He knew her. The Breed didn’t. He could do it.
“Man, you have a f**king 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
H e 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 f**ked 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.”