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“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 fucking 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.
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 C
abal’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?”
