She wasn’t naïve. She knew her grandfather would send an army after her. He’d always kept a close watch on her. She’d believed it was to keep her safe. Now, she wasn’t so certain.

Siena shivered in spite of the fact that her temperature seemed to be soaring. Beneath her skin, that itch came back in waves. She glanced down at her arm and saw the skin was actually raised as if something moved, pushing hard from the inside out. She bit back a scream and flung herself backward.

Her joints popped. Her jaw hurt. Her fingers curved downward as if she were convulsing. Her ribs, so sore from Paolo’s fists and shoes, flashed with pain so that she found herself on the floor. Tears streaked down her face because it hurt so much. She was terrified. Absolutely terrified. A part of her had denied what was happening to her even after she saw the proof of Paolo’s leopard. Now, there was no denying anything.

Resolutely, in complete silence, Siena removed her clothes. She wished she’d asked more questions, but she’d been in shock ever since she’d been with Elijah. She closed her eyes, feeling the burn along her ribs again, something pushing, expanding. The pain made her want to black out. She was certain her ribs had gone from bruised to cracked. Her breath came in spasms. Hard. Raw. Desperate.

She slid off the bed to the floor on her hands and knees. Just come. Take me over. I don’t do so well as a woman. Maybe you’ll do better than me.

She wanted to disappear, and becoming a leopard was as good a way as any. She just had to be very quiet so those downstairs wouldn’t hear. Every now and then she heard raised voices, men shouting to each other in Italian, and she knew Paolo and her grandfather were having an argument. They didn’t do so often, but when they did, it usually got very heated.

Her body contorted. Her teeth ached. Her jaw was painful. Most of all, the pain along her ribs had become agony. She dropped her head down, breathing through it, welcoming the leopard. Wanting to become anything but what she was—a woman so covered in vile filth—a party to the murder of four men and almost a fifth. Her grandfather—the man who was supposed to love and protect her—had done that.

She had thrown herself at Elijah. She dreamt of him nearly every night, and had since she was fifteen years old. Sometimes the dreams felt so real, she couldn’t imagine that they weren’t already together. Often, the dreams were just silly, the two of them laughing together and walking along a road holding hands. Other times, they were highly erotic, two lovers unable to keep their hands off of each other.