He returned to the bed, towering over her, his vivid green eyes moving over her face. “Like me,” he agreed. Rio bent and scooped up the fifty-pound clouded leopard, cradling it close to his chest.

Rachael’s fingers curled in the bedcover. Was it possible? Was it her fevered imagination or was Rio able to shift into the form of a leopard? She looked at him crouched down beside the cat, streaks of blood on his back and sides, down the columns of his thighs, and a tear up near his neck. She didn’t care what he was. It didn’t matter to her, not when he was petting the injured cat and murmuring soft nonsense to it.

Rachael swallowed the tight knot of fear blocking her throat. “You’re bleeding, Rio. Come here to me. How badly are you hurt?”

Rio stood up and turned around to look at her. There was genuine concern in her voice, in the dark depths of her eyes. Her compassion touched him somewhere deep inside, somewhere he wanted to forget existed. She shook his control, and that was more dangerous than she could possibly understand. Rio shrugged his shoulders. “It’s no big deal, a few scratches.”

Rachael studied him as he padded across the floor on bare feet. There was a slight stiffness to his normal graceful, sinuous walk. The scratches looked deep and ugly and she thought there was more than one puncture wound. “You always take care of everything and everybody before you take care of yourself. You fought that leopard, didn’t you? You didn’t have a gun with you. I doubt you had a knife. What did you do? Fight it with your bare hands?”

Rio dragged out the medical kit and began dousing the angry looking wounds with burning liquid. Rachael sighed softly, feeling helpless. He looked tired and out of sorts and she knew the gashes had to hurt. He didn’t respond to her comments, but she was certain she was right. He had to have been involved in a vicious fight with a cat of some kind without a weapon. And it couldn’t have been a small cat. She bit down on her lip to keep her mouth closed, determined not to aggravate him with questions.

He bent to duck his head over the tub he used as a sink and poured water over his hair. He was breathtaking, there in the dark with just the sliver of moonlight falling across him. His hair gleamed liked silken webs. Shadows from the heavy foliage stirred by the wind threw the broad outline of his back and buttocks into sharp relief and then just as quickly covered him from her sight as he washed himself. As he straightened and half turned toward her, his eyes caught the reflection of light from the moon and glowed an eerie red. The eyes of a predator. The eyes of a leopard.