When a Tigon Weds (A Lion's Pride Book 9)

by Eve Langlais

  “Include drones,” Neville remarked.

  “I want even kites shot down,” Arik rumbled as he paced. “We need to send a message to whoever dared that this kind of incursion is unacceptable.”

  “Yes, sir.” When the king spoke, everyone replied. Arik turned back to Neville. “When do you want to leave?”

  “As soon as possible. Let’s not give them time to regroup.”

  “I’ll have the jet prepared at once. Luna, he’ll need a security detail,” Arik commanded, but Neville shook his head.

  “I don’t want them tagging along with us.”

  “I’m not sending you alone.” The king sounded firm on that point.

  “I won’t be alone.” Neville glanced at Natasha. “I’ll have my very capable wife.”

  The compliment amidst his own people warmed, especially the many scowls thrown her way.

  “How do we know she’s not the reason we’re suddenly having problems?” Aunt Loretta asked. “After all, look who she’s related to.”

  “Oh, if it were my papa behind it, there would have been no condo left standing. He’s not one for half-measures or subtlety,” Natasha announced.

  “Tigranov would never do anything to imperil his daughter. This attack is some kind of message. And I want to know what it means.”

  The meeting might have continued except for the urgent buzzing that suddenly afflicted more than one cellphone.

  Not being in the communication loop meant Natasha leaned over to read off the screen the human Kira held beside her.

  There were cops at the condominium gates demanding entrance. Apparently, they’d received a tip about a drug lab in the basement.

  Which led to some frantic relocation of the cages and other zoo-like equipment they kept down there for the occasional problem shifter. While the pride was busy convincing the cops that nothing weird was going on, Neville and Natasha, along with some hastily prepared luggage, were bundled into a sedan with blacked-out windows and on their way to a private airstrip.

  She spent most of that trip on her phone. Sending texts, her fingers flying. His few attempts to talk were rebuffed with a look. She wasn’t ready to speak to him yet.

  She was still trying to come to grips with the fact that she’d agreed to his plan to remain married.

  What was she thinking? Her father would never give his blessing. Babushka would probably die at the shame of Natasha marrying a half-breed. And the family would celebrate the tsarina’s fall from grace.

  Her idiot husband wasn’t content to remain quiet. “Is it me, or was that the most pathetic attack ever?”

  “I don’t know that I’d call it pathetic. It certainly got our attention.”

  “But accomplished what? They obviously weren’t out to harm us, or the bullets would have been real.”

  “Do you think it was the same group that planted the bomb at your place?”

  “Maybe?” He shrugged. “Seems unlikely there are two factions out to kill us.”

  “Us? Don’t you mean, you?”

  “Both times happened when we were together,” he pointed out, looking relaxed on his side of the car, wearing a loose, untucked button-up shirt, and comfortable khakis.

  “Coincidence.”

  “Is it? I find it odd that we’ve now survived two attacks without any true injury. Brazen ones too, I might add. First, in my home. Then on Pride land.”

  “Someone trying to goad the Pride into acting hastily?” she suggested.

  “My aunt thinks their goal was to antagonize your father.”

  “I’m just as deadly when annoyed,” she grumbled.

  “Adorable, too.”

  She shot him a dirty look.

  “That’s the look I love, baby.” He winked.

  “Keep acting so blasé, and you won’t have to worry about meeting my papa.”

  “Why are you so afraid of that happening? Worried he’ll give his blessing?”

  That brought a wry chuckle. “More like I’ll hate having to kill your aunts when they come after my papa for revenge.”

  His laughter proved genuine and rich. “I can see our family holiday dinners will be interesting.”

  “You don’t say. Hope your stomach has an iron lining,” she muttered because her aunt Rafaella could be liberal in her use of spices. Especially poisonous ones.

  The trip to the airstrip occurred without incident. She remained on alert, and despite Neville’s nonchalance, she didn’t doubt for a moment that behind his insouciance, he would act at a millisecond’s notice.

  She still had no idea which of them was the target. It would be easy to assume her husband, and yet, what if she were wrong? Could the attacks be aimed at her?

  The jet waited for them on the private airstrip, painted a golden color with the Pride Group logo painted in black on its tail.

  She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to his insane idea of staying married, of going against her family’s wishes. Before they went up the steps, she turned to him and decided to give him one last warning.

  “Are you sure we should do this? It’s not too late for you to sign the divorce papers.”

  “I might not have an easy time knowing what flavor of ice cream I want for dessert, I mean, should a person ever really choose between mint chocolate chip and caramel swirl? But in this, I am one hundred percent sure. Let’s go meet the family.”

  She shook her head. “You’d better not blame me if you end up chopped into little pieces and fed to the hogs.”

  “Don’t worry about me, baby.”

  Baby. Ugh. She had a love/hate relationship with the endearment. On the one hand, it was degrading to her as a woman. She was not a child. She was a killer, a businesswoman, strong and definitely not in need of a keeper. On the other hand, Neville knew all those things and still saw her as a woman and treated her like she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  She kind of enjoyed that part.

  What she didn’t like was the way the sluts kept eyeballing him everywhere they went. First on the rooftop, then down in the lobby when they descended. Those same ladies, plus a few others, lounged and eyed them, some with blatant interest, while others lasered her with death glares.

  When Neville wasn’t looking, she made a rude gesture and made it clear that he was her man. For the moment.

  Despite his bravado, Papa would kill him. And if he didn’t, Babushka surely would. Neville’s days were numbered, which in a sense kind of relaxed her enough to realize she had nothing to lose.

  Except maybe a chance for pleasure.

  They boarded the craft, and her husband was the one to seal it shut. The pilot was already locked in the cockpit, making announcements. “Flight will be departing for Italy in the next ten minutes. Please buckle in.”

  She eyed Neville. “Italy? I thought we were meeting my family. My dad is in St. Petersburgh right now.”

  “But didn’t you say your bachelorette was happening tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, but I was going to cancel it since the wedding is off.”

  “You’d better not, and don’t do anything to cancel the ceremony either. The first time we tied the knot, we did it quickly without anyone but Lawrence. No reason we can’t have a grand ceremony for your family and friends.”

  She patted his cheek. “Your optimism about surviving that long is cute.”

  He grabbed her hand and held it against his skin. “I plan to live to a ripe old age with you, baby.”

  There went her heart, fluttering again. It pitter-pattered every time he smiled her way, held her hand and in general just existed. So annoying.

  Of all the empty seats, he of course chose the one right beside her.

  She waited for him to make his move. Instead, his hand still wrapped around hers, he put his head back and went to sleep.

  He didn’t snore or fall on her to drool while he slumbered. But he napped soundly.

  She, on the other hand, was wide-awake. She kept running various scenarios through her
head of how she could present her husband. All of them ended with her as a widow.

  She glanced at him.

  It seemed a shame to waste the little time he had left.

  She straddled his lap, and he rumbled, “What are you doing?”

  “Consummating our wedding night.” She began unbuttoning his shirt, and when they refused to cooperate, there was tearing involved.

  “I liked that shirt,” he observed.

  “Then you should have taken it off before I had to.”

  His chest shook as he chuckled. “Impatient?”

  “Horny.” She was honest.

  “You couldn’t tell me this a few hours ago when we had a bed handy?” he growled, his hands on her waist.

  “The seats recline.”

  “We’re not exactly alone.

  “The pilot is busy flying the plane. If he values his life, he better not interrupt.”

  “I’ll kill him if he tries,” he replied.

  “Only after we land, if you don’t mind.”

  Arrive alive. A mantra to live by.

  She lifted her shirt, revealing a demi-cup bra, with nipples that hardened at his ardent gaze. She tossed the top to the side. Leaving her in a bra and jeggings that molded her figure and allowed her to sit astride him, feeling the hard bulge in his pants.

  She rocked against it, and he hissed. “Going to rip those off, too?”

  “Maybe,” was her purred reply before she took his mouth in a torrid kiss. If she thought she could control what happened next, she was wrong. He immediately took command of their embrace, coaxing her lips to open and then engaging her tongue in a duel for dominance. A slick slide of flesh on flesh that only served to rouse the heat inside.

  She ground herself against him as they kissed, and his hands firmly gripped her hips.

  “Still so damned sexy,” he growled.

  “Even if I’m a liar?” she taunted, breathing the words hotly against his mouth.

  “Would you believe it makes you even hotter?” He kissed her again, this time a slow, sensual tease of an embrace that saw her fingers digging into his shoulders. She squirmed atop him, grinding against the hard ridge of his erection, noticeable despite his pants.

  Leaning away for a moment, she unhooked her bra and tossed it. She bared herself to him and basked in the heated ardor of his gaze.

  She arched her back and presented her breasts. He needed no other invitation. With one arm anchored around her waist, he leaned forward and placed his mouth over her nipple.

  “Yes.” She hissed the word as the molten tug of his mouth made her pussy clench. She squirmed and gasped as he sucked, taking her nipple directly into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it. Nipped it. Sucked it again.

  She mewled. Whimpered. She bounced on his lap. Cried out when he swapped sides. She enjoyed every minute he spent playing with her breasts, teasing them in turn until she could take no more.

  She shoved away. “My turn.” He wasn’t the only one who wanted to play.

  She slid off his lap to her knees and grabbed the waistband of his pants. He lifted his hips as she tugged and pulled them down, leaving him clad in dark underpants that bulged with his erection.

  She tucked her hands behind her back and leaned forward, using her teeth to grab the remaining material. She tugged and freed his shaft. It stood at attention, thick and tempting.

  She licked it, and he hissed.

  His body shook.

  Oh, the power.

  “Don’t move,” she warned as she grazed her teeth over the silken skin of his cock.

  He trembled.

  She sucked him, and he moaned.

  When he would have grabbed her hair, she growled. “I’m in control.”

  He growled back. “I’m going to lose control if you don’t stop.”

  Her laughter vibrated against the flesh of his shaft as she took him into her mouth. The salty drop pearling at the tip flavored her large swallow. How she loved the feel of him in her mouth. She worked her lips up and down the length of him, dragging them over sensitive skin, tasting every inch. He pulsed and shook as she sucked. His breathing turned harsh as she bobbed up and down.

  She could have had him come in her mouth. But she wanted more than that. She needed him inside her. Needed the orgasm only his cock pounding against her g-spot could give. Quickly, she stripped her pants, then she straddled him once more and positioned herself over his cock. His hands were on her hips, but he didn’t guide her. He let her choose the pace, and she chose slow, as in she lowered herself bit by bit onto his shaft. He stretched her nicely. She dug her fingers into his chest as he went deep. And deeper still until he was buried. Pulsing.

  Oh, my.

  Still in no hurry, she rotated her hips, grinding herself on him, feeling him butt against that sweet spot inside.

  The hands on her hips helped her find a rhythm, a rocking and rolling, grinding thrust that coiled her pleasure higher and higher until it peaked.

  And she might have screamed, but he caught the sound with his mouth, dragging her in for a kiss as his hips continue to pump, driving into her, drawing out her orgasm until she collapsed on him with a contented moan.

  She eventually rolled onto the seat beside him—or tried to. Instead, she ended up on his lap, cradled in his arms. He pulled an airplane blanket over her.

  “I should get dressed.”

  “Later.”

  Sound advice given they had sex twice more, the last time with her hands braced on a seat, and him plowing into her from behind. Slamming, his fingers digging into her hips as he pounded until he came, growling, “Mine.”

  And she allowed herself to enjoy the concept until they landed, and reality intruded.

  Chapter Ten

  Mile-high fantasy achieved. Now, if only his bride didn’t look as if they were about to attend a funeral. Namely, his.

  On the taxi ride to their hotel, they didn’t say much. Natasha kept trying to hide her anxiety and yet gave herself away every time she looked at him, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip. She worried about him, indicating that she cared—more than she would admit. Slowly but surely, she softened. Hell, she’d melted for him on the plane.

  It didn’t matter that she’d seduced him because she remained convinced that he was going to die the moment she announced to her family they were a couple. Little did she know they’d been trying to kill him for months. At least, he assumed it was her family sending the thugs, given it started not long after he began looking into his duplicitous wife.

  The first attack was made to look like a mugging. The thug jumping out of an alley wearing a ski mask and brandishing a knife. It was rather insulting as attempts went. He quickly disarmed him, but the attacks kept coming.

  He tried going easy at first. Beating those that thought to ambush soundly. The one that stalked him, he’d had arrested on outstanding warrants. The waves of attack got bolder and more intense, including a poisoning of his pool water, which he had to admit was brilliant. Having a drone drop the chemicals was a stroke of genius. Problem was, he could smell it. He installed measures against future attempts and finally got serious about tracking down who was behind the attacks. He came up empty-handed. Whoever was hiring the humans did so under a complete cloak of secrecy. It was very impressive. It took deep pockets and a sharp sense to be so discreet. A mobster would have that kind of power.

  But would Sergeii have put his daughter in danger? Sure, the rubber bullets wouldn’t kill, but they’d sting, not to mention, accidents could happen. He found it interesting to note that the last attack had actually been the least dangerous. The explosion at his cabana could have seriously harmed her.

  If it weren’t Natasha’s father, then who else would have the incentive to come after him? After all, attacking Dean was like poking at the Pride.

  Arik might be easygoing in some things, but when it came to the safety of his people and the care of his hair, he didn’t screw around.

  It would be intere
sting to see if the attacks stopped now that Natasha was involved. Or would it take meeting her father to end the game?

  One way or another, it had to stop. It was one thing to threaten Dean. They crossed a line when they could have hurt Natasha.

  They made it to the hotel without mishap, where he paid for their room and then went up to the second to last floor via an elevator. Rather than enter their room, he took Natasha past that door and into the stairwell.

  “Why are we going back down?”

  “Muddling the trail, of course.”

  They skipped down the many flights of stairs and out the emergency exit into an alley.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, glancing around, keeping an eye on everything. At least now, she didn’t have her mouth and eyes rounded in fake wonder.

  “You and I will be staying somewhere off the beaten path. A place only I know about.”

  “Hold on, why would we leave if you think they’ll attack the hotel? I thought we wanted to catch them,” she stated, glancing at the tall and luxurious building they were leaving behind.

  “We will catch them, but I think it should be on our terms and somewhere a little less likely to have someone with their camera out.” He weaved them through some alleys, most of them sporting strong cooking scents that would mask theirs in case non-humans tried to follow.

  They didn’t need to hail a cab to get to their destination. It was only a fifteen-minute walk to a home, the façade made of old, mortared stone, jammed between other similar buildings, in an older part of the city. The keypad by the door, painted a glossy black and trimmed in bronze, beeped as Dean entered the code to unlock it. Click. He swung open the thick panel before he turned and swept her into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” she exclaimed.

  “Isn’t it tradition to carry a new wife over a threshold?”

  “Only of our home.”

  “But we don’t have a home together yet. Are we going to stay at my place? Or yours? Although, my notes indicate you spend more time at your familial home than the condo you maintain in Milan.”

  “Live together?” she stated, sounding puzzled.