Conner followed the leopard grimly. As Ottila picked up speed on the ground, Conner struck, a desperation move, driving his two front claws as deep as he could into the leopard’s hips. He dug his back legs into the ground and pulled with every bit of strength he had, dragging the leopard away from Rio.

Ottila roared with rage and twisted, ripping a razor-sharp claw across Conner’s muzzle. Conner kept dragging him, back-pedaling, his grip relentless. Blood ran down the darker leopard’s legs, and each time he twisted, Conner dug deeper, refusing to allow even that flexible spine to interfere with his determination to remove the threat to Rio.

Ottila began to panic as the claws kept adjusting, puncturing deeper and deeper, the grip relentless, merciless, unbreakable. Conner sank his long canines into the spine and Ottila’s terror spread like a disease. He twisted and snarled, throwing his weight sideways in an attempt to roll, his claws ripping everything he could touch. He slashed at the golden leopard frantically, chest, muzzle, shoulders and front legs, but he couldn’t dislodge the other animal sawing through his backbone.

Ottila needed leverage, but the golden leopard countered every move. He seemed to anticipate every move before he made it. He knew Conner was weakening. His continual slashes were taking their toll. He raked the face, the chest and shoulders and arms, long, deep slices that spewed fountains of precious blood. He couldn’t get to the throat, although he’d come close, twisting and turning, and still those claws and teeth were relentless, hanging on, dragging him away from the man on the ground.

Conner began moving up, inch by inch, using his claws to crawl up the body, blocking the burning pain as the other leopard fought back with slashing swipes of powerful paws. Conner knew he had no choice but to hold the tawny leopard. He needed to find a way to deliver the killing bite, but his strength was waning fast. His back leg was on fire, the pain excruciating. He blocked out everything, the sounds of the battle, the pain, the thought of Rio lying helpless, the smoke swirling inches from the ground and veiling the trees, everything but Isabeau. This was for Isabeau. He had to defeat Ottila.

Deliberately he brought forth every image of her mottled, purple bruises, the terror in her eyes, the deep puncture wounds this animal had inflicted on her just because he could. There is no way you’re going to live. Not even if it meant both of them died there. Ottila Zorba’s life was over. Conner yanked hard with his claws, dragging the other leopard beneath him with renewed strength, walking up the spine until he was at the thick neck. His claws dug into the heaving sides so that he was riding the other leopard.