Nemesis - Book 3 of the Hunted series.

Chapter 10 - The Were-Jaguar of Brazil.

After half an hour we came into a clearing. There were small houses in a circle, a lot like the cabins we'd stayed in, more or less modern looking things with old and new cars, and a dirt road going in . Daniella hurried after us with the little box in hand.the other direction from the middle of the buildings.

"We drive. But it goes different way. Long way." She shrugged. "Quicker to walk. Mother is bringing your car through the long way."

"I hate to be rude but we're running out of time to ..."

Again Clayton was cut off by the old man. He gestured to where there was a gazebo in the middle of the houses, covered and protected from rain, filled with a mishmash of different chairs and things to sit on.

"Please sit."

We had no choice but to walk up the stairs and take a seat, close to each other, Clayton sitting behind us as he waited impatiently. The old man pointed at someone and they headed off into a house.

"He says it's a long time since we had guests. You eat and drink then we talk about what you want to do." Ana sat down beside me. She yawned, stretching, still focused on her phone. I could see her playing withfacebook. In the Brazillian rainforest. Wow. 

The other men and women sat around the gazebo, relaxed, lounging, laughing and teasing each other. Like a bunch of relaxed cats, I couldn't help but think, flopping all over the place in their favourite chairs. Some were older, some young, a couple of kids coming out of the houses to gawk at us. They were like Ana- a head that was shaped strangely, the markings, the eyes, but they didn't seem to know or care if they looked unusual. They were tugging on my hair, on Daniella's hair, even daring each other to go touch Clayton's curls, and jumping back with shrill giggles as he growled. That only provoked some of the younger ones, they started to target Clayton specifically, making a game of stalking up behind him and giving his hair gentle yanks. Ana turned around and tried to shoo them off. But, unlike with adults, I could guess that Clayton didn't mind this so much. Maybe they reminded him of his own kids. The growls weren't serious ones. 

"Sorry. They like your hair. Like kittens."

Food was brought out, great trays of it, slabs of meat and other things there. Mostly different meats through. Drink too. Some of it was surprisingly generic, soda I'd seen in Rio, even cola. The kids attacked that bottle with the what was apparently a global enthusiasm for that drink.

As we ate, we tried to talk, but they didn't want to talk business. Ana explained that they always left that for after when they were full so there'd be no arguments. So they asked us questions about us, some of the adults speaking English, some needing Ana to do it for them. Where we lived. Did we have children? Were we married? What jobs did we have? What did our house look like? Had we seen New York City? What did we eat?

Ana's mother drove our car up midway through the meal, a toddler in her lap, and lifted him up to join us. I had to struggle to not stare at him. His head shape was definitely not normal. It was almost like a cat's head, rather than a toddler's head, the mouth in an upside down U, his skin covered in the orange jaguar markings, but he seemed to be bubbly and happy.