Bengal's Heart (11 page)

Cabal could feel the fury building inside him as he watched the Coyote Breed, fingers wrapped around Cassa’s wrist, holding her in place.

What the bastard was up to, Cabal hadn’t figured out yet. There was no air of intent where the Coyote was concerned, no sense of threat. Rather, Dog was playing, pushing, for what reason Cabal couldn’t decide.

He should kill him, Cabal thought. Hell, he should have killed him a long time before this, but for some reason Jonas had a “no kill” attached to this particular Coyote. He was no doubt one of the fucking pawns the director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs so enjoyed using. Cabal called them Jonas’s pets. Enemies, or at least perceived enemies, that Jonas was somehow using in one or more of his little games.

Though Cabal had a feeling Dog was much more than that. This was a Coyote that no one, not man, woman or Breed, would use without Jonas’s express permission.

If Dog didn’t take his hand off Cassa though, Cabal was going to ignore that “no kill” order. The Coyote was going to die—now.

Cabal could feel the need for blood rising inside him, trying to overpower, overwhelm the cold, hard calculation that was so much a part of him.

She was his mate, and not just another man was touching her, but another Breed. This woman—her body, her hormones, her very essence—was the perfect match for Breed mating, for Breed conception, and another Breed was daring to touch her.

He felt the low growl that built in his gut, rumbled in his throat. He had to force himself not to clench his fists, not to jump for the bastard. Not to tear his woman away from the Coyote and place his mark on her immediately.

The urge was desperate. It pounded through his veins, throbbed in his head. The need to mate her, to slam inside her was a pulse of electric hunger rioting inside him.

Arousal was reaching critical mass. The urge to mate her, to mark her, was threatening his control.

“Let her go.” Cabal stepped closer, every sense he possessed focused on the hard fingers around his mate’s wrist, holding her back from him.

Dog tilted his head to the side and gave a slow, hard grin.

“I’d like a taste of her first.”

Cabal saw red. As Dog jerked Cassa against his chest, a little cry fell from her lips and she reacted to the unwanted hold. Cabal saw her knee slam upward even as he moved.

He wouldn’t allow Dog’s lips to touch his mate’s. He wouldn’t allow the other Breed to claim what was his. Spicy heat filled his mouth and infused his senses. The mating hormone, its taste brighter, hotter, enflamed an arousal already building past the boiling point.

As Cassa’s knee connected with Dog’s hard thigh, Cabal was pulling her from the other Breed’s grip as his fist slammed into the hard, rough contours of Dog’s face. A snarl tore from Cabal’s lips even as he tried to hold it back.

Pure bloody rage consumed him. A rage unlike anything he had ever known, unlike even his fury when his pride had been thrown in that damned pit.

Mating heat and possessive fury swirled through him as he felt the soft heat of his mate’s body come against his own. Heard the crack of his fist against Dog’s jaw and felt the animalistic instincts he kept tamped down roaring to the surface.

“I’d rather face terrorists than Breeds.” A hard hand slammed into his chest, almost knocking him back in surprise as Cassa struggled in his arms, almost pulling away from him.

“Stay still.” He clamped his arm around her, holding her in place against his side as Dog quickly righted himself.

“Where’s that cold calculation everyone thinks you have, dumb-ass?” she yelled furiously, slapping at his shoulder once again.

Cold calculation? It had gone the way of common sense the moment he first laid eyes on her. When it came to Cassa, there was nothing cold about him, no matter how hard he tried to pretend.

“My, my, the Bengal has snapped,” Dog drawled derisively. “Was there an error in your genetic sequencing perhaps?”

“Fuck off, Dog!” Cabal bit out crudely.

Dog’s answer was a low chuckle as Cabal struggled to hold on to Cassa in all her fury. That fury, the feel of it, the scent of it, wrapped around his senses and challenged the animal rising inside him.

He could smell Dog’s scent on her. It enraged him. The genetic coding that made him the most fierce, the coldest of killers, was receding beneath the demand that he protect and mark his mate. Nothing else mattered.

“Come on, Bengal, be a good little kitty and share a little bite.” Dog laughed.

The Coyote had a death wish.

Cabal forced back the rage, clamped his arm around his struggling mate’s waist and leveled a hard glare on the Coyote. Cold. Calculating. That was what he was. He had his mate. She was safe, secure, by his side, if reluctantly. The calm he needed slowly infused his being, though the animal still growled, if silently, in impatience.

“You’re both dead,” Cassa raged at him. “Infantile. Morons. You’re like two bullies playing schoolyard games.”

She continued to struggle, and Cabal continued to hold her. Right by his side, where the warmth and softness of her seemed to sink into his flesh through the layers of their clothing.

“The game is over,” Cabal informed her as he stared back at Dog. “Find another playground, Dog. Now.”

Rather than replying, Dog pulled another cigar from his shirt pocket, lit it and smirked. Cabal kept his eyes on the Coyote, his senses trained on Cassa. He could smell her anger, her arousal. And her fear.

“Bengal, I think you’re the one that needs to find another playground,” Dog stated then. “I’d watch out for that pretty mate if I were you. She’s a luscious little piece, Bengal. Tempting, if you know what I mean.”

Tempting. The scent of her called to him, even with that hint of fear. The fear of the unknown or fear of him?

“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you.”

He watched Dog’s gaze flicker then. It was a promise Cabal made, it wasn’t a threat, and the Coyote recognized it for what it was. But the damage had been done, and Cabal knew it. He could feel it pounding through his veins, rushing through his heart and tormenting the glands beneath his tongue.

Mating heat was a fury burning through his body now. His cock was thick, hard. Blood pounded in his tightened balls, sending a wave of lust rushing through his body.

His woman. His mate. That was all that mattered, all he cared about. Claiming what belonged to him. Eliminating any threat that could be made to his position as her mate.

Logically he knew that it wasn’t possible for such a threat to succeed. This woman was designed for him; no other could mate her. Or so the Breed doctors and scientists claimed. But the animal inside him refused to listen. It wouldn’t listen any longer.

Finally, Dog inclined his head and backed away. It was only then that Cabal realized that his voice when he uttered that final threat had been more a savage snarl than a recognizable human voice. Not that he was human, but never had he heard that tone in his voice before.

It had silenced Cassa as well. She was standing still now, tense, waiting.

“Take care of her, Bengal,” Dog stated quietly as he moved farther back. “You may be the only one who can. She seems to have a bit of a reckless streak.”

A reckless streak didn’t describe it. She was independent, stubborn. She was the woman nature had declared would belong solely to him. If he claimed her.

“I hate Breeds,” she muttered at his side as he stepped back, moving toward the parking lot of the Kanawha Falls Park.

His truck was parked there. It was a short distance, and from there the ride back to the hotel would be brief. If he made it back to the hotel before he mated her.

He was dying to kiss her. He was all but carrying her as he kept his gaze firmly on Dog’s receding form. His nostrils flared as he tested the wind, searching for any hint, any scent of an enemy, Coyote or human.

“This is insane, Cabal. I have a job to do here.” But she wasn’t struggling. He could feel the anticipation moving through her, building in the air around them just as it was building inside him.

The anticipation of the mating, the arousal. Pleasure. There was said to be no greater pleasure than that of a mating. Cabal was about to find out.

“I told you to get the hell out of here,” he bit out harshly as he turned and moved for the truck.

Hitting the remote, he strode quickly to the truck, threw the door open and lifted her into the passenger seat. He didn’t give her a chance to slide around into the seat. Gripping her hips, he pushed himself between her thighs, notched the hard length of his cock there as he gripped her hair, tilted her head and took the kiss he had been dying for, for eleven long, lonely years.

◆ CHAPTER 6
◆

It was fire and ice. It was a kiss unlike anything Cassa had ever known. It was infused with passion, with hunger, with the spicy taste of the mating hormone and the dark seductive taste of the man himself.

The taste of the man himself was more potent in ways than even that of the mating hormone she could feel rushing through her system. Like the strongest narcotic shot straight into her system, it produced a sense of euphoria, of need, of a clamoring, fiery hunger invading her body.

It wasn’t much different from the needs that had filled her before his kiss. The only difference was the physical burn, the taste, the sudden, overwhelming need for more. Now.

Her hands dove into the thick gold and black strands of hair that lay to his shoulders. Her fingers clenched in the coarse mass, pulling him closer as she took his tongue again and again, accepted the taste of the mating hormone and gave herself to him.

She had fought it. She really had. For over ten years she had tried to ignore it, just as he had. They had stayed as far apart from each other as they could. Now there was no ignoring it. There was no way to hide from it. They would never be able to hide from it again.

Lips and tongues melded, stroked and sucked. His hands pushed beneath her T-shirt and Cassa felt the shudder that tore through her body as his calloused hands touched her bare back.

She remembered the sensation of his skin touching hers, even before the hormonal influx that spilled from his tongue. So long ago, his hand around her neck as he swore he owned her. The touch of his hand then had nearly overwhelmed even her fear. Now his touch sent a rush of sensation, hard and brutal, to strike to the very core of her.

It was too much, too soon. The hormonal fluid from the glands in his tongue shouldn’t react on her this quickly, not this hard. Not considering that for the past five years, she had been taking the hormone treatments given to mates. She shouldn’t be reacting this strong, this fast. She shouldn’t be, unless the hunger of the mating heat was reacting to her own desperate need for his touch.

And it was desperate. It had been desperate for years. He had been the focal point of her deepest fantasies, her every desire, and she needed him.

She needed him and she was going to take him. They could run from the need, but they couldn’t hide from it. For eleven years both of them had run, and now the running was over.

“Damn you!” His growl was one of frustration and driving need as he tore his lips from hers long enough to watch, the amber in his gaze flaming, as he jerked her shirt over her breasts.

The cold air met her heated flesh, adding another sensation. It was surrounding her, rushing through her until she could barely breathe for the need.

“Damn you,” she panted brokenly. “You’ve screwed everything in sight for eleven years. You’ve ignored this. Ignored me.” And she hated him for it. Hated him for the years she hungered for him, the years he had kept that distance between them.

“I spared you this!” His hand tightened in her hair as the fingers of the other flattened at her waist, stroked upward, then cupped one hard, aching mound of a breast.

Cassa sucked in a hard, deep breath at the feel of his hand through the lace of her bra. The heat of his touch was brutal. The feel of his fingers was like a fever raging in her blood.

“You didn’t spare me anything,” she gasped, glaring back at him even as her body rioted for more of his touch.

“I spared myself then,” he snarled, a second before his head lowered, the sharp tips of his canines raking her neck as a growl rumbled in his throat.

Sweet heaven that was good. Her head fell back for more, the feel of his lips, his teeth against her throat was both ecstasy and frustration. It was edged with a sharp pleasure that raked across nerve endings too sensitive to bear.

She felt his hands, one cupping her breast, the other supporting her back. She felt his teeth raking her flesh, and shivered at the electric sensations racing over her.

“I’ve needed you.” She hated the whimper, the weakness she revealed with those three little words, with the way her hands tightened in his hair, with the huskiness of her voice.

She had needed him since that fateful day that the husband who had sworn his loyalty to her had betrayed everything she believed in. She had needed him, needed the power and the promise in the very threat she knew he was to her self-control, to her very survival.

“God, Cassa.” He nipped at her neck, his fingers tightened on her nipple.

Between her thighs Cassa could feel the growing wetness, the slick, heated essence of arousal coating the lips of her pussy, sensitizing them as her clit began to throb with erotic pain.

She had waited so long, fought so hard to run from it, only to end up right here, in his arms. Finally.

The same place so many other women had been.

“I hate you.” The sob in her voice belied the words.

“You’ll hate me worse before the day is over.” He pushed the cup of her bra over the throbbing flesh of her breast, and she lost her breath.

Capturing a hard, too sensitive nipple between his fingers, he rolled the calloused pads against it and sent her senses spinning with the pleasure.