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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 be
hind 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.
