Natalie shook her head in confusion. “I thought the Breeds didn’t interfere in Buffalo Gap? I heard that somewhere. Wouldn’t I be meeting with someone from the Board of Education instead?”
“Not if you’re being hired to teach Breed children. Those children are very well protected, and any hiring done in that regard comes under the sanction of the Breed Ruling Cabinet. Until that decision was made, the Board of Education has allowed the Breed Ruling Cabinet to select any additional staff required.” He tilted his head and watched as she gripped the small bar she stood beside to keep herself from falling. “You are still interested in the job, are you not?”
She nodded slowly. “Oh yeah,” she assured him. “I would say that’s an understatement.”
“Very well. I was hoping we could make arrangements to leave for Columbia this afternoon, if possible?” He stared around the kitchen, his gaze touching on the boxes. “Sanctuary’s heli-jet is waiting on the private airfield outside of town to escort us there. Is that agreeable—”
His words broke off at the sound of the front door slamming open, hitting the wall in the small foyer she had led Saban Broussard through and echoing through the near-empty house.
Before she could do more than gasp, she was pushed behind the bar and within a blink Saban was across the room, weapon drawn from somewhere as he slammed her ex-husband’s body against the wall and jammed the muzzle of his weapon beneath Mike Claxton’s jaw.
Mike’s pale blue eyes widened as his face blanched in terror. Saban’s lips were drawn back in a snarl, lethal canines flashing as a growl rumbled in his throat.
“Call him off,” Mike gasped, his gaze latching on Natalie in desperation as he wheezed out the plea.
“For God’s sake, let him go!” Natalie stalked across the room, glaring at the Breed. Obviously a Breed. Only they had the unique, terrifying, wickedly powerful canines such as this one had. “He’s not dangerous, he’s just stupid. Dammit, do I have to be plagued with stupid males?”
Saban drew his weapon back, but only reluctantly. He wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to rip the bastard’s neck out and watch him bleed, taste his blood, feel the terror that filled him as he knew death was coming.
Because his scent was in this house and to a small extent, lingered around the woman. The reaction was an anomaly. It wasn’t a part of who or what he was. He cared for no woman, and he certainly didn’t care which male touched them. Until this one, this Natalie Ricci, whose brother called her Gnat. Whose mother laughed at her childhood antics with loving amusement.
Until this woman, Saban had never known a time when he would have killed a man over his possession of a female. But this one, he knew he would kill man or beast over her.
The possessiveness had grown over the past weeks, during his surveillance of her. He had seen her on her back porch shedding tears after this bastard had stalked from her home. He had heard the screaming, stood outside her back door and prayed for the control to restrain the violence that rose inside him.
Brown-haired, weak, full of his own self-importance, Mike Claxton had no business near Saban’s Natalie, no reason to breathe her air, to be here in this house, as she attempted to leave the home he had stolen from her in the divorce.
“Let him go before I kick you both out of the house and end up costing myself a job I wanted. You won’t like me much if I have to do that.”
Saban glanced at her from the corner of his eye, aware of the weak-minded fool gasping for air, his hands clawing at Saban’s wrists as he was held securely to the wall.
The feminine ire, frustration, and promise of retribution filled her gaze and did something council soldiers, scientists, or rabid Coyote assassins couldn’t do. It caused a small core of wariness inside him to awaken.
If he was going to charm her, tempt her, and steal her heart, then starting out with her upset with him, possibly frightened of him, may not be the wisest course of action.
She looked furious and fierce, eyes the color of molasses, dark and gold swirling together as she glared up at him, demanding the release of a man whose scent of dishonor was cloying and offensive.
He released Claxton slowly, uncertain why he did so when he wanted nothing more than to crush him, and reluctantly holstered his weapon.
“Consider it your lucky day,” he told the other man as he collapsed against the wall, fighting for breath. “I’d leave if I were you. I’m not known for mercy or for my patience where fools are concerned. The next time you enter her home, I would suggest knocking.”
“You know,” Natalie commented, her tone stern and perhaps just the slightest bit concerned, “I have a feeling you and I are not going to get along if this is your normal attitude.”
Saban smiled. A flash of canines, the expression of innocence he had seen other males adopt around their mates when they had managed to test their women’s patience.
“We’ll get along fine, cher,” he assured her before turning, locking his gaze with Claxton’s, and praying the other man read the silent warning there. “This one, though, he may have cause to worry.”
“Natalie, what is this?” Claxton massaged his throat as he glared at Saban.
There was fear in his eyes though, and Saban let himself be content with that for now. Maybe later, he told himself, perhaps once he’d secured his place in Natalie’s heart, then he would take care of this bastard.
“This is Saban Broussard,” she bit out as she moved away from both of them and went to the counter across the room to pour herself a cup of coffee.
He could feel the anger pouring from her now, the uncertainty, and he flashed Claxton another hard look before letting a hard growl rumble in his throat. Because of this son of a bitch, she was mad at him, and if Claxton weren’t very careful, Saban would take it out of his hide.
He was satisfied to see Claxton pale further, but when his gaze slid to Natalie, he nearly paled himself.
What an interesting reaction. Saban felt the clench of his chest, the awakening knowledge that he cared if this woman were upset with him. And she was very upset with him.
“He’s a Breed enforcer, if you haven’t guessed,” she snorted, a cute little feminine sound that he found he liked. “He’s here to escort me to meet with members of the Breed Ruling Cabinet. I’ve accepted a job with them.”
Ah. Saban’s gaze slashed to Claxton as fury, rich and satisfying, poured from the man. Perhaps this fool would give him the reason he needed to slash his throat after all.
Evidently he was doomed to disappointment. Claxton narrowed his eyes, his lips thinned, and his weak hands tugged at the polo shirt he wore, but he made no move toward Natalie.
She moved to the end of the bar with her coffee, leaned her hip against it, and regarded both of them rather curiously as she sipped from her cup.
Was she weighing the differences between them or seeing similarities? There were no similarities, Saban decided. Better she see that now rather than later.
“We need to be going,” he told her. “I arrived in time for you to contact Sanctuary or your local law enforcement for confirmation of my assignment and the arrangements that were made to transport you to Columbia. We’re running out of time.”
She sipped at the coffee again, her gaze going between the two of them.
“I can’t just run out of the house with you, Mr. Broussard. Even Callan Lyons should know that. I do intend to contact Sanctuary as well as the police department, my parents, and the principal of the school that I’ve been teaching in. I’ll then shower, dress, pack, and get ready to go. That won’t be accomplished in a matter of minutes.”
His body tightened; lust slammed through every bone and muscle that comprised it as he stared at the defiance in her eyes. When was the last time anyone had dared to defy him, to make him wait?
“I’m not leaving you here alone with him,” Claxton snapped, but there was very little heat in his voice.
Saban slid his gaze to the other man. “Bet me,” he murmured, lettin
g his gaze meet the pale blue orbs and allowing the lust that fired his body to gleam in them.
Better this bastard knew up front that Saban intended to claim what the other man had so carelessly thrown away. Some men were just smarter than others, it appeared.
“Bet me.” Natalie’s cup struck the counter, jerking Saban’s gaze back to her.
She didn’t bother to shoot Claxton that gleam of anger burning in her eyes, but Saban felt it clear to the soles of his feet. It made him horny. Made him want to show her exactly who she would belong to, who would control all that fire and passion inside her.
But that wasn’t going to happen if he let her remain angry with him.
What had those dating books said? The ones little Cassie Sinclair had heaped on him the year before? Charm, soft words, praise, and the ability to compromise would show a woman his innate ability to please her on both the emotional as well as the mental level.
He could do this.
“Cher.” He let the soft breath of his accent free and tried to keep from strutting as her eyes widened, her face flushed, and a hint of aroused heat flowed from her body. “I apologize for this. He came in threatening.” Explaining himself nearly had him clenching his teeth in irritation. “I thought he had come to harm you or perhaps even myself. I am a Breed.” He shrugged, knowing it was self-explanatory; Breeds were attacked on a daily basis. “My only thought was to protect you and myself as well.” He smiled at Claxton. All teeth, sharp canines and the male promise of future payment. “Pardon my reaction to your entrance, but perhaps you should have knocked first.”
Silence filled the kitchen for long moments.
“And here I thought my day couldn’t get worse,” he heard Natalie mutter then. “I was so wrong.”
ONE
Years before, Natalie could have sworn there was no one harder to get along with than her brother. Ill-tempered, overbearing, and certain of his place in their mother’s affection, he had tortured her. Tormented her. Pulled her hair, hid her dolls, flushed her goldfish, and generally kept her in a state of distress.
She was of a mind to forgive him now, because she had found someone more overbearing, more ill-tempered, and much, much harder to get along with.
So would someone tell her, please, why she could feel herself being charmed rather than irritated? Why it was becoming so damned hard to maintain her distance and not smirk at his antics?
She was pissed, she told herself. It was all a game—she could feel it, sense it—but his efforts to get her attention were beginning to draw much more than her interest. She was beginning to like him. No, not just like him, and that was the scary part.
She’d been in Buffalo Gap less than two months, and she had tried, she knew she had tried not to be charmed with the arrogant, conceited, smirking Jaguar Breed that Jonas Wyatt had saddled her with, but God help her, it was getting harder by the day.
She should be angry with him, because to tell the truth, there were times she just didn’t know what to do with him.
Such as the time he had followed her to the doctor. Had he stayed in the waiting room? Of course not; he had tried to breach the examination rooms. Had become so threatening that Natalie had been forced to ask the nurse to allow him to stand in the hallway.
Not so much because of his protective determination to be there, but because of his eyes. She almost sighed at the thought of that. The shadows in his eyes had been bleak, and Natalie knew if she had forced him outside the doctor’s office entirely, then the animal DNA that had somehow decided she needed protecting would have pushed them both over a line they were delicately balancing on, even then.
It was distracting though, even a little embarassing. Even her ex-husband hadn’t attempted anything so forward as to try to horn in on her examinations.
That had just been the first week. The first week. It had been one frustrating episode after another.
She understood that they were still acclimating themselves to the world. She really did. It had to be hard, even now, ten years after the Breeds were first discovered and adopted by America and all its enemies and allies. They were the unknown element in the world now, a different species, kind of like aliens. There was speculation, rumor, prejudice, and pure human spite. It couldn’t be easy functioning normally. But this…this was impossible.
She needed groceries, but after less than ten minutes in the store, she was ready to leave her cart sitting, the Breed standing, and forget about eating. He had her hormones racing in arousal and her frustration level rising as she fought to ignore his surprisingly endearing antics.
“I believe you need more meat,” he whispered from behind her, his voice suggestive as he leaned toward the cooler and picked up the thick, rolled roast from inside. “This one looks promising.” He held the meat up for display, and she felt her face flame as the butcher smirked at her from behind the cold display case.
Natalie jerked the roast out of his hand, thumped it in her cart, and kept going.
“Boo, surely you aren’t gonna continue in this silent campaign,” he sighed behind her. She could hear the amusement, wicked and insidious, vibrating in his voice as thick as his accent. His Cajun accent.
She really wished he wouldn’t call her boo or cher or chay or petite bébé. He could call her by her name, just once, couldn’t he? So her heart wouldn’t thump so hard in excitement.
Except, the few times he had, the syllables had rolled off his tongue like a caress and sent a shiver spiking through her body. And she liked that too damned much.
She continued through the aisle, picked up milk and eggs, a package of processed cheese, then watched as he picked up a package of Monterey Jack. She managed to glare over her shoulder at him.
“I’ve never tried it,” he said softly, suggestively. “But I’ve heard it’s quite good.”
Saban Broussard was wickedly handsome. Too damned handsome for his own good with his long, black hair, gleaming emerald green eyes, and patrician features. He looked wild and wicked, and he was irritating, frustrating, and driving her insane.
He refused to give her a moment’s peace, and Jonas Wyatt, the director of Breed Affairs, flat-out refused to give her a different bodyguard.
Not that she had really tried too hard for that one. She restrained her sigh of self-disgust. She kept putting off forcing the issue, afraid she would miss him if he was gone. Even if he was driving her crazy, there was something about him that drew her. And she hated that part the worst. She could have handled the rest if she could be assured that she could handle the forceful personality she knew he was holding back.
As the first teacher for Breeds in a public school, Jonas said he considered her a resource and a liability, so he gave her the best to protect her.
A Jaguar Breed. A Cajun who had been buried in the swamps for most of his life, a Jaguar that he had promised was as antisocial as any Breed living. She wouldn’t even know he was around.
Fat chance.
“You shouldn’t eat that.” He took the TV dinner that she had picked up out of her hand and replaced it in the freezer. “Fresh meat is much better for you.”
Her teeth clenched tighter as a young mother giggled across the aisle, and her dimple-cheeked baby waved shyly at Saban. Evidently, he was social. The young mother blushed prettily, and the little girl’s smile widened as Natalie jerked the dinner back from the shelf and plopped it in her cart before moving on.
This wasn’t going to work. She was going to end up jumping his bones, and if she did that, she might as well shoot herself. Why wait for those sneaky Council soldiers she was told still lurked in the shadows? She’d take care of it herself.
“That boxed food will give you a heart attack before you’re forty,” he murmured as he followed her. “Are you always so stubborn?”
She clamped her lips tight and moved on.
All she wanted to do was buy some groceries, go about her business in relaxed comfort, and get ready for the coming school year. She didn’t want to
deal with a Breed who didn’t have an antisocial bone in his tall, hard, handsome, too-damned-arrogant body and made her heart race, her lips tingle for a kiss, and her thighs weaken in need.
“You are going to hurt my feelings, boo, if you keep refusing to talk to me.” He sighed as she moved into the checkout lane and began lifting her purchases to the counter.
He moved to her side and began taking items out of her hand and placing them himself with an amused quirk to his lips and laughter gleaming in his dark green eyes.
That laughter was almost impossible to ignore. Bodyguards were to be seen, not heard, she told herself.
Who could have known that the normally taciturn, sober, somber, quiet Breeds could have a complete anomaly in their midst? This breed was a maniac. He drove a twenty-year-old four-by-four black pickup that sounded like a monster growling. She couldn’t even step in it by herself for God’s sake.
He flirted. He cooked food so spicy hot the fire department should be put on call, and he watched cartoons. He didn’t watch action movies or the news, hated the world events channel, and flat-out refused to watch any of the documentaries concerning the Breed creation.
If he wasn’t watching cartoons, he was watching history or baseball. He watched baseball with such complete absorption that she wondered if he would notice a Council soldier walking in front of him.
He was taking up more room than her ex-husband had and invading her life more fully. It was going to have to stop before she lost her heart.
As her cart emptied, she moved forward, paid for her purchases, and smiled at the young man bagging and loading them back into the cart. That smile froze on her face as she heard a growl behind her. The lanky young man loading the bags paled, fumbled the bag that held her eggs, and swallowed tightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
Shifter Page 9