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 c**k 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 c**k 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.