His eyebrow went up, and she realized she’d revealed too much information to him. She shoved again and this time he stepped back enough to allow her up out of her chair. It didn’t seem to matter. He had a good thirteen inches at least on her, maybe more. She still had to look up at him and that just fueled her anger.

“Alonzo, I’m askin’ you to leave and never come back. I mean it. I want you gone and I’m tryin’ to be nice about this. I’ll have the cameras removed and you stop comin’ here.” She tipped her head up further, narrowing her eyes, wanting him to see she meant business and she refused to be intimidated by him or his leopard. “If you don’, you’ll give me no other recourse than to call the police.”

He didn’t blink. His body was completely still. Impossibly still, as if coiled and ready to spring—and leopards could leap great distances. His eyes had gone glacier blue, so cold she shivered. There was no expression on his face, but for the very first time she was afraid of him. Really afraid.

There was nothing to hold on to. No way to protect herself. She’d threatened him with the police. A man like Alonzo Massi wouldn’t take something like that lightly. And she’d meant it. Self-preservation had finally kicked in and she’d made her last-ditch effort to save herself. Now she was in so much trouble. She had learned from birth that no one was safe from a vicious, angry leopard, not even family or mates.

“Don’t.”

He hissed the word at her. Low. Furious. The whites were gone completely from his eyes and she found herself mesmerized by the pure blue flames staring down at her, licking over her skin so that she shuddered, whether from fear or arousal she wasn’t sure.

“You are the only person in this world truly safe from me and from my leopard. Never look at me with fear on your face.” It was a decree, nothing less. A command. He seemed to do that a lot and expect obedience. She’d been her own person since birth, responsible for her safety and even, most times, food. She lived an isolated life, but one she was used to, one she’d learned to enjoy. The swamp had been her home and she’d learned its secrets through trial and error. It had been a miracle a child could survive the dangers, but she’d done it and she’d become all the stronger for it. She had done it by recognizing when she was in danger. Like precisely this moment.

“You can’t say that, Alonzo.” She whispered it to him, knowing it was the truth. Knowing he knew it too. “I’m probably the person most in danger.”