Conner forced himself to think, not react. He could see the stranger, eyes glowing red like a cat’s in the darkness. The hand on her throat was not human, the claws digging into skin. He held Isabeau in front of him like a shield, his attention on the brush to his right. Snarling, showing a mouthful of teeth, he snarled a warning toward something Conner couldn’t see in the brush.

Elijah. The leopard crouched, waiting for his opportunity. Cats had patience, especially leopards. They could wait for hours if they had to, and right now it was a bit of a standoff. Isabeau didn’t look toward Elijah, or even back at her assailant. She kept her gaze glued on the brush where Conner breathed away his fear. She knew he was there. And she knew he’d come for her. There was no panic in her eyes.

Blood dripped steadily down her left arm where a bullet must have grazed her. Conner’s gaze locked on to his enemy. Leopard for sure. Most likely one of the rogues. He would never get out of the rain forest alive. Not with Elijah waiting in the brush. Or Rio creeping up behind him. Not with Adan closing in from one side, poison darts ready, or the Santos brothers crawling, belly down, approaching from the other side.

Conner was aware of all of them, but dimly, as if far away. Every fiber of his being was focused on the leopard holding his mate hostage. He stepped out of the brush, facing the man. Isabeau gasped and shook her head. His cat leapt, hissing and growling, wanting to rip and slice his opponent to shreds. There was no way to calm his cat, so he didn’t try to suppress the animal’s natural instincts. He just took a firmer grip. Of course he wanted to destroy the man touching his mate, but keeping her alive was more important than anything else, especially pride.

“Let her go,” he said quietly. “She can’t help you.”

The rogue snarled with a great show of teeth and dug his claws deeper into Isabeau’s throat in warning. Droplets of blood ran down her skin. Conner marked each one, assessing the damage the leopard was doing to her throat.

“Are you all right?”

Isabeau pushed down the burning pain in her throat, nodding, terrified, not for herself, but for Conner. He stood without a weapon, facing the man holding her, and she had no way of warning him that her captor was enormously strong. She’d never felt such strength running through someone—like steel. He could snap her in half easily should he be so inclined. She tried a cautious movement. Instantly the claws went deeper.

Isabeau coughed, and tried to drag air into her burning lungs. She kept her eyes on Conner. He looked utterly calm—completely confident—and it gave her the ability to stay cool.