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

by Eve Langlais

  That was his plan as he left the bar without a word to his friends, not paying enough attention. Meaning, he got kidnapped for the second time that night. But, on the plus side, now instead of a phone call, he could talk to his father-in-law in person.

  “I’d lose the arrogance, half-breed. You will pay and dearly for what you’ve done.”

  “That seems a little over the top, don’t you think? I understand I’m not the son-in-law you expected, but—”

  “There is no but. You married my daughter under false pretenses.”

  “Don’t you mean she married me under false pretenses?” Danger, schmanger. He couldn’t help but taunt.

  “Either way, I didn’t approve the match.”

  “With respect, sir, I don’t think you get to decide who she marries.”

  Tigranov looked down his nose at Dean, which was rather impressive given his shorter stature. “I am her father.”

  “And a man who obviously respects his daughter. Why else teach her to defend herself so well? Why the fine education and positions of power within your empire? That kind of father doesn’t tell his obviously capable child who she must be with for the rest of her life.”

  The older male’s gaze narrowed. “She is a Tigranov, meaning the bloodline must be preserved.”

  “It also shouldn’t be allowed to stagnate. Marrying cousins, even a few times removed, never ends well,” he said, reminding Tigranov of the unfortunate murder-suicide in his family. Dean had done his research.

  “You dare insult?” The angry man bristled, and hints of his tiger emerged. Not because he lost control but because he had a good grip on his beast. It took skill to have only bits of the body shift. In this case, Tigranov chose to menace with sharp teeth and claws, and a hint of whiskers.

  “Can’t handle the truth?” He arched a brow.

  “Insolent, half-breed. I’ll have you shot and mounted as a trophy.”

  “And then what? Marry your daughter off to the boring Simon?”

  “Simon or someone else. I don’t care who she marries, so long as it’s not you.” Brows beetled as Tigranov snarled.

  Dean wasn’t impressed. “Natasha needs someone strong by her side. And we both know that’s not Simon. She’ll railroad him and wonder why she’s miserable. She needs a man. A real one to challenge and support her.”

  “What makes you think that’s you?”

  “Because she is mine.” Probably a tad possessive to be declaring to her father.

  “And has Natasha agreed to this?”

  “Not exactly because she’s convinced you’re going to kill me.”

  “She would be right,” Tigranov stated, tucking his hands behind his back. However, there was a problem with his statement. If the mobster wanted Dean dead, he’d already be sinking in a lake somewhere.

  “Getting rid of me isn’t in your best interest.”

  “Threatening me?” Tigranov’s turn to pretend surprise.

  “You’re a smart man. You’d have to be with the empire you’ve built. You know what kind of friction my death would cause within the Pride. You also aren’t sure how Natasha would react.”

  Her father turned pensive. “She didn’t kill you for a reason.” Meaning, Tigranov needed to hold off in case he made her angry.

  “How about instead of working against each other, we join forces?”

  “A deal?” Tigranov eyed him with a little less rancor. “What would you bring to the bargaining table? You aren’t exactly a son in high standing in your Pride.”

  “But I am close to the king, with many friends.”

  “An alliance with Simon would have given me access to the Arctic.”

  “I have connections that might be able to help. You could also think of me as a liaison between your mob of tigers and the lions. Imagine what an alliance with the Pride could do for your family.”

  “We don’t need mangy felines helping us with anything.”

  “No, you do just fine on your own. But think of the bargaining power you’d wield if it were known that the two groups were aligned.”

  “It is all well and good you’d negotiate, but how do I know the king will agree? What if he doesn’t? Then what?”

  “Would it help if I said I owned a controlling share in a maple syrup company?”

  “Quebec-produced maple syrup?”

  He snorted. “As if there is any other kind.”

  “A wedding gift to my daughter,” Tigranov stated.

  “That passes on to our children, and if none, then returns to the Pride.”

  A soft chuckle met his words. “Don’t you trust us?”

  “Nothing wrong with a little bit of security to ensure you don’t kill me right after the papers are signed.”

  Tigranov kept eyeing him. “Natasha might one day run the family empire.”

  “All the more reason for her to have someone neutral watching her back.”

  That made the mobster snort. “How are you neutral? You work for the Pride.”

  “The moment I got on that jet with her, I resigned. As of this morning, I have someone looking at homes for Natasha and me. A place in Russia within driving distance of you, and somewhere in Italy. Maybe by the ocean.”

  “Making all kinds of plans as if you expect to live.”

  Dean leaned forward, his turn to smile. “I intend to live for a very long time.”

  “If I let you. How do I know you’re good enough for my daughter?”

  “Because I will eradicate anyone who tries to harm her.” Stated coldly and firmly.

  Before Tigranov could form a reply, the basement door slammed open, and a body came flying down, leaping the last few steps. Natasha hit the floor with her knees slightly bent and a gun in one hand. The knife, in the other, flew, the blade of it only narrowly missing Tigranov.

  He gaped at his daughter. “You almost killed me!”

  “Consider it a warning. The next one won’t miss.” A new dagger appeared, clenched in her hand.

  The big, bad mobster held up his palms. “Tasha, my zolotse, calm yourself.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down,” she snarled. “What are you doing with my husband?”

  Dean took pleasure in hearing the possessive way she said it. He just wished he had popcorn as he had the impression that he was about to enjoy an epic fight.

  “Husband? You don’t say. Care to tell me something? Perhaps explain why you’ve been lying to me!” Tigranov puffed his chest.

  “I was getting around to it.”

  “Too slowly,” her father snapped.

  “That didn’t give you the right to steal Neville.”

  “Technically, he didn’t steal me, baby,” Dean interjected. “Your father just wanted to have a chat.”

  Her eyes, flashing with gold and green, glared at him. “He’s got you tied to a wall.”

  “Just some friendly welcome-to-the-family hazing,” Dean tried to say.

  Her dad caught on. “Nothing nefarious. Just testing his mettle.”

  “His mettle is not your business.”

  That irritated her dad enough that he puffed out his chest. “You made it my business when you married him without permission and then hid the news from the family,” Tigranov exclaimed.

  “I was avenging my cousin’s honor and did it by accident. When I found out, I immediately tried to rectify it.”

  “She did,” Dean admitted. “She came and warned me to either agree to a divorce or she’d kill me.”

  “And yet, you live. Have you gone soft?” Tigranov asked, turning from Dean to Natasha.

  “I thought he’d be more useful alive.”

  “Useful, ha. Do you know how easily we apprehended him?”

  “And how many did you send?” she arched a brow as she neared. “Two thugs? Three?”

  “Six, actually,” Dean boasted. “But I didn’t wipe the ground with them because I wanted to meet your dad.”

  “Without me?” she snapped, stalking to stand in front of him. She
waved a knife under his nose. “I told you he’d try to kill you.”

  “Good thing you love me enough to save me.” He winked.

  “No one ever said anything about love,” she muttered.

  “Yet, look at you, all worried.”

  “Not worried. I’m annoyed. At both of you.” She whirled. “How dare you get involved?”

  “I wouldn’t have had to if you’d told me the truth,” Tigranov retorted.

  “Speaking of the truth, are you the one who sent those hit teams after us?”

  “What?” Her father blinked. “Someone tried to kill you?”

  “I don’t know if they were trying to kill, given how bad the attempts were,” she replied. “Did you send them?”

  Her father stiffened. “First off, my elimination requests never fail. And two, I would never harm a hair on your head. I am insulted you would ever think I would.”

  “What about my head?” Dean queried. “Because the attacks started about a month after the wedding.”

  “Wait, what?” She whirled on him. “Do you mean the attack at your house wasn’t the first attempt?”

  “Didn’t want to worry you.”

  She gnashed her teeth and glared at her dad. “Care to explain?

  “Those attacks weren’t ordered by me,” her father declared. “I didn’t even know about the half-breed until I saw the note.”

  “What note?” A placid expression on her face, Natasha said softly—and with deadly precision—“Have you been reading my private correspondence?”

  “Well, that is, um…”

  Wrong answer.

  Dean jumped to the mob boss’s defense. “A man in his position can’t be too careful. His enemies might try and use you to get to him.”

  Tigranov shot him a grateful look.

  “I am well aware of what his enemies are capable of. I’m the one who handles them.” Natasha’s jaw remained clenched.

  “Can you blame me for being curious? You got mail from obvious Pride territory. I wondered why.”

  “And then proceeded to plot so you could meddle in my life.”

  “I just wanted to meet my new son-in-law,” her father said, spreading his hand in a placating gesture.

  “My husband is tied to a dungeon wall.” She crossed her arms.

  “Hardly a dungeon. Just playing. Ha. Ha.” Her father slashed through the ties binding his wrists to the wall. Dean stepped from it and gave her a smile.

  “Look at you, being all worried for nothing. Your daddy and I are friends already.”

  “You’re just saying that to get on his good side because he knows he’s in trouble.” Her gaze lasered on her father.

  “Now, zolotse.”

  “Don’t you even start with me. No more games. I want to hear you say you accept Neville as my husband.”

  “If it were just up to me, then…yes,” her father said, however Dean heard the but.

  “Who else do we need to convince?” he asked.

  Natasha groaned. “My babushka.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Neville tried holding her hand on the last leg of the trip to her family home. It didn’t ease the trepidation. She’d not expected him to survive her father. The tsar wasn’t known for his benevolence.

  She’d gone into that house expecting to find blood and maybe a body. Instead, two of the most annoying men in her life joined forces.

  But that wouldn’t help in the coming battle. Babushka was the one she’d made a promise to. She wouldn’t care if Natasha was inconveniently married to someone else.

  “It will be fine,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

  “You don’t know my babushka.”

  “I won over your dad.”

  “He’s a pussy cat compared to her.” She remained slouched, more nervous than she’d imagined being.

  She loved her babushka. She was reasonably certain she loved Neville. What would happen if she had to choose?

  Family, or her future? Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.

  Their car with its tinted windows had an entourage in front and behind, with Neville’s aunts declaring that they wouldn’t let him enter Russian territory without protection. Which, in turn, insulted her father into providing even more security.

  They appeared more royal than the royals themselves. Her father might be a tsar in the tiger world, but in the human one, he was just a wealthy businessman.

  She didn’t pay much mind as they passed the wrought iron gates into the family estate. The big house that sprawled several stories and wings. More of a castle in many respects.

  Upon entering, the servants were there to take their coats and offer them a warm, damp cloth to refresh their hands and faces. They weren’t given the option to relax and change but taken directly to her babushka’s room.

  As in previous visits, her elderly relative lay abed under a thick pile of blankets, propped against fluffy pillows, her hair tucked into a cap that matched her voluminous robe.

  “My dearest vnuchka.” Her grandmother stretched fingers adorned with rings, and Natasha clasped them, bringing them to her lips for a kiss.

  “You are looking well,” she said.

  “And you appear nervous.” The old lady craned for a peek at Neville. “Could it be because you’ve brought a stranger to my bedroom? Why would you do that, I wonder?”

  Shrewd Babushka knew exactly who he was. This was a ploy to get Natasha to admit what she’d done and apologize.

  She’d do the former, but as for the latter… “I’d like you to meet Neville Fitzpatrick. Pride hunter, tigon, and my husband.”

  Babushka blinked. Waited. When no apology came forth, she coughed. “Oh, my heart. Shocking me in such a horrid manner. I feel weak.” She put a hand to her forehead.

  “If you’re done?” Natasha arched a brow.

  “Are you accusing me of being dramatic?”

  “Yes, and of faking it. We both know you’re not sick.”

  “A good thing I’m not. Showing up with a husband and not the one you were supposed to have.” Babushka flung back the blankets and stepped out of bed. She also shed the gown and cap, revealing a cashmere sweater and slacks underneath. Her hair was perfectly curled. She slid her feet into her indoor shoes before heading for a chair by the hearth.

  “I am not marrying Simon,” Natasha stated stubbornly, following her grandmother.

  “We’ll see.”

  “I mean it, Babushka. Neville is my husband.”

  “For the moment. Leave us.” Babushka waved her hand.

  Neville turned to go, but her grandmother cleared her throat. “Not you. My granddaughter.”

  Natasha’s eyes widened. “You want me to leave? But—”

  A lasering gaze was all it took to have Natasha uttering a sigh. She leaned close to Neville and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “It was nice knowing you.”

  “I’ll be fine, baby. You’ll see.”

  She hoped he was right. Hard to tell what Babushka might do. Who would have thought she’d pretend that she was dying to manipulate her granddaughter?

  Leaving the house, Natasha wandered down to the lake, arms wrapped around her body, ignoring the chill wind.

  Gray skies roiled, and flecks of snow fell lightly. A storm rolled in, making her long for the balmier Italian climate she’d just left.

  Then again, there was something to be said about lounging in front of a roaring fire. Naked. On a bearskin rug. With her husband.

  She glanced back at the house. Would Babushka give her approval? Didn’t really matter. Natasha loved Neville. With all her heart.

  Movement in the woods caught her attention. A flash of red. How strange.

  She wandered closer, strands of hair whipping across her face, the bite of an early winter in the wind’s teeth.

  The red item turned out to be a scarf, a silken thing wrapped around a branch. Had someone lost it? She reached for it, craning on tiptoe to pull the twig low enough to free the s
carf.

  She never saw the person wielding the club that knocked her down. She hit the ground on her hands and blinked at the leaf-strewn dirt. Whack. A second blow stunned her long enough that the attacker managed to tie her hands behind her back and place a burlap sack over her head.

  They then tossed her over a shoulder and carted her away!

  Chapter Fourteen

  Meanwhile…

  Dean eyed the old lady who sat straight-backed in her gilded chair. The tea service on the table was of the antique variety, lots of filigreed metal, gold highlights, and fine porcelain.

  “Sit.” The elder Mrs. Tigranov waved a bejeweled hand.

  “Going to poison me?” Dean asked as she pushed a cup of tea towards him.

  “Tried that. Not one attempt succeeded,” she remarked as he took a sip.

  He didn’t spit it out, but he did put the cup down firmly. “You were the one behind the attacks.” Stated, not asked.

  “Yes.” She calmly added honey to her cup.

  “Let me guess, you tried to kill me so I wouldn’t be married to your granddaughter.”

  She snorted. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Think of it as more of a test. After all, you didn’t think just anyone would be allowed to marry my granddaughter, did you?”

  “You were going to let her marry Simon.”

  “Was I?” the matriarch asked with a smile before taking a dainty sip.

  “Are you implying you weren’t going to let her marry Simon?”

  “No need for me to act when I knew you would.”

  He leaned back with a cookie in hand. “How did you know?”

  “I knew about the marriage the night it happened, or did you think me unaware of her actions? I know everything that happens in this family.”

  “If you knew we got married, then why not say something?”

  “Because I was curious to see what would happen. It was intriguing to see how interested you were in her actions. Or did you think your inquiries went unnoticed?”