by Leigh, Lora
“You’re picking into things here that you need to stay out of, girl,” he finally drawled warningly, those cloudy gray eyes flashing dangerously. “You need to get the hell out of Dodge, as they say.”
“And you need to get the hell out of my business,” she stated tightly.
His lips tightened around the cigar he still held between his teeth, before he reached up and lifted it free with two fingers.
“Girl, you need to heed a warning now and then,” he snapped back at her. “Let me help you out here. You and your mate. Drag his ass to the nearest bed, get yourself nice and warm and sit this one out. Let it the fuck go.”
“And why would I do that?” She narrowed her eyes back at him.
“Because you don’t want the answers you’re going to find here. And trust me, Jonas doesn’t want you to find them. That could make for a very sticky situation for both you and Cabal.”
“And you care for what reason?”
He stared back at her speculatively before answering. “I’m not really certain. Maybe I’ve found a conscience.”
“In a Cracker Jack box?” she snorted. “Give me a break, Dog, we both know better.”
He laughed at that. She had researched Dog, perhaps almost as much as she had researched Jonas Wyatt. The two men were like the opposite sides of the same coin. Not exactly a good-and-evil type thing—shades in between, but poles apart.
Dog wasn’t a man that would listen to a conscience, even if he had one. She had her suspicions about who and what he actually was, but she kept them to herself. There were levels of being wrong. If she was wrong about him, then it could be such a major wrong as to be fatal.
“Cracker Jack box,” he repeated musingly. “Interesting. But, as I was saying, it’s time for you to leave Glen Ferris. I figure I’m the Breed to ensure you do just that.”
“And you’re going to accomplish this how?” She laughed.
Cassa was almost amused. She had to admit, Dog taking an interest in this made her distinctly uncomfortable—an interest in her that she didn’t particularly like right now.
He inhaled slowly. His smile was positively even more evil than before.
“I have my ways,” he drawled, then stepped forward.
Her hands dropped from her breasts as she tensed, stepping back.
“You know he’s watching,” she whispered, feeling her heart race as panic began to override the normal calm she always fought to achieve.
“Of course he’s watching.” His smile was predatory, his de meanor threatening. “He’s always watching you, Ms. Hawkins. If not him, then someone he directs. You are always being watched, at all times.”
She swallowed tightly. Cabal wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t have her watched like that. She shook her head, trying to understand why he would do such a thing, if he was.
“You’ve got a screw loose,” he said softly. “Dangerously loose. Do you think he wouldn’t see the threat you could be?”
“So you’re going to do what? Kill me while he watches?” she snapped back, her head swinging around as she fought to catch sight of Cabal. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t allow anyone to harm her, ever. If he was going to kill her, then he would do the job himself, it was that simple.
“Kill you?” He chuckled at the suggestion, as his eyes glinted with brief amusement. “I have no desire to kill you, Ms. Hawkins. But I have to admit, I was wondering how sweet your kiss would taste. Tell me, has he kissed you yet? Touched you?” There was an edge of anticipation that surrounded him now, that filled his expression. An edge of hunger.
“He’ll kill you.”
He laughed again. “You think you know him so well, don’t you, Ms. Hawkins? Well enough to believe he would lose his mind if I touched his woman.”
“He came after you last night,” she reminded him.
“He did.” He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I knew he would. He’s a Bengal. I was chasing you, he was chasing my team. You were an incidental.”
An incidental. Yeah, that sounded like the story of her life. Incidentally left out in the cold and in the dark.
“For whatever reason,” she replied. “He’ll kill you if you touch me.”
“He’s a Bengal.” Hard, sharp canines flashed in the dreary light. “He’ll wait. He’ll watch. At this moment he’s calculating the chances that I’ll actually touch you. He’s deduced there’s a ninety percent chance I will, and he’s deliberating his move. He’s a Bengal, my dear Lady Hawkins. Cold. Manipulating. Calculating. Deceiving.”
“Bored.” Cabal’s voice seemed to echo inside her head as he stepped around the trunk of a nearby tree, his broad shoulders rippling beneath the dark long-sleeved T-shirt he wore, his arms resting casually at his side. Black jeans conformed to long, powerful legs, while black biker boots gleamed with a dull, dusty edge on his feet.
Cassa’s heartbeat kicked in; it slammed against her chest as her womb gave a surge of complete feminine surrender and a slick, wet heat dampened the flesh between her thighs.
Out of hand. He might as well have kissed her already, mated her, because her body was more than interested in giving up any fight her mind might want to wage. Traitorous hormones surged and rioted through her body, even as she fought back every reaction that weakened her knees.
His amber-flecked green eyes glittered in his bronze face; a stubble of a beard darkened his lower jaw and gave him a rough, dangerous appearance. Even more so than Dog.
And he did look bored.
Dog turned a knowing look on her, a sandy brow arching in mocking acknowledgment of his own assessment.
Looks were deceiving, Cassa knew, and as Dog had said, Cabal could be manipulative, calculating, deceiving. She wasn’t a Breed; she couldn’t smell the danger in the air, but she could feel it. Cabal was anything but bored. He was controlled, a quiet, ready control that filled Cassa with tension.
“She thinks she knows you, Bengal,” Dog drawled as he flicked a glance back at Cabal. “She thinks you’re possessive of her.”
Cassa took another step back. There was something about Dog’s tone, about the mocking amusement suddenly filling it, that warned her the situation could deteriorate. Quickly.
Unfortunately, Dog wasn’t using what should have been his normally superior Breed senses, because he followed her step for step. A move Cabal watched with predatory awareness.
“Does she then?” Cabal asked, the smooth, dark resonance of his tone sending a shiver racing down her spine as he followed each move Dog made.
Cassa stepped farther away, but to the side, edging closer to Cabal as he turned his hand, palm up, toward her. That smallest indication had her heart tripping with something other than dread or fear.
It was that slow outreach of his fingers. At first, a casual movement, nothing to really suggest anything emotional, anything to attach hope to. But those fingers, long and broad, powerful, his palm held out to her. It became a lifeline to something she wasn’t certain of, something she knew she couldn’t refuse.
Keeping her eye carefully on Cabal, she moved for the safety of that touch. Something urged her, warned her, that if she didn’t get to him, if she didn’t hold on tight, then she would never be safe.
“Not quite yet.”
◆ CHAPTER 5 ◆
Startled, a weak cry fell from Cassa’s lips as she felt Dog’s fingers wrap around her wrist, holding her in place. There was no pain. She knew with full mating heat that the female mate couldn’t tolerate the touch of a male other than her mate.
She stared from Dog to Cabal. Her gaze met cloudy gray eyes then amber-flecked green as a low growl emanated from Cabal’s chest. She could feel the tension rising in the air around them as Dog’s fingers wrapped around her wrist.
“What are you trying to prove?” She stared up at Dog suspiciously as Cabal paced closer, his gaze narrowed on them.
“I warned you, didn’t I?” he said softly. “He’s a Bengal, Ms. Hawkins, I warned you of that. He won’t risk his m
ission for you.”
“Dog, you’re pushing your luck,” Cabal warned him, his voice rumbled and deep. “Let her go.”
Dog’s lips quirked as he lifted his brow inquisitively toward Cassa. “His brother is much more volatile with his mate.”
It was a well-known fact that Tanner Reynolds would attack any man that dared to touch his mate, Scheme.
“We’re not mates,” she said, fighting to tamp down the anger and the disappointment that Cabal wasn’t doing exactly what she knew any other Breed mate would have been doing.
Dog merely chuckled again, but seemed to pay no attention as Cabal stepped closer. Cassa could see the fury sparkling in Cabal’s eyes; the amber flecks were almost neon now. Dog on the other hand looked as calm and cool as a man contemplating a cold beer rather than one going head-to-head with a Bengal.
“Oh, you’re mates,” he drawled, his eyes flicking back to Cabal. “Tell me, Cabal, why are you letting your woman roam alone? It could get dangerous around here.”
“Not for her,” Cabal stated, his tone rough and deep, the fury in it sending chills racing over her body now.
Dog’s fingers caressed her wrist. The feel of it was uncomfortable, wrong. Like nails over a chalkboard, it almost had her wincing in distaste.
“Dog, don’t make me kill you,” Cabal warned him. “Release her.”
Cabal could feel the fury building inside him as he watched the Coyote Breed, fingers wrapped around Cassa’s wrist, holding her in place.
What the bastard was up to, Cabal hadn’t figured out yet. There was no air of intent where the Coyote was concerned, no sense of threat. Rather, Dog was playing, pushing, for what reason Cabal couldn’t decide.
He should kill him, Cabal thought. Hell, he should have killed him a long time before this, but for some reason Jonas had a “no kill” attached to this particular Coyote. He was no doubt one of the fucking pawns the director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs so enjoyed using. Cabal called them Jonas’s pets. Enemies, or at least perceived enemies, that Jonas was somehow using in one or more of his little games.
Though Cabal had a feeling Dog was much more than that. This was a Coyote that no one, not man, woman or Breed, would use without Jonas’s express permission.
If Dog didn’t take his hand off Cassa though, Cabal was going to ignore that “no kill” order. The Coyote was going to die—now.
Cabal could feel the need for blood rising inside him, trying to overpower, overwhelm the cold, hard calculation that was so much a part of him.
She was his mate, and not just another man was touching her, but another Breed. This woman—her body, her hormones, her very essence—was the perfect match for Breed mating, for Breed conception, and another Breed was daring to touch her.
He felt the low growl that built in his gut, rumbled in his throat. He had to force himself not to clench his fists, not to jump for the bastard. Not to tear his woman away from the Coyote and place his mark on her immediately.
The urge was desperate. It pounded through his veins, throbbed in his head. The need to mate her, to slam inside her was a pulse of electric hunger rioting inside him.
Arousal was reaching critical mass. The urge to mate her, to mark her, was threatening his control.
“Let her go.” Cabal stepped closer, every sense he possessed focused on the hard fingers around his mate’s wrist, holding her back from him.
Dog tilted his head to the side and gave a slow, hard grin.
“I’d like a taste of her first.”
Cabal saw red. As Dog jerked Cassa against his chest, a little cry fell from her lips and she reacted to the unwanted hold. Cabal saw her knee slam upward even as he moved.
He wouldn’t allow Dog’s lips to touch his mate’s. He wouldn’t allow the other Breed to claim what was his. Spicy heat filled his mouth and infused his senses. The mating hormone, its taste brighter, hotter, enflamed an arousal already building past the boiling point.
As Cassa’s knee connected with Dog’s hard thigh, Cabal was pulling her from the other Breed’s grip as his fist slammed into the hard, rough contours of Dog’s face. A snarl tore from Cabal’s lips even as he tried to hold it back.
Pure bloody rage consumed him. A rage unlike anything he had ever known, unlike even his fury when his pride had been thrown in that damned pit.
Mating heat and possessive fury swirled through him as he felt the soft heat of his mate’s body come against his own. Heard the crack of his fist against Dog’s jaw and felt the animalistic instincts he kept tamped down roaring to the surface.
“I’d rather face terrorists than Breeds.” A hard hand slammed into his chest, almost knocking him back in surprise as Cassa struggled in his arms, almost pulling away from him.
“Stay still.” He clamped his arm around her, holding her in place against his side as Dog quickly righted himself.
“Where’s that cold calculation everyone thinks you have, dumb-ass?” she yelled furiously, slapping at his shoulder once again.
Cold calculation? It had gone the way of common sense the moment he first laid eyes on her. When it came to Cassa, there was nothing cold about him, no matter how hard he tried to pretend.
“My, my, the Bengal has snapped,” Dog drawled derisively. “Was there an error in your genetic sequencing perhaps?”
“Fuck off, Dog!” Cabal bit out crudely.
Dog’s answer was a low chuckle as Cabal struggled to hold on to Cassa in all her fury. That fury, the feel of it, the scent of it, wrapped around his senses and challenged the animal rising inside him.
He could smell Dog’s scent on her. It enraged him. The genetic coding that made him the most fierce, the coldest of killers, was receding beneath the demand that he protect and mark his mate. Nothing else mattered.
“Come on, Bengal, be a good little kitty and share a little bite.” Dog laughed.
The Coyote had a death wish.
Cabal forced back the rage, clamped his arm around his struggling mate’s waist and leveled a hard glare on the Coyote. Cold. Calculating. That was what he was. He had his mate. She was safe, secure, by his side, if reluctantly. The calm he needed slowly infused his being, though the animal still growled, if silently, in impatience.
“You’re both dead,” Cassa raged at him. “Infantile. Morons. You’re like two bullies playing schoolyard games.”
She continued to struggle, and Cabal continued to hold her. Right by his side, where the warmth and softness of her seemed to sink into his flesh through the layers of their clothing.
“The game is over,” Cabal informed her as he stared back at Dog. “Find another playground, Dog. Now.”
Rather than replying, Dog pulled another cigar from his shirt pocket, lit it and smirked. Cabal kept his eyes on the Coyote, his senses trained on Cassa. He could smell her anger, her arousal. And her fear.
“Bengal, I think you’re the one that needs to find another playground,” Dog stated then. “I’d watch out for that pretty mate if I were you. She’s a luscious little piece, Bengal. Tempting, if you know what I mean.”
Tempting. The scent of her called to him, even with that hint of fear. The fear of the unknown or fear of him?
“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you.”
He watched Dog’s gaze flicker then. It was a promise Cabal made, it wasn’t a threat, and the Coyote recognized it for what it was. But the damage had been done, and Cabal knew it. He could feel it pounding through his veins, rushing through his heart and tormenting the glands beneath his tongue.
Mating heat was a fury burning through his body now. His cock was thick, hard. Blood pounded in his tightened balls, sending a wave of lust rushing through his body.
His woman. His mate. That was all that mattered, all he cared about. Claiming what belonged to him. Eliminating any threat that could be made to his position as her mate.
Logically he knew that it wasn’t possible for such a threat to succeed. This woman was designed for him; no other could mate her. Or so the
Breed doctors and scientists claimed. But the animal inside him refused to listen. It wouldn’t listen any longer.
Finally, Dog inclined his head and backed away. It was only then that Cabal realized that his voice when he uttered that final threat had been more a savage snarl than a recognizable human voice. Not that he was human, but never had he heard that tone in his voice before.
It had silenced Cassa as well. She was standing still now, tense, waiting.
“Take care of her, Bengal,” Dog stated quietly as he moved farther back. “You may be the only one who can. She seems to have a bit of a reckless streak.”
A reckless streak didn’t describe it. She was independent, stubborn. She was the woman nature had declared would belong solely to him. If he claimed her.
“I hate Breeds,” she muttered at his side as he stepped back, moving toward the parking lot of the Kanawha Falls Park.
His truck was parked there. It was a short distance, and from there the ride back to the hotel would be brief. If he made it back to the hotel before he mated her.
He was dying to kiss her. He was all but carrying her as he kept his gaze firmly on Dog’s receding form. His nostrils flared as he tested the wind, searching for any hint, any scent of an enemy, Coyote or human.
“This is insane, Cabal. I have a job to do here.” But she wasn’t struggling. He could feel the anticipation moving through her, building in the air around them just as it was building inside him.
The anticipation of the mating, the arousal. Pleasure. There was said to be no greater pleasure than that of a mating. Cabal was about to find out.
“I told you to get the hell out of here,” he bit out harshly as he turned and moved for the truck.
Hitting the remote, he strode quickly to the truck, threw the door open and lifted her into the passenger seat. He didn’t give her a chance to slide around into the seat. Gripping her hips, he pushed himself between her thighs, notched the hard length of his cock there as he gripped her hair, tilted her head and took the kiss he had been dying for, for eleven long, lonely years.
