Dog turned a knowing look on her, a sandy brow arching in mocking acknowledgment of his own assessment.
Looks were deceiving, Cassa knew, and as Dog had said, Cabal could be manipulative, calculating, deceiving. She wasn’t a Breed; she couldn’t smell the danger in the air, but she could feel it. Cabal was anything but bored. He was controlled, a quiet, ready control that filled Cassa with tension.
“She thinks she knows you, Bengal,” Dog drawled as he flicked a glance back at Cabal. “She thinks you’re possessive of her.”
Cassa took another step back. There was something about Dog’s tone, about the mocking amusement suddenly filling it, that warned her the situation could deteriorate. Quickly.
Unfortunately, Dog wasn’t using what should have been his normally superior Breed senses, because he followed her step for step. A move Cabal watched with predatory awareness.
“Does she then?” Cabal asked, the smooth, dark resonance of his tone sending a shiver racing down her spine as he followed each move Dog made.
Cassa stepped farther away, but to the side, edging closer to Cabal as he turned his hand, palm up, toward her. That smallest indication had her heart tripping with something other than dread or fear.
It was that slow outreach of his fingers. At first, a casual movement, nothing to really suggest anything emotional, anything to attach hope to. But those fingers, long and broad, powerful, his palm held out to her. It became a lifeline to something she wasn’t certain of, something she knew she couldn’t refuse.
Keeping her eye carefully on Cabal, she moved for the safety of that touch. Something urged her, warned her, that if she didn’t get to him, if she didn’t hold on tight, then she would never be safe.
“Not quite yet.”
CHAPTER 5
Startled, a weak cry fell from Cassa’s lips as she felt Dog’s fingers wrap around her wrist, holding her in place. There was no pain. She knew with full mating heat that the female mate couldn’t tolerate the touch of a male other than her mate.
She stared from Dog to Cabal. Her gaze met cloudy gray eyes then amber-flecked green as a low growl emanated from Cabal’s chest. She could feel the tension rising in the air around them as Dog’s fingers wrapped around her wrist.
“What are you trying to prove?” She stared up at Dog suspiciously as Cabal paced closer, his gaze narrowed on them.
“I warned you, didn’t I?” he said softly. “He’s a Bengal, Ms. Hawkins, I warned you of that. He won’t risk his mission for you.”
“Dog, you’re pushing your luck,” Cabal warned him, his voice rumbled and deep. “Let her go.”
Dog’s lips quirked as he lifted his brow inquisitively toward Cassa. “His brother is much more volatile with his mate.”
It was a well-known fact that Tanner Reynolds would attack any man that dared to touch his mate, Scheme.
“We’re not mates,” she said, fighting to tamp down the anger and the disappointment that Cabal wasn’t doing exactly what she knew any other Breed mate would have been doing.
Dog merely chuckled again, but seemed to pay no attention as Cabal stepped closer. Cassa could see the fury sparkling in Cabal’s eyes; the amber flecks were almost neon now. Dog on the other hand looked as calm and cool as a man contemplating a cold beer rather than one going head-to-head with a Bengal.
“Oh, you’re mates,” he drawled, his eyes flicking back to Cabal. “Tell me, Cabal, why are you letting your woman roam alone? It could get dangerous around here.”
“Not for her,” Cabal stated, his tone rough and deep, the fury in it sending chills racing over her body now.
Dog’s fingers caressed her wrist. The feel of it was uncomfortable, wrong. Like nails over a chalkboard, it almost had her wincing in distaste.
“Dog, don’t make me kill you,” Cabal warned him. “Release her.”
Cabal could feel the fury building inside him as he watched the Coyote Breed, fingers wrapped around Cassa’s wrist, holding her in place.
What the bastard was up to, Cabal hadn’t figured out yet. There was no air of intent where the Coyote was concerned, no sense of threat. Rather, Dog was playing, pushing, for what reason Cabal couldn’t decide.
He should kill him, Cabal thought. Hell, he should have killed him a long time before this, but for some reason Jonas had a “no kill” attached to this particular Coyote. He was no doubt one of the f**king 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.