“You just sit there and don’t move, Miss Wilson,” Rio said. “Kim can stay where he is, and when Tama and Drake come in, I’ll fix him up. He doesn’t need a woman fussing over him.” He was ashamed of the tightness in his gut, the knots lying heavy in his belly. The black jealousy the males of his kind could experience. He fought down the natural inclination but couldn’t help the small, involuntary move that flushed him out of the advantage of the shadows and into the open as he placed himself slightly in front of Rachael.

Kim spread his fingers wide as if to show he held no weapons. His brother came into the room grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, Kim, I slipped on the wet branch and nearly fell. I was so busy saving my own life, I couldn’t very well save yours.” He glanced at Rachael and then at Rio, then looked down at the gun in Rio’s hand. “Getting a little overprotective, aren’t you?”

“Getting a little old to be slipping off a perfectly wide branch, aren’t you?” Rio countered, but he was clearly listening for something outside the house.

With the door open, Rachael could easily hear the sudden change in the rhythm of the forest. Where there had been warning shrieks and calls and cries, now the forest once more vibrated with its natural sounds. The barking of deer, the croaking of frogs, the humming and twittering of insects and cicadas. There was always the continual call of birds, different notes, different songs, but all in harmony with the flutter of the wind and muffled and continual patter of rain.

Franz stood up and stretched, flattened his ears and hissed, facing toward the door. Rio coughed again, the sound slightly different. “Tama, toss a pair of pants to Drake. He doesn’t need to come in and scare the hell out of Miss Wilson.”

“Stop calling me that,” Rachael snapped. “And why didn’t Drake, whoever he is, wear clothes?”

“He didn’t know he’d be in the company of a woman,” Rio answered, as if that somehow cleared up the question.

Drake Donovan was tall and blond and swaggered in, dressed in a pair of Rio’s pants and nothing else but a grin. His chest was heavily muscled, his arms thick and roped and powerful, built much like Rio. His grin widened when he saw Rachael. “No wonder you weren’t answering your radio, Rio. Introduce us.”

Rachael was suddenly conscious of her appearance, her uncombed unruly mop of hair and no makeup, with the four men staring at her. She lifted one hand to tidy her hair. Rio caught her wrist and pulled her hand to his hip. “You look fine, Rachael.” His voice was gruff. He glared at Drake as if he had accused Rachael of looking bad.