the tree.
One ear twitched.
That was all the response I got.
We stayed beneath the roots while the storm moved overhead. At some point, I stopped worrying about when I needed to leave. The air had cooled enough that the humidity wasn't oppressive for once, and the steady rain combined with several early mornings until exhaustion gradually caught up with me.
My eyelids became heavier.
I shifted my shoulders against the trunk. The leopard was close enough that warmth radiated from his body, and despite the part of my brain that kept reminding me I was sitting beside a wild predator, my body didn't seem particularly interested in being nervous anymore.
“I should probably go back,” I murmured to the leopard, rubbing one hand over my face as I tried to wake myself up.
Then go, the leopard replied, opening one eye to look at me while keeping his head on his paws.
I frowned.
“You could at least pretend you'll miss me,” I told the leopard, allowing my head to rest against the tree again instead of standing.
His eye remained on me.
You will return tomorrow, the leopard said, his certainty making the statement sound less like a guess and more like something he'd already decided.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
“That's very confident of you,” I murmured to him, closing my eyes for what I intended to be only a second.
Am I wrong? the leopard asked, his deep voice softer beneath the steady sound of rain.
I should have answered. Instead, I thought about the fact that I already knew I would come back.
“Probably not,” I admitted to the leopard, my voice quiet as sleep began tugging harder at me.
The leopard made a low sound of satisfaction.
I intended to rest for a minute. Maybe two. Just until the rain weakened enough for the walk back. I fell asleep instead. When I woke, the first thing I noticed was that my neck hurt.
The second was warmth.
For several seconds, I remained half asleep with my cheek pressed against my folded arm, listening to water dripping from the leaves outside. The heavy rain had passed, leaving behind the softer sounds of a wet forest settling into evening.
The air smelled strongly of damp earth and vegetation.
I blinked several times.
Then memory returned.
Leopard.
Creek.
Rain.
I lifted my head.
He was awake. The leopard hadn't moved far, but at some point while I'd slept, he'd shifted himself around so that most of his body rested between me and the open side of the shelter.
My tired brain took a moment to understand what I was seeing. He had positioned himself between me and the forest.
Protectively.
My chest did that strange tightening thing again. Then I realized he was staring at me.
Not glancing.
Not checking whether I'd woken.
Watching.
His head was raised, golden eyes fixed steadily on my face while the fading light beyond the roots softened the dark markings around them. I had no idea how long he'd been sitting like that.
“What?” I asked the leopard, my voice rough with sleep as I pushed several damp strands of hair away from my cheek. His ears shifted slightly at the sound.
Nothing, the leopard replied after a moment, lowering his head toward his paws without actually taking his eyes off me.
I stared at him.
“That is obviously a lie,” I told the leopard, pulling my knees closer while trying to work the stiffness out of one shoulder.
The leopard's whiskers moved.
You talk in your sleep, the leopard replied, his voice carrying a faint hint of amusement.
My entire body went still.
“I do not,” I told him, narrowing my eyes while embarrassment immediately chased away some of my sleepiness.
You do, the leopard insisted, settling his chin across his paws.
“What did I say?” I asked the leopard, suddenly suspicious as I tried to remember whether I'd been dreaming.
His eyes closed.
Nothing important, the leopard answered far too calmly.
“That means I definitely said something embarrassing,” I told him, leaning toward him slightly while frustration mixed with reluctant amusement.
The leopard remained silent.
“Cat,” I warned him, deliberately using the nickname I knew he hated.
Both ears flattened.
Do not call me that, the leopard replied, opening his eyes again with immediate irritation.
“Then tell me what I said,” I told him, smiling when I realized I'd finally found a reliable bargaining tool.
The leopard studied me. For several seconds, neither of us spoke. Then his gaze softened.
You said you were tired of leaving, the leopard answered, his voice losing the teasing edge completely.
My smile disappeared.
I stared at him. The words landed somewhere uncomfortable. I didn't remember saying them. I didn't even remember dreaming.
“I don't know what that means,” I told the leopard quietly, looking away toward the wet forest beyond the roots as unease settled into my chest.
Neither do I, the leopard replied, and when I glanced back, he was still watching me. You were asleep.
I rubbed one hand over my face.
“That's unsettling,” I admitted to him, trying to dismiss the strange heaviness the words had left behind.
The leopard shifted slightly closer. Not enough to touch me. Just enough that the warmth from his body became noticeable again.
Go back to sleep, Evie, the leopard murmured, his head settling over his paws while his large body remained between me and the open forest. It is safe here.
I should have laughed. A woman sleeping beside a wild leopard in the middle of a rainforest was not anyone's definition of safe. I should have checked my watch, grabbed the radio, and apologized profusely to Mara for being out later than planned.
Instead, I looked at the leopard beside me. At the way one ear remained angled toward the forest even while his eyes closed. At the position of his body between me and anything that might approach. At the bandage still wrapped around the leg I'd treated.
I had known him for less than a week.
I didn't know his name.
I didn't know why the surrounding animals seemed to treat him differently or why his answers occasionally sounded like he understood far more about this forest than any ordinary animal should.
I didn't understand why being around him quieted something inside me that I hadn't realized was constantly restless.
But I trusted him.
That realization should have frightened me. Instead, I settled back against the tree and stayed beside him until the rain stopped completely.