LEOPARDS PREY CHRISTINE FEEHAN PDF

Number-one New York Times best-selling author Christine Feehan “knows how to weave a tale of action, suspense and paranormal passion” (Romance. The Paperback of the Leopard’s Prey (Leopard Series #6) by Christine Feehan at Barnes & Noble. FREE Shipping on $ or more!. The NOOK Book (eBook) of the Leopard’s Prey (Leopard Series #6) by Christine Feehan at Barnes & Noble. FREE Shipping on $ or more!.

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Now, she’s back — and the New Orleans nights have never felt so torrid chriatine so dangerous From a tough stint in the armed forces to stalking the unknown as a bayou cop, leopard-shifter Remy Boudreux has been served well by his uncanny gifts. And right now, Chrostine Orleans could use a homicide detective like Remy. A serial killer is loose, snatching victims from the French Quarter with pitiless rage and unnatural efficiency.

But something else is drawing Remy into the twilight — a beautiful jazz singer bathed night after night in a flood of blood-red neon. Sultry, mysterious, and as seductive as her songs, she’s luring Remy deeper into the shadows than he ever imagined. And as their passions swell, his keen instinct for survival will be challenged like never before.

By a killer — and by a woman. The singer’s voice was beautiful and it got me thinking about what it might be like to leopwrds the daughter of a famous rock star. What if you didn’t want that life, but it was expected of you and you had the talent for it? If the world saw one face of your father, but you saw something altogether different, making your childhood a nightmare, would happen when he died and was so revered? People preg look down on you for not appreciating all your father had to give.

From that one experience, Leopard’s Prey was born. May 28, Number of Pages: Chapter 1 jump down orey Chapter 1 The bayou was no place for the faint of heart—especially at night. Alligators, snakes, even the occasional cheistine cat preyed upon the unwary. Strange lights and mysterious sightings of everything from ghosts to vengeful creatures haunted the bayou at night.

It was easy to get turned around, to get lost in the endless sea of grasses and the mist covered cypress trees. One misstep and a man could sink below the ground and never find his way to the surface.

Remy Boudreaux loved the bayou. He loved chirstine superstitions, the healers curistine the magic. Even the damn alligators. He loved the sultry heat and the golden sunset pouring into the water. There was New Orleans.

A city he was proud of. No matter how many times nature—or man slammed it—the city rose over and over, each time better and stronger. It was his city. The people in the bayous and swamps went about their business every day without asking for a handout.

They fished and hunted, shrimped and pulled in crabs for their families. If there was trouble, they preferred to handle it on their own.

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Leopard’s Prey

They carved out lives for themselves and their families in mosquito infested swamps and waterways. They lived life as it came and they lived it large. Most had big noisy families, and celebrated every chance they got. They were your best friend or your worst nightmare, quick to anger and just as quick to give you the shirt off their backs. He loved each of them as fiercely and as passionately as only a Cajun could—or a leopard protecting its lair.

These were his people and no one was going to come into his world, take lives and get away with it. Remy was a big man, tall, broad-shouldered with the signature heavy roped muscles of his kind.

His hair was a bit shaggy, and midnight black. His eyes were either a striking cobalt blue or if the situation called for it, glacier-blue. Unless his cat was close, and then his gaze went watchful, serious, focused and very green. His face was tough, strong-jawed, the lines carved deep. He had a serious shadow going nearly all the time and the scar running down the side of his neck could have been from a knife—or a claw.

Remy Boudreaux was not a man anyone crossed. He was as Cajun as they came, born and raised in the bayou. He was more animal than man, the instincts of his leopard aiding him as a homicide detective. He had a reputation, well deserved, as a man not to trifle with. He took murder in his city or his bayou or swamp personally. There was little moon and the water appeared black and shiny as the airboat skimmed over it.

Tall grassy reeds rose in columns on either side of them, forming a narrow canal. The tall grasses were thick and impenetrable, making it impossible to see over, around, or through them. His gut already gave him the answer. Gage Boudreaux was sheriff of the parish. He and his men were responsible for bayous as well as the outlying areas. Right now, he was running the airboat, a grim look on his face.

Leopard’s Prey by Christine Feehan

He felt exactly the same way about murder as Remy did. Her husband is wrapped around her little finger. In any case, she knew better than to disturb a crime scene. She took pictures just in case someone or something came along when she went for help. She has no business out there without back-up. Sometimes his leoparrds younger sister made him crazy. She was a law unto herself and she had been since she was a toddler. Their drunken father forgot her half the time and most of the boys were off doing their own thing, so she ran wild—and was still elopards wild even married to a man like Drake Donovan who was certainly no pushover around anyone but her.

Saria had no problem going into the swamp at night for her photography. Granted, she made a lot of money on her photos and her reputation was growing as a wildlife photographer, but the things she did were dangerous and hcristine had to stop.

That was all there was too it.

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He had long ago given up confronting her directly unless the circumstances were dire. She always seemed to know if he was willing to back up his threat with action or not. Locking her up was the only—and extremely dangerous—solution. Saria tended to retaliate as any self-respecting leopard would. The serial killer from four years earlier, had hit New Orleans hard, leaving behind four dead bodies over a period of two months and then was gone.

The swamps and bayous were lonely and took in a lot of territory. The killer would have a big playing field. Remy was Cajun, born and raised, but he was also leopard—a shifter.

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A small clan of leopards had made their homes along the bayous. The wildness in him was always close to chrixtine surface. Passion ran just as hot as tempers. Jealousy, and fury were every bit as strong as love and loyalty. There was no way to fully submerge their animal natures.

They lived by a different set of rules and answered to their lair leader—Drake Donovan. Theirs was a ruthless, brutal set of laws, but necessary to keep their people under control. Some married leopards, others married outsiders who usually had no idea and never would.

It was necessary to keep their ability to shift absolutely secret—even from family who were unable to shift. They went to school together. The easiest way to get someone to tell something they were eager to spill was to not be interested. He leopqrds his eyes on the black water ahead. Gage growled, a rumble of annoyance. Bijou Breaux, the daughter of the most famous rock star chrisfine history. He died of an overdose, Gage.

Money can make up for a lot. Everyone in the bayou and in New Orleans knew it, but he got away ,eopards it. He had everyone in his pocket.

Leopard’s Prey (Leopard People, #5) by Christine Feehan

The cops, the teachers, everyone said she was a problem child with no talent and moody as hell. Remy sent feehah a steely glance, the sliver of moon lighting his face for one brief second so that the lines etched deep seemed carved into stone. I heard the kids taunting her on the street more than once. With a father that famous, how was it possible to tell a real friend from someone who just wanted to use you to meet your daddy? He felt leoparss for the child, he always had.

She was all eyes and thick, wild hair, a sullen expression, moody and ready to fight at the drop of a hat. And sometimes Saria would talk about her when I came home. Both times the girls had been sober, but a few of the very drunk boys thought they had easy targets—well—they were lucky to have walked away intact.