Free Leopard's Prey by Christine Feehan

her wild ways, Saria was grounded and she made a loyal friend.
    “I used to get a few threats before Bodrie’s death, nothin’ really scary, just that I didn’ know what a good daughter should be like to her daddy and I was goin’ to learn a few hard lessons.” She nodded toward the packet. “I could recognize his patterns. He’s been writing me a very long time. When I started singin’ on my own, a new theme started. I had no talent. I shouldn’t be tryin’ to capitalize on my daddy’s good name and if I didn’ stop, I was goin’ to find myself in a dangerous position.”
    She closed her mouth abruptly, pressing her lips together tightly as Remy swung his head toward two more people approaching. This time it was a couple. They looked to be in their sixties.
    “Ma’am. Miss Breaux?” The man held out a napkin. “Would you mind autographin’ this for us? Mr. and Mrs. Chambridge.”
    The woman smiled hesitantly. “We try to go to all your concerts.”
    “We’ve got all your music,” Mr. Chambridge added.
    “Of course,” Bijou said, “I’d be more than happy to give you an autograph. I can’t believe you’re so kind as to come to my concerts and support me.”
    As if she’d thrown open the gates to a fancy mansion and invited everyone in, the others in the café quickly rose and pressed close, thrusting paper, shirts, napkins and even a backpack at Bijou to sign. She didn’t hesitate, but was gracious and sweet to every single person jarring the table and crowding around them. The temperature went up fast. Remy found himself wanting to shove everyone back away from her, especially those that touched her arms and shoulders, or “accidentally” brushed her hair.
    It was as if the floodgates had opened, and there was no going back. Remy began to feel uneasy. His leopard snarled and raked at him, so close his skin itched and he could feel fur rippling beneath the surface. The closer the crowd pushed on Bijou, the edgier he became. Anyone wishing her harm could easily slip up behind her and plunge a knife into her back or shoot her.
    His jaw ached and he rubbed it, trying to soothe the tense muscles developing so quickly. Bijou continued to sign autographs and talk briefly with each person, and just as she predicted, individuals became bolder, asking for pictures with her. Bijou posed with that same soft smile on her face. Over and over.
    More people poured into the café, brought, no doubt, by the text messages of friends. Two men pushed their way through the crowd. Thereze protested as she tried to get through the mass of people to deliver the food. The men pushing at Bijou were obnoxious, pressing for her phone number, where she was staying, and when she simply smiled and shook her head, one swore and called her bitch .
    Remy stood up so fast he knew his cat was closer to the surface than he’d even imagined. His reflexes were lightning. He caught the man by the back of his neck and slammed him down on the table, holding him there.
    “I’m done with this. Everyone go back to your tables. And you can apologize for your mouth,” he added to his prisoner. His voice was deceptively low. His eyes definitely glowed cat – he was seeing with a cat’s vision. His aggression was doubly so. He knew his strength reflected his leopard’s closeness.
    The man muttered an apology as the crowd hastily dispersed. Remy let him up but retained possession of his arm. “I know you. Ryan Cooper. You came down here a couple years ago and you work at the strip bar. I know where you live. If you give Miss Breaux any trouble, any at all, you’ll be gettin’ a visit from me and it won’t be pleasant. Have I made myself understood?”
    “Yes,” Cooper said, and glanced at his friend. Remy recognized the man as Brent Underwood. He only knew Underwood because the man hung out with one of the shifters, Robert Lanoux. Underwood quickly looked away.
    Remy let go of Cooper abruptly. Cooper staggered back a couple of