Read Nischal [leopard spots 9] for Free Online

the years, and Kapuk had insisted that he and Sabin learn some of it, too. Maybe he wouldn’t completely freak Preston out.
    Who was he kidding? He looked like a madman. He’d scare the shit out of Preston.
    But that didn’t stop him from striding towards the man when Preston suddenly stepped out of the door labelled ‘Office’.
    Preston stumbled and almost fell, then he moved slowly, as if he were hurting as he walked. Nischal imagined he was. It hadn’t been but a day since he’d seen Preston, but the joy that surged through him made it seem they’d been apart for a lot longer. It also implied they knew each other, which they didn’t, and everything happening to Nischal right then was just too bizarre to process. He let his instincts take over. His human thoughts were just complicating things.
    His leopard knew what he wanted. Preston. The man was wearing a blue tank top and his shoulders were covered in coppery freckles. His hair glinted orange and red and gold under the hot sun, and sweat made his pale skin glisten. The khaki shorts he wore covered him nearly to the knees, but his ass rounded out that material nicely, and his calves were muscled and smattered with red-gold hair.
    Nischal had figured he was gay but he’d never had a chance to act on his needs. Now he had years of them pent up inside him, trying to leak out of the end of his cock as he watched Preston.
    The man held himself well, those broad shoulders back, chin up just a bit. Preston wasn’t skin and bones. He was stocky, muscular, but not overly so, as if he worked out just enough to keep himself from turning too soft.
    Nischal wanted to roll in him, roll over him and cover Preston in his scent. He watched every step Preston took, the way Preston’s ass flexed under his shorts, the way he swung his arms and placed his feet.
    Then Nischal began to stalk his prey.
     
    * * * *
     
    Getting out of Texas should have been Preston’s first order of business, but he’d ended up crashing at the clinic the night before. Exhaustion had taken him in its arms and kept him wrapped up until the sound of a screaming child had forced him back to consciousness.
    While he kind of appreciated Dr Glaston and the staff letting him sleep, he’d really rather have done so somewhere private. Waking up with dried drool on his chin and sleep in his eyes, with one of the clinic workers looking at him, had been fucking awful.
    He also didn’t feel rested. He’d had nightmares. Jesus, nightmares seems too tame a description. Fucking hellish visions. There’d been Paul, lifeless, his body rotting in stop-action type motion while he floated and flopped in the air like something out of a Slipknot video. And the scene had changed, flicking to Paul, chained, starved, beaten…
    After the interview yesterday, Preston had been wrung out. He hadn’t admitted to the agents that he’d planned to kill anyone, but he was pretty sure they’d figured it out. The more he thought about it, the more guilt had eaten at him. He’d almost become the same thing he thought Suraj and Yangani were.
    In some of his nightmarish visions, he’d been the one hurting Paul. Preston’s belly cramped and his vision swam. He didn’t feel good—something wasn’t right in his body and mind. Maybe it was the Texas heat and the fact that he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything today. Nothing other than a pill to help him relax and a sip of water to wash it down.
    Dr Glaston had insisted on the medicine because Preston was wound tighter than a spring coil, but he couldn’t help it. Something was building in him, something he didn’t understand. There was the guilt and worry for Paul—damn it, shouldn’t he have known if his twin were alive?
    But no, he and Paul had been close, true, but there’d been none of that feeling what the other felt. When Paul had broken his wrist, Preston hadn’t felt even a twinge. Just like when Preston had had his appendix flare up on him. Paul hadn’t had a clue