CONNER let his gaze unlock from that of the inexperienced leopard’s and allowed himself to look at Isabeau. His breath caught in his throat. Her face was pale, her eyes glazed with pain. Blood dripped from her throat and arm. She swayed slightly as if unsteady. Something inside him crumbled and another part of him wanted to leap on the leopard cub and rip him to shreds. It would be so easy to tear out his throat in retribution. Every instinct urged him to do just that.

For a long moment the forest seemed to hold its breath. The cat inside him prowled back and forth, occasionally throwing himself at the bonds holding him, testing Conner’s strength and resolve. Felipe and Leonardo moved out into the open, circling the young leopard. Elijah shoved his head through the leaves. Close. Too close to Isabeau.

His cat snarled, his gaze swinging toward the new threat to his mate. Red haze burned through his mind. A warning went off in his brain. The cat was too close, raking to get free. His muscles contorted. His mouth ached. Fingers curled. Sweat broke out on his body as he tried to fight the cat back.

Isabeau walked right up to him, unafraid, although her body trembled. “Conner?” Her voice was soft but demanding.

He reached for her, brought her against him, holding her close for a moment, listening to the reassuring beat of her heart, the steadiness of her breath. It took a few minutes to take control of his cat. The scent of the other leopards and the strong smell of blood nearly drove him mad, but her ready acceptance of his touch managed to calm him enough to stay in control. He bent his head to her throat, examining the puncture wounds. The young leopard had been careful to miss her jugular. Blood welled from the cuts, but they were definitely not lethal. The cub hadn’t meant to kill her. It wouldn’t stop Conner from teaching him a lesson, but it would save the boy’s life.

He brushed the pads of his fingers over the claw marks and then used the rough velvet of his tongue to heal them, the way of his cat. The coppery taste mixed with the fresh rain and the fragrance of her skin. She rested her forehead against his chest, obviously exhausted. He needed to get her to shelter soon.

“I have to look at your arm, Sestrilla.” He ripped her sleeve away to expose the wound. A chunk of her arm was missing, up near the bicep, but it was a flesh wound. They’d been lucky. “Infection happens fast in the forest,” he told her, his voice as gentle as he could make it when his cat refused to settle.

“I’ve got a few things in my bag that will help,” she confided. “I study medicinal plants, so I always carry a few.”

“Do you have painkillers?”