by Lora Leigh
What the hell had she managed to get herself involved in? But even more to the point, why wasn’t she angry over it? She should be furious. She should be screaming at Lyons, threatening Wyatt and the Bureau of Breed Affairs with all manner of legal actions for not informing her of the hazards of consorting with Breeds. Instead, she was standing in her kitchen as she watched a shirtless Saban frown down at the grill he was currently attempting to figure out.
It had worked perfectly last night. This morning, it seemed to be intent on driving one Jaguar Breed insane. That, or he was trying to buy time the same way she was, by focusing on something other than the situation at hand.
She had finally given up on that herself an hour ago.
She glanced at the steaks lying on the counter, the potatoes ready to go into the microwave, and pushed her fingers through her hair before forcing herself to turn away from the sight of it. All that luscious, bronzed flesh displayed was too much for any woman’s senses to deal with for extended periods of time.
She was on edge, uncertain, and trying to deal with something totally out of her realm of understanding.
The ringing of the doorbell had her jumping, swinging around, and staring through the house as the back door opened, and Saban strode in, jerking his shirt over his shoulders as he glanced at her.
His eyes were cold, hard, causing something inside her to chill as she followed him through the house. He hadn’t pulled a weapon, so she assumed he knew who was at the door.
She moved quickly behind him, pulling at the hem of the long shirt she wore, drying her palms on the sides of the denim shorts.
Saban paused at the door and stared back at her as the bell rang again.
“Remember one thing,” he suddenly growled, causing her to tilt her head and stare at him in surprise. “You’re mine now, Natalie. I won’t tolerate another man in your life. Or in your heart.”
Her teeth snapped together a second before her lips parted to sling a searing retort his way. He chose that moment to jerk the door open and face the sheriff and her ex-husband, Mike Claxton.
Mike looked frustrated, furious, his blue eyes snapping in anger as the sheriff of Buffalo Gap shot Natalie a resigned look before turning to Saban with an edge of wariness.
Sheriff Randolph had the broad, heavy build of a linebacker, dwarfing Mike’s smaller, leaner frame. His dark hair was cut military short, his dark eyes sharp and intelligent.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, Saban.” He nodded to Saban. “But it seems we have a complaint.”
“Mike, what are you doing here?” Natalie stepped forward, only to pause as Saban sliced a hard, warning look her way.
She almost rolled her eyes, but something about the set of his expression, the ready tension in his body, warned her that he wasn’t quite ready to shelve the whole protective, possessive male thing.
She hated the thought. Hated the thought that the trust and the independence she needed could be wiped away so easily in his mind.
“Look at her, Sheriff,” Mike suddenly snapped. “I told you something was wrong with her. Are you ready to listen to me now?”
Shock had Natalie backing up a step as Mike turned his enraged gaze on her. This was one of the reasons their marriage had been doomed from the first month. Jealous rages, an almost fanatical certainty that Natalie was always looking at other men, lusting for them.
She shouldn’t have been shocked, much less surprised.
Natalie shifted her gaze from Mike to the sheriff. “Sheriff Randolph, it’s good to see you again.” She gave him an uncomfortable smile. “You haven’t caught me at my best this morning.”
“I apologize for that, ma’am.” He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Mr. Claxton here seems unwilling to accept the fact that you’re hale and hearty though.”
“Look at her, she’s pale. She looks drugged,” Mike accused as he started to step into the house.
“You have not been invited inside.” Saban stepped forward, his low voice dangerous.
“Get out of my way, Breed.” Mike was shaking now, his voice holding a nervous tremor as Natalie watched him fight stepping back. “I want to talk to my wife.”
“Ex-wife.” Natalie didn’t wait for Saban to answer to that one. She turned back to the sheriff instead. “I’m sorry you were bothered.”
“Dammit, Natalie. Pack your things, you’re coming home. This foolishness has to stop somewhere,” Mike bit out virulently, his fists clenching at his sides as he was forced to stare around Saban rather than walking through him. “I’ll take you home.”
“Your new friend has a death wish, Ted,” Saban told the sheriff. “Get him out of here.”
“Now, Saban, let’s be reasonable about this.” The sheriff pulled his hat from his head and swiped his hand over the short cut of his hair. “Mr. Claxton just wants to talk to her. Let him see her, see she’s not under any undue influence, and then he’ll leave.”
Saban’s body jerked tighter as a ready, dangerous tension filled him.
“What sort of undue influence would I be under?” Natalie turned back to watch Mike suspiciously. He could be paranoid, he could be a bastard, but he wasn’t normally insane.
Normally. She was starting to revise her opinion of that. He had that bulldog look on his face that assured her he was about to go off the deep end on her with one of his paranoid accusations.
“I want to talk to her away from him,” Mike snapped at the sheriff then.
Sheriff Randolph grimaced as he glanced at Saban almost hesitantly. “Mr. Claxton, I can’t make her talk to you alone.” He glanced at Natalie then, his dark brown eyes intent, somber as he studied her. “It’s up to you, ma’am.”
“What the hell are you pulling here, Ted?” Saban snarled then. “Take your friend and get the hell out of here.”
Sheriff Randolph wasn’t buying something here. Natalie could see the suspicion in his eyes as he glanced from her to Saban, and she could see Mike’s anger growing.
“Saban, that’s enough.” The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. “Why don’t you and the sheriff go get coffee—”
“You think I’ll be relegated to the kitchen like a recalcitrant child and leave you alone with this madman?” He turned his head, his fierce green eyes pinning her with cold fire. “I don’t think so.”
She breathed in deeply and prayed for patience.
“I think you’re going to take the sheriff to the kitchen for coffee, and you’re going to do it without growling like a temperamental five-year-old.” She smiled back at him, a thin, furious curve of her lips. “Don’t make me think of an ‘or else.’ That’s just so tacky, and I do hate appearing tacky.”
Sheriff Randolph cleared his throat, obviously fighting a chuckle as Saban glowered back at her, one side of his lips curling back to display those wicked canines.
Canines that had pierced her shoulder, holding her in place more than once through the night as his tongue laved, and the hormone burned the wound.
He was a part of her. In a way no man could ever be a part of her. He was in her head, her blood, and she very much feared he might be a part of her heart. A part that would be destroyed if he continued to try to smother her.
“I don’t like this,” he growled. “He’s not stable.”
“I’m not stable?” Mike burst out, his eyes glittering with rage as he pinned her with his gaze. “For God’s sake, Natalie, look at what you’re shacked up with and tell me anything about that is logical. He’s an animal.”
“Enough!” Natalie swung to him, instinctive, heated anger filling her at the accusation. “If you want to discuss anything, Mike, then keep a civil tongue in your head.”
His lips flattened as the sheriff watched both of them with flat, hard eyes. He had his own agenda, Natalie thought. Questions he couldn’t ask, so instead he watched.
“And I’m to leave you in the same room alone with this man?” Saban questioned her with an edge of disgust.
“Listen
to me, you rabid bastard!” Mike tried to push into the house, rage burning in his face now, splotching his cheeks as the sheriff grabbed his arm and Saban blocked the doorway. “Let me in there. You’ve done something to her, and I know it. Look at her. She’s pale and scared. Look at her, Sheriff. He’s done something to her. He’s a fucking animal. He shouldn’t be here with her. He shouldn’t be around her.”
Natalie stepped back from the doorway as Saban’s hard body blocked Mike’s furious attempts to get past the door. She had never seen him like this, so enraged that his own personal safety wasn’t uppermost. Surely he knew Saban could break him like a matchstick if that was what he wanted.
“Mike, that’s enough!” She snapped out the order, firming her voice, hardening it. “For God’s sake, have you lost your mind?”
Saban was struggling not to hurt him, Natalie could see that. He was blocking the doorway with his own body, holding Mike back as the sheriff gripped his arm and dragged him forcibly away from the door.
“Get him out of here, Ted. Jonas will be in your office within the hour to file a complaint. I want him kept away from her.”
“Fucking animal! You don’t make that decision.” Mike struggled against the sheriff. “That’s my wife in there. You don’t touch my damned wife.”
Mike fell back as Saban snarled, a primal, dangerous, feline sound unlike anything Natalie had heard as he rasped. “Ex-wife, bastard.”
“My God, this is insane.” Natalie pushed past Saban, slapping at his hard stomach as he tried to hold her back. “Take your hands off me and stop this crap. Are all of you insane?”
“Natalie, listen to me.” Mike reached for her, his hands closing around her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh.
The sensation of his touch caused an immediate reaction, one she didn’t understand, couldn’t make sense of. Her skin felt as though it were shrinking, physically trying to draw away from his touch as shards of brittle, sharp distaste filled her brain.
A shocked, hoarse cry came from her lips as she tried to jerk away from him, staring at where his fingers wrapped around her flesh just below the elbow.
A vicious snarl sounded behind her, and before Natalie could process the lightning-fast events, Mike’s neck was gripped in Saban’s powerful hand, his fingers loosened from her arm, and he was tossed, physically, through the air into the yard beyond the porch.
She stared down at her arm, then back to Mike before she rubbed at her skin slowly, trying to wipe away the feel of his touch. It was still there, the sensation of his skin on her, causing a sickness to roil in her stomach as nausea rose in her throat. She felt invaded, molested, as though Mike had touched an intimate part of her flesh rather than merely gripping her arm. The sensations had bordered on agony, unlike the mere feeling of distasteful discomfort when the Breed doctor had examined her.
Shock slowed reality, had her head lifting, watching as Saban jumped to the ground, lifted Mike from the lawn, and nose to nose snarled furiously, flashing the sharp canines in his mouth as his fist struck with lightning quickness into the soft padding of Mike’s belly.
The sheriff tried to tear them apart, tried to force himself between the two men, but Saban was too enraged.
She heard her own voice screaming his name as she jumped to the ground, rushing to the fray and gripping Saban’s arm as it came back for another round.
Mike’s eyes had rolled back in his head, his body slumped as Saban stilled, his head whipping around to Natalie, his eyes slicing to where she touched him.
“Let him go.” Thin and reedy, she had to force her voice to work, force herself to think. “Let him go now.”
She stared back at him, shaking, shuddering with the force of the knowledge tearing through her now. Whatever he had done to her had more far-reaching effects than an arousal gone haywire.
“Let him go.” She lifted her other hand, wrapped it around the wrist where his fingers were still clenching Mike’s neck. “Please.”
Mike was gasping for air as Saban opened his fingers slowly and allowed him to collapse to the ground where the sheriff jerked him back up and hustled him back to the cruiser.
Natalie stood beneath the hot summer sun, distantly aware of the neighbors that had come from their houses to watch in horrified curiosity.
“What’s happening?” she whispered. She could still feel Mike’s touch echoing painfully through her arm. She couldn’t wipe it away, couldn’t stop the churning in her stomach.
Saban grimaced, turned to her, then wrapped one hand around the nape of her neck and lowered his lips to hers. His tongue speared past her lips, tangled with hers, and in a second she was devouring the taste of him, suddenly, horrifyingly craving the dark taste of lust that spilled from his tongue.
It was a brief moment in time, no more than a touch, a taste, but when his head lifted, Natalie felt as though the energy had been sapped from her body, but so had the pain. She laid her forehead against his chest, her breath hitching in fear.
“What have you done to me?” she whispered. “Oh God, Saban, what have you done to me?”
• • •
Mike watched the scene in the front yard. That animal touching her, kissing her, his arms going around her as he pulled back and Natalie rested her head against his chest.
She leaned into the Breed, let him support her, let him hold her through whatever pain she was feeling, and he hated it. He wanted to rip the bastard apart, cell by cell. The son of a bitch had what should have belonged to Mike. He was stealing it, had been stealing her away from him for God only knew how long.
This was the reason she had been so all-fired determined to divorce him, to walk away from him. This was the reason she never depended on him, never leaned on him and let him guide her, because of this Breed, this animal.
He wiped his hand over his face, feeling the sweat building there, running down his temples. The soldier that had come to his apartment just after she left town was right. Mike hadn’t believed it, couldn’t believe that those bastard animals could have the control over a woman that he was told they had.
But he was seeing it with his own eyes. He had seen her, unable to bear his touch, her face going white, the shock of it darkening her eyes a second before the Breed had torn him away from her.
And now the animal was holding her rather than the husband she should have never divorced.
God. What was he going to do? He had to get her away from that bastard. He had to get her to the doctor the soldier had waiting so they could fix this.
This was why she divorced him. He shook his head in amazement. He hadn’t understood it at the time. He was her husband, he had the right to have her home when he wanted her home, the right to protect her and look over her. To keep her safe from bastards like that animal Broussard.
He let his eyes lock with the glowing green of the Breed’s and swallowed tightly at the promise of retribution there. Broussard would kill him if he had the chance. Mike would have to make certain he didn’t get the chance. There would be a way; he would find a way to draw Natalie away from this, to save her, to get her to that doctor so he could cure her. So he could wipe the effects of whatever had been done to her out of her mind.
He knew her. The Breed didn’t. He could do it.
“Man, you have a fucking death wish.” The sheriff got into the driver’s seat and glanced back at him pityingly.
Pityingly, as though Mike didn’t have a chance. He did have a chance. He just had to get Natalie where they could help her, that was all.
“She’s my wife,” he snapped.
“Ex-wife,” the sheriff reminded him with a sneer.
Mike glared back at him.
Shaking his head, the other man turned and started the vehicle before pulling out of the drive.
Mike continued to watch Natalie. She was arguing with the Breed now. He knew that look on her face, had become intimately acquainted with it in the year before their divorce.
He had wondered what had happened
to his wife. The woman who loved him, who obeyed him. This was what had happened to her. This Breed. And Mike was going to have to fix it.
• CHAPTER 7 •
He should feel guilty, he should have a conscience, shouldn’t he? He should feel pain: the same pain she felt that she was bound so irrevocably to him that even the touch of another male brought her distress.
But he wasn’t. And the true problem lay in the fact that he couldn’t hide that he wasn’t. That was why he had to rush to keep up with her as she stormed into the house, nearly slamming the door in his face before he could get past it.
“You know, cher, I’m a man,” he stated as she whirled to confront him in the living room. “I am a Breed male. Possessive, confrontational, and territorial. You can’t ask me to be any different.”
“I could ask you not to drag me into it. I could ask you not to show your ass on the front lawn simply to stake your pitiful claim, and I could ask you not to commit murder while the sheriff is watching. For God’s sake, some things should just be private.” Her voice rose as she spoke, anger spiking each word, clipping them until they rolled off her lips like a curse on the head of the unwary.
“He touched you.” That was enough for Saban. “He caused you pain.”
“Oh yeah, and he knew that gripping my arm was going to cause that freaky hormone you infected me with to send knives slashing into my flesh.” Disgust colored her words.
Her molasses eyes were hot, boiling with temper, her face flushed with her fury, and he swore even her hair seemed to have picked up fiery highlights. She was like a dark flame burning before him, searing him with the wonder of her. That and pure male ownership.
She was his woman. His. The one thing nature had created solely for him. If she thought for even one second he would allow another to touch her, to claim her, then she had best think again.
“I should have warned you of that perhaps,” he grunted, though he was certain that warning her of it would have done no good. “I would have thought Ely had taken care of that.”
“Expect discomfort.” She pushed the words past her lips like some filthy curse. “Expect a few side effects. Tell me, Saban, what the hell else should I expect now that you’ve actually fucked me?”
