There was no waiting now. It was too late. She had never told anyone about her leopard. No one. Not even Saria, her best friend. Not Pauline, the woman who had taught her to bake. No one. Saria and Pauline had both explained that women didn’t know if they had a leopard or not until it began to emerge, but she knew. She just didn’t say a word to them. Still, this man had known. His leopard had known.

Her legs trembled until she knew she would have fallen to the floor had Alonzo not been holding her up with his body. The moment the leopard sank his teeth into her, pinning her in the way of the shifter so the male could bond with her female, Evangeline felt the extreme power and danger in the animal. It was savage and feral. The leopard was a brutal, relentless killer. Bad-tempered, jealous, a brute of an animal in its prime, and nothing, no one but his human partner, no one but Alonzo, was strong enough to stop its formidable nature. What did that say about Alonzo?

A shudder went through her. A small sound escaped her throat when she’d been so certain she was too scared to make any noise. Despair. Pain. Anger. This leopard was far worse than any of the leopards she’d ever encountered. She’d wanted Alonzo, but all along she’d known she couldn’t have him. She’d longed for him, fantasized over him, dreamt of him—but she knew there was this. The leopard. The worst of the worst. A killer. Another sob welled up and escaped before she could stop it.

The leopard pinning her with his teeth did a very strange thing. She felt her female rise to accept him, sealing the bond and then he slowly opened his mouth, his tongue lapping gently over the bite mark in her shoulder. He rubbed his face along the bite, the fur soft and warm. He purred. It was soft and gentle sounding. Strange. Unexpected. From such a savage animal, the soothing touch seemed totally against his nature.

She felt the slide of fur as it disappeared and then Alonzo’s mouth was moving over her shoulder, taking away the last of the sting. Very slowly, keeping her in place so she wouldn’t fall, he pulled down the camisole and zipped it back into place. Because she was shaking so much, he slipped his arm around her body, right below her breasts, and locked her body to his as he stepped back.

“It’s done, solnyshko moyo. It’s over. Come over here to the table and sit down for a moment.”

His voice. She hated that she reacted to his voice. So low and mesmerizing. Commanding. Yet careful of her. She didn’t want him to be careful or sweet. She wanted him to be what she knew he was—savage and cruel.