The snake coiled around the man in an effort to escape the blade of the knife, trying to use sheer weight and muscle to drive him back into deeper water. Conner gripped the thrashing body and held while Elijah killed the snake. The animal went limp and both men stood, bent, chests heaving from the tremendous fight against such a strong creature.

Conner turned to her, crouching low in the water to run his hands over her. “Are you all right, Isabeau?”

She considered screaming. Or bursting into tears. She’d nearly died, crushed by a snake, or drowned. But he looked perfectly calm as if it was an ordinary occurrence and no big deal. She swore he even looked regretful as he watched Elijah drag the carcass onto land. Was she all right? She looked down at her body. She felt bruised and maybe a little battered, but nothing was broken. She was soaked, but the rain had already done that.

She slowly took stock of her situation. She was still in the stream, up to her ankles, and she’d just survived an honest to God anaconda attack. Her heart pounded like thunder in her ears, her breath came in ragged, harsh gasps, but every single nerve ending was alive. The world was crisper, fresh, more beautiful than she’d ever seen it.

The mist hung in soft veils surrounding the black, whispering leaves peaking through as the wind swayed the canopy slightly. The water ran over the rocks, a dark, gleaming ribbon of silver as it moved. She could see the long, thick body of the snake lying on the bank. Beside it, Elijah sat, a small smile spreading across his face. She couldn’t stop her gaze from straying back to Conner, where his naked body rippled with defined muscles.

Conner grinned at her, a slow, very much alive grin that took what little breath she had and replaced it with a rush of heat and adrenaline. He raised a dripping hand to his hair and slicked it back away from his face. “What a rush, right?”

She nodded, fascinated by the sheer magnetism of his face. There was joy—life—shining in his eyes. Flames leapt and burned brightly in the golden eyes. He winked at her and butterflies began a serious migration in the pit of her stomach.

“Sorry about the lack of clothes. I thought your life was more important than your modesty.”

“At the time I did too,” she admitted. Although now she was more concerned with her virtue—what little she had left. She wanted him to stand up. His strong thighs hid the front of his body from her, but her mouth was watering. She knew what was there. And she knew he’d be rock hard. He usually was around her, and she hadn’t seen much difference since they’d been in each other’s company.