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He laughed again. “You think you know him so well, don’t you, Ms. Hawkins? Well enough to believe he would lose his mind if I touched his woman.”
“He came after you last night,” she reminded him.
“He did.” He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I knew he would. He’s a Bengal. I was chasing you, he was chasing my team. You were an incidental.”
An incidental. Yeah, that sounded like the story of her life. Incidentally left out in the cold and in the dark.
“For whatev
er reason,” she replied. “He’ll kill you if you touch me.”
“He’s a Bengal.” Hard, sharp canines flashed in the dreary light. “He’ll wait. He’ll watch. At this moment he’s calculating the chances that I’ll actually touch you. He’s deduced there’s a ninety percent chance I will, and he’s deliberating his move. He’s a Bengal, my dear Lady Hawkins. Cold. Manipulating. Calculating. Deceiving.”
“Bored.” Cabal’s voice seemed to echo inside her head as he stepped around the trunk of a nearby tree, his broad shoulders rippling beneath the dark long-sleeved T-shirt he wore, his arms resting casually at his side. Black jeans conformed to long, powerful legs, while black biker boots gleamed with a dull, dusty edge on his feet.
Cassa’s heartbeat kicked in; it slammed against her chest as her womb gave a surge of complete feminine surrender and a slick, wet heat dampened the flesh between her thighs.
Out of hand. He might as well have kissed her already, mated her, because her body was more than interested in giving up any fight her mind might want to wage. Traitorous hormones surged and rioted through her body, even as she fought back every reaction that weakened her knees.
His amber-flecked green eyes glittered in his bronze face; a stubble of a beard darkened his lower jaw and gave him a rough, dangerous appearance. Even more so than Dog.
And he did look bored.
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.
