A JAGUAR’S KISS

Breeds -15

Lora Leigh

For Natalie.

For your friendship, your willingness to listen, and your patience in the face of so many different versions of one story.

But most of all, just for being you.

FOREWORD

They were created, they weren’t born.

They were trained, they weren’t raised.

They were taught to kill, and now they’ll use their training to ensure their freedom.

They are Breeds. Genetically altered with the DNA of the predators of the earth. The wolf, the lion, the cougar, the Bengal: the killers of the world. They were to be the army of a fanatical society intent on building their own personal army.

Until the world learned of their existence. Until the Council lost control of their creations, and their creations began to change the world.

Now, they’re loose. Banding together, creating their own communities, their own society, and their own safety, and fighting to hide the one secret that could see them destroyed.

The secret of mating heat. The chemical, the biological, the emotional reaction of one Breed to the man or woman meant to be his or hers forever. A reaction that binds physically. A reaction that alters more than just the physical responses or heightens the sensuality. Nature has turned mating heat into the Breeds’ Achilles’ heel. It’s their strength, and yet their weakness. And Mother Nature isn’t finished playing yet.

Man has attempted to mess with her creations. Now, she’s going to show man exactly how she can refine them.

Killers will become lovers, lawyers, statesmen, and heroes. And through it all, they will cleave to one mate, one heart, and create a dynasty.

PROLOGUE

Natalie Ricci stared at the tall, imposing figure standing on her doorstep and reminded herself to breathe. A woman who fainted over a dark, arrogant, exceptionally handsome man deserved whatever happened to her while she was out cold. And anything this man did, she would want to be awake for.

“Can I help you?” She brushed back the dark bangs that grew over her forehead and tried to restrain the nervous jitter playing patty-cake in her stomach. Tall, dark, and handsome was good, real good, but that gleam of powerful male assurance in his eyes warned her this man would be impossible for any woman to ever comfortably control.

“Natalie Ricci?” Even his voice was worth shivering for.

There was no discernible accent, and she was fairly good at identifying accents. His voice was well modulated, perfectly pitched, and stroked over her senses like black velvet.

Black hair, thick and lustrous, was pulled back from his face and bound at the back of his neck. His fallen angel features were composed, almost emotionless, but those eyes, eyes like emeralds, gleamed with intelligence, sensuality, and a spark of primal intensity from within his sun-bronzed face.

There were shadows in those eyes as well. A latent, hidden pain that a part of her, the feminine, caring side of her that she wished she could ignore, longed to ease.

Dark jeans cinched low on leanly muscled hips while a dark blue chambray shirt stretched across his powerful chest. And he wore boots. Well-worn, scarred, and totally masculine boots.

“I’m Natalie Ricci.” She had to clear her throat to answer him, had to tighten her stomach to stop the little flutters of longing that attacked her womb.

Whew, if ever there was a man to tempt her hard-won self-control, she was betting it would be this one. What he was doing on her doorstep she had no idea, but whatever he was selling, she was certain she was ready to buy. Empty bank account notwithstanding.

It was really too bad, too. She had sworn off men. Until she could figure out how to play the game, how to protect her heart and her independence, then men were out.

As luscious and sexual as this man looked, she had a feeling he would be just as controlling, domineering, and arrogant as any man born. Probably worse than most. Definitely more than her ex-husband, whose control tendencies had managed to destroy their marriage.

“Can I help you?” she asked again, wishing she had worn something other than old faded jeans and her brother’s too-big, paint-spattered T-shirt.

He inhaled slowly, as though he had caught the scent of something that intrigued him.

“Ms. Ricci, I’m Saban Broussard, liaison to the Breed Ruling Cabinet. I’m here to discuss your application to teach in Buffalo Gap.” He pulled the slender identification wallet from the back of his jeans and flipped it open. The Breed law enforcement badge, his photo, and pertinent information were all displayed.

She froze in shock. Well, shock and the sound of his name, or the way he said his name, Saban, a soft little sigh of the S, the subtle a, and the bahn at the end. But what caught her, what had her senses standing to complete attention, was the vaguest hint of a Cajun accent in his voice after her certainty that there had been no accent.

If he was Cajun, she was just lost. If there was any sexier accent created, then she couldn’t think of it at the moment.

It took several breathless seconds for her senses to stop reeling, to focus on who he was and where he was from. When she did, her eyes widened in shock.

“Did I get the position?”

She wanted that position with a desperation that had left her shaking when she filled out the application more than a year ago. She had known, had been warned that there were thousands upon thousands of applicants on the waiting list for a teaching position in the small town just outside the Breed headquarters of Sanctuary.

She had taken the chance, filled out the application, and sent it in, praying. She had prayed for months, and when nothing came of it, she settled back into her own routine and tried to make other plans.

“May we speak inside, Miss Ricci?” Saban Broussard turned his head, stared along the tree-lined street, and lifted his brow at the residents that had managed to find one reason or another to come to their porches or to work on their lawns. She should just charge admission and have done with it.

She bit her lip, knowing the questions that would be coming before the hour was out.

“Come in.” She stood back, holding the door open and allowing him to step inside the house.

He brought the scent of the mountains with him, wild and un-tamed, dark and dangerous.

“Thank you.” He nodded as she led the way into the small kitchen off her living room.

The living room was almost empty, filled with taped boxes rather than furniture as Natalie packed her belongings.

“Have you already taken another position?” He stopped in the center of her kitchen and stared at the boxes there.

She shook her head. “I haven’t. Simply moving to an apartment closer to the school where I currently work. My ex-husband gets the house and all its glorious payments. I get an apartment.” And hopefully a little peace.

He stared around the kitchen again, his jaw bunching before turning back to her.

“I was sent to inform you of the opening of the position and to escort you to a meeting with our pride leader, Callan Lyons,” he said then. “I’ll then stay to help you get things in order before escorting you to Buffalo Gap.”

She really needed to sit down, but she had given the table and chairs to a distant cousin that had recently made the monumental mistake of getting married.

“How did I get the position?” She shook her head in confusion. “I was told there were thousands of applicants just waiting for one to open.”

His lips quirked. “I believe the pride leader, Callan Lyons, stated it was close to forty thousand applicants. You hit the short list on the first stage of the selection process and managed to gain the position by what I’m told was a very long, tedious, and exacting investigation into the backgrounds of those on that list. Congratulations, Miss Ricci. You’ll be the first teacher hired in the county in close to seven years.”

Natalie blinked back at him. He stood confidently, his arms held loosely at his sides, his eyes seeming to take in everything as she stared back at him, certain she must look like a complete lunatic.

“How soon can you be ready to leave?” He stared around the house once again. “Callan Lyons of the Breed Ruling Cabinet will be flying into the capital, Columbia, tomorrow evening, if this is convenient for you, to outline the position and discuss the specifics of the job, though we do need to arrive ahead of him to complete other matters and sign the endless forms, contracts, and so forth that will go with the job.”

Natalie shook her head in confusion. “I thought the Breeds didn’t interfere in Buffalo Gap? I heard that somewhere. Wouldn’t I be meeting with someone from the Board of Education instead?”

“Not if you’re being hired to teach Breed children. Those children are very well protected, and any hiring done in that regard comes under the sanction of the Breed Ruling Cabinet. Until that decision was made, the Board of Education has allowed the Breed Ruling Cabinet to select any additional staff required.” He tilted his head and watched as she gripped the small bar she stood beside to keep herself from falling. “You are still interested in the job, are you not?”

She nodded slowly. “Oh yeah,” she assured him. “I would say that’s an understatement.”

“Very well. I was hoping we could make arrangements to leave for Columbia this afternoon, if possible?” He stared around the kitchen, his gaze touching on the boxes. “Sanctuary’s heli-jet is waiting on the private airfield outside of town to escort us there. Is that agreeable—”

His words broke off at the sound of the front door slamming open, hitting the wall in the small foyer she had led Saban Broussard through and echoing through the near-empty house.

Before she could do more than gasp, she was pushed behind the bar and within a blink Saban was across the room, weapon drawn from somewhere as he slammed her ex-husband’s body against the wall and jammed the muzzle of his weapon beneath Mike Claxton’s jaw.

Mike’s pale blue eyes widened as his face blanched in terror. Saban’s lips were drawn back in a snarl, lethal canines flashing as a growl rumbled in his throat.

“Call him off,” Mike gasped, his gaze latching on Natalie in desperation as he wheezed out the plea.

“For God’s sake, let him go!” Natalie stalked across the room, glaring at the Breed. Obviously a Breed. Only they had the unique, terrifying, wickedly powerful canines such as this one had. “He’s not dangerous, he’s just stupid. Dammit, do I have to be plagued with stupid males?”

Saban drew his weapon back, but only reluctantly. He wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to rip the bastard’s neck out and watch him bleed, taste his blood, feel the terror that filled him as he knew death was coming.

Because his scent was in this house and to a small extent, lingered around the woman. The reaction was an anomaly. It wasn’t a part of who or what he was. He cared for no woman, and he certainly didn’t care which male touched them. Until this one, this Natalie Ricci, whose brother called her Gnat. Whose mother laughed at her childhood antics with loving amusement.

Until this woman, Saban had never known a time when he would have killed a man over his possession of a female. But this one, he knew he would kill man or beast over her.

The possessiveness had grown over the past weeks, during his surveillance of her. He had seen her on her back porch shedding tears after this bastard had stalked from her home. He had heard the screaming, stood outside her back door and prayed for the control to restrain the violence that rose inside him.

Brown-haired, weak, full of his own self-importance, Mike Claxton had no business near Saban’s Natalie, no reason to breathe her air, to be here in this house, as she attempted to leave the home he had stolen from her in the divorce.

“Let him go before I kick you both out of the house and end up costing myself a job I wanted. You won’t like me much if I have to do that.”

Saban glanced at her from the corner of his eye, aware of the weak-minded fool gasping for air, his hands clawing at Saban’s wrists as he was held securely to the wall.

The feminine ire, frustration, and promise of retribution filled her gaze and did something council soldiers, scientists, or rabid Coyote assassins couldn’t do. It caused a small core of wariness inside him to awaken.

If he was going to charm her, tempt her, and steal her heart, then starting out with her upset with him, possibly frightened of him, may not be the wisest course of action.

She looked furious and fierce, eyes the color of molasses, dark and gold swirling together as she glared up at him, demanding the release of a man whose scent of dishonor was cloying and offensive.

He released Claxton slowly, uncertain why he did so when he wanted nothing more than to crush him, and reluctantly holstered his weapon.

“Consider it your lucky day,” he told the other man as he collapsed against the wall, fighting for breath. “I’d leave if I were you. I’m not known for mercy or for my patience where fools are concerned. The next time you enter her home, I would suggest knocking.”

“You know,” Natalie commented, her tone stern and perhaps just the slightest bit concerned, “I have a feeling you and I are not going to get along if this is your normal attitude.”

Saban smiled. A flash of canines, the expression of innocence he had seen other males adopt around their mates when they had managed to test their women’s patience.

“We’ll get along fine, cher,” he assured her before turning, locking his gaze with Claxton’s, and praying the other man read the silent warning there. “This one, though, he may have cause to worry.”

“Natalie, what is this?” Claxton massaged his throat as he glared at Saban.

There was fear in his eyes though, and Saban let himself be content with that for now. Maybe later, he told himself, perhaps once he’d secured his place in Natalie’s heart, then he would take care of this bastard.

“This is Saban Broussard,” she bit out as she moved away from both of them and went to the counter across the room to pour herself a cup of coffee.

He could feel the anger pouring from her now, the uncertainty, and he flashed Claxton another hard look before letting a hard growl rumble in his throat. Because of this son of a bitch, she was mad at him, and if Claxton weren’t very careful, Saban would take it out of his hide.

He was satisfied to see Claxton pale further, but when his gaze slid to Natalie, he nearly paled himself.

What an interesting reaction. Saban felt the clench of his chest, the awakening knowledge that he cared if this woman were upset with him. And she was very upset with him.

“He’s a Breed enforcer, if you haven’t guessed,” she snorted, a cute little feminine sound that he found he liked. “He’s here to escort me to meet with members of the Breed Ruling Cabinet. I’ve accepted a job with them.”

Ah. Saban’s gaze slashed to Claxton as fury, rich and satisfying, poured from the man. Perhaps this fool would give him the reason he needed to slash his throat after all.

Evidently he was doomed to disappointment. Claxton narrowed his eyes, his lips thinned, and his weak hands tugged at the polo shirt he wore, but he made no move toward Natalie.

She moved to the end of the bar with her coffee, leaned her hip against it, and regarded both of them rather curiously as she sipped from her cup.

Was she weighing the differences between them or seeing similarities? There were no similarities, Saban decided. Better she see that now rather than later.

“We need to be going,” he told her. “I arrived in time for you to contact Sanctuary or your local law enforcement for confirmation of my assignment and the arrangements that were made to transport you to Columbia. We’re running out of time.”

She sipped at the coffee again, her gaze going between the two of them.

“I can’t just run out of the house with you, Mr. Broussard. Even Callan Lyons should know that. I do intend to contact Sanctuary as well as the police department, my parents, and the principal of the school that I’ve been teaching in. I’ll then shower, dress, pack, and get ready to go. That won’t be accomplished in a matter of minutes.”

His body tightened; lust slammed through every bone and muscle that comprised it as he stared at the defiance in her eyes. When was the last time anyone had dared to defy him, to make him wait?

“I’m not leaving you here alone with him,” Claxton snapped, but there was very little heat in his voice.

Saban slid his gaze to the other man. “Bet me,” he murmured, letting his gaze meet the pale blue orbs and allowing the lust that fired his body to gleam in them.

Better this bastard knew up front that Saban intended to claim what the other man had so carelessly thrown away. Some men were just smarter than others, it appeared.

“Bet me.” Natalie’s cup struck the counter, jerking Saban’s gaze back to her.

She didn’t bother to shoot Claxton that gleam of anger burning in her eyes, but Saban felt it clear to the soles of his feet. It made him horny. Made him want to show her exactly who she would belong to, who would control all that fire and passion inside her.

But that wasn’t going to happen if he let her remain angry with him.

What had those dating books said? The ones little Cassie Sinclair had heaped on him the year before? Charm, soft words, praise, and the ability to compromise would show a woman his innate ability to please her on both the emotional as well as the mental level.

He could do this.

“Cher.” He let the soft breath of his accent free and tried to keep from strutting as her eyes widened, her face flushed, and a hint of aroused heat flowed from her body. “I apologize for this. He came in threatening.” Explaining himself nearly had him clenching his teeth in irritation. “I thought he had come to harm you or perhaps even myself. I am a Breed.” He shrugged, knowing it was self-explanatory; Breeds were attacked on a daily basis. “My only thought was to protect you and myself as well.” He smiled at Claxton. All teeth, sharp canines and the male promise of future payment. “Pardon my reaction to your entrance, but perhaps you should have knocked first.”

Silence filled the kitchen for long moments.

“And here I thought my day couldn’t get worse,” he heard Natalie mutter then. “I was so wrong.”

ONE

Years before, Natalie could have sworn there was no one harder to get along with than her brother. Ill-tempered, overbearing, and certain of his place in their mother’s affection, he had tortured her. Tormented her. Pulled her hair, hid her dolls, flushed her goldfish, and generally kept her in a state of distress.

She was of a mind to forgive him now, because she had found someone more overbearing, more ill-tempered, and much, much harder to get along with.

So would someone tell her, please, why she could feel herself being charmed rather than irritated? Why it was becoming so damned hard to maintain her distance and not smirk at his antics?

She was pissed, she told herself. It was all a game—she could feel it, sense it—but his efforts to get her attention were beginning to draw much more than her interest. She was beginning to like him. No, not just like him, and that was the scary part.

She’d been in Buffalo Gap less than two months, and she had tried, she knew she had tried not to be charmed with the arrogant, conceited, smirking Jaguar Breed that Jonas Wyatt had saddled her with, but God help her, it was getting harder by the day.

She should be angry with him, because to tell the truth, there were times she just didn’t know what to do with him.

Such as the time he had followed her to the doctor. Had he stayed in the waiting room? Of course not; he had tried to breach the examination rooms. Had become so threatening that Natalie had been forced to ask the nurse to allow him to stand in the hallway.

Not so much because of his protective determination to be there, but because of his eyes. She almost sighed at the thought of that. The shadows in his eyes had been bleak, and Natalie knew if she had forced him outside the doctor’s office entirely, then the animal DNA that had somehow decided she needed protecting would have pushed them both over a line they were delicately balancing on, even then.

It was distracting though, even a little embarassing. Even her ex-husband hadn’t attempted anything so forward as to try to horn in on her examinations.

That had just been the first week. The first week. It had been one frustrating episode after another.

She understood that they were still acclimating themselves to the world. She really did. It had to be hard, even now, ten years after the Breeds were first discovered and adopted by America and all its enemies and allies. They were the unknown element in the world now, a different species, kind of like aliens. There was speculation, rumor, prejudice, and pure human spite. It couldn’t be easy functioning normally. But this…this was impossible.

She needed groceries, but after less than ten minutes in the store, she was ready to leave her cart sitting, the Breed standing, and forget about eating. He had her hormones racing in arousal and her frustration level rising as she fought to ignore his surprisingly endearing antics.

“I believe you need more meat,” he whispered from behind her, his voice suggestive as he leaned toward the cooler and picked up the thick, rolled roast from inside. “This one looks promising.” He held the meat up for display, and she felt her face flame as the butcher smirked at her from behind the cold display case.

Natalie jerked the roast out of his hand, thumped it in her cart, and kept going.

“Boo, surely you aren’t gonna continue in this silent campaign,” he sighed behind her. She could hear the amusement, wicked and insidious, vibrating in his voice as thick as his accent. His Cajun accent.

She really wished he wouldn’t call her boo or cher or chay or petite bébé. He could call her by her name, just once, couldn’t he? So her heart wouldn’t thump so hard in excitement.

Except, the few times he had, the syllables had rolled off his tongue like a caress and sent a shiver spiking through her body. And she liked that too damned much.

She continued through the aisle, picked up milk and eggs, a package of processed cheese, then watched as he picked up a package of Monterey Jack. She managed to glare over her shoulder at him.

“I’ve never tried it,” he said softly, suggestively. “But I’ve heard it’s quite good.”

Saban Broussard was wickedly handsome. Too damned handsome for his own good with his long, black hair, gleaming emerald green eyes, and patrician features. He looked wild and wicked, and he was irritating, frustrating, and driving her insane.

He refused to give her a moment’s peace, and Jonas Wyatt, the director of Breed Affairs, flat-out refused to give her a different bodyguard.

Not that she had really tried too hard for that one. She restrained her sigh of self-disgust. She kept putting off forcing the issue, afraid she would miss him if he was gone. Even if he was driving her crazy, there was something about him that drew her. And she hated that part the worst. She could have handled the rest if she could be assured that she could handle the forceful personality she knew he was holding back.

As the first teacher for Breeds in a public school, Jonas said he considered her a resource and a liability, so he gave her the best to protect her.

A Jaguar Breed. A Cajun who had been buried in the swamps for most of his life, a Jaguar that he had promised was as antisocial as any Breed living. She wouldn’t even know he was around.

Fat chance.

“You shouldn’t eat that.” He took the TV dinner that she had picked up out of her hand and replaced it in the freezer. “Fresh meat is much better for you.”

Her teeth clenched tighter as a young mother giggled across the aisle, and her dimple-cheeked baby waved shyly at Saban. Evidently, he was social. The young mother blushed prettily, and the little girl’s smile widened as Natalie jerked the dinner back from the shelf and plopped it in her cart before moving on.

This wasn’t going to work. She was going to end up jumping his bones, and if she did that, she might as well shoot herself. Why wait for those sneaky Council soldiers she was told still lurked in the shadows? She’d take care of it herself.

“That boxed food will give you a heart attack before you’re forty,” he murmured as he followed her. “Are you always so stubborn?”

She clamped her lips tight and moved on.

All she wanted to do was buy some groceries, go about her business in relaxed comfort, and get ready for the coming school year. She didn’t want to deal with a Breed who didn’t have an antisocial bone in his tall, hard, handsome, too-damned-arrogant body and made her heart race, her lips tingle for a kiss, and her thighs weaken in need.

“You are going to hurt my feelings, boo, if you keep refusing to talk to me.” He sighed as she moved into the checkout lane and began lifting her purchases to the counter.

He moved to her side and began taking items out of her hand and placing them himself with an amused quirk to his lips and laughter gleaming in his dark green eyes.

That laughter was almost impossible to ignore. Bodyguards were to be seen, not heard, she told herself.

Who could have known that the normally taciturn, sober, somber, quiet Breeds could have a complete anomaly in their midst? This breed was a maniac. He drove a twenty-year-old four-by-four black pickup that sounded like a monster growling. She couldn’t even step in it by herself for God’s sake.

He flirted. He cooked food so spicy hot the fire department should be put on call, and he watched cartoons. He didn’t watch action movies or the news, hated the world events channel, and flat-out refused to watch any of the documentaries concerning the Breed creation.

If he wasn’t watching cartoons, he was watching history or baseball. He watched baseball with such complete absorption that she wondered if he would notice a Council soldier walking in front of him.

He was taking up more room than her ex-husband had and invading her life more fully. It was going to have to stop before she lost her heart.

As her cart emptied, she moved forward, paid for her purchases, and smiled at the young man bagging and loading them back into the cart. That smile froze on her face as she heard a growl behind her. The lanky young man loading the bags paled, fumbled the bag that held her eggs, and swallowed tightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Yeah, that was something else he did. He growled. He growled at the delivery guy, he growled at the mailman, and he actually snarled when one of the other Breed males had stopped to talk to her while she was in a department store in town.

Natalie wiped her hand over her face and took her cart after paying for her purchases. She stalked outside to her car, fury pumping through her system.

This was supposed to have been an independent move. Away from friends and family and her ex-husband. Away from preconceived notions of who or what she should be so she could just be herself for a change. Instead, she was babysitting a snarly Breed male who made zero sense to her and threatened to invade her heart as well as her life.

“Here, boo, let me.” He took the keys from her hand as she pulled them from her purse and moved to open the back of the compact SUV the Breed Ruling Cabinet had given her to drive while employed to teach their children.

She was the first teacher to be allowed to teach Breed children who wasn’t a Breed. This was also the first year a Breed child had been allowed in a public school. And she was going to have a nervous breakdown before the news of it ever hit the world.

“I’ll follow you back to the house. I have one of those barbecue grills that I saw on television the other day. I could fix steaks tonight.” He gave her a mocking yet hopeful look.

“You didn’t buy steaks.” She broke her silence, it was just too much. A Breed who was going to grill steaks, and he hadn’t even bought any.

He smiled, satisfaction curving lips that were too damned eatable for her peace of mind. She wanted to take a bite out of them. Taste them. Devour them. And there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to allow that to happen.

“They’re in the cooler in the truck.” He nodded to the black behemoth parked beside her little dove gray front-wheel-drive SUV. It gleamed, black and sinister. She almost smiled, almost softened.

Natalie shook her head, jerked her keys from his hand, and stalked to the driver’s door of her own vehicle. She hit the lock release on the key and pulled the door open before stepping into the sweltering confines of the interior.

She didn’t check to see where he was; checking meant she cared, and she wasn’t giving in to it. She drove back to the little two-story house just outside town, pulled into the driveway, and stormed to the house. She didn’t bother with the groceries; he was just going to beat her to them anyway.

Instead, she left the door open and entered the house, aware of the disapproval that followed her inside. She wasn’t supposed to enter the house without him; she wasn’t supposed to breathe without him testing the air first; and by God, she was not supposed to melt inside because he did it with such subtle moves that she felt cuddled rather than smothered.

“Chay, you and I are gonna have a talk.” Just as she suspected, he stomped into the house, six feet four inches of irritated male, decked out in denim and boots as he plopped the groceries on the table.

Natalie stared at the bags and wondered if her eggs had a hope in hell of having survived intact. Anger surged inside her, but it was at herself more than at him. Anger that she was letting another man close, risking her heart and her independence on a man she knew would be impossible to get out of her system.

“You know,” she finally said carefully, “I do have a name.”

She lifted her gaze to him, adopting her most severe expression. The one she reserved for the most difficult of children. And it didn’t even seem to faze him.

He glowered down at her, his head bent, his shoulder-length, straight black hair falling around the face of a fallen angel. Green eyes glittered with sparks of irritation, and his expression was too damned sensual to be scary in anything but the most primal of ways.

Oh yeah, Saban Broussard terrified her. She was scared to death she was going to lose control and jump his bones one night when he was parading half-naked around her house. Wouldn’t that look good on her résumé?

“I know your name, boo,” he growled. “As well I know who your bodyguard is. Me. You do not run from me like a scared little rabbit scurrying from sight. I won’t have it.”

“You won’t have it?” She widened her eyes in amazement. “Excuse me, Mr. Broussard, but you do not have a leash around my neck or ownership papers with my name on them. I do as I please.”

“You do not.” His head lowered, his nose nearly touching her, as anger sparked inside her like wildfire flaring out of control.

Her hands pushed out, flattening against his chest and trying to push him back. Trying, because he wasn’t budging an inch.

“You’re fired,” she snapped.

“You can’t fire me; you can only quit.” He smirked. “Until that time you will obey the precautions made for your safety, or you will deal with me.”

“I’m just real scared of you!” Her hands went to her hips, her lips flattened. “What are you going to do, growl me to death? Make me watch baseball until my eyes fall out of my head? Oh no, wait, you’re going to take all my TV dinners.” Mock fear rounded her eyes. “Oh, Saban, I’m so scared. Please don’t.”

He growled. It wasn’t a hard vibration of sound, rather a subtle rumble that had the more cautious part of her brain urging wariness. And she might have paid attention if she weren’t so damned mad.

“You are in my way.” She lifted herself until her nose touched his. “Get out of it.”

His expression changed then, shifted. His eyes narrowed, and the savage, remorseless determination she’d heard all Breeds possessed flashed in his eyes.

She should have run then and there. She should have turned tail and run as fast as those rabbits he’d mentioned earlier.

The minute his hands latched on her upper arms, the second she realized his intention and his head lowered, she should have slammed her knee into his groin and had done with it.

If she’d had time.

Between one second and the next his lips covered hers, his tongue pushed between her lips as they parted in surprise, and oh hell in a handbasket, she was lost.

Those eatable, kissable lips were devouring hers. His tongue stroked inside her mouth as the taste of heated spice filled her senses.

His kiss had a taste. Not the normal tastes a kiss had, but the taste of a wild promise, a desert afternoon, heated and filled with mystery and hunger.

Natalie found herself melting against him. She shivered. That hard, luscious body braced her weight as his hands cupped her rear and lifted her closer. His head slanted, the kiss grew deeper, a hard growl rasping his throat as she let her lips surround his probing tongue, and she sought more of his taste.

It was there, each time she caressed the tongue twining with hers, subtle, urging her to consume more, to hold him closer, to devour this kiss.

And it terrified her. She felt her independence, hard-won and imperative, fighting beneath the claiming she could feel coming, screaming out in warning until she jerked back, struggled, stumbled from his grip as she stared back at him, panting from the need suddenly tearing through her.

She lifted her hand, touched his lips. Lips that mesmerized her, left her aching, a miracle of pleasure, just as she had known they would be.

“You’re mine.” There was no sexy teasing in his voice, no flirty seductiveness. His dark eyes glittered with predatory awareness and with triumph.

Her hand dropped away from him.

“You’re insane,” she gasped.

“Mine.”

TWO

Saban watched as Natalie’s eyes grew wider, a hint of fear flashing in the molasses depths, mixing with the anger and the arousal.

He knew what he had done. Knew he had spilled the potent mating hormone to her system in that kiss, and he knew he should feel guilty. He should feel remorse pounding through his head rather than satisfaction.

“You feel it now, don’t you, Natalie.” He drew her name out, tasted it on his tongue and relished the sound of it.

He had kept himself from using it, held it back, knowing he couldn’t say it without the breath of ownership in his tone, as it was now.

And she heard it, as he had always known she would.

“I feel your insanity.” She moved quickly away from him, wariness tightening her body.

Saban watched her, letting his gaze track each movement as he inhaled the scent of her, tasted her against his tongue. He could still taste her; beneath the taste of the mating hormone was the taste of her passion, of the needs she kept tightly bottled inside her and the battle she waged to hold it all in.

His Natalie, as intelligent as she was, as softly rounded and sensual as the feminine core of her was, was disillusioned, hurt, all because of one weak-minded, inept man that hadn’t the good sense to see the gift God had given him.

And now he faced that woman, knowing he had committed the ultimate crime in her eyes once she learned what that kiss actually meant. He had taken her choice from her. He had begun something which tied her irrevocably to him and thereby took away the control she so highly revered.

“I’m not insane,” he finally sighed. “At least no longer.” He swiped his hands through his loose hair and stared around the kitchen.

Damn, he should have known better than to listen to Cassie and her lectures on women who did not possess Breed DNA. He had taken advice from an eighteen-year-old, had seriously considered every word she had said, and now he’d pay for it.

“What do you mean? No longer?” Her eyes were narrowed, and her body was burning.

The sweet, spicy scent of her desire wrapped around his senses and had him clenching his teeth at the need to taste it, to taste her.

“What I mean doesn’t matter now.” Saban rubbed at the back of his neck before lowering his hand and staring back at her.

She had the width of the kitchen between them, the scent of her coffee mixed with the soft fragrance of the apple pie she had baked yesterday morning and the scent of the woman herself. It was as powerful an aphrodisiac as the mating hormone.

She watched him closely, perhaps too closely. He could see her mind working, see her sorting out the odd heat that came from his kiss, the taste of the hormone in her mouth and her need for more. And he watched as she began to suspect the truth.

His chest actually ached, and regret shimmered in his soul as his Natalie swallowed tightly, and her eyes darkened.

“The tabloids aren’t all bullshit, are they?” she whispered. “There is some kind of virus that you spread with a kiss.”

Saban snorted at the simplicity of the statement.

“The tabloids are the ones who are insane.” He shifted his shoulders, uncharacteristically nervous in the face of this explanation. “It’s called mating heat,” he finally said softly, wishing he was holding her, that he had just taken her, that he had bound her to him more fully before he had to explain this. “There’s no explanation for it, and so far, it seems it happens only once. Only one woman was meant to be my mate, and that woman is you.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts, her lips pouting with instant denial, though she only said, simply, “Go on.”

Go on. Hell, he was no good at this.

“Simply put, you are my mate. The mating hormone ensures that you won’t deny me or my claim instantly. It’s rather like an aphrodisiac. Like an addictive aphrodisiac.”

Her lips flattened. “It’s not a sickness? A virus?”

“You will not become ill,” he snapped, more to distract her from this line of questioning than for any other reason. “Merely aroused. Very aroused.” Damn. He growled that last word, his anticipation thickening in his voice as he felt the need inside him burning hotter than before, flaming across his nerve endings.

She was his. She may as well resign herself to this now. He would give her as much explanation as he had been cleared to give, but no more.

“And if it’s not what I want?” Slow and precise, the words dripped from her lips like a death knell. He was very certain this was not what she wanted. And in ways, he couldn’t blame her, but unlike those who did not carry the Breed DNA, Saban had a very healthy respect for Nature and all her choices.

“Once the heat begins, it can’t be reversed.” It could be eased, but he didn’t have to tell her that yet. There were many things he couldn’t tell her yet.

“So anyone you kiss—”

“No! Only my mate. Only one woman, Natalie, only you.”

“I knew this was a bad idea!”

Saban almost jumped back at the sharp, furious words and the sparks that lit her molasses eyes.

“What was a bad idea?” he asked carefully.

His senses were already prime to claim her, his teeth ached to mark her, and she stood, her angry, defiant, slender hands propping on her hips as her expression became outraged.

“Letting you stay here. Listening to that insufferable, arrogant Jonas Wyatt, and allowing, for even one second, for your impossible, frustrating, completely insane ass to stay here.” Her voice rose, but it was the flush on her face, the scent of heat, both anger and arousal that whipped through the room that held him mesmerized.

She was like a flame burning with incandescent beauty; even her dark, nearly black hair became brighter, shinier.

Damn, there went his chest, clenching again, those emotions he hadn’t yet figured out rioting through his system.

“So it would appear you were right.” He inclined his head in agreement. “But I wouldn’t have left, and Jonas knew it. Now, we can deal with this.”

“Deal with this?” Her brows arched in angry mockery. “Oh Saban, we’re going to deal with this all right. Right now.”

She stomped to the phone, jerked it off its base, and her finger stabbed at the button programmed to ring in Callan Lyons’s main office.

Saban frowned. “Callan has nothing to do with this.”

The look she flashed him would have silenced a lesser man. Hell, it almost silenced him.

“Mr. Lyons.” Her voice was sugary sweet and lifted every hair on the back of Saban’s neck. He could only imagine Lyons’s expression and the frustration that would be twisting his savagely hewed features.

“Oh yes, we do have a problem,” she said politely, her smile tight. “You’re going to have a dead Breed in, oh, I’d give him twenty minutes, if someone from Sanctuary doesn’t pick him up. I do believe he’s rabid. Someone needs to save him, or I’m going to put him out of his misery.”

As she listened, the sides of her nose began to twitch, and Saban had to restrain his grimace.

“I don’t care if Coyotes are swarming Sanctuary with grenade launchers. Get some of those badass Breeds you prize so highly out here to collect him, or I’m going to kill him. And after I kill him, I’ll hang his mangy, worthless hide in my front yard to show everyone else exactly how it’s done. Twenty minutes.” She slammed the phone down.

“One of your handlers will be here to pick you up soon. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, and don’t find yourself anywhere near me after that.”

She stalked across the kitchen, her pert little nose in the air, her face set in lines of rejection, denial, and fury.

His mate was denying him. Not that he had expected anything less, but with a spirit as strong as his Natalie’s was, there was only one way to combat it.

He caught her as she attempted to brush past him, swung her around, surrounded her with his arms, and before more than a gasp could pass her lips, he had them in a kiss.

His arms tightened around her, lifted her, bore her through the doorway until he was able to find the couch and fall into it, one hand cupping the back of her head and holding her lips to his.

She wasn’t fighting it.

She was furious, enraged, but she wasn’t fighting his kiss. Her greedy lips were suckling at his tongue, and it was heaven. Her hands were in his hair, twining in it, tangling in it, and pulling him closer as a ragged female sound of hunger tore through his senses.

She was like a flame burning in his arms, blistering with her kisses, with the ragged sound of her pleasure, tightening his cock, his balls, hell, every muscle in his body with the need to possess her, to claim her so deeply that she could never deny him again.

“I hate this!” Snarling and filled with outrage, her voice stroked over him in shades of arousal and need as his lips lifted from hers.

Saban framed her face, his hands relishing the feel of her flesh as he stared into her eyes, read her inability to deny the pulsing desperation of his touch.

“I thank God for this…and for you,” he whispered, allowing his thumb to brush over her swollen lips, his tongue to taste her on his lips. “Hate me as you please, Natalie. Curse me, revile me until hell freezes over, but it changes nothing. It can change nothing. You’re mine.”

Natalie struggled beneath the statement, fighting to refute it, to find some way to counter it. But how was she supposed to fight anything when desire clawed through her system with talons of fiery lust and pulsing heat?

She had wanted him before; God knew she had. Fighting that need night after night had made her insane, snappy, frustrated. But now—now it was like some demon of lust clawed at her womb, tore at her clit, and tightened bands of wicked, agonizing heat around each.

She arched, totally involuntarily, against his hips as they pressed between her thighs, the ridge of his erection digging into the tender flesh of her pussy as the subtle flexing of his powerful thighs stroked the denim-covered ridge against her.

She could feel her juices spilling from her sex, moistening her panties and preparing her for him. Preparing her for something she knew would tie her to him forever.

That was the warning her brain had been screaming for weeks. To get away, to escape while she could still run, and to put as much distance between her and the luscious Jaguar as possible.

“You can’t do this,” she gasped as one of his hands smoothed down her neck and gripped the slender strap of her camisole top.

“I was born to do this,” he growled.

The feel of the small strap sliding over her shoulder had her lungs pumping for oxygen, her lips parting to draw more in. How was she supposed to breathe? He surrounded her, sucked all the air out of the room, and he was touching her. Undressing her.

“I have dreamed of nothing but this since the moment I laid eyes on you.” He traced the rising flesh of her breasts as they spilled over the top of her lacy bra. Her nipples hardened violently, becoming so sensitive she wondered if she could orgasm from the rasp of the lace against them.

“Saban.” She licked her lips, tasting him, needing more of him.

The hormone, as he called it, was worse than addicting. Already she could feel the need for it overtaking her senses, battling with her common sense, and topping it with little struggling.

“Ah, here, how pretty is this.” He smoothed the strap of her bra over her shoulder, then eased one cup away from a straining breast.

Her nipple was cherry red, swollen and needy. She was almost embarrassed at the state of it. A testament to how long it had been since she had been touched? Or a testament to the power of that freaky hormone he was talking about?

She needed his lips there, needed his mouth suckling her, stroking her past the point of sanity.

“Look how sweet, cher.” He touched his fingertip, strong, calloused, to the hard tip.

Natalie felt the breath rasp from her throat. Her back arched, driving her nipple into his touch as her head fell back and she let her eyes close. She just wanted this touch. Just this once. Right now.

“Please, Saban.” Was that her? Her voice? Her begging for something she knew would destroy the independence she had fought so hard for? Was she insane?

“Cher, sweet petite bébé,” he groaned. “Anything. Anything you need.”

She felt his lips first, brushing against the violently sensitive puckered flesh. Then his tongue, swiping over it, hot and wet and wringing a cry from her lips a second before she lost the ability to breathe.

His mouth surrounded the tip as the fingers of one hand caught its mate. He covered the heated flesh, burned it, licked it, sucked it into his mouth, and fed from the hunger that began to pour from inside her.

Natalie was unaware of time, place, or reality. Nothing mattered but the hunger. Nothing mattered but his touch. One hand on her other breast, the other pushing the elastic waist of her cotton pants down her hips, delving beneath them.

She knew what was coming. Natalie was no virgin to be seduced, so she knew where he was headed, and she knew the worst thing she could do was let him actually get his hand in her pants. She would be lost. Any more pleasure, and she would never tear free of him. He would try to own her, control her.

She whimpered at the thought and fought for the strength to pull free, to drag his lips from her breast, to pull free of the hand moving closer, closer to the saturated flesh beneath her panties.

It was hard to tear him away though when her hands were tangled in his hair and trying to pull him into her flesh. When her thighs were sprawled open, her hips arching, her desperate mewls urging him on.

She sounded like a cat in heat, which might be fitting, considering what he had told her, and when his fingers met the humid, blistering need spilling from her pussy, she knew she was lost.

Natalie’s hips arched, a cry tore from her throat, and rich, sweet, overwhelming lust spilled from his kiss as he took her lips once again.

“I thought she said she was going to kill him. Are you sure you didn’t get that message mixed up, Callan?”

THREE

It was a science fiction nightmare, and Natalie was caught in the middle of it. The director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs, Jonas Wyatt, and the pride leader of the Breed Ruling Cabinet hadn’t come to whisk their irritating Breed back to Sanctuary. To the contrary. They had brought the heli-jet and whisked Saban as well as her back to the estate and far belowground, where the Breed laboratories were now set up.

It was definitely a nightmare. Hours of tests, drawing blood, examinations that shouldn’t have been so uncomfortable, and questions so damned personal Natalie kept blushing.

The explanations were even worse than the examinations and the questions, though. The explanations were nearly more than her mind could comprehend.

Natalie liked to think she was a fairly intelligent person. She was always open to the paranormal; she questioned everything that confused her and tried to understand. She even believed in psychics and reincarnation for pity’s sake. But this?

A pheromonal, biological, chemically based reaction that resulted in the swelling of tiny, normally hidden glands beneath the Breed’s tongue. Those glands then filled with a hormonal aphrodisiac, addictive and potent, ensuring that those affected actually had sex.

When Natalie asked if there was a cure, Elyiana’s only answer was that they were working on it. Does it go away? They were working on it.

They were working on it. The day was over and edging into night when the doctor was finally finished with her, and she knew no more then than she did when she arrived, but she was fairly certain there was a truckload of information they weren’t giving her.

By the time the heli-jet landed in the wide side yard beside her house and she and Saban were reentering her house, she was angrier than she had been when she first called Callan Lyons.

Fat lot of help he had been. He and Wyatt both refused emphatically to change her bodyguard, and they refused to keep Saban away from her long enough for her to understand what the hell was going wrong with her own body.

And it was wrong. It had perspiration beading on her forehead, her womb clenching, and the aches at her clit and in the hidden depths of her vagina were nearly too much to bear. She felt off center, uncertain, and scared.

In her life there had been few times she had actually been frightened, but she admitted that she was definitely scared now. She was tied, bound to a man that she was certain she might not even like.

Well, she didn’t actually dislike him, she thought as she stood back voluntarily and let him open the house, let him smell the air then step inside to be certain it was safe while checking the security system wired into it.

“It’s safe, cher.” His voice was gentle, patient, as he returned to the door.

“Someone could have shot me from the road while you were checking the place out,” she informed him, her voice so brittle she nearly winced as he closed the door behind her and locked it.

“The chances were slimmer. My senses are degraded a bit tonight; I wanted to be certain you weren’t walking into an ambush before you came in. The sensors on the heli-jet would have detected weapons in the area or hidden assassins.”

She shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about the heli-jet.

“I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.” She turned away from him and headed for the stairs.

“Cold water won’t help the heat. You won’t be able to sleep through it; you won’t be able to make sense of it or to apply logic to it. But we could discuss it.”

She turned back to him, her jaw clenching as she fought the emotions rising inside her.

Damn him, as frustrating as he was, she did like him despite her reluctance to admit it. She had liked him playful, she had liked him teasing, but this part of him, the part she had sensed he was hiding, this she doubted she would like.

He stared back at her, calm, self-possessed, determined. That determination was like a silhouette over his entire body, a shadow he could never escape.

Fortunately, he wasn’t ordering her to discuss it. It was the only thing saving his life at the moment.

Natalie met Saban’s eyes. Just for a second, she had been scared to do that, afraid of the satisfaction, the triumph she would have glimpsed there. There was none. Those dark eyes were somber, brooding. And she thought, for a second, she might have glimpsed regret.

“And what would we discuss that I haven’t already learned?” She kept her voice low, though she knew the fear inside her was throbbing through it.

Breeds were amazingly perceptive. Hiding emotions from them just didn’t work.

He breathed out deeply before raking his fingers through his hair and stepping one step closer toward her.

“I endured the tests today as well,” he said.

Natalie flinched, those tests had been more than uncomfortable; they had bordered on too painful.

“The heat has advanced further inside me, the hormone building in it.” He came closer. One step. “Weeks, from the moment I first saw you, I knew what you would be to me. Each day that the heat builds inside, the harder it is to endure another’s touch, no matter male or female, until the effects of the heat begin to ease. My flesh is sensitive, my distaste at another woman’s touch nearly violent.”

Natalie jerked her gaze from his and stared over his shoulder, fighting the tightening of her throat, the tears that wanted to rise.

“Natalie,” he drew the sound of her name out, as though he were relishing each syllable. “I can cook. The steaks are in the freezer. Let me care for you this evening and answer your questions.”

One step closer, his hand reached out, touched her cheek. “Let me care for my mate, if only briefly, if only in this small way.”

“I hate what you’re doing to me. What this is doing to me,” she muttered, feeling the defenses she had been building through the day crumble. He wasn’t demanding anything, he was asking, and it wasn’t a ruse. He wasn’t pretending.

Saban grimaced, his nostrils flaring. “In this moment, I don’t blame you for hating me, boo. Perhaps, at this moment, I hate myself as well. Let me take care of you.” He held his hand out to her. “Just a little bit.”

Natalie stared at his hand, fighting herself now as much as she was fighting him. This was a side of him she hadn’t seen. There was no teasing, no flirting, no deliberate male innocence, which hadn’t gone over well with her at all.

She wondered for a moment who this man was, this Breed whose eyes were so somber, whose expression wasn’t dominating but rather filled with quiet pride and confidence.

She lifted her hand and placed it against his, feeling the roughness of his palm, the strength of his fingers as he clasped it and led her to the kitchen.

“A young Breed teenager, the daughter of a mated pair, she knew you were coming into my life,” he said as he led her to the kitchen table and held her chair out for her.

Natalie sat, uncertain now what to say.

“She’s psychic or something.” He shrugged. “Cassie Sinclair has gifts none of us have really been able to determine, but sometimes she knows things. She told me more than a year ago that you were coming into my life.” He turned from the freezer and cast her an amused, baffled smile. “I didn’t believe her. But she pushed dozens of books off on me: How to Charm Today’s Woman, Sex and the New Generation.” He shrugged before pulling the steaks from the freezer and moving to the counter. “Asinine.”

“But you read them?” Natalie pushed her hair back from her head and tried to breathe through the flash of heat that suddenly tore from her.

And he knew. His head jerked around, a frown pulling at his brows as his eyes suddenly flashed with primal awareness.

“I read them.” His voice was harder, thicker. “If you were going to arrive in my life, then I wanted to be ready.”

The heat tore through her vagina then, causing her to tighten her thighs and hold her breath against it.

Saban’s fists clenched on the counter as his body tightened.

“Saban, I need to go upstairs.”

She moved to rise from the table.

“You need me.” He kept his back to her, but he snarled the words, a declaration, an agonized certainty.

“Not like this.” She breathed out roughly, then tried to draw enough breath into her lungs to breathe through the building contraction of heat tightening in her abdomen. “I trusted you enough to allow you to stay in my home. I trusted Lyons and Wyatt enough to make certain nothing happened to me. You’ve forced me into this.”

He shook his head slowly.

“You know you did,” she whispered, tears finally thickening her voice. “You knew when you kissed me what you were doing.”

“You belong to me.” He turned then, his eyes glowing in his face, hunger and need tightening his features into savagely hewn lines. “You’ve had one day to feel what has grown inside me for weeks. One fucking day, Natalie. I’ve burned for you through the days and the nights. I’ve ached for your touch, and even that you would not give me. I flirted, I teased. I did everything those fucking books said a man should do, and nothing worked.”

Natalie stared back at him, confused, uncertain. “And you thought throwing me into this would?” she finally asked bitterly. “That forcing my compliance was the only step left? You forced this on me, Saban. How is it any different from rape?”

How was it different? His lips opened, fury pounded in his head that she would think such a thing, that she could ever believe he would force such a choice from—

Saban felt it then, the knowledge, the certainty, from her point of view, that it was exactly what he had done. He had given in to his own frustration, his anger at her defiance, his hunger, and he had unleashed it on her in a way she could never fight, one she could never escape.

He had never raped a woman in his life. The Cajun swamp rat who had raised him would have been horrified that the young man he had such pride in at his death, had done something so vile.

The sickness of it clogged his throat, tore at his conscience.

“Ely gave you the hormonal treatment, didn’t she?” he finally asked.

“That injection? Yeah, she shoved something up my veins and slapped a bottle of pills in my hand before we left. Wyatt didn’t give her much of a chance to explain them though.”

He nodded quickly. That sounded like Jonas. Jonas would do that for him, but he had done Saban no favors, no matter what he thought.

“They ease the heat.” His throat was so tight he could barely speak now. “They adjust the hormones during this phase, allow you some ease.” He grabbed the steaks and stalked to the door. “I’ll fix your dinner. Take them. Bath, shower, whatever you need.”

He slammed the door behind him and took a hard breath of fresh air, fighting to push the scent of her need and her anger from his head.

God help him, it was the same as rape.

He slapped the steaks in their protective containers on the narrow table beside the new grill before bracing his hands on the wood and staring along the forests that bordered the house.

He needed to run. He needed the mountains and the silence, he needed the peace that came with it to clear his mind, to think.

God in heaven, he hadn’t meant to do this to her. To make her feel this way. She was everything he had dreamed of for so long. Gentleness, sweetness, intelligence, and determination—and his. Something meant just for him. A gift, an affirmation that he wasn’t a freak of science but instead a product of nature and God’s mercy.

He had waited for her for so long.

Deep into the darkness of night his arms ached for her, even when another woman had lain within them. His heart had beat for her, his soul had burned for her. He hadn’t known who she was, where to find her, but he had known she was there. Known that she belonged to him.

And what had he done to this gift he had so wanted to cherish?

He had taken her will, her control, with a kiss that he still remembered with the greatest of pleasure. A kiss she had met with equal force. One she had been waiting for; he knew she had been waiting for that kiss. But it didn’t excuse it. He had known what he was doing, what would happen; she hadn’t.

“I’m sorry.” The back door opened, and the scent of her wrapped around him then.

“For what?” Rather than looking at her, he lifted the lid to the grill and ignited the flames that curled over the ceramic briquettes inside.

“It’s not the same as rape.”

Saban clenched his teeth and fought the need to fist his hands.

“You decided this for what reason?” He lowered the grill lid and watched it, as though in watching it he could make it heat and burn away the shame inside him.

“Because I already suspected the truth of it,” she finally said. “I knew it existed, and I pushed anyway because you were frustrating the hell out of me. It wasn’t rape, Saban, but neither was it right. And now we’ll both have to deal with this. But I won’t deal with it with lies between us. Not from either side.”

FOUR

How could she have said something so vile to him?

Natalie felt everything inside her cringing, searing from the knowledge that she had struck out in the most unacceptable way and accused him of something so vicious.

This man, who had set aside his pride to read those stupid dating books, who had tried to charm her, tried to ease her into his arms rather than taking what he wanted.

And it had almost worked. Hell, it was working, and she had known it; it was the reason she had been confrontational. It was the reason she had fought each overture he made so fiercely. Because he was making her feel, making her want things she told herself didn’t exist.

She had suspected, in some ways she had known after she met Callan Lyons and his mate/wife, Merinus, that the rumors of a strange mating hormone/bond, and the deceleration of aging that the tabloids ran such stories around, were true.

Neither Callan nor Merinus had aged so much as a year in the past ten years; the same went for the others who had played prominent roles in the Breed freedoms and had married. Or mated, as the Breeds referred to it.

He stood stiff, still, in front of that grill, struggling, she knew, with his own emotions. She had seen the struggle in his expression before and saw it now in the tense set of his shoulders.

She wanted to touch him, ease him, and yet the fear of pushing her own arousal to that point terrified her. But she couldn’t leave him hurting, believing she felt that. She moved to him, laid her head against his back, and felt his hard indrawn breath, the minute easing of the tension.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again.

His nod, a hard jerk of his head, was enough.

Moving back, Natalie sat down in the padded chair that was next to the patio table. Saban’s back was to her, his arms spread until his hands rested on the wooden table sides of the large grill. The muscles of his back were tense, his head lifted as he stared into the forest. She could almost feel his need to run.

Just as she had felt it before over the past month. A unique tension that gripped him despite his usual teasing manner. She wondered how much of it was an act and how much was truly a part of Saban Broussard.

“Most of what you know of me is a lie then.” He shrugged, his back still to her. “I’m snarly, I’m arrogant, I hate jokes, and baseball fascinates me.” He glanced down then. “I do like to cook.”

“The teasing and flirting?” Parts of it she had liked; others she realized she had somehow known were all an act.

“I’m not much of a lady’s man, cher,” he grunted. “I’m a killer. I was created a killer, raised as one, and once I escaped, I killed to stay free.”

Natalie watched as he turned to her, his expression still and composed; only his eyes raged with emotion.

“I know what the Breeds are, Saban,” she murmured. “And now I know why you tried to be something you weren’t.” She shook her head stiffly.

God, this arousal stuff was killing her. It was bad enough before that kiss, but now it was tearing through her system, nearly making her ill.

And he knew it, he could smell it, he could feel it.

“Natalie, take the hormones,” he said, his voice gravelly as she watched his fingers form fists against the wood. “Go inside. I’ll fix the steaks, and I’ll be in in a bit.”

“Has it been like this for you since the beginning?” She needed to know what she was dealing with, who she was dealing with.

“A week before I came to your door and introduced myself, I watched you.” She jerked in surprise, watching as his head lifted to the soft breeze that fell from the mountains around them. “You were alone in the house, your bedroom window was open, and the scent of your arousal drifted down to me. You were masturbating.”

Natalie felt her face flame and had no chance to hide her embarrassment as he swung around and crouched in front of her chair.

“I could taste your sweet scent on the air,” he growled, his face only inches from hers. “Needy, aching, your pussy throbbed for satisfaction, and you found none.” His lips pulled back from his teeth in hunger, his eyes burned with it as his voice lowered. “And I knew I could ease you. I knew I longed to ease you with a strength that overcame even my need to kill the bastards who hunted us for so many years. And I knew, tasting the scent of your juices in the air, that you were my mate.”

“How?” Desperation filled her, longing, fear, so many emotions, so many needs she couldn’t make sense of. “How could you have known, Saban?”

He took her hand before she could draw back and flatted her palm over his heart. “That night was the first time in my life that I realized my heart beat. In my life I have never known fear, nor excitement, or nerves. I was always calm. Always steady. But that night, Natalie. That night, I felt all those things, cher. I felt them rip inside me, tear through my soul, and fill me. Without control. Without volition. I had no choice, because you’re the other part of me. My soul, boo. My mate.”

He should have looked ridiculous, kneeling there in front of her, her hand pressed into his chest, unfortunately, he looked anything but ridiculous. He looked arrogant; he looked like a man determined to claim his woman.

Sexy, savage, hungry. He wasn’t pleading, he wasn’t asking permission for her heart. He was claiming it, and as far as he was concerned, it was that simple.

“It doesn’t work that way.” She could feel his heart beneath her hand, strong and steady. “Just because you want it—”

“Doesn’t make it so.” His lips twisted with an edge of bitterness. “But the mating heat does make it so, Natalie. What you said, about the choice being taken from you, may be true from your perspective, at this moment. But it isn’t true of mine. If you weren’t meant to be my heart, and I yours, then it would not have happened.”

“Saban, there are no guarantees in life,” she snapped, frustrated, feeling the pressure his certainty brought her. “I just walked out of a marriage that nearly destroyed me with one controlling man. I don’t need to jump out of the frying pan into the fire.”

As the last word left her lips, heat bloomed in her womb, between her thighs. Her teeth clenched on the agonizing pleasure. It wasn’t pain. It was a need for pleasure, and it was sharp, intense, destructive to her self-control.

“I took the damned pills,” she groaned, wrapping her arms around her stomach, pressing, fighting against the clenching, spasming need that tore through it.

“The hormone in the kiss raises the arousal level,” he said softly. “The hormone in the male semen eases it somewhat.”

He pushed her hair back from her face, his hard hands stroking pure pleasure along the sides of her face.

“I suspected.” She shook her head. “The tabloid stories, all those silly articles. When I came to Sanctuary and met Callan and Merinus, I suspected parts of them were true.”

And she had been intrigued, curious about the Breed who watched her with hungry eyes and pretended to be something, someone he wasn’t.

“Parts of them are true,” he agreed. “Let me ease you, Natalie. Let me take away the pain.”

His lips touched hers, a butterfly kiss that had her own lips parting and a breath of need escaping her lips.

“I’m going to regret this.” She knew she was.

Natalie opened her eyes and stared back at him, desperation, need, and fear roiling together inside her. “I can’t handle shackles, Saban. I can’t be controlled.” The fear of it was ripping through her mind, destroying the balance she had found after her divorce.

Because she was being controlled. By the mating hormone he had spilled into her system, by her own body, by needs she couldn’t deny because everything inside her was demanding his touch.

“I’ll call Ely,” he growled. “She can strengthen the pills.”

Natalie shook her head, her hands jerking up to cover his as he moved to straighten away from her.

“Touch me. Just touch me.” She could feel the perspiration pouring from her face now, the weakness invading her body. “Saban, this is worse than she predicted. Oh God, this is bad.”

Dr. Ely Morrey had explained what she could expect in the first stage of the mating heat. But she’d said it only got worse after mates had sex that first time. Before that, the arousal would stay steady, a little uncomfortable, until she and Saban actually had sex.

If it was worse than this later, then she didn’t know if she would survive it.

She stared back at Saban, seeing the agony in his eyes, the knowledge that he hadn’t expected this either.

“Cher, Natalie.” His thumbs smoothed over her cheeks. “Go inside, away from me. I’ll finish this meal for you. You can eat.”

She shook her head.

“If we stay out here, bébé, we’ll end up fucking out here.” He was breathing hard, his chest moving fast and hard as his hands tightened around her face. “The scent of your arousal is making me insane. My control is thin enough as it is.”

She licked her lips nervously. “Come in with me.”

The fact that she had made the decision, that she was actually considering having sex with him at this point shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. This arousal wasn’t painful, not in the sense of levels or degrees of pain. Instead, it was imperative, desperate; her skin was crawling with the need to be touched, her mouth watering for the taste of him.

“Go in,” he said tightly. “I’ll bring the food back in and come to you.”

She shook her head.

“Get away from me, Natalie,” he snarled, jerking to his feet, surprising her with his vehemence. “Go inside. Five minutes. Give yourself five minutes away from me, make certain without me that your wisest choice isn’t to call Ely first.”

“You started this.” She jumped from the chair and faced him, anger rising inside her, pounding through her blood and spearing through her senses as it strengthened along with the lust. “You shot this freaky hormone into my system; now you can take care of it.”

If she could just get past the need, just for a few minutes, just long enough to think again, then she could figure it out. But she knew, until he touched her, until he took her, there wasn’t going to be a clear thought in her head.

A growl rumbled in his throat. “It’s too strong right now,” he grated. “I won’t take you easy.”

“If you tried to take me easy, I might have to kill you,” she raged back, her hands fisting in his shirt as she felt the flames of need licking over her flesh. “Saban, please, just touch me. Do something, anything so I can think.”

“So you can figure a way out of this?” Bitterness filled his voice, but he was touching her, easing her backward into the house, the steaks forgotten.

“So I can figure out how to handle this.” Maybe she was accepting there was no way out of it, but she didn’t accept what she knew was coming from it.

She liked Saban. She hadn’t realized how much she liked him until she had to think about it, had to categorize the relationship that had developed. She cared for him. She would miss him, God, miss him so bad if he wasn’t here, but she didn’t love him. She didn’t want to love him. And she didn’t want to be controlled by him or some damned hormonal aphrodisiac.

The door locked behind him, and Natalie found herself lifted against him, his arms like steel bands around her as his kiss became a tease. He licked and nibbled at her lips, giving her just a taste of the spicy, storm-laden essence of his kiss. He made her crave more. Made her moan, her arms tighten around his neck, her tongue dip past his lips to taste more of him.

“We won’t make it to the bedroom if you keep this up,” he warned her, his voice dark, rough, a growling rasp that sent a shiver racing through her as one hand pushed beneath the elastic band of her pants to cup the curve of her cheek.

“So?” She didn’t care.

As he held her against him, her hands slid from around his neck to the buttons of his shirt. She wanted to feel him, wanted to touch him. The weeks he had followed her through the house that image had played out in her mind. Turning, ripping the buttons free and jerking the material from his body before rubbing against him like a cat. Like he had a habit of rubbing against her every chance he had.

She wanted him. She didn’t have to fight that want now; something had forced her into it, taken the choice out of her hands, and she suddenly wondered if that wasn’t a good thing. Would she have ever gone after the powerful, sexual beast this man was on her own?

Natalie tore her lips back from him, the teasing little tastes driving her insane. Her hands locked in the front of his shirt, and she ripped. Buttons scattered as a snarl left his lips, savage, animalistic, but his chest was finally bare. Sun-bronzed, hard, and tough, and free of hair except the nearly invisible, incredibly fine pelt that covered him.

“Oh, God.” This was better than chest hair. Perspiration gleamed on it now, making the soft hairs easier to see, and Natalie realized nothing could be more sensual. The thought of it rubbing against her sensitive nipples made her pussy clench, her juices spilling between the swollen folds between her thighs.

She had to taste him. As he carried her through the kitchen to the short hallway and the stairs, she licked his chest. His muscles jumped beneath the caress, his arms tightening as he stumbled against the wall.

The taste was there, and she lapped at it, kissing and licking her way to the flat, hard disc of his male nipple. Her teeth raked it, nipped at it. Natalie wondered vaguely if she had needed the hormone to become addicted to him, to hunger, to ache for his touch until she thought she’d die without it. Saban could be addictive on his own, she decided.

“Yes. Sweet mercy, cher.” He pressed her against the wall, his head falling back as she tongued the hard disc, licking at the stormy taste of perspiration, the heat and hardness of tough male flesh.

“You taste like your kiss,” she whimpered, licking over his chest again, little small laps that tasted his flesh and fired her blood. “Kiss me, Saban. I need your taste.”

The growl that came from his lips should have been frightening; it should have caused at least an edge of wariness to cool the lust burning inside her. Instead, it tightened her stomach, caused wet heat to spill from her vagina again. And when his lips covered hers, his tongue pushing inside, there was no room for wariness or for thought, only for hunger, only the desperate need inside her to replace the shadows in his eyes with light.

That thought pierced her as she felt him stumble up the stairs. She had seen those shadows when she first met him, wondered at them, ached for them.

She stroked her hands over his bare shoulders as her head bent, her lips suckling at the storm-ridden taste of his kiss. She loved storms. The smack of thunder, the flare of lightning, and it was all there in his kiss, in the desperate hunger she knew no other man had felt for her.

“Not gonna make it to the bed,” he groaned, tearing his lips from hers to pull at her shirt. “Take it off.”

She took it off and flung it behind them as he shed the scraps of his shirt and went to his knee on one step.

Natalie’s eyes widened as she straddled his thigh, the heated muscle pressing into her pussy, the force of her weight against him applying a teasing pressure against her clit. And when he moved her—oh Lord, his hands rocked her on his thigh, stroking her clit as his lips covered an inflamed nipple.

“Yes!” She hissed the word, her head falling back as she rode him in slow, undulating movements.

The rasp against her clit was exquisite, if she could just get the right pressure, the right position.

It was shockingly ecstatic, poised on the pinnacle of orgasm, certain when it came, it would take the top of her head off.

“Not like this.” Hard hands gripped her hips. “Inside you. I’ll be inside you when you come for me, cher. I’ll be damned if you’ll go without me.”

FIVE

He had to make it to the bed. God, he couldn’t take her here on the stairs. He had promised himself, the first time, when he completed his claim on her he would do so in the bed he had made for her. The one he’d made certain was in place before she came to this house.

The king-size bed made of heavy cypress posts, carved and detailed, made especially for the woman who would one day hold his soul.

He dreamed of claiming her there. Not here, not on stairs where she couldn’t possibly know the comfort of soft sheets and the finest mattress he could provide.

Growling, his lips still holding the tight, sweetly succulent flesh of her nipple captive, he forced himself to his feet then nearly lost all strength he possessed as her legs wrapped around his hips and the heat of her pussy seeped through his jeans to his cock.

He locked his hands on her ass, and he forced himself down the short hall to her bedroom. He pushed his way through the doorway, slammed the door closed, and barely remembered to lock it before he stumbled across the room to the bed.

He felt the power of it the minute he collapsed to the mattress with her. The comfort, the peace. Entwined with the prayers of the swamp rat that had saved him, carved into lightning-struck cypress were ancient symbols of protection and peace. It was a work of art by an artist the world had never known as he taught the craft to the strange boy he had rescued from the hurricane-ravaged bayou.

It was the bed Saban had dreamed of building at an age when most boys were still tied to their mother’s apron strings. The bed where he knew he would one day create his family.

“Here,” he sighed, lifting from her, giving her nipple one last lick before levering himself from the curvy sweetness of her supple body.

He pulled her legs from around his waist, gripped the band of her capris, and pulled them quickly down her legs. Disposing of her strappy little sandals was easy, as was removing the silk of her damp panties.

And then he paused, held himself still, and stared down at the perfection of the woman who was his mate.

Her breasts that filled his hands perfectly, the flare of her hips, the gentle weight of her thighs, the smooth, curl-less folds of her sex. Her pussy was bare, silken, and beautiful. But how much more beautiful, he thought, if he could convince her to allow those soft curls to return?

All the sweetness in the world was held there, and he was a man who thrived on his sweets.

His head lowered, his tongue distending, and he swiped through the soft cream, a rough growl leaving his throat as he found the swollen little nub of her clit and her soft, needy cry filled the air.

Sugar and cream, that was her taste, and he could become drunk on her. He licked through the slick juices, nectar, the wine of the gods, it had to be. His lips opened, and he kissed the delicate folds of flesh, licked at the taste of her, devouring the passion that flowed from her.

And she loved it. He could feel the pleasure twisting, climbing through her body as she writhed beneath him. He had to clamp his hands on her hips to hold her still, but she lifted herself to him.

Her knees bent, her feet pressed into the mattress as he knelt beside the bed. Her hips angled, and his tongue found paradise. Rich, heady, living passion flowed to him as he heard her cries sinking into his head.

He had never known lust this hot, this wild. He fucked his tongue into the gripping, heated depths of her pussy and growled. An involuntary sound, wild and primitive, as he fought to slake his hunger for her taste.

The scent of her arousal had filled his head for weeks. Heated and mesmerizing, it had built a hunger for her that he feared he would never sate.

Mating heat be damned. This woman had consumed him long before the mating heat had begun affecting him. And now he would consume her, become so much a part of her that she could no longer run, that she realized they were bound: bound in ways she didn’t want to escape.

“I want you!” Natalie clawed at his shoulders as his tongue pumped into her pussy, driving her to the point of madness with the wicked, incredible pleasure tearing through her.

She wanted to touch him, wanted to give him the same pleasure he was giving her, but she couldn’t think. She couldn’t push herself away, and she couldn’t help but beg, to plead for more of his wicked tongue and evil fingers.

Fingers that were pressing inside her, filling her as his lips moved to the hard knot of her clit and surrounded it.

Her eyes jerked open, stared down her body, met the dark green fire in his as he licked and suckled at the violently sensitive flesh.

She was going to explode. She could feel it. She was right there. So close.

“You taste like a dream.” He kissed her clit, once, twice, then licked around it slowly, his slumberous eyes locked with hers. “I could eat you forever.”

She could barely breathe.

“But I want to be inside you when you come for me the first time.” He pulled back, despite her attempt to tighten her legs and hold him in place.

“I’ve dreamed of this, cher.” Anticipation filled his voice, his slumberous gaze as he jerked at the laces of his boots and quickly pulled them free.

Licking her lips, Natalie moved as his hands went to his belt. She rose, sat on the side of the bed, and brushed his fingers away.

“I want you now.” She slid the buckle free then went to work on the metal buttons, pulling them free, the hard, thick ridge of his cock making the task difficult at first.

As the material parted, Natalie drew it down to his thighs, left it there, and cupped her palm over the thick flesh hidden only by the cotton briefs he wore.

She heard his breath hiss from between his teeth as she gripped the band of the underwear and drew it slowly over the swollen length of his erection.

Weakness flooded her. Her juices pooled on the ultrasensitive folds of her flesh, and she swore her womb was clenching in trepidation. Because he wasn’t a small man in any way.

“Cher, leave me a little control, eh?” His voice was strained, but his hands were gentle as he brushed the hair back from her face.

“No.” She gripped the hard flesh with both hands and brought it to her parted lips.

He said something. Something foreign, thickly accented, but she didn’t catch it. The blood was thundering in her ears, rushing through her body, and her mouth was surrounding the wide, hot crest of his cock hungrily.

She had dreamed, too. Dreamed of him taking her in this big bed, dreamed of taking him, just like this.

She stared up at him, tasted the heat and male lust, the hunger and the need on his flesh. Sweat gleamed on his chest, ran in small rivulets along it, and added a subtle male fragrance to the air.

It was his eyes that held her though. A green so dark now she wondered if they weren’t closer to black. They glowed in his face, as startling as the wicked white canines that gleamed at the side of his mouth as his lips pulled back in a desperate snarl.

Hard hands were in her hair, twisting in it, tangling in it as she sucked his cock head inside and swirled her tongue over it slowly, tasting him.

He wasn’t watching her in detachment, he wasn’t analyzing her performance, he was enjoying it. Enjoying it to the point that she moaned at the additional pleasure that the expression on his face brought her.

Savage pleasure tightened his expression, pulled his lips back and had growls leaving his throat. It was the most exciting, erotic sight she had known in her life.

“Ah, cher,” his voice whispered over her. “Sweet bébé.”

She sucked him deep, tasting the subtle essence of pre-cum and wild, desperate lust.

She tasted and teased, tempted and tormented until she felt the control she had always sensed inside him break.

Between one second and the next she was pushed to her back, his jeans and briefs discarded, and he was moving purposely between her thighs. The length of his erection was iron-hard, throbbing, the prominent veins ridging the flesh, the engorged head darkened and pulsing in lust.

“Saban, please—” She bit her lip, holding back her words. She wanted to ask him to go easy, to take her slowly at first, but she could see the hunger raging in him, brewing into a storm of lust that darkened his emerald eyes.

“Do you think I would hurt you?” His jaw clenched, his chest heaved as he fought for breath, and the thick head of his cock tucked against the folds of her pussy.

His voice lowered to a primal growl. “Do you think I don’t know, Natalie? That I didn’t feel more than your sweet, slick heat?”

His hips bunched, tightened, pressed forward as his lips lowered, and he lifted her hands to his shoulders. “Hold on to me cher. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

Small, stretching thrusts did just that. Eased inside her, parting the snug tissue gently, working his cock into her with fiery, delicious strokes that were both pleasure and pain.

Ecstasy whipped through her system, fiery trails of lashing pleasure tore across sensitive nerve endings, and as Natalie stared up at Saban, she saw something she had never seen in her marriage to Mike: shared pleasure. The need to please her as well as to be pleasured.

Saban wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t intent on pushing boundaries as much as he was intent on sharing the burning need, which was more erotic than any boundary she’d ever had pushed.

“What are you doing to me?” It was more than pleasure. With her gaze locked with his, the patience in each thrust, the taut hunger on his face, sweat gleaming and running in slow rivulets down the side of his neck, he was the picture of a sex god at work. But his eyes. Emotions glowed in his eyes, emotions she didn’t want to face, didn’t want to battle, within him or within herself.

“I’m loving you, cher. Whether you want the love or not.” He leaned forward, nipped her lips. “Just loving you, bébé.”

One last thrust, slow and measured, buried him inside her as his lips took hers in a kiss that fired her soul. Her body she could have understood. The heated hormone spilling from his tongue hit her system like a fireball and began speeding through her bloodstream. But her soul? It should have been protected, closed away from any and all male influence.

But she felt her chest tightening, her heart racing from more than excitement, and the almost hidden acknowledgment that this was more than she had ever dreamed loving could be.

The growl in his chest deepened as his thrusts began to increase. His cock stroked once-hidden nerve endings, buried to the depths of her, and stroked there before beginning again. Natalie became a creature of sensuality, of pleasure. Thought, caution, and fear receded beneath the agonizing pleasure burning through her body.

Her hands gripped and caressed sweat-dampened muscles. She writhed beneath him, thrusting back, needing the fierce, hard thrusts now that she had grown used to the width and length of the erection buried inside her. She twisted beneath him, gasping, crying his name as she felt the heat burn hotter, the pleasure flame higher. Each stroke of his flesh, no matter which part of her body it touched, drove her higher. She was flying. Oh God, she had never flown.

“Saban!” She screamed his name, fear suddenly coalescing inside her, the sensations building, burning, rising to a crescendo that threatened to terrify her.

“I have you, Natalie.” His lips moved over her jaw, her cheek. “Give to me, baby. Give to me. I’ll hold you here. I swear it.”

Husky, rough. His lips skimmed over her neck, her shoulder, those wicked canines scraped against the tender flesh between neck and shoulder, and his thrusts became stronger, hard, driving into her, fucking her with such complete abandon that the waves of ecstasy building inside her began to crash over her.

Her orgasm exploded, ruptured, imploded. It tore through her with a force that she was certain destroyed her mind as she felt those canines rake her flesh again, then a hungry growl left Saban’s throat.

She couldn’t have anticipated it. She should have. His teeth pierced her shoulder, his mouth clamping over the wound, his tongue stroking, laving, as his body jerked in its own release.

She felt the head of his cock swell, throb, then she felt it. The extension swelling from beneath the head of his cock, moving inside her, stroking her, locking his cock in place as his semen began to spurt inside her.

The second orgasm that shook her stole her breath and her sight. Her nails locked into his shoulders, her muscles trembled, shook, and she swore she saw the flames racing over both their bodies as her wail filled the air.

She had never known, never believed so much pleasure could exist. That she could orgasm, from her vagina and her clit at once, that the orgasm could race through her body and explode through every cell, every molecule of flesh. Or that in that orgasm she could feel herself, a part of herself she never knew existed, finally awakening.

SIX

There were times in a woman’s life when she didn’t have a choice but to admit that she was in over her head, and Natalie admitted the next morning that this was one of those times. She didn’t like it, didn’t like having to reprioritize her life, or acknowledge that she had no choice but to deal with a relationship that she had been certain was highly ill-advised.

Saban, despite his easygoing manner, was no pussycat, and she knew it. She sensed it clear to the core of her being and had no idea how to handle waiting for the other shoe to drop where he was concerned.

And she didn’t like the fact that the mating heat had forced this, rather than human nature alone. Of course, how she could expect a Breed to be ruled by human nature, she couldn’t imagine.

He had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt in the bed the night before, throughout the night, and into the morning that he was much more than a man or an animal.

He had been tireless, but then, so had she. The hunger that had driven them had kept them going at each other well after midnight before throwing them into an exhausted slumber, only to bring them awake hours later, hungrier, more desperate than ever before.

She wanted to blame it only on the hormonal reaction. Unfortunately, she clearly remembered awakening, that abnormal heat finally sated, only to have her curiosity and her needs aroused once again without that stupid hormone coming into play.

She had wanted to stroke him. Stroke him, kiss him, hear those primal growls that rumbled in his chest, and feel the strength of him when he finally had enough and tumbled her beneath him.

Now, as morning began to edge into afternoon, she found herself trying to find sense in something she knew she didn’t have a hope in hell of making sense of.

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.

SEVEN

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?”

He felt his teeth clench at the derogatory tone of voice.

“Don’t push me, Natalie,” he warned her softly. “My own temper hasn’t yet cooled from watching that bastard attempt to claim you.”

“No one claims me.” Her fists balled at her sides, and he could have sworn she nearly stamped her foot.

How interesting. It was definitely a sight to be wary of, because he could smell the pure violence simmering inside her. Her patience with him, with Breeds, with males in general was rapidly reaching its limit. He wondered, though, and couldn’t help but be fascinated with the idea of her losing that patience and temper.

There was a warrior inside her; he could feel it. A woman ready to take on the world when it counted and to flay a Breed at twenty paces should he deserve it. And he definitely deserved it; hell, he was almost looking forward to it. From what he had seen of his pride leader, Callan, and Callan’s mate, makeup sex could be damned satisfying.

The books Cassie had pawned off on him had assured him that it was satisfying. Often the best sex of any relationship. Though, to be honest, if it got better than last night and this morning, he may not survive it.

“Did you hear me, Saban Broussard?” Her voice roughened, rasped with her anger. “No one claims me.”

“That mark on your neck proves otherwise.” He shrugged as he stared back at her calmly. “I’ve claimed you, cher, for better or worse. There is no divorce, there is no separation, and there will be no ex-husband believing he can rescind that claim.”

Saban kept his voice calm though firm. He had a feeling that if he lost control of his hot Cajun temper, then he would have lost this battle from the beginning. Because with the temper came a resurgence of the heat, hotter and brighter than before, as he knew Natalie was now learning.

Nature did not allow the breed mates to confront each other without a safeguard in place. They may fight, they may rage, but they would not deny each other.

In the face of her anger, he could feel no guilt. He wasn’t a man to do anything by half measures; he had been trained to know what to do, how to do it, and not question himself over every decision made.

But as he stared back at Natalie now and saw the flash of hurt and fear beneath the anger, he wondered at the ache in his chest. Guilt? Perhaps. He’d never known that emotion either until Natalie, so it was hard to be certain.

Her independence had been hard-won, and now she felt it threatened. He didn’t blame her for her anger, but he would not allow her to deny him or the mark she now carried.

“You should leave.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears and unresolved fury. “Now!”

“Well, cher, I’ll just make certain I do that,” he growled. “With your ex-husband prowling around like a demented coyote and that fool sheriff sticking his nose in where it don’t belong. Oh yeah, I’m jus’ gonna pack up and head on out, eh?”

He was growing tired of being told to leave her.

“I have to get out of here.” She shook her head. “I have to get away from you before you drive me completely crazy.”

“Until your ex-husband showed up, you had no problems with me.” He felt like snarling, like roaring in his own frustration as the thought hit his mind. “Does he mean so much to you that now you have to run from me?”

The look she cast him was so filled with disdain that had he been a lesser man, he may have flinched.

“Don’t pretend to be stupid, Saban; you just don’t pull it off well,” she informed him caustically. “I don’t know what your Breed rule book says, but common decency should keep you from acting like a complete moron just because it suits your purposes to do so. You threatened Mike. You nearly killed him. And you shouldn’t be standing in front of me as though this mating heat bullshit makes it all right.”

“I will protect you.” He stepped closer, glowering down at her as the animal part of his brain demanded that he show her, again, just how much she was his woman. “Claxton wasn’t being reasonable, Natalie, you know that.”

“And you were?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at him. “You were choking him to death. One-handed.”

“Would you have preferred I used two hands? I thought it sporting to give him a handicap at least, but next time I’ll make certain I do the job right.” The next time he would just kill the bastard and have done with it.

The look she flashed him spoke volumes of her fury and her opinion of that statement.

He watched, fascinated, as she restrained her rage. Her arms unfolded, her body tightened, until he wondered if her spine would snap.

“I have things to do today,” she informed him then. “Things that do not include you. Excuse me.”

She headed for the stairs, dismissing him as though the argument were over, simply because she deemed it over?

“Not so fast, mate,” he bit out, moving quickly to slide between her and her destination. “This argument has not yet finished.”

“Why? Because you haven’t gotten fucked yet?” She flicked a glance at the evidence of his erection beneath his jeans. “I’m not in the mood.”

He growled at that. “You damned sure are ready to fuck, but that wasn’t on the agenda quite yet. Your anger at the moment is, because it’s completely illogical. Claxton was gearing himself up for violence, Natalie, and you know it. Better he found that outlet with me than with you. It ensured his survival.”

“Mike wouldn’t hurt me.” A frown flashed between her brows. “I was married to him for years, Saban, he never touched me in violence.”

It was the way she said it, the telltale flicker of her lashes, the scent of deceit. She wasn’t lying to him, but she wasn’t telling him the entire truth either.

“What did he do then?” he asked her carefully.

The sudden evasion in her eyes was proof that he had done something.

“He never hit me, and do you know what else he never did, Saban? He never started fights with men over something so asinine either.”

“No, he likely started them with you.” Saban could feel the renewed need to rip the man to shreds, one limb at a time. “Is that why you divorced him, Natalie? Why you fight the mating with me so hard? Did he attempt to control all that wild, beautiful fire inside you? Or did he attempt to douse it?”

“Conversation is over.” She said it calmly, but he could sense, smell the hurt and the anger raging inside her.

Like those flames Claxton had wanted to control, she pushed it back, buried it, hid it beneath that mask of calm self-control. She could teach a Breed about self-possession.

She could definitely give him lessons in it, because he wasn’t handling this nearly as well as she was, but also, he knew, he had already accepted what she was to him. She still had that journey to make.

“This conversation is not over.” He bared his teeth in frustration; he could feel that frustration rising inside him now, threatening the boundaries of his control. “Hear me well, Natalie. It doesn’t matter who it is, man or woman; any threat to you will be dealt with. Any strike against you will be retaliated against. So much as a thought, a flicker of threat, and I will be there. Whether you like it or not, whether you want it or not.”

“Whether I want it or not.” Her voice was bitter, cutting like acid into his soul. “Because you decree it. Stand wherever the hell you want to stand, Saban. As long as it’s well away from me.”

EIGHT

It hurt. Natalie couldn’t stem the hurt rising inside her, the fear, the certainty that the loss of control where Saban was concerned would be her undoing.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles.” She needed to fight her own battles, dammit. “Especially where Mike is concerned.”

She turned to move away from him, only to be confronted by his broad chest once again.

“Get out of my way, Saban.”

“So you can run and hide?” he bit out. “Rather than facing this problem and fixing it, you’re going to run away.”

“There’s no fixing it,” she pushed between gritted teeth as her fingers clenched at her side. “You think you’re right. You always think you’re right. Big, bad Breed knows it all.”

Silence met her accusation. Natalie lifted her gaze then, met his, and had to fight the thickening in her throat as she saw not anger as she thought she would find, though there was a little of that there. Instead, he watched her broodingly, as though searching for an answer or trying to find the question that eluded him.

“You didn’t smell what I smelled,” he finally said gently. “The rage, the need for violence that was filling him. You divorced him, Natalie, for a reason, and you know this. Just as you knew that violence was brewing within him before you forced him out of the home.”

She wasn’t going to let him be right about this. She couldn’t. If she did, how could she ever stand up to him later? Mike had done this at first, used logic, used a shield of understanding and patience to tear down her self-confidence.

“How my marriage ended in a divorce is my business. How I deal with Mike now is my business. Not yours.”

“You don’t truly believe that, Natalie.” He shook his head as he shoved his hands in his back pockets, obviously restraining the need to touch her.

Unlike Mike.

Not that Mike had ever hit her, but it came close too many times. His temper could be ugly, hands bruising, his tongue sharp and cutting.

“I said it, didn’t I?” She forced past clenched teeth as the irritation and the arousal combined into some funky kind of tingles that radiated from her womb outward to the rest of her body.

She was certain that in another place and time, in any other situation, this could have been amusing. If it was happening to someone else maybe.

“Why can’t you do just one thing like a normal, everyday person?” she snapped, wanting to pull at her own hair as frustration began to build in her.

The anger was bad enough. But being angry and dying to fuck that hard body? No woman should have to deal with this.

His expression eased slightly from the predatory determination, and sensual amusement darkened his eyes, lowered his lashes as he bent his head closer to her.

“Cher, if you haven’t noticed yet, normal is not a part of my genetics. Should I give you another example of this?”

She backed up as his hands came out of his pockets and rested comfortably at his sides instead.

“Sex is not going to get you out of this,” she hissed. “There’s not enough sex to make up for deliberately attacking someone who hadn’t attacked you.”

“He touched you. He caused you pain.” Saban shrugged, though his expression tightened. “That is all the reason I need.”

Then he turned away. He turned away as though it didn’t matter, as though his decisions were all that mattered and were all that was important.

“Don’t you do that.” Natalie could feel herself shaking inside and out.

“Do what? Drop this little spat we’re having?” He turned back to her, a smooth, powerful flex of muscle as he faced her once again. “We won’t agree on this, Natalie. Whether you want to believe it or not, Mike Claxton means you harm, and I won’t allow it to happen. You disagree, and that’s fine. That doesn’t mean that I’ll not put a stop to it. Now, if you’re not willing to cool off that heat building inside you with a little therapeutic sex, then I could use a snack. Are you hungry?”

Was she hungry?

Her lips parted in shock. He didn’t want to argue? He wasn’t going to fight over it?

“Since when?” She followed him rapidly. “Since when do you not want to fight? You’re male, right?”

He flashed her a wicked grin over his shoulder. “You should know by now.”

Oh God yes, she knew. She knew his hard, calloused hands holding her to him, the feel of his mouth devouring her, his cock destroying her. And she knew the cold, icy fury in his face when he had held Mike’s neck in his grip, slowly choking him to death.

“You can’t just attack people who piss you off, Saban. Especially men. I have to deal with men daily at work, I can’t afford this.”

“Then they’d best have the good sense to keep their hands off you.” He opened the door of the fridge, bent, and looked inside before pulling free a gallon of milk.

Natalie stood and stared at him, anger shuddering through her body.

“It doesn’t work that way, dammit,” she cursed.

He set a glass on the counter, poured it full of milk, then, lifting the glass, turned and faced her.

“Bet me.” His eyes gleamed in amusement as he lifted the glass and drank.

A man drinking whiskey was sexy. A man with a bottle of beer could be sexy. But a man drinking a glass of milk should not have been sexy. Unfortunately, Saban could make it erotic, especially when he lowered the glass and licked over his lower lip with sensual male awareness.

Natalie felt her stomach tighten, felt her pussy cream furiously as she remembered the enjoyment on his face as he licked her just like that.

“You’re being unreasonable.” She forced her fingers to uncurl from the fists they were making, to stretch as she strove to make sense of this attitude. He’d been ready to kill Mike. Now he was watching her with amused playfulness.

“You do not attack anyone for something so insane as touching me when they aren’t aware of this stupid mating heat,” she retorted, feeling off center, uncertain of her own anger now. It was damned hard for a woman to fight with a man when he was watching her like a piece of candy that he was dying to taste.

“We’ll see.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“We’ll see?” she pushed through her teeth, that anger rising again, along with the need, the hunger. She hated this. It was insane. The madder she got at him, the hornier she got, and that wasn’t a good combination. “The next time you attack someone, I’ll have you arrested myself,” she threw out rashly. “I won’t allow it.”

His expression changed then. Predatory, arrogant. This was the Jaguar Breed, the frightening, sensual animal she always felt lurking beneath the surface.

“You won’t allow it?” His voice rumbled with a growl, slurring the words with just enough primal power that it sent a chill racing down her spine.

“I won’t allow it.” She felt the shudder that tore through her body as the amusement fled his gaze, and savage arousal filled it instead.

He moved toward her.

Natalie wasn’t retreating. She wasn’t backing down on this, and she was not going to allow him to railroad her into agreeing that he could attack whenever and wherever he chose. If she didn’t put her foot down now, if she didn’t stop it now, then there would be no end to it. He would believe he could run over her anytime he wanted, however he wanted.

Start as you mean to go on, her mother had always warned her. She had tried doing that with Mike, tried to stay firm, and he had run over her. He had frightened her, her love for him had excused him, and she had spent three miserable years trying to make a marriage work that was doomed from the start.

“I pulled back for you,” he rumbled as he came closer. “I let the bastard go, because you said ‘please,’ because the pain in your voice for that piece of shit was more than I could bear. Did you see the look on his face when he gripped your arm, when he saw the pain it caused you?”

Natalie shook her head, denying the question.

“Oh, you saw all right, boo.” His lip curled in anger. “You saw the satisfaction, the glee in his eyes, and I smelled it. I smelled it, and I swore I would kill him for it.”

“You can’t just go killing people over something like that.” She smacked her hands against his chest, tried to push him back.

His hands lifted then, smoothed down her arms, and a shiver raced across her flesh.

“He still breathes,” Saban snarled.

“Barely!” she bit out. “Do you think that makes what you did okay?”

“I think it made it very dissatisfying,” he said softly, dangerously. “Killing him would have been preferable at that time, but losing you over it wouldn’t have been worth it. That doesn’t mean I’ll allow him to get away with it. He’ll be more careful in the future, and so, mate, will you be more careful. The next man that comes at you in anger, get the hell out of my way. Because the more harm he causes you, the greater his chances of meeting his eternal maker.” Each word shortened, roughened, until he finished with a harsh, furious growl.

Natalie opened her lips to blast him, to argue further, though the words tumbling in her head refused to find coherency. Before she could speak, his head lowered, his hands jerked her to his body, and he nipped at her lips.

It wasn’t even a kiss. He nipped at them, then licked them, watching her through narrowed eyes as her tongue jumped to the lower curve of her lips to taste him. To savor the spicy, stormy essence that lingered there from the hormone that infused it.

A broken little groan came from her throat.

“You taste me.” He licked her again. “You feel me, Natalie. Tell me, tell me you know I’d do nothing to harm you. Including killing that miserable little bastard unless he actually endangered your life.”

“You’d hurt him.” She tried to shake her head, tried to fight the need beginning to burn in her blood.

“Oh, boo, for sure I would. I’d hurt him bad.” The Cajun slipped free, lazy, guttural, spiked with hunger and dangerous intent. “I’d make him run crying to his momma for daring to harm, to believe he could ever take what is mine alone. And you know, cher, you are mine alone.”

His.

Her lips parted, and his covered them, a weak, whimpering little moan leaving her lips as she tasted him fully. As he sucked her tongue into his mouth and then gave her leave to play. To lick at him, to tease until his tongue came to her, until she could suckle it, sweeping her tongue over it, drawing the taste of him into her mouth.

“No!”

Natalie jumped around him, ignoring the little growl that sounded behind her.

“Don’t tell me no, mate,” he retorted heatedly. “I smell your need, and even more, I smell the fact that you know I’m right. You’ll not run from this or from me.”

“I’ll run whenever or however I want to.” She pushed her fingers through her hair and backed out of the kitchen. “Leave me alone, Saban. Just leave me the hell alone.”

She turned and stalked to the steps. She had to make sense of this; she had to find a way to balance the things she was learning about him.

He couldn’t just attack people. This mating heat stuff was bad enough. How would either of them survive it without some control? Without one of them thinking sensibly, and it was real damned clear that the one thinking clearly wasn’t going to be him.

All she had to do was get away from him, just for a little while. Away from the sight of him, the remembered taste of him, the aching need for him.

She hit the stairs almost at a run, aware, so very aware that he was behind her, moving with lazy speed, gaining on her, his expression taut, hunger burning in his eyes.

Her breath hitched in her throat; a ragged moan left her lips as she felt his hands grip her hips halfway up the steps, stopping her as his hands moved quickly to the front of her jeans and began working the snap and zipper loose.

“What are you doing?” she screeched, scrambling to capture his wrists, his hands, to stop the quick release of her clothes even as he jerked the material over her hips. “Dammit Saban…”

She went to her knees as a large hand pressed into her back, pushed her forward, and he came over her, dominant, forceful, his lips covering the wound he had left on her shoulder the night before.

Natalie froze as pleasure streaked, exploded, tore through her from that single caress. The area was so sensitive, so violently receptive to his lips, to his stroking tongue, that it stole her breath.

“This won’t solve anything,” she gasped as the head of his cock pressed between her thighs, slid through the slick moisture there, and found the entrance it sought.

He didn’t move his lips; instead, he growled against the wound as his hips pressed forward, burying his erection inside her as Natalie felt needle points of ecstatic pleasure begin to attack every nerve ending he stroked.

“This doesn’t change it,” she panted, fighting the pleasure, fighting her inability to refuse it. “It doesn’t make it right.”

Her back arched as a mewling cry left her lips, and his cock pressed to the hilt inside her, filling her, overtaking her.

“Tell me you’re mine.” He nipped at the wound, causing her head to jerk back against his shoulder, one hand to reach back for him, clamping on his hip as he held her to him.

“I won’t let you control me.”

“Tell me,” he snarled, licked the bite mark, sucked at it with a hungry growl.

“I won’t let you do this.” Her cry was weak, a pitiful, pathetic attempt to defy what she knew, even now, was the truth. A certainty as nothing else in her life had ever been.

His hips flexed, causing his cock to stroke her internally, to rasp against her inner flesh, the swollen, flared head caressing, enflaming tender, sensitive flesh with small thrusts. His lips grazed the wound at her neck once more, then his teeth raked over it, sending violent shudders to race down her back as her senses became overwhelmed, her common sense lost beneath the rush of pleasure.

“Tell me.” Insidious, flavored with dark sensuality, rough and primal, his voice stole through her mind, as his touch stole her reason.

“Yours.” Her cry was rewarded, her submission accepted, and the animal within him broke free.

It was burning, pleasure-pain; each thrust was hard and heavy as control was lost for both of them. As though her admission of his conquest was all he needed to allow his own pleasure free rein.

It was more pleasure than she could process; it was heated and liquid; it burned through flesh and bone and filled her soul where she hadn’t known she had been cold. Cold and lonely and searching for that something more, that reason to give her inner self to another.

She didn’t have a reason, but that didn’t matter. She felt it melting, felt it flowing through her body, pouring from her cells, wrapping around him and drawing his essence into her. And breaking her heart.

In the moment between agonizing pleasure and climax, Natalie admitted it to herself. It wasn’t Saban she was fighting; it was herself. Because she was losing herself in him, giving him parts of her soul that even Mike hadn’t known existed. Giving him parts of her that she hadn’t believed she could share.

And when the climax exploded through her, when it sang through her senses and quaked through her body, she knew she was lost.

Behind her, Saban jerked, snarled. The head of his cock throbbed, the barb, that thumb-sized extension, became erect, pushing past the underside of his cock head and stroking areas too sensitive for touch, already primed, already enflamed as his semen spurted inside her.

He had marked her. Taken her. He possessed her. And unlike Mike, Natalie had a feeling Saban truly could destroy her.

NINE

There was a wariness between them, days later, that Natalie couldn’t figure out how to overcome. She didn’t know if she even wanted to overcome it at this point.

The mating heat had her off balance; her emotions, her independence, and the fear Mike had instilled in her through their marriage of being controlled again all battled within her head and within her heart.

A part of her wanted to reach out and take everything Saban seemed to be offering her, yet the other part held back, watched and waited. Nothing could be as easy as this. The mating heat, the sense of everything coming together when his body moved within hers.

The new school season was coming closer by the day. Classes were on a year-round basis, but the six-week break between the final semester and the beginning of new classes gave students and teachers a much-needed vacation before classes began. And it was during that time that the Breed Cabinet had given Natalie a chance to get used to the town and to review the files she had been given on the students assigned to her.

The classroom she had been given was one of the finest she had seen. The computers were state-of-the-art, the room was bright and airy, the tinted windows that lined one wall looked out on the green, well-manicured grounds that surrounded the school.

She knew the glass to those windows was specially made to ensure an assassin’s bullet couldn’t find its way through. Just as she knew that the Board of Education had approved a variety of security measures that would place Breeds in close proximity in and around the school to ensure the protection of the Breed children who would be attending classes.

It was a chance of a lifetime. She would always be known as the first non-Breed teacher to be a part of the education of the exceptional children rumored to have been born of the unions between Breeds and non-Breeds.

That had been part of the excitement of having been chosen for the job, until she met Saban.

Natalie paused in inputting the class schedules she was making up into her personal PC at that thought. Yeah, Saban had changed things. From the day he had arrived at her home, she had known he would change things within her, and because of it, she admitted, she had fought the attraction rising between them.

She had fought him, snapped at him, acted like a shrew and a spoiled brat, searching for ways to irritate him past the wickedly sexy looks he had given her.

A part of her had wanted nothing but to run from him, while another part of her had held on to every look, every word, every second of attraction sizzling between them.

Until she found herself here, staring sightlessly at the half-finished class schedules and the room prepared for incoming students as Saban rechecked the security control room that the Breed children’s bodyguards would use during class.

She looked to the open door, aware of the murmur of his voice, too low to make out what he was saying, but comforting nonetheless. Comforting just because she knew he was there, close, protective.

God she was totally losing her perspective here. The same protectiveness that terrified her when he was defending her against Mike was now comforting.

She shook her head at the thought, just as she mentally kicked herself for not having anticipated what Mike would do. He had been fine with the divorce and the mistress he’d had on the side the last year of their marriage until he thought she might have someone else in her life.

Then it was all over but the screaming, the fighting, and the accusations. She was well acquainted with all of them.

The surprising part had been that he had actually stayed away from her since the confrontation at the house. She had been terrified he would try to get in again, that he would bring his insanity back to where Saban could choke it out of him.

As she dragged a hand wearily through her hair, her gaze still on the doorway, Saban stepped through it. Tall and rugged, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and boots, a black Breed Enforcer badge clipped to his belt on one side, his weapon worn comfortably in a shoulder holster.

He looked like what he was, a badass Breed ready to fight if the situation warranted it. Ready to love if she would give him half a chance.

He strode across the room, powerful legs eating up the short distance, his brilliant green eyes eating her alive despite the forbidding line of his mouth.

The flat, severe expression was a warning, and one she knew she wasn’t going to like.

“What’s happened?” She rose slowly from her chair, all manner of nightmare visions flashing through her head. Heading it was the fear that Callan Lyons, pride leader of the Ruling Cabinet, had changed his mind about allowing the children to attend the public classes.

He moved to the front of her desk, his brooding gaze flickering over her face before he propped his hands on his hips and scowled. The irritated, aggravated look took her aback.

“I’ve just been informed that your ex has attempted to order Callan Lyons to have me removed from your home based on his suspicions that you have been unduly influenced by me and therefore not in possession of your full mental faculties. He’s threatening to sue me, the Ruling Cabinet, and the Board of Education for being conspirators in my evil designs upon your very luscious body and demanding that you be released from your contract and escorted immediately to his location where he will then return you to your home and get you medical care.”

As he spoke, Natalie felt her lips parting in shocked amazement.

“He wouldn’t dare,” she breathed.

“Oh, he’s dared,” Saban snapped. “Now, tell me again why I shouldn’t kill the son of bitch and put us all out of our misery.”

She only wished he was joking.

“Because it would piss me off?” She flattened her hands against the desk and glared back at him. “Do you think I want bloodshed over someone’s insane jealousy? For God’s sake Saban, why the hell do you think I divorced him?”

“I’m wondering what possessed you to marry him to begin with,” he snorted irritably before running a hand along the back of his neck. “He’s out of control, Natalie. I’m warning you now, the Breed Ruling Cabinet is considering a measure to have him arrested and barred from the area. If he ignores the injunction, he’ll be jailed.”

“Saban—”

“Don’t Saban me,” he growled. “Do you have any idea the threat he poses to the very tenuous agreement the Ruling Cabinet and the Board of Education came to here? Or the threat he poses to you, personally? I’ve warned you, he’s not sane, and this merely proves it.”

“Mike is a little intense sometimes.” She grimaced. “He’ll get tired of this and go away.” She hoped.

He leaned forward. This time he was the one that flattened his hands on the desk as his nose came within inches of hers. “You are fooling yourself.”

Perhaps she was. Shaking her head, Natalie moved away from the desk and walked to the windows. She stared out onto the lush grounds, the tall, thick trees that bordered it, and wondered what she would do if Mike managed to destroy this chance for all of them.

“You should let me talk to him.” She turned to Saban, knowing, even before she did, what she would see.

His eyes narrowed on her, denial reflecting on the hard, savage lines of his face.

“Not gonna happen,” he informed her with a menacing purr. “Do you remember the last encounter? Did he look as though he would listen to you then?”

No, he hadn’t. She breathed out roughly.

“He’s not a bad man,” she finally said softly. “He just wasn’t a good husband.”

“He’s insane. Stop trying to defend him. He’d cart you out of here physically no matter your wishes, if you gave him only half a chance. I don’t intend to give him that chance.”

No, she didn’t either. But Mike had never been dangerous, not really. He was suspicious, paranoid, and sometimes a little over the top, but she couldn’t believe he would hurt anyone.

“When are you going to stop defending him, Natalie?” He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered back at her.

“I’m not defending him.” She hunched her shoulders against the accusation. “I just don’t want you killing him.”

“And if I promise not to kill him?” he rasped coldly. “What then? Will you accept that he’s fucking crazy and at least allow me the satisfaction of throwing him over the county line?”

Her lips almost twitched. He might be a Breed, but at the moment he was pure arrogant, irritated male.

“You should let me talk to him,” she said again, shaking her head. “You have to know how to reason with him, that’s all.”

“Well evidently you don’t know how to do it either, or you wouldn’t have ended up divorced, now would you?”

“Yes, I would have.” She met his gaze without flinching. “Reason or not, Mike couldn’t accept my need to be myself, and I couldn’t accept his need to control me. It was that simple, Saban. Everything else aside, that was what destroyed our marriage.”

“You loved him.” And he hated it. She could see it for the barest second, flashing in his eyes, the knowledge that she had felt something for another man.

Natalie nodded slowly. “When I married him, I loved the illusion he gave me. I loved the man I thought he was.”

His nostrils flared; if it was in anger or in an attempt to scent the truth of her statement, she wasn’t certain.

His arms dropped from his chest as he shook his head then, turning from her and running his hand along the back of his neck as though to rub away the tension there.

“I had a life before you, Saban. Just as you had one before me,” she reminded him.

“I never loved until you.” He turned back to her, that arrogance stronger, tightening his features, brightening his eyes. “But I don’t blame you for the emotions you had for him. Sucks, but there it is. My problem with this is your refusal to admit how dangerous he is.”

“A danger to himself.” That was the sad part, and what Natalie had admitted to herself before taking that final step to divorce him. “He’s not a danger to me, Saban. If he hurt me, he couldn’t continue to be the martyr he sees himself as. The world is against him.” She spread her hands helplessly. “That’s how he sees it. Use force or violence against him, and it’s only going to make him worse.”

She moved then, not certain why the memory of that had her moving to him, walking into the arms that opened for her. Why did she even need to be held? Mike was out of her life, at least for the most part. She didn’t need comforting, and she knew Saban sure as hell didn’t need it. He was arrogant enough for a dozen men.

But there she was, folded against his chest, his hands rubbing against her back, his warmth enfolding her.

The arousal that had remained a low throb inside her all day wasn’t building; the hormonal adjustments the doctor had made the day before had made it safe for her and Saban to actually leave the house for longer than five minutes. So it wasn’t overwhelming hunger driving her.

She felt his lips press to the top of her head, though, and couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at her lips.

For two days they had avoided the subject of Mike, as though he were a grenade in danger of exploding between them.

“Something will have to be done about him, Natalie,” he said softly, one hand curling beneath her chin to lift her face to allow his eyes to meet hers. “This won’t continue.”

She nodded slowly, regretfully. Yes, something would have to be done, and she knew she would have to do it. She couldn’t allow Mike to be hurt. He wasn’t a bad man, as she had told Saban. He was just a very needy man, a man who refused to accept that things couldn’t always go his way. Once he accepted he had lost, though, he would give up, lick his wounds, and torture some other poor woman who didn’t have the sense to see through the sad stories he wove.

She had seen through them a long time ago, and now, as she stood in Saban’s arms, she was willing to admit that she didn’t want Mike’s accusations and his paranoia to damage what she was finally admitting to being between them.

She had a chance here for the love she had dreamed of, for the life she wanted. She couldn’t let Mike destroy that. She couldn’t let herself destroy it, because she was learning that Saban just might be a man she could depend on. A man she could be free with.

TEN

She was up to something. As the day went by, Saban could watch the gears working in her mind. It was fascinating, watching her, sensing her turning the problem of her ex-husband over in her mind until he wanted to snarl in jealous fury at the knowledge that she was thinking about him.

He didn’t want her thinking about another man. He wanted to wipe Mike Claxton with his smarmy smile and avaricious gaze completely out of her memory.

Knowing he couldn’t grated at his temper. Knowing she was trying to figure out how to do his job and get rid of the bastard only made things worse.

He watched the process, though, and cataloged each shift of expression, each changing scent of emotion as she worked in the schoolroom, and later as they ate dinner at one of Buffalo Gap’s better restaurants.

The hormonal adjustment Ely had given her the day before, as well as the adjusted capsule she took that morning had eased the heat enough to allow Natalie to think rather than to fuck with instinctive abandon. He would have preferred the abandon, he had to admit, because there was no hormonal treatment for the males.

The effects were different, the agonizing heat not nearly as uncomfortable. Or perhaps it wasn’t as noticeable as pain. Saban had known pain. Pain so agonizing, so brutal that the need to fuck, no matter how vicious, was more pleasure than agony.

But it was bordering on intensely irritating as he checked out the house. He went over the security diagnostics and then ran the secondary sensors for electronic listening devices, explosives, and a variety of threats.

His dick was spike hard and threatening to rip his zipper from his jeans, but if he was going to fuck in peace, then he had to make damned sure the house was safe first.

Moving back to the living room, his gaze moved instinctively to his mate. She was curled in the corner of the couch, watching him, molasses eyes dark and hot, her body vibrating with arousal.

She was perfection to him. It didn’t matter that another had taken her, that she had loved another, he told himself. But did she still love him? Were there emotions that had carried over from her marriage that now hampered her ability to see her ex-husband as he was?

“You’re watching me with that predatory look in your eyes again,” she announced, her voice husky, edging into passion.

God, he loved the sound of her voice when she desired him. When the heat was building and her pussy was creaming.

“Perhaps I’m considering dessert.” He moved closer to her, his teeth clenching at the needs suddenly rocking through him.

The heat building in her wrapped around his senses, intoxicated him, made his blood boil. It had been like that the moment he had laid eyes on her, watching her from afar. She had been an assignment when he landed in Nashville, where she had worked in a small public school as a teacher. Within hours she had become the most important thing in his life. In the weeks since, she had become even more. She had become his soul.

That knowledge made his need for her harder, sharper. It made him all too aware that his position in her life was precarious, despite the mating heat. As much as he hated it—and he did hate it—there had been another male in her life at one time, and that male was encroaching on his territory.

Saban had been created and trained to deal with such irritations with maximum force. He had been raised by an old man he called Broussard to know compassion and to follow something far greater than death.

As he stood there, staring at his mate, he wondered which would win. The training or the upbringing, because at this moment he wanted nothing more than to shed blood and to protect his mate. Because something inside him—that primal, primitive part of him—warned him that his mate needed protecting against Mike Claxton.

“You don’t look like a man considering dessert.” She unfolded herself from the couch, a sinuous, sexy move that had his nostrils flaring to both draw the scent of her into his head and to maintain control. The scent tested the control, but he resisted for the moment.

“I’m a man considering many things.” Foremost, he was considering the best way to maneuver his very intelligent, very confrontational little mate.

Her low laugh was knowing, sexy. The scent of her was like sunrise, like spring and innocence, and like a woman moving slowly, confidently into her place in her mate’s life.

He liked that scent. He liked all the feels and the textures of watching her claim what was hers alone.

Perhaps Claxton wouldn’t be such an issue. Not that he would ever let her confront the man herself, but perhaps he could not shed blood. And maybe he didn’t have to worry about securing her heart. She was coming to him, the scent of her was mixing with his, his scent was mixing with hers.

Her fingers slid under his belt.

Saban’s head jerked down. His gaze slashed to those graceful fingers, curled as they were between his jeans and the shirt tucked into them.

The heat of her fingers branded his flesh through the shirt and flashed to his balls, drawing them tight.

It was a first for them. The first time she had come to him. He lifted his head back to her, saw the flash of vulnerability in her eyes, and took a firm hold on the hunger tearing through him.

“I’m yours,” he told her. “Do as you will, mate.”

“Mate,” she whispered the word almost questioningly.

“Much more than a wife.” He kept his arms still at his sides rather than touch her as he wanted to. “The most important part of who I am.”

Her expression softened, though her gaze gleamed with nervousness and with a twinge of uncertainty. It didn’t stop her need, though, and it didn’t stop that small step into awareness of her power over him.

And she had a great amount of power over him. He would do more than kill for her—he would die for her. But even more, he would fight to the very limits of his training to live for her.

“I want you.” She said it simply, and with that she stole any remaining part of him that he may have held separately from her.

The breath literally stalled in his throat as she worked at the buckle of his belt. Slow, sure movements, her slender fingers easing the belt loose then slipping the metal button free to slide the zipper down, over the heavy ridge of flesh throbbing beneath.

He growled involuntarily, the muscles of his abdomen flexing violently as her fingers gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it up his torso.

Saban lifted his arms, bent enough to allow her to pull the shirt free, then nearly roared out his pleasure as her head bent and her sharp little teeth raked his chest.

“Mercy, my cher,” he growled, forcing his hands to merely skim along her back.

She was fully dressed. He wanted her naked, and he wanted her naked now.

He gripped the hem of her shirt and drew it off when he wanted to rip it off. He forced back a hungry snarl as he felt her satiny flesh, and then a roar as her hot lips moved down his chest to his abdomen, then to the straining length of his cock.

He stared down at her in amazement as she went to her knees. Her breasts were framed in black lace, pale and swollen and pretty as hell. Nothing could be as pretty as those pale pink, luscious lips surrounding and consuming the head of his cock though.

Damn. Nothing could be as good.

His fingers slid into her hair. The warm strands tangled around his fingers like living silk. She sucked the head of his cock deep inside her mouth. She sent his senses exploding.

Saban felt his head fall back on his shoulders then forced himself steady to stare down at her. He felt the rumbling growls that came from his chest, and he growled her name. He snarled his need for her, and he fought for control. He prayed for control, because he wanted this to last. He wanted this touch, the way her eyes blazed up at him, the sight of his flesh held intimately in her mouth seared into his memory.

A shattered groan ripped from his chest as her tongue swirled around the head, caressing the swollen crest with wicked licks. And there, just beneath the crest, her curious little tongue probed at the flesh that covered the barb. The extension wasn’t erect, but it throbbed beneath the flesh, ached with the need for release.

“I’ll not stand much more,” he groaned as she sucked the head back into her mouth and whispered a moan over the thick crest.

“Natalie, cher.” His thighs tightened against the need to come, his balls drew up in agony.

With one last, slow lick, she pulled back slowly.

“I want to take you.”

Saban stared down, dazed, sweat forming on his forehead as she rose to her feet, her slender fingers stroking over his erection.

“I want to take you right here.” She toed off her shoes as she unsnapped her jeans.

“Here?” He swallowed tightly, watching as she wiggled from the snug denim like a fantasy present, unwrapped one slow inch at a time.

“Here.” Her smile was pure sex, pure need. “Do you have a problem with here?” She kicked her jeans free before reaching behind her and unclipping the bra.

The cups fell away from the firm, sweet flesh of her breasts, and control was suddenly the last thing on his mind. Sweet, succulent nipples topped the flushed mounds, and he was lost.

“Here works.”

Hell, he didn’t care where it was, as long as he was inside her, holding her, her holding him, a part of each other.

Saban sat back on the couch, watched in wonder and pleasure as she straddled his thighs and came to him.

His hands shackled her hips as he reclined into the back of the couch.

She flowed over him like hot honey. Soft, saturated, slick flesh enclosed his cock head, then by slow, agonizing inches took the shaft of his erection. Tiny, whimpering cries left her lips. Her sharp nails bit into his shoulders, and her dark eyes were nearly black in her pleasure.

“I’ll not last long. I’ll make up for it.” He was fighting to breathe.

He could feel the sweat beading on his flesh, feel the wildness invading both of them.

“You can make it up all night.” She leaned into his chest, her hips lifting, dragging the tight, clenching flesh of her pussy over his cock, and he lost it.

Who cared about control? This pleasure, the touch of her, the taste of her, the feel of her was all that mattered. Gripping her hips, Saban shifted and began to move inside her with hard, desperate thrusts. Nothing mattered but fucking her now. Fucking her so hard and deep, with such pleasure that she never forgot what it meant to belong to him.

Natalie was wild above him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Sharp little nails pierced his back as her teeth bit into his shoulder.

The tiny pinpricks of pain were nothing, more pleasure than anything else, but enough to tear away that last strip of control he had kept reined in. He gripped her hips harder, his cock shafting into her with furious strokes as he felt her orgasm rip through her body.

He laid his mouth over the mark he had given her, his teeth scraping it as he gripped her flesh and let go his own release. The barb beneath the head of his cock thickened, hardened, the pleasure-pain of it drawing a snarl from his throat as ecstasy poured through him. Sweet heaven, the pleasure of it. The feel of her pussy against flesh so sensitive the agony was too much for him. He felt it pulse, throb, spilling more of the hormone into her even as he spilled his seed inside her.

The barb locked his cock in place, caressed hidden flesh, and sent them both hurtling into a brilliant, burning sphere of pure pleasure.

He would figure the rest of it out later, he promised himself as he bore her back against the couch cushions and came above her. As his release spilled inside her and the aftershocks of rapture tore through them both, he swore he would hold onto her, no matter the cost. Jealousy be damned, it wasn’t worth losing the faith she was finding in him. And it wasn’t worth losing the loyalty he could feel growing between them, a loyalty born of emotion and, he prayed, of love.

He didn’t want to shackle her to him with sex. He wanted to hold her to him with love. Nothing more.

ELEVEN

Natalie had tried desperately not to think about Saban or the emotions twisting inside her where he was concerned. She’d used frustration and aggravation, she’d tried to hide, and she’d tried to deny them. She’d wanted to deny feeling anything for him, because otherwise she would have had to face the fact that within a matter of weeks, less than two months, she had let a man steal a part of her heart that even her ex-husband hadn’t possessed.

And here she had been the one to promise herself she would never let another man affect her again.

She almost snorted at the thought the next morning as she put on coffee and began preparing breakfast. Saban sat at the small kitchen table, dressed in his Breed Enforcer uniform.

Strapped to his side in a shoulder holster was his weapon, to his left thigh a sheathed dagger. He would have more weapons hidden on him, she knew. Weapons she couldn’t see, weapons he knew how to use with deadly efficiency.

And why that brought her comfort rather than freaking her out, she wasn’t certain. She should have been frightened of Saban from the day she learned he’d be living in her home with her, following her, protecting her.

It was one of the reasons she had fought him so far, she realized as she finished the bacon, eggs, and toast. It was why she hadn’t wanted him here. Why she hadn’t wanted him to be a part of her life. Because she had known he would become a part of her heart.

And he was. Right there in living color, bronze muscle covered by the military-type black uniform with the Jaguar insignia on his shoulder.

She almost shook her head at herself as she poured two mugs of coffee and moved to set his on the table. Turning away from him, she couldn’t help it, she just couldn’t help but to let her fingers skim over the thick, black silk of his hair.

“Hey.” He caught her hand, his head jerking up, his gaze connecting with her in lazy awareness of her. “You don’t have to try to sneak and touch me.”

He placed her palm against his cheek, turned a kiss into it, then went back to work on the small electronice notepad he had attached to the palm Internet link he carried.

Natalie threaded her fingers through his hair, a smile twitching at her lips as he leaned into the caress, even though his brow was furrowed with concentration.

He didn’t mind being touched. And he didn’t think a light caress meant running straight to the bed as well. Mike hadn’t wanted to be touched unless he was ready for sex.

She let her fingers linger a moment longer then moved back to the stove and breakfast.

Strange, how easily Saban has slipped into her heart. She hadn’t wanted it, she had given it the good fight, but he was there.

She paused at the stove, felt the sharp blow to her heart, and realized she loved it. It stole her breath, when she knew it shouldn’t have. It shook her to the core, even though she realized she should have known all along what was happening.

She had fallen in love with a man a hundred times more dominant than her ex-husband had been, and he had managed to slip so much deeper inside her soul than Mike ever could have.

She stared sightless down at the bacon and felt the anger that began to build inside her. It wasn’t an anger toward herself or toward Saban. But toward Mike.

He had come to Buffalo Gap to destroy not just her independence but what she had found with Saban. He had left his bimbo, his job, and the home he had stolen from her to make certain she lost anything she could have found in this small community.

He would do it, too, she realized. He wouldn’t physically hurt her, but he would destroy the respect and the good standing she was building here. He would make it impossible for her to teach the Breed children before he would make himself appear as a threat to her and to them.

And he knew what he was doing. And she knew she was going to have to stop him before he destroyed this chance she had at happiness.

“I need to check a few things in the truck.” Saban rose from his chair as she turned to him. “I’ll be right back.”

He strode quickly from the room as she drew in a slow, hard breath. As she heard the front door close, she jerked the phone from the wall and punched in Mike’s cell phone number.

She was going to take care of this between her and Mike. She wouldn’t have Saban’s hands bloodied because of her ex-husband’s stupidity, and she wasn’t giving him the chance to nearly destroy her career again.

“Natalie, thank God you called.” He answered on the first ring. “Are you okay?”

The pseudo concern in his voice was nearly too much.

“Go home, Mike,” she snapped. “I divorced you for a reason. To get you out of my life. Don’t make me get another restraining order on you. You know how bad that’s going to look if you have to actually get another job.”

“You didn’t used to be so hard, Natalie.” There was a wealth of sorrow in his voice. God, didn’t he ever see what he was doing to himself?

“You didn’t used to be so stupid,” she hissed. “I left Tennessee to get away from you. I’m happy here, Mike. Happier than I ever was in our marriage. Go back to your bimbo and leave me the hell alone.”

Silence filled the line for long moments.

“I just want to see you first,” he finally said, his voice soft, regretful. “Is that so much to ask?”

“Yes, it is.” Way too much to ask, because she couldn’t blame Saban for being concerned, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to agree to this.

“Five minutes, Natalie. Anywhere. I don’t care. Just give me five minutes to say good-bye.”

“And you’ll leave?”

“I swear, I’ll leave.”

“Five minutes,” she retorted. “I’ll be at the mall later today sometime around four. I’ll meet you at the outside entrance to Sally J’s.” Sally J’s was one of the women’s-only clothing stores in the large mall just outside town. “You’ll have five minutes. I’ll call you right before I step outside.”

“Will your furry friend be with you?” he asked bitterly.

“He’ll be around,” she finally sighed. “But I’ll talk to you alone. Be there at four, Mike. And remember, five minutes. That’s it.”

“Five minutes. That’s all I need, Nat.”

She hung the phone up and moved back to the stove as the front door opened once again, and seconds later Saban strode back into the kitchen.

As Saban sat back down at the kitchen table and took a healthy sip of the decaffeinated coffee he’d slipped into the canister days ago, he drew in a slow breath.

Sometimes his sense of smell was a curse rather than a blessing. Times such as moments before, when he had smelled the emotion pouring from Natalie. Rich and saturated with arousal, tempestuous with need, and overlaying it all, the deep, heady scent of love.

Love had a scent, though it varied from person to person and couple to couple. It wasn’t easy to detect and often wasn’t even apparent except in high-stress, personal moments.

What was she thinking of? he wondered. What had caused that well of emotion to open inside her and break free and then to touch him. To touch him of her own volition, as though testing her ability to do so or his patience in allowing it.

God help them both—he would lie at her feet until hell froze over to feel again what he had felt when she had touched him so timidly. Sensation, like an electrical current had run over his scalp and sizzled down his spine. He’d barely restrained a weakening shiver, and he cursed himself for it. For a second, he’d been like the pitiful cub he remembered himself as, so long ago. Staring at the scientists from his metal pen, hungry for something that went beyond the need for food. And now he knew what that hunger was, not for just a touch, but for one filled with emotion.

That touch had set his nerve endings on fire, and now, long moments later, it had him on edge, off balance, and filled with his own emotions.

“I’d like to postpone the trip to the mall that you planned for today,” he told her, keeping his voice level as she set the plate of food in front of him. “There are still some safety issues I’d like to have taken care of first.”

His control not withstanding, the report Jonas had sent out via the eLink wasn’t happy news.

“I can’t postpone it.”

Saban’s head snapped up. Her voice was carefully bland, non-confrontational, but he heard the nervousness behind it. The same nervousness he sensed every damned time she disagreed with him. Did she think he was going to beat her for disagreeing with him? That son of a bitch, Claxton, had a lot to answer for; unfortunately, Saban had already come to the conclusion that he would have to allow Jonas and his team to take care of getting the bastard out of town, rather than taking care of it himself.

Natalie might not like his methods.

As he watched her, he noticed that she didn’t meet his eyes. She took her seat, salted and peppered her food, sipped her coffee, and said nothing more.

He could see the pulse beating a ragged rhythm in her throat though, and he could smell her trepidation.

“Very well.” He lowered his gaze to his own breakfast and dug in. “I’ll contact Jonas and have a few extra men assigned around the mall just to be on the safe side. An enforcer caught sight of a suspected Council soldier in town last night. The Council has been attempting to capture Breed mates for years, so we need to be careful.”

“Why?” She lifted her head then, suspicion flickering in her gaze.

Did she believe he would lie to her? Saban wanted to growl, he wanted to throw something, wanted to beat her ex-husband until he was nothing but bloody pulp.

“Why are they attempting to capture our mates? Or why do we need to be careful?”

Her lips pursed as mocking patience filled her expression. “What do you think?”

Saban smiled, making certain to add just enough wicked sensuality to the look. “Many things, but I’ll concentrate on your question. They want our mates to experiment on the phenomenon, which by the way, they saw as early as the first Breed’s creation more than a century ago. Unfortunately for them, that first Leo escaped in his twenty-seventh year of creation. The mating hormone and the genetic viruslike condition it creates is of interest to them.”

“What sort of interest?” She was eating, but her attention was caught, he could see.

Natalie was a curious little thing, and that curiosity was rarely a problem. Until now.

He finished his breakfast, pushed back his plate, and stared back at her coolly. “It creates a condition that decreases aging in both the Breed and his or her mate. In ten years, Merinus and Callan have aged perhaps a year. There are rumors the first Leo, who should be nearing the age of one hundred and thirty, is still alive and still in his prime. And that, my dear, is the reason the Council scientists would do anything to capture our mates.”

TWELVE

It was hard to take in. Hours later, as Natalie entered the huge, two-story indoor mall just outside the town’s limits, she felt as though she had been sucker punched with the information.

Saban had answered all her questions, he had even offered to take her to Sanctuary to allow her to discuss some of the more advanced effects of the mating heat. Nothing dangerous, he had assured her. There was nothing life threatening in being a mate. Why, hell no, just an advanced life span and only God knew what problems in the future. Not to mention mentally defective, in her opinion, Council scientists and soldiers drooling for a chance to slice into a body verified as a mate, Breed or human.

It amazed her at odd times, the destructiveness that men could force on each other. The horror and cruelties didn’t exist in the animal world. It was survival of the strongest there, and in some ways, that was how the Breeds saw living now. Survival of the fittest.

Did nature see it that way as well? Was that the reason for the mating heat? The reason for the advanced life span once mated? She knew that women, Breeds and those who were married or mated to feline Breeds, conceived quickly without the hormonal treatments Dr. Morrey had worked up. But after the first conception, it then became much harder to conceive. And Saban had told her that the Wolf Breeds had had an even harder time of it until only recently, when their doctors had detected additional hormones, so far unknown, within one of their mates.

The whole mating process was confusing as hell, but according to Saban, the one constant in it all was the emotion the mates shared. So far, in over eleven years since the announcement of their existence, a mating had always resulted in love. And the look he had given her as he related that information had been filled with heat, emotion, and the unvoiced question she wasn’t ready to answer yet.

Yes, she loved him, and knowing it terrified the hell out of her.

As they neared Sally J’s, Natalie checked the watch on her wrist surreptitiously and glanced around at the crowds mingling from store to store. She had ten minutes to meet Mike on the other side of the store.

The restrooms were on the other side, with two entrances and exits into them. She was hoping she could enter from one side and move quickly to the exit on the other side, beside the doors that led to the outdoor parking.

Five minutes. That was all she was giving Mike, and she intended to do that talking. Enough was enough. They were divorced, they had divorced for a reason, and she wasn’t going to turn the new life she wanted for herself into an international incident. Which was what it would become if he became the first recorded non-Breed to die from jealous rage.

She trusted Saban, she did, with her own life. But Mike’s, she wasn’t so certain of.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room.” She paused by the entrance. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

She had to force herself to tamp down nervousness, to hold back fear, which she was terrified was damned near impossible. But after one narrow-eyed look, Saban nodded slowly before leaning against the wall with all the resigned patience of any put-upon male.

She almost smiled.

Moving into the ladies’ room, she picked up her steps, walked quickly past the stalls, then out of the exit on the opposite side of the curved room. It was only a few steps to the outdoor exit through two sets of double doors and onto the sidewalk that surrounded the mall.

Mike was waiting for her directly across the small road, arms crossed over his chest, his expression causing her chest to clench with a spurt of familiar panic. He was angry. Mike wasn’t always rational when he was angry. He didn’t care if he caused a public spectacle of himself or her, and he rarely listened to reason. She almost turned and walked back into the mall.

Instead, she glanced at her watch then back at Mike, a silent declaration that she wasn’t walking over there. At least this close to the doors, there was a handy escape route if one of those Council soldiers was lurking around the mall.

She looked around just to be certain and saw no one suspicious. The parking lot was busy, the traffic fairly thick.

She watched Mike curse before he moved across the street, his shoulders thrown back, his expression pugnacious.

“We couldn’t do this in the shade?” He sneered. “You always have to be difficult, don’t you, Natalie? Big-time Breed teacher has to call all the shots.”

“I can go back inside, and we can forget this,” she retorted. “Saban’s waiting just inside the doors, Mike. Make this fast.”

“I want you to come home. Dammit, you have no business here. You’re my wife.”

A sharp, amazed laugh left her throat. “Drop it, Mike. We both know this has nothing to do with you wanting me back and everything with losing control of me. I’m not your wife. I’ll never be your wife again, and if you don’t get that through your thick skull, then you’re going to end up dead.”

“Siccing that rabid animal of yours on me, Nat?” Disgust filled his voice. “How can you let that thing touch you?”

Natalie wanted to roll her eyes but knew it would only make this little fight run longer.

“Mike, I agreed to meet you so you’ll see this isn’t happening with me.” She tried to keep her tone soft, gentle. Sometimes it worked. “Our marriage was over the first year; I just didn’t want to admit it. Now, let it go, and go back to Tennessee. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

His lips flattened, his face flushing with anger.

“Don’t you see what those Breeds have done to you, Natalie?” He pushed his fingers through his hair as fury flashed in his eyes. “They’ve done something to you. They drugged you.” He reached for her, his teeth clenching violently as she jumped back. “Look at you, you can’t even stand to be touched by anyone but that bastard fucking you.”

“Stop this, Mike. You don’t know what you’re talking about, and it’s not a discussion we’re going to have. You need to leave. I didn’t want you before I came here, and I don’t want you now.”

His nostrils flared, a telling sign. Only at his most furious had Natalie ever seen that. Those were the times he had wrapped his hand around her neck and pounded the wall beside her head. When he had smashed furniture and spent hours accusing her of screwing every man they both knew.

“You’re my wife.” He advanced a step, and in his eyes Natalie saw something she had never seen before. A fury so violent she knew Mike would never keep his control.

Had he truly been working his way up to this over the years? How had she not seen it, not suspected that he would retaliate like this the moment he knew he was no longer a part of her life? Forget the divorce, the bimbo; he had still controlled her. She hadn’t dated, she hadn’t sought out friends, because she knew Mike, and she knew he wouldn’t have tolerated it.

And she hadn’t even suspected she knew until now.

She stepped back warily toward the doors now, wishing she hadn’t slipped away from Saban, that she had just fought it out with him, made him at least let her try. She would have been safe. Or safely in her bed screaming in pleasure as Saban argued his side. Either one would have been preferable to this.

“They drugged you, Natalie. The doctors that talked to me after you left told me all about it. This drug their bodies make. It makes you addicted, dependent.”

Oh God. Oh God. She looked around frantically, knowing what was going on, certain Mike had set her up.

She turned to push through the entrance doors into the mall, to run, to escape back to Saban.

“You fucking bitch, you’re not running back to him.”

Natalie almost screamed as his hand locked over her upper arm, pulling her back as she scrambled to grab the handle to the door, to get away from him.

The pain, though not as severe at first, became mind-numbing as he dragged her back. She felt his arm lock around her waist, his chest against her back as she clawed at his flesh, guttural whimpers leaving her lips as she tried to scream for Saban.

She heard screams, but they couldn’t be her own. A haze of pain covered her eyes, filled her brain, and with it came terror.

Mike was cursing, raging. She could hear tires squealing and she knew, oh God, she knew he was taking her away. Taking her away from Saban and the dreams she hadn’t known she had.

“You bastard!” Fury, rich with terror and mixed with adrenaline, spiked through her mind.

Her hands curled back, her nails clawing back at Mike’s face as she tried to tangle her feet with his legs, throwing him off balance.

They hit the street as horns blared and a siren began to scream through the air. As she rolled to her stomach, she felt hands grab her ankles, pulling at them, trying to drag her back as she kicked, screaming, trying to roll, fighting for release.

There were too many voices. Too many hands touching her, and a second later she froze in a terror so thick, so horrible it nearly stopped her heart.

A feline roar of rage split through the chaos of sound as she heard the rapid, staccato bursts of stunners and bullets ripping around her.

One last kick, and she was free of the manacles at her feet. Crawling to her knees, she lifted her head, fighting to see. There were people everywhere. Black uniforms surrounded her. Someone was screaming from behind the barrier of enforcers, and she swore it sounded like Mike’s screams.

“Saban! Oh God, Saban!”

“Stay the hell where you are!” The growling roar from her right had her twisting, searching for him, her mind still dazed, the pain of Mike’s touch still ripping through her senses.

But he was there. Through the blur of tears and pain, she saw him, then she felt him, one arm curling around her and pulling her into the mall as the gunfire behind them suddenly ceased.

His eyes were blazing into hers, filled with rage, his expression twisted with it. “If you wanted him that fucking bad, I would have readily released you,” he snarled. “Now keep your goddamned ass here, and I’ll see if I can save the son of a bitch for you.” He turned around, stood aside for the two female Breed Enforcers who crowded into the small area. “Watch her and keep her here if it means shackling her to the fucking door.”

Shock froze her, parted her lips on a cry, and left her staring at his retreating back as he left her sitting there between the street entrance and the mall entrance.

She curled her arms around her waist, and as she fought the pain and the need for his touch, she laid her head against her knees and let the tears fall.

She knew what she had done. Without meaning to, certainly without desiring to, she had betrayed her mate.

THIRTEEN

Saban stared at the mess four Council soldiers made as they bled out on the asphalt of the street outside the black panel van they had been attempting to get Natalie into.

The scientist was still alive, a little bit wounded, but he was breathing, and the EMTs seemed certain he would keep living. If it weren’t for the information they needed from him, Saban would have finished the job and put a bullet in his head.

Mike Claxton was sitting on the ground, his head in his hands, a bandage wrapped around one arm and another binding his ankle.

The bastard had been damned lucky. The fact that Natalie had managed to trip both of them had saved his life, taking him out of the line of fire when he, Jonas, and the other Breeds swarmed out of the mall into the parking lot.

Saban braced his hands on his hips and stared at the man and wanted to howl in rage. He could smell the weakness, both physically and mentally, that poured from Mike Claxton. He wasn’t a fitting mate for Natalie; hell, he hadn’t even managed to be a fitting husband to her, and yet she had run to him.

He couldn’t even find it in him to excuse her, to find a way to understand it. It simply came down to the fact that Claxton had meant more to her than her own life, than Saban’s life, had. And that broke his heart.

Shaking his head, he moved to the man, then hunched in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees, as he stared at Claxton’s bent head.

Mike’s head lifted. Miserable, damp blue eyes met Saban’s.

“You set this up.” They knew that. He had arranged with the scientist and the soldiers to take her.

Claxton sniffed back his tears. “They have a cure for her. Whatever you did to her, it made her leave me, divorce me. She loves me, Breed. Not you.”

The pain of that was like an open, gaping wound inside Saban’s soul.

“I didn’t meet her until the day you came to the house to find me there,” he told Claxton, striving for patience. “Until that day, Natalie had never so much as breathed air that I had passed through. How could I have harmed her or damaged your marriage?”

Claxton shook his head. “They saw you.”

“Did they have pictures? Video?”

The other man continued to shake his head.

“The Council records everything, Claxton. Every investigation, every move they make, one way or the other, is recorded. If they had no proof, then it didn’t happen.”

“You drugged her,” he bit out, his voice rising as he glared at Saban. “She divorced me.”

“You cheated on her with her assistant teacher,” Saban said cruelly. “You broke trust with her. You betrayed her. You refused to allow her to make her own decisions, to be herself, because you were too frightened she would learn the truth. And when she did, you blamed her.”

Saban had had the investigation done. His sister, Chimera, had sent the information via the eLink, carefully organized, brutally concise, days before.

“She would have forgiven me.” Claxton swallowed tightly, but his demeanor shifted slightly, lost the aggression and became pathetic rather than furious. “Eventually, she would have forgiven me.”

Saban shook his head. “Would you ever forgive her?”

The other man blinked back tears and looked down, shaking his head.

“You nearly died here today, Claxton.” Saban stared at the Council soldiers who had lost their lives instead. “But what would have happened to Natalie is beyond your worst nightmares. They would have cut her, studied her, and dissected her…while she lived. The horror she would have endured would have been more agony than you could ever imagine.”

He shook his head desperately. “They have a cure. You did something to her. She can’t even bear my touch.”

“Nothing is wrong with her,” Saban snarled, flashing his canines. “She was my woman, my lover. Why would she want the touch of one who had betrayed her? One who had fucked her assistant in her own bed? Why would she wish for your touch?”

Claxton flinched at each question, hunching his shoulders against the truth Saban laid at his feet.

“You didn’t just break the law today in your attempt to aid in her kidnapping, but you broke Breed law, Claxton.” He gave that a second to sink in, and as Mike’s face paled, he went on. “Attempting to kidnap the woman of a Breed is punishable by death. Your trial would be a Breed tribunal, not a jury of your peers. You don’t even have to be there.” He leaned forward. “Justice would be horrifying. Death by the most excruciating pain we could devise. The Council taught us how to cause pain, my friend. Pain like you cannot even imagine.”

Claxton’s face was white now.

“I wanted to save her.”

“You wanted to fucking own her,” Saban snarled. “Now, here is what you are going to do. You are going to your hotel, you will pack, and you will leave before night falls. If at any time you are found to be in Buffalo Gap or if you attempt to contact Natalie without her permission, then Breed law will come down on you.”

Surprise reflected on Claxton’s face. “You’re going to let me go?”

“I have never killed over a woman, Claxton.” Saban let a growl enter his voice for effect. “But over Natalie, I will rip your guts from your navel and strangle you with them. Do you understand me?”

Claxton nodded slowly. Saban held his gaze, staring back at him, letting him see the savagery, the need for blood rising inside him.

“Why are you letting me go?” Claxton asked timidly, almost hopefully.

“You heaped enough guilt on her head during your marriage.” Saban rose to his feet and stared down at him coldly. “I won’t let you guilt her with your death.”

The hope left his eyes. Claxton nodded again then dragged himself to his feet and stared at the dead soldiers now being bagged, the disabled van that would have taken Natalie away.

“I was trying to help her,” he finally said roughly. “I thought…I thought she was in danger.”

“As long as I live she will be safe,” Saban snapped. “Can we say the same for you?” Saban looked at the bloody scene again and then back to Mike.

Mike didn’t say another word. He limped across the street to his car and dragged himself slowly inside it. The bloody battle, the knowledge that his death had been so close, and that Saban would do more than kill him, did what nothing else could have. Right now, in shock, Claxton had taken in the truth of what had happened. He had nearly destroyed Natalie rather than saving her, and whether he had known it before or not, right now, he knew this was his last chance to live.

“We weren’t trained to have mercy, Brother.”

Saban turned to meet eyes identical to his own in a face so delicate, so sweetly curved that at times he couldn’t believe she was one of the highly trained, merciless Breed Enforcers the Bureau of Breed Affairs prized so highly.

Long, black hair was braided into a thick plait and fell to the middle of her back, while her slender, doelike body radiated confidence and strength.

“We weren’t trained to have it, yet we do.” He shrugged carelessly.

“I’ll keep an eye on him for a while. Make sure he gets home safe. We’d hate for him to have an accident between here and there.” Her smile was cold, hard, her eyes like chips of green ice.

“I gave him his life; take it at your own risk, Chimera,” he warned her.

“You’re going to spoil her,” she stated.

Saban shrugged again.

No, he wasn’t spoiling her, he was letting her go. She would keep the job; that had nothing to do with him. Whether she stayed, left, or allowed Claxton back into her life was her choice.

“Tell Jonas to have Natalie escorted home and assign her a new bodyguard,” he told his sister as he fought the pain building in his chest. “I’ll follow up with the scientist we captured and see to his transport to Sanctuary.”

He had to force the words past his lips.

“And if he sends a male with her?” Chimera asked.

Saban just shook his head and moved away from her, knowing she would do exactly as he asked. She had never failed him, not once, not before their escape, not after. And if, as she asked, Jonas sent another male to guard his mate?

God, such pain shouldn’t be possible without an open wound. How could his heart still beat in his chest when it felt as though it were ripped from his body?

Love. God, he had waited for this, dreamed of it, from the moment he had learned that Breeds mated, that their one and only would be their natural one and only, he had waited and he had hoped.

And this was what he had hoped for? A woman who, though she may care for him, loved another.

He had to force himself not to look back at the mall, to the doors where he had left her. He had to force himself to the van where the scientist was confined, restrained and awaiting transport.

Saban stepped to the opened back doors and smiled. A slow, cold smile that showed his canines and bore little resemblance to a civilized being. He didn’t feel so civilized right now.

“Well now, Dr. Amburg.” He greeted the aging scientist with a growl. “How nice to see you here today. I trust you’re doing well?”

Beldon Amburg. He had tortured, murdered, experimented on, and destroyed more lives than Saban could count. His file was extensive; the proof of the atrocities committed at the lab he headed was stored in boxes rather than files.

“You’ve forgotten who your masters are, animal,” Amburg sneered. “One day, you’ll bow before us again, and we’ll know no mercy.”

“Oh, you knew mercy before?” Saban widened his eyes in surprise. “Well now, you’ll have to jus’ tell me ’bout dat lil’ thing,” he announced sarcastically as he stepped into the van and wrapped his fingers brutally around the thin neck of the scientist known as Bloody Amburg. “Right this way, Doctor. We have a nice little cell just waiting for you.”

The scientist gasped for air, but he put up little struggle. Saban dragged him from the bullet-ridden van to the secured security van that pulled up alongside it.

The back doors opened, revealing two Breeds, weapons held ready. The restraints locked into the floor of the van were lifted by a third Breed. And that one, Saban knew, would never leave Amburg alive if he had the chance. Mercury had more reason than most to see this particular scientist dead.

“Mercury, ride up front.” Saban pulled his captive in and took the ends of the restraints himself. Snapping them on, he felt the Breed behind him move to the side.

“I’ll let him live.” The voice was a demon’s growl, causing Amburg to collapse onto the wide metal seat bolted to the wall behind him.

“I’m just going to make sure.” Saban shook his head. “Ride up front. I’ll ride back here with Lawe and Rule.”

He took his seat, another metal bench facing Amburg.

Mercury snarled but moved from the van, allowing the other two Breeds to jump inside before securing the doors.

“We have two escorts front and back to Sanctuary,” Lawe announced. “Seems there’s a report there could be more Council soldiers in the vicinity. Jonas is expecting trouble.”

Saban kept his eyes on Amburg. “If they attack, put a bullet in his head. He’s not worth dying for.”

Amburg swallowed tightly, terror flashing in his cold, pale blue eyes.

Terror was a good thing, Saban thought, because right now, he was just enraged enough to kill for the simple hell of it. His mate was back at the mall, alone, without him, without the ex-husband she had risked her life to save.

And here he was, guarding a fucking Council doctor. Hell, today just sucked.

As Lawe moved to close the doors to the van, Saban looked out, his gaze moving instinctively to where he left Natalie. There, between the entrances to the mall she stood, one hand pressed to the glass door, her cheeks wet with tears. Her eyes were dark, too dark in her pale face, anguished, filled with pain. With sorrow.

As he watched, her lips moved, whispered his name, and he felt his soul shatter.

Lawe slammed the doors closed and secured, but nothing could erase the sight of her pain from his soul.

How the fuck could he ever live without her?

FOURTEEN

Saban sat outside the little brick house, outside Buffalo Gap, outside period.

Natalie’s bedroom light was on. She’d left the curtains cracked just the slightest bit, and he’d warned her about that. Warned her to the point that he had started closing them at night himself, just to make certain they were secure.

Well, maybe not just to make certain they were secure. Her bedroom was like this hive of scents. Everywhere he turned there was another subtle tease of a scent that made up Natalie. Her perfume, the smell of her soap and shampoo mingling, the scent of passion on her sheets, of frustration on her pillows. The smell of the feminine struggle against the male dominant force. Her unconscious, wary battle to hold back her own needs, her hungers, even as the scent of those needs and hungers reached out to him.

Hell. He rubbed his hand over his face in frustration. How could he have been so wrong? Dammit, Natalie wasn’t a fickle woman. Fickle had a scent, just as deceit, dishonesty, and depravity had a scent. There was nothing fickle in what he smelled from his mate.

Stubborn. Eh, she had vast quantities of stubborn. Distrust, she had a fairly healthy dose of that as well. But her character was strong, pure.

He leaned his head back against the seat with a rough growl. He remembered clearly his rage when he realized what she had done. She had risked her life, risked the life they could have together, and her own soul with the horror she would have faced if Amburg had managed to take her. All to save the worthless hide of an ex-husband.

But hadn’t she also nearly wrecked the vehicle Callan had given her that first week to avoid a lame dog in the middle of the road that couldn’t move quick enough? Then, sweet mercy, what had that female done? She had gotten out of the car and approached it, despite its terrified growls and dazed eyes.

She had risked herself then as well. And him. He still carried the mark of that mangy mutt’s teeth in his leg where it had bitten him. All because molasses-brown eyes had been filled with tears, and his mate’s soft heart had decided the bastard deserved to live.

It could have rabies, yet, there he had been, risking his neck for a wounded, enraged animal so she wouldn’t risk hers.

Could Mike be no more than a stray that she feared he would euthanize?

Or was he attempting to make excuses for himself and the woman who owned his soul?

He inhaled warily, looked at the digital time displayed on the dashboard of his truck, and grimaced. It was nearly three in the morning. Natalie was still awake; he had seen her shadow pass the slit in the curtains. He knew the enforcers, Shiloh Gage and Mercury Warrant, were still awake.

Two of the most contrary Breeds ever born were Shiloh and Mercury. No doubt they were in different rooms, in opposite corners waiting, like a cat on a mouse, for the unwary.

No wonder Natalie was pacing the floors. When those two were on guard duty, conversation was in very short supply.

Damn. He’d sat out here in the dark feeling fucking sorry for himself long enough. He wasn’t going to have the answers he needed until he confronted her, until he asked her why she risked herself for her ex-husband. And he would have his answers.

He was man enough to accept that she had loved before, but he’d be damned if he was man enough to accept that those emotions could still remain for another man.

Pushing the truck door open, he moved from the vehicle, closing and locking it with a flick of the security button on the key before heading to the house.

The front door opened before he stepped to the porch, and Shiloh stepped outside, quietly closing the door behind her before leaning against the doorframe.

Dressed in black, her long, dark hair pulled back tight from her face, her dark gold eyes gleaming in the moonlight, she looked exactly as she was: a powerful predator, a force to be reckoned with.

She was considered the brat of Sanctuary, a bit spoiled, definitely a shade arrogant, but she had a kind heart. And from her expression, she had managed to find a bit of sympathy for Natalie.

“Shiloh.” He stepped onto the porch.

“Broussard.” She smiled, but it wasn’t pleasant.

Shiloh wasn’t known for her even temperament, but she was known for her ability to hurt a man. In ways he was sure even the Council wouldn’t have approved of.

He stopped and stared back at her evenly. “Are you gonna let me into that house, Shi?”

She looked out into the night before bringing her gaze back to him.

“She’s cried most of the evening.” There was a hint of a hiss in her voice. “Since when is it okay to make your mate miserable, Saban? This damned place reeks of her misery.”

“I’ll take care of her,” he assured the enforcer. “You have your own things to take care of. I thank you for coming here and taking care of her for me.”

She sniffed at the gratitude but moved away from the door before opening it and heading for the steps.

Mercury moved from the darkness beyond, nodding easily to Saban before he followed the other enforcer and disappeared into the night.

Saban stepped into the house, locked the door, and checked the security system before heading for the stairs.

Strangely, it wasn’t misery that the house reeked of, it was anger. Hot, brilliant, and definitely female.

He moved up the stairs, slid into the hallway, and approached her closed door. Beyond that door lay ecstasy. The bed he had shared with his mate, the scent of their passion, the knowledge, complete and overwhelming, that this woman belonged to him, no matter the evidence to the contrary.

This insanity where she thought she could save the world and those hapless males drawn to trouble because of their own stupidity was going to have to stop though.

He clenched his teeth as the scent of anger grew sharper here, firing the hormone-laced adrenaline, pounding in his head with a primal urge to show her, to enforce his dominance over her. To ensure this never happened again.

Never, ever, would she take another’s side against him. If he felt blood needed to be shed, then he would shed it. He didn’t need her standing between him and danger or between him and his own conscience.

She had no idea the blood he had already shed in his fight to survive. Standing between him and one weak-kneed, paranoid little son of a bitch wasn’t going to make a difference, and she needed to learn that right quick.

He gripped the doorknob, pushed the door open, and with a quick widening of his eyes ducked to avoid whatever heavy object was sailing through the air toward his head.

“Dammit, Natalie!” He ducked again and quickly sidestepped another projectile. Some kind of white ceramic creature he guessed as it shattered against the doorframe as the door slammed closed. “That’s enough.”

“I’ll show you enough!” The bedside clock flew at his head and struck his shoulder with a resounding whack. The pain was minimal, but he didn’t have to give her a chance to perfect her aim. He jumped for her.

She was fast, but she wasn’t fast enough. Hooking his arm around her waist, he tossed her to the bed, coming down on her quickly. He straddled her thighs, gripped her wrists in one hand, and held her securely to the bed.

The short robe she wore had worked to her thighs, the loosely belted front slipped open, revealing hard little nipples and swollen, flushed breasts.

The pert mounds bounced as she struggled against him and had his cock straining against his zipper, desperate to be free. The scent of anger and desire filled the room. The heat of it flushed her cheeks and made her eyes darker.

And the scent of pain. It was carefully masked beneath the anger, but he could smell her hurt, sense it in the air around them.

“You dirty bastard, get off me,” she screamed. “Get off me, and get out of my house. Go back to wherever the hell you came from. I don’t want you here.”

Those were tears glittering in her eyes, the damp sheen making her eyes more luminous, darker, sweeter than ever.

Leaning toward her, he let the low, warning rumble in his chest free. The rough, primal sound only had her eyes narrowing, her face flushing deeper.

“That growling thing is not working on me,” she snapped. “You left. You left me with Breeds that wouldn’t even speak to me. But even worse, moron, you left me hurting!”

He had a feeling she wasn’t talking about arousal or mating heat.

“And how, mate, did I leave you hurting?” He snarled. “By not trusting you? By deceiving you and placing my life deliberately in danger? Deliberately choosing another over my mate! Did I do this?”

“What you did was so much worse,” she panted, her voice rasping. “You left me, Saban. You left when you swore you would never leave me.” A single tear caressed her cheek. “You lied to me.”

Yes, he had. He wiped the tear from her cheek with his thumb, feeling the guilt that rode inside him.

“I came back.” He wasn’t going to be swayed by tear-filled eyes.

“At three o’clock in the morning,” she sneered.

Saban almost smiled. She sounded like a wife, and the knowledge filled him with a sense of excitement rather than anger. She could keep a time card on him whenever she pleased.

“Why did you go to him?” He asked the question, hating himself for it, hating the anger that filled him because of it. “I nearly lost you, Natalie. I would have lost my soul if anything had happened to you. Why? Why would you fucking take that risk? Is he so important to you?”

“You’re that important to me.” She jerked, raising her head until they were nearly nose to nose, flames flickering in her dark eyes. “I wanted him gone. I wanted him to leave, and I didn’t want you to have to kill him to achieve it.”

Saban shook his head in confusion. The way this woman’s mind worked, he would never figure her out.

“What made you think you could make him leave? Even if the Council soldiers hadn’t been involved, Natalie. What in God’s name made you think he would listen to you?”

She breathed out heavily and glared back at him.

“Tell me.” He snarled.

Her gaze became cutting, furious. “Because he knows me, Saban. I threw him out of our house; I divorced him despite his pleas. Once he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he didn’t have a chance, he would have left. He would have hated me, and that was fine, but he would have left.”

“And what could you have said to convince him of it when fear of me didn’t?” He growled. “For God’s sake, Natalie, there’s nothing you could have said.”

“I could have told him I love you!” she cried, shocking him to silence. “I could have told him that if he didn’t leave, then I’d not stand between him and your fists ever again. Damn you. I could have made him see reason.”

“Why would you want to?” He shook his head. She had said she loved him, and she meant it. He could see it in her eyes, in her face, he could smell the sweet, burning scent of it now. She loved him.

“Because I can’t stand to see animals or fools bloody and dying. Geez, Saban, letting you loose on him would be like letting an alligator free in a chicken house. Complete annihilation.”

“You were protecting him,” he growled.

She rolled her eyes! Right there, staring right at him, she rolled her eyes at him as though he were an idiot. It shouldn’t have pleased him, but it filled him with pride.

“No, asshole, I was protecting you from defending yourself against a murder charge,” she snapped back. “If you haven’t noticed, you’re not exactly rational where he’s concerned.”

“Because he’s consorting with Council scientists,” he yelled impatiently, glowering down at her. “For God’s sake, Natalie—”

“Well, I didn’t know he was that stupid,” she muttered. “Intense, yes; paranoid, sure; that’s Mike Claxton, but he didn’t used to be incredibly stupid.”

He shook his head, amazement filling him. “You’re serious.” He couldn’t believe it. “You expected me to be rational when he was clearly violent toward you—”

“He’s never hit me.”

“No, he would just turn you over to monsters.” His voice was rising. “Trust me, you’d have preferred that he try to hit you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Not the point?” He was going to pull his own hair out.

“The point is,” her voice softened, “I love you, Saban. I’d have done just about anything, said anything to get him out of our lives. I thought Mike was smarter than he was. I was wrong. I was wrong, and it will never happen again.” Her voice hitched as her eyes filled with tears again. “But it won’t change the fact that you left me, that you couldn’t even look at me or find out for yourself why I felt I had to do it. Nothing will change that.”

“That, mate, is where you are wrong.”

FIFTEEN

Natalie would always remember the sight of Saban jumping into the van with that nasty little scientist, refusing to look at her, refusing to give her a chance to explain. It didn’t matter that she had realized she had made a mistake even before Mike had attempted to kidnap her. What mattered was his refusal to even ask her why. She would have asked him why. She would have demanded to know why.

Shaking her head, she struggled against him, jerking at her wrists as he held her easily, staring down at her with those brilliant eyes, spiking her heartbeat with the look in them.

Possessive, dominant, everything she thought she would abhor and was now finding herself drawn to.

She stilled beneath him, watching him from under her lashes, growing angrier by the moment. Fine, he was the big, bad, strong Breed, but she hadn’t been raised with her brother for nothing.

The minute she stopped struggling, his hold loosened on her wrists, just the slightest bit, but enough for her to jerk her upper torso up and to bring her lips to his. Where she bit him. A sharp little nip to that delicious lower lip before she was back, writhing, twisting beneath him.

“You little hellion.” His voice was filled with wonder as a small bead of blood formed on his lip. “That was no love nip.”

“How would you know?” she panted. “Maybe you’re not the only one who likes to bite.”

She managed to free one wrist, and before he could grab it again, she reached out, locked her fingers into the muscle of his chest, right around his nipple, and twisted.

He jerked back with a muttered curse, releasing her wrists, giving her the room she needed to twist away from him.

“I don’t need a man who doesn’t trust my love,” she yelled furiously as she freed herself.

“You need a man to paddle your delectable little behind for being so damned stubborn,” he snarled, rubbing at his chest as he stared back at her almost wonderingly.

“Or a man who isn’t so damned filled with pride he can’t even wait around for a reasonable explanation.” She managed to roll to the side of the bed and jump out of his reach.

She had a feeling he let her, though.

“The explanation would have to be reasonable first,” he growled. “Yours wasn’t.”

“So spank me,” she retorted, her voice mocking. “At least I didn’t run away from the problem.”

She stood on one side of the bed breathing hard as he glowered at her from the other side of the bed.

“I intend to get to that, cher, real soon,” he drawled, his expression tightening not in anger but in arousal. “And I didn’t run far, did I bébé? I came right back here to be the one to deliver the spanking.”

Natalie felt her ass clench at the tone of his voice. He sounded serious. Maybe he sounded a little bit too serious.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she gasped, her eyes widening as he stripped off his shirt.

“Watch me.” His eyes narrowed on her as her gaze flicked to where he was quickly releasing the closures on his jeans.

“You are not undressing,” she snapped.

She couldn’t believe it. Did he think this could be fixed with sex?

“Watch me,” he repeated.

He sat down on the small, fussy chair beside her bed, unlaced and removed his boots, then stood and shucked his pants.

Oh Lord, she was in so much trouble. He was furiously aroused, his erection standing out from his body, thick and heavy, the ridged veins throbbing with subtle power.

“You can take those clothes off, or I’m going to rip them off you.” He moved around the bottom of the bed, each shift of muscle, each flex of his long, corded body sending a flare of heated lust to ignite in the center of her womb.

God, the man was just gorgeous. Maybe just a little bit pissed if the heated flare of emotion in his eyes was anything to go by.

“I’m not fucking you while you’re angry,” she informed him coolly, or at least, she tried for cool; there might have been the slightest tremor of arousal in her voice. Because he was really turning her on.

“I’m not angry.” A flash of strong white teeth in a confident, anticipatory smile. “I’ve decided something about you, cher. As stubborn and independent as you are, you’re coming to believe that the reason you do things is not so important as the fact that you be allowed to do them. That the control streak you’re adopting be given free rein.”

“So?” She watched him warily, backing up as, naked, aroused, and dominating, he stalked toward her.

“Tonight, love, you learn, in matters of your safety, this will not be allowed. First lesson begins now.”

Natalie shrieked as she watched the muscles in his chest bunch, but by the time she saw it, it was too late to run. And it was too late to save the robe she had dressed in after her shower.

The material tore and slipped to the floor as the sleeves ripped and the tatters of cloth were tossed away a second later. Natalie stared down at her bare breasts in amazement then up to Saban’s narrowed gaze.

“That was just so wrong,” she muttered.

“Ah, but was it as wrong as defying me, slipping away from me, and nearly getting yourself kidnapped?” He shook a finger at her before he struck again.

Before Natalie could consider running, she found herself on her back, the light cotton pajama bottoms flying through the air as Saban tossed them over his shoulder.

She was naked now. Naked and hot and wet, and she was damned if she going to let him get away with this.

She jerked to rise from the bed, only to find herself pushed back, rolled to her stomach, and a hard male weight straddling her thighs as one broad, calloused palm pressed between her shoulder blades, holding her to the bed despite her struggles.

“I said I was sorry,” she bit out. “What more do you want? I won’t do it again.”

The opposite hand stroked over the curve of her butt as his fingertips pressed lightly against the narrow crease.

“Saban, I love you. You know I love you. I swear, I learned my lesson already.” Okay, she was caving, but she had been wrong, she was big enough to admit to it. “You shouldn’t have walked away like that. You shouldn’t have left me.”

“I’ll never leave you again, cher.” The words whispered over the small of her back a second before his lips grazed the flesh. “Should you ever be so foolish again, I’ll spank you where you stand.”

His hand landed lightly on the curve of her ass.

Natalie froze, her eyes jerking wide at the incredible streak of burning pleasure that tore through the nerve endings there.

“Saban.” Was that weak, whimpering sound actually coming from her lips? She sounded like a sex vamp begging for more.

“You’ll be a good girl in the future, will you no, cher?” The accent slipped out, cutting words and sounding so incredibly sexy she almost climaxed from the sound of it alone.

“This is ridiculous,” she cried out as another firm slap landed on her rear, sending those curling fingers of heat and pleasure to wrap around her already swollen clit.

His hand landed again, again. Oh God, she could feel her flesh heating, blushing, and she knew she should be outraged, furious; instead, she was burning alive with arousal.

She could feel the dampness between her thighs, coating her pussy, spreading along her clit and increasing its sensitivity.

“I’ll not walk away again, mate.” He leaned forward, his lips pressing between her shoulders, his teeth rasping over her spine. “I’ll love you until you know nothing exists in this life for me but you. I’ll protect you, sometimes, from yourself.” He nipped at her shoulder. “But never will I leave you again.”

His hand slipped between their bodies, found the juices gathering along the swollen folds there, and he growled in hungry demand.

His touch was like a flame. She could feel the pleasure burning inside her, her body begging for more. She should be fighting him, but she couldn’t find the will to deny herself, let alone him, what she knew he could give her.

What she knew they both needed.

“Come, cher.”

Natalie turned eagerly as he lifted his weight from her, turning her to him. Her arms twined around his neck, dragging his chest to her breasts and his lips to hers.

She wanted that kiss. She was burning for it, dying for it. When it came, it was filled with the taste of wild lust and stormy emotion. Anger and fear laced each desperate bite of passion, each sip of lips as their moans mingled, their hands caressed.

Oh God, his hands. Calloused and strong, they skimmed over her flesh as his lips moved to her neck, licked, stroked. A frenzy of sensations tore through her. She could feel the heat like lightning, searing her flesh.

“Mine!” He snarled the word against the curve of her breast. “Always mine.”

She wasn’t fighting it, she couldn’t fight it. The hours he had left her alone had given her a chance to think, a chance to feel. She had faced the thought of life without him and found it intolerable.

“Come for me, cher.” His fingers slipped inside her pussy, stroked with diabolic pleasure, as his lips covered the hard point of her nipple.

And she did just as he asked; she came, shuddering, arching, feeling the pleasure overtake her in gentle, consuming waves.

“Ah, cher.” He licked her nipple, grazed his teeth over it. “Ma cher.”

“I love you.” She whispered the words against his neck as she held on tight and felt the shudder of response that rippled through his hard body. “I’ll always love you.”

She would never be able to walk away as she had with Mike. That knowledge was both terrifying and exhilarating, knowing he held that much of her soul.

“I treasure you.” He kissed her nipple with suckling little motions of his lips. “I adore you.” His head moved to her stomach. “Ah, cher, I love you until I feel lost without you.” His lips lowered to the swollen, saturated folds of her pussy.

Pleasure became a vortex of sensation. She screamed his name as he licked, sucked, tasted, and growled into the wet heat of her sex.

His teeth tugged at the swollen folds, his tongue licked and probed and wrapped around her clit with rasping little caresses that sent her exploding into the night.

When he dragged his body over hers, his cock nudging at the entrance to her vagina, Natalie forced her eyes open, lifted her lashes, and became lost in his gaze.

“I marked you,” he growled roughly. “Mine. Forever.”

“Stole me with a kiss,” she whimpered, arching against him. “Steal some more, Saban.”

With his Jaguar kiss, with the taste of lust and the touch of a conquering warrior, he had stolen her heart and become a part of her soul.

Natalie cried out his name as he took possession of what was his. His erection pressing forward, the silk-over-steel flesh parting delicate tissue, caressing, burning with a pleasure that fired more pleasure and sent her careening into a world where nothing mattered but the pleasure, the touch, the taste of his kiss.

Strained cries echoed around her as she felt the blaze of ecstasy, the pounding strength of his cock shafting inside her forcefully, as sensation became a hunger and hunger became a demand.

She writhed beneath him, arching to him, driving him deeper until the force of the need exploded through her, brilliant, lightning hot, and filled with all the love she had kept inside, locked away, frightened of the pain of losing this man. If she lost him, how much of herself would she lose as well?

As she felt his climax tearing through him, felt the barb in all its burning pleasure extend inside her, locking him in place as his semen spurted hot and fierce into the depths of her pussy, Natalie knew she would lose all of herself.

“I love you more than life,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes as she held him to her, her nails pressing into his back, her lips pressed to his shoulder. “Don’t leave me, Saban. Never, never leave me.”

“Even death won’t tear me from you.” His head lifted, his green eyes nearly black with the emotions ripping between them, soul to soul. “Even death, Natalie, could not tear my soul from yours.”

She lifted her hand to his face, let the tears fall, and let him shelter her in the strength of his arms, in an embrace as freeing as it was protective.

It would never be easy, but right here, sheltered by her Jaguar, loved, protected, held, she knew it was definitely worth fighting for.

And together, one heart, one soul, they whispered, “I love you.”

Content

A JAGUAR’S KISS
Breeds -15
Lora Leigh

FOREWORD

PROLOGUE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN