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.”