Praise

“THE QUEEN OF PARANORMAL ROMANCE.”

—USA Today

Praise for Christine Feehan’s Leopard novels . . .

SAVAGE NATURE

“Leaves you breathless and satisfied.”

—Smexy Books

“Sizzles with the bayou . . . Readers will be fascinated and enchanted.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Christine Feehan is keeping her Leopard series invigorating with knockout stories and terrific characters . . . Wild and thrilling from beginning to end!”

—Joyfully Reviewed

“Sure to have readers flying from page to page while relishing every moment.”

—Fallen Angel Reviews

WILD FIRE

“A heady, passionate, seductive story filled with romance, suspense and my favorite . . . shape-shifters!”

—Smexy Books

“The passion runs high and the sex is hot!”

—The Romance Readers Connection

“Sizzling and exciting . . . surprises erupt at every turn.”

—Fresh Fiction

BURNING WILD

“As always, you can expect danger and excitement punctuated by sparkling passion. Feehan doesn’t disappoint.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Christine Feehan is at the top of her game.”

—Midwest Book Review

WILD RAIN

“Readers . . . will be seduced by this erotic adventure.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Chock-full of beautiful imagery, edge-of-your-seat suspense and passionate romance . . . spicy enough to singe your eyebrows.”

—Romance Reviews Today

Praise for the Carpathian novels by Christine Feehan

“A high priestess in the world of vampire fiction.”

—RT Book Reviews

“A very intense book.”

—The Best Reviews

“Danger, fantasy and wild, uninhibited romance.”

—Publishers Weekly

“The erotic heat . . . turns scorching.”

—Booklist

“Wish I had written it!”

—Amanda Ashley

“Fun and different . . . pick up a copy of this book.”

—All About Romance

“For lovers of vampire novels, this one is a keeper.”

—New-Age Bookshelf

“Wonderful . . . action-packed.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews

“[A] super entry, which longtime fans will enjoy.”

—Midwest Book Review

Praise for Christine Feehan’s GhostWalker novels . . .

“Urban romantic suspense . . . action-packed.”

—Midwest Book Review

“A no-holds-barred adventure.”

—Fresh Fiction

“[An] explosive, scintillating novel.”

—RT Book Reviews

“[An] action-packed, gut-wrenching, adrenaline-driven ride.”

—Romance Junkies

“The sensual scenes rival the steaming Bayou. A perfect 10.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“Erotically charged.”

—Booklist

“Sultry and suspenseful.”

—Publishers Weekly

Also by Christine Feehan

Title Page

CHRISTINE FEEHAN

Copyright

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.

LEOPARD’S PREY

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2013 by Christine Feehan.

Excerpt from Dark Lycan copyright © 2013 by Christine Feehan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

JOVE® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

The “J” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN: 978-1-101-62384-8

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Jove mass-market edition / June 2013

Cover art by Dan O’Leary.

Cover handlettering by Ron Zinn.

Cover design by George Long.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Dedication

For Erin Galloway, with love

For My Readers

For My Readers

Be sure to go to http://www.christinefeehan.com/members/ to sign up for my PRIVATE book announcement list and download the FREE ebook of Dark Desserts, a collection of wonderful desserts sent in by readers all over the world. Join my community and get firsthand news, enter the book discussions, ask your questions and chat with me. Please feel free to email me at [email protected]. I would love to hear from you.

Acknowledgments

Acknowledgments

As always when writing a book, I have several people to thank. Melisa Long, for information on the bayou and the Cajun people. Thanks so much for taking the time to talk with me. Brian Feehan, who always drops everything to work out tough fight scenes and discuss difficult scenarios and give me pep talks when I need them most. Domini, as always, you make the book so much better! I appreciate you all so much!

Chapter 1

1

THE bayou was no place for the faint of heart—especially at night. Alligators, snakes, even the occasional large cat preyed upon the unwary. Strange lights and mysterious sightings of everything from ghosts to vengeful creatures haunted the bayou at night. It was easy to get turned around, to get lost in the endless sea of grasses and the mist-covered cypress trees. One misstep and a man could sink below the ground and never find his way to the surface.

Remy Boudreaux loved the bayou. Night. Day. It didn’t matter. It was home, and it always would be. He loved the superstitions, the healers and the magic. The food. The swamps. Even the damn alligators. He loved the sultry heat and the golden sunset pouring into the water.

There was New Orleans. A city he was proud of. No matter how many times nature—or man—slammed it, the city rose over and over, each time better and stronger. It was his city. His bayou. His swamp. And his people.

The people in the bayous and swamps went about their business every day without asking for a handout. They fished and hunted, shrimped and pulled in crabs for their families. If there was trouble, they preferred to handle it on their own. They carved out lives for themselves and their families in mosquito-infested swamps and waterways. They didn’t ask permission or give apologies. They lived life as it came and they lived it large. Most had big noisy families, and celebrated every chance they got. They were your best friend or your worst nightmare, quick to anger and just as quick to give you the shirt off their backs.

Remy had traveled all over the world and he’d come back time and again to the bayou—and to his people. He loved each of them as fiercely and as passionately as only a Cajun could—or a leopard protecting its lair. What he didn’t love was murder. These were his people and no one was going to come into his world, take lives and get away with it.

Remy was a big man, tall, broad-shouldered with the signature heavy roped muscles of his kind. His hair was a bit shaggy, and midnight black. His eyes were either a striking cobalt blue or, if the situation called for it, glacier blue. Unless his cat was close, and then his gaze went watchful, serious, focused and very green. His face was tough, strong jawed, the lines carved deep. He had a serious shadow going nearly all the time, and the scar running down the side of his neck could have been from a knife—or a claw.

Remy Boudreaux was not a man anyone crossed. He was as Cajun as they came, born and raised in the bayou. He was more animal than man, the instincts of his leopard aiding him as a homicide detective. He had a reputation, well deserved, as a man not to trifle with. He took murder in his city or his bayou or swamp personally.

There was little moon and the water appeared black and shiny as the airboat skimmed over it. Tall grassy reeds rose in columns on either side of them, forming a narrow canal. The grasses were thick and impenetrable, making it impossible to see over, around or through them. Gage, Remy’s brother, handled the airboat easily, guiding it through the treacherous waters without hesitation.

“You sure about this, Gage? The same killer? When we are absolutely certain, we are going to have to inform the FBI,” Remy said. His gut already gave him the answer. Gage didn’t make mistakes, not when it came to murder.

Gage Boudreaux was sheriff of the parish. He and his men were responsible for bayous as well as the outlying areas. Right now, he was running the airboat with a grim look on his face. He felt exactly the same way about murder as Remy did.

“The body was found at one of the camps on the edge of the swamp, on the other side of Fenton’s Marsh.”

Remy swore under his breath. “Saria found the body, didn’t she? She’s still creepin’ around the swamp at night taking photographs. I was hopin’ Drake would get that girl under control.”

Gage snorted. “Our sister has never been under anyone’s control, Remy, and you know it. Her husband is wrapped around her little finger. He’s no help. In any case, she knew better than to disturb a crime scene. She took pictures just in case someone or something came along when she went for help.”

“There’s no cell phone service out in the swamp. She has no business out there without backup. Anythin’ could happen. And this is not the first dead body she’s discovered out there. You’d think Drake would have enough sense to know she isn’t safe alone in the swamp at night,” Remy snapped.

Sometimes his much younger sister made him crazy. She was a law unto herself, and she had been since she was a toddler. Their drunken father forgot her half the time and most of the boys were off doing their own thing, so she ran wild—and was still running wild even married to a man like Drake Donovan, who was certainly no pushover around anyone but her.

Saria had no problem going into the swamp at night for her photography. Granted, she made a lot of money on her photos and her reputation as a wildlife photographer was growing, but the things she did were dangerous and she had to stop. That was all there was to it.

“Whoa, bro,” Gage said. “I see the storm clouds gatherin’. Gettin’ into it with Saria is useless. You’d be talkin’ to the wind. She’d go all silent, nod her head as if she understood completely and then she’d just do whatever the hell she wanted to do.” Gage shrugged. “Although, if she listens to anyone, it’s you.”

“I wasn’t plannin’ on confrontin’ Saria,” Remy stated. He had long ago given up confronting her directly unless the circumstances were dire. She always seemed to know if he was willing to back up his threat with action or not. Locking her up was the only—and extremely dangerous—solution. Saria tended to retaliate as any self-respecting leopard would.

He didn’t want any more details on the crime scene. He liked to make his own first impressions, so he didn’t want to talk about what Saria found in the swamp. The serial killer from four years earlier had hit New Orleans hard, leaving behind four dead bodies over a period of two months, and then he was gone. If this was the same killer, Remy feared this wouldn’t be the only body found, and no one would be safe until he was caught. The swamps and bayous were lonely and took in a lot of territory. The killer would have a big playing field.

Remy was Cajun, born and raised, but he was also leopard—a shifter. A small clan of leopards had made their homes along the bayous. He didn’t just take the form of a big cat—he was leopard with all the traits of a beast. The wildness in him was always close to the surface. Passion ran just as hot as tempers. Jealousy and fury were every bit as strong as love and loyalty. There was no way to fully submerge their animal natures. They lived by a different set of rules and answered to their lair leader—Drake Donovan. Theirs was a ruthless, brutal set of laws, but necessary to keep their people under control. Some married leopards, others married outsiders who usually had no idea and never would. It was necessary to keep their ability to shift absolutely secret—even from family who were unable to shift.

“Drake and Saria have a guest stayin’ at their bed-and-breakfast,” Gage ventured. “A friend of Saria’s. They went to school together.”

That cool, matter-of-fact tone didn’t fool Remy for a moment. There was a hint of excitement, a definite I’ve-got-a-secret-that-will-blow-your-mind underlying all that cool.

Remy remained silent. The easiest way to get someone to tell something they were eager to spill was to not be interested. He kept his eyes on the black water ahead.

Gage growled, a rumble of annoyance. “You’ll never change, Remy. Bijou Breaux, the daughter of the most famous rock star in history. She’s finally come back. Her daddy’s been dead for four years. You’d have thought she’d come back a long time ago.”

Remy remembered enormous, wild cornflower blue eyes, so haunted that there’d been times he’d wanted to sweep that child up in his arms and take her somewhere safe. She had inherited her father’s ability to sing the angels right out of heaven. He ought to know—he’d followed her career.

“It couldn’t have been easy bein’ the only daughter of a man that famous. He died of an overdose, Gage. The drugs and women goin’ through that house must have been horrific for a child. Every time we turned around, the cops were at that estate and somethin’ bad was goin’ on.”

“Poor little rich girl?” Gage asked, a teasing note in his voice.

Remy turned cool eyes on him, and the grin faded from Gage’s face. “I wouldn’t put it like that, although the kids in school certainly taunted her day and night. I believe the proper line was, ‘born with a silver spoon.’”

“She inherited millions. And the money’s still pouring in,” Gage pointed out. “Just sayin’, bro. Money can make up for a lot.”

“Trauma and neglect? I don’ think so,” Remy said. “Her daddy was crazy. Everyone in the bayou and in New Orleans knew it, but he got away with it. He had everyone in his pocket. The cops, the teachers, everyone said she was a problem child with no talent, and moody as hell.”

“Maybe she was a problem child,” Gage argued.

Remy sent him a steely glance, the sliver of moon lighting his face for one brief second so that the lines etched deep seemed carved into stone. “Or maybe her father paid them off, like he did the cops and judges and everyone else he came into contact with. Maybe you’re just a little too young to remember what Bodrie Breaux was really like.”

“Aren’t all rock stars into women and drugs?” Gage gave a little shrug. “His music was awesome. It couldn’t have been that bad bein’ the daughter of someone who is a legend.”

“Really? I heard the kids taunting her on the street more than once. And her best friend slept with her father in high school and then tried to blackmail him, at least that’s what Saria said, and I believe he did sleep with the girl, even though Bodrie denied it and accused both Bijou and the girl of lying. With a father that famous, how was it possible to tell a real friend from someone who just wanted to use you to meet your daddy?”

Gage sent him a look over his shoulder—one that made Remy uncomfortable—but he wasn’t certain why. He felt sorry for the child, he always had. She was all eyes and thick, wild hair, a sullen expression, moody and ready to fight at the drop of a hat.

“You seem to know a lot about this girl.”

Remy gave a casual shrug. “I helped her out a time or two. And sometimes Saria would talk about her when I came home.” Twice he’d pulled Bijou and Saria out of a party when things got out of hand. Both times the girls had been sober, but a few of the very drunk boys thought they had easy targets. Well, they were lucky to have walked away intact. Bijou Breaux was no easy mark and neither was Saria. They’d had to fight for themselves almost from the moment they were born. Each had a soft heart, one that could get her in trouble if the wrong man came along. It was no surprise that Saria and Bijou had become friends. Both were loners and had to grow up fast.

“When she was young,” Gage, said, “I’ll admit I didn’t care much for her. She always had such an attitude. I never saw her smile, not one time.”

Remy remembered her small, tentative smile, as if she feared with one smile she might be giving too much of herself away. She’d held both arms tight around herself, her long hair hanging in her face, drawing his attention to her eyes and her feathery, impossibly long lashes. Her bow of a mouth curved reluctantly, and for one moment his heart had stuttered. He’d seen a glimpse of a young girl, already far too old for her years, holding on by a thread.

“She smiled. Maybe you were just too much like everyone else, judging her for how you thought she should be. I’ll bet you thought she was stuck-up.”

Gage kept his eyes on the black, shiny water, maneuvering the airboat around a bend and through a narrow opening in the tall grass to the canal that veered off toward the swamp.

“She was stuck-up.”

Remy shook his head, watching the water ahead of them for alligators. Bijou Breaux had been a mixed-up kid, born into a rotten situation. All the money in the world didn’t fix what went on in that mansion. Just once he’d caught her with drugs and he’d been ice-cold, his reaction so ferocious he couldn’t comprehend his own emotions. He dumped the drugs, not caring who they belonged to. His leopard wanted to be unleashed on the others in that upscale, expensive hotel room, and he’d barely managed to keep the animal under control while he beat the three men to a bloody pulp and then yanked Bijou out of the room and out into the night.

He’d done the unforgivable, shocking himself. His anger had to go somewhere and, God forgive him, he didn’t know what to do with her. He sure as hell wasn’t going to put her in the system. He gripped her shoulders with hard fingers and shook her like a rag doll until her head lolled on her shoulders and tears filled her eyes. She didn’t blink them away, and she didn’t stop staring at him. He knew he couldn’t hide his fury. Worse, he knew he was angry at her father, at her situation, at the corrupt department he worked for at the time, not at such a young, mixed-up little girl. He was frustrated by his helplessness and was taking it out on her.

She’d been eight years old and should have told her daddy on him or had him brought up on criminal charges. He’d never struck a woman in his life, let alone a child. He would have beaten a man for shaking a child so hard had he caught him doing it. She’d endured it stoically.

He’d put her back on her feet hard enough to rock her. She didn’t utter a sound, just looked at him, puzzled. She should have threatened him. Talked back. Done any number of things a smart-ass child with too much money would do or say, especially one whose daddy could buy and sell them all without noticing the cost. He expected it. He waited for her reprimand.

She’d studied his face for a long time. Serious. Sober. “Why did you do that?” There was true curiosity in her voice.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Bijou?” He’d turned away from her, restless, his leopard on the prowl, fury still holding on to him with both fists. Those getting ready to party with her had all been older—eighteen to twenty-five—all friends of her father and, ominously, all men. He’d wanted to unleash the leopard on them, not just beat them. “You aren’t like him.” He knew she was aware exactly who he was talking about. Her rock star father, a legend revered by everyone—everyone but him. “You’re like your mother, not him. What the hell were you thinkin’? Are you lookin’ to let him completely destroy you? Is that what you want?”

She frowned, pressing her lips together tightly for one moment and then taking a small breath before answering. “No one gives a damn.”

“I do. I give a damn. And you should too. Do you have any idea what could have happened here tonight if I hadn’t come along?”

“I expected to die.” She sounded old—too old. Oh so weary and very honest. She wrapped both arms around her middle and held on tightly.

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