“Damn, that hurts like hell. I’m going to find a shower.”

She wanted to go with him, but stayed in the kitchen with Elijah, feeling awkward and out of place.

“You did well, Isabeau,” Elijah offered, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“I was scared.” She didn’t look at him, but out the window. “Really scared.”

“We all were. I knew I was running a gauntlet, trying to get to Jeremiah, and I expected the sniper to shoot me at any moment. I imagine you expected the same thing.”

She shook her head. “No, I expected him to shoot Conner. He had the same problem I did. He didn’t want to hit his friend. I didn’t want to hit Conner.” She wiped back the tendrils of hair spilling around her face.

“What does ‘marking’ mean, Elijah?”

He frowned. “In what context?”

She avoided his gaze again, staring uneasily at the floor. “Like the marks I accidentally put on Conner’s face. What does that mean in the leopard world?”

He shrugged. “He’s your mate, so it’s no big deal. You put your mark on him. More than skin deep. You have a certain chemical in your claws. You can transfer that chemical into a man’s body. You did that when you raked Conner. You didn’t know what you were doing, but your cat did. She made certain he would want her. Usually a female won’t do that unless she’s in the throes of the Han Vol Dan. I won’t say it never happens, as evidence by your cat marking Conner, but that’s probably the biggest danger during the emergence.”

“So what happens if she marks someone not her mate?”

Elijah straightened slowly, the silence stretching painfully until she was forced to meet his eyes. “Did that happen, Isabeau?”

“Did what happen?” Conner asked, striding into the room, toweling his hair dry. His jeans rode low on his hips, the deep lacerations, bite marks and torn flesh very evident.

She bit her lip hard. She had a very bad feeling that Elijah was going to reveal something she didn’t want to know.

“Isabeau wants to know what would happen if she marked someone other than her mate.”

There was that silence again, stretching until her nerves were raw.

“Isabeau?” Conner asked. “Did that happen?”

She avoided the question. “I found a dead body in the garden. I think Philip Sobre is a serial killer.” To keep from looking at either of them, she went to the other side of the table and lifted the tea towel from the freshly baked loaf of bread.

Silence greeted her statement. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned around. Conner looked stunned. “You found what?”