Leopard's Prey by Christine Feehan

said. “I was his guide. Maybe you should take over my business. You could meet . . .”
    Remy slammed his coffee mug onto the table. “Okay, that’s it. I’m drownin’ you in the bayou, Saria. I should have done it when you were born. I knew you were goin’ to be giving me trouble. Blue is
not
takin’ strangers into the swamp. I’d be shootin’ someone before nightfall.”
    Saria leaned across the table and mouthed
Bossy
at Bijou.
    “Clearly you don’ have enough to do, Remy,” Bijou observed. “Or you’ve been deprived of shootin’ someone for a long while now.”
    “A little of both,” Remy said. “But now that I’ve got your sassy ass back in New Orleans no doubt I’ll have my hands full.”
    “No doubt.”
    “You’re really goin’ to make your home here?” Remy asked. “For good?”
    Bijou nodded, her vivid blue eyes meeting his. “I’m tired of fightin’, Remy. I’ve made so many mistakes trying to be someone I’m not. I just plain don’ like the life, traveling, living in hotels, the bodyguards and constant paparazzi and crowds. I think for a while there, I felt as if I had to compete with Bodrie, which, of course, was impossible.”
    “You have a beautiful voice,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. Once more that restless, dangerous feeling was building. He could feel his muscles coiling, his body going still, as if at any moment he would leap on his prey. He was very aware of Saria sending him an uneasy glance. She was leopard and her senses would pick up the shift in his body instantly, going on alert herself.
    “Thank you. The thing is, I have to sing. I have to write music. It’s there in me and I have to get it out. I don’ expect anyone to understand. I just have this personal need. I’m done with the big tours and singing rock and roll all the time. I’m not Bodrie, nor do I want to be. I love the blues, and jazz. I play the piano, not a guitar. I love the saxophone. I can rock with the best of them, but that’s not my real dream. Everyone says if I switch from rock and roll to what I prefer, I can’t make it. My fan base won’t follow me, but this is something I have to do. My manager said I didn’t have the talent for blues and jazz, but I love it so much and I want to try.”
    “That’s bullshit, Blue, you’ve got talent.” Remy felt the clawing at his gut. His cat needed to run, and he’d better get out of there soon. He had no idea why he was so reluctant to leave. Saria just made the place too comfortable.
    “We’ll see, won’t we?” Bijou flashed one of her small smiles. “I’m singin’ occasionally in my own club, so we’ll see if I can draw anyone in.”
    Saria shot him a look that clearly said, “What the hell is wrong with you?” He couldn’t very well tell his baby sister that
everything
about Bijou Breaux set his leopard off.
    “Oh, no doubt you’ll do fine,” Remy said, meaning it. Her voice was special, sultry and filled with sex and sin. She’d have all the local single men flocking to her club. Every male tourist in town wanting to get laid would be there as well. Just the thought made him want to grind his teeth. His leopard flexed his claws and raked at him, adding to his deteriorating mood.
    His skin itched. Every joint ached. His jaw hurt. Every sense heightened. Lavender drifted through the room into his lungs, and he took the scent deep. He could find Bijou Breaux on the darkest night, no matter how faint the trail.
    “Did you know, Remy, when the light hits your eyes a certain way, they change color?” Bijou observed. “You have the darkest blue eyes and they suddenly go green or sometimes, they glow, like a cat in the dark. I remember a couple of times when I was a little girl, I fixated on your eyes. I used to dream about them.”
    Saria’s frown deepened. “Did his eyes scare you?”
    “I suppose they should have, but no. I found the change sort of comforting.” Bijou gave Remy another tentative smile that