Shifter

by Angela Knight, Lora Leigh, Alyssa Day

  “Enough!” Natalie swung to him, instinctive, heated anger filling her at the accusation. “If you want to discuss anything, Mike, then keep a civil tongue in your head.”

  His lips flattened as the sheriff watched both of them with flat, hard eyes. He had his own agenda, Natalie thought. Questions he couldn’t ask, so instead he watched.

  “And I’m to leave you in the same room alone with this man?” Saban questioned her with an edge of disgust.

  “Listen to me, you rabid bastard!” Mike tried to push into the house, rage burning in his face now, splotching his cheeks as the sheriff grabbed his arm and Saban blocked the doorway. “Let me in there. You’ve done something to her, and I know it. Look at her. She’s pale and scared. Look at her, Sheriff. He’s done something to her. He’s a fucking animal. He shouldn’t be here with her. He shouldn’t be around her.”

  Natalie stepped back from the doorway as Saban’s hard body blocked Mike’s furious attempts to get past the door. She had never seen him like this, so enraged that his own personal safety wasn’t uppermost. Surely he knew Saban could break him like a matchstick if that was what he wanted.

  “Mike, that’s enough!” She snapped out the order, firming her voice, hardening it. “For God’s sake, have you lost your mind?”

  Saban was struggling not to hurt him, Natalie could see that. He was blocking the doorway with his own body, holding Mike back as the sheriff gripped his arm and dragged him forcibly away from the door.

  “Get him out of here, Ted. Jonas will be in your office within the hour to file a complaint. I want him kept away from her.”

  “Fucking animal! You don’t make that decision.” Mike struggled against the sheriff. “That’s my wife in there. You don’t touch my damned wife.”

  Mike fell back as Saban snarled, a primal, dangerous, feline sound unlike anything Natalie had heard as he rasped. “Ex-wife, bastard.”

  “My God, this is insane.” Natalie pushed past Saban, slapping at his hard stomach as he tried to hold her back. “Take your hands off me and stop this crap. Are all of you insane?”

  “Natalie, listen to me.” Mike reached for her, his hands closing around her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh.

  The sensation of his touch caused an immediate reaction, one she didn’t understand, couldn’t make sense of. Her skin felt as though it were shrinking, physically trying to draw away from his touch as shards of brittle, sharp distaste filled her brain.

  A shocked, hoarse cry came from her lips as she tried to jerk away from him, staring at where his fingers wrapped around her flesh just below the elbow.

  A vicious snarl sounded behind her, and before Natalie could process the lightning-fast events, Mike’s neck was gripped in Saban’s powerful hand, his fingers loosened from her arm, and he was tossed, physically, through the air into the yard beyond the porch.

  She stared down at her arm, then back to Mike before she rubbed at her skin slowly, trying to wipe away the feel of his touch. It was still there, the sensation of his skin on her, causing a sickness to roil in her stomach as nausea rose in her throat. She felt invaded, molested, as though Mike had touched an intimate part of her flesh rather than merely gripping her arm. The sensations had bordered on agony, unlike the mere feeling of distasteful discomfort when the Breed doctor had examined her.

  Shock slowed reality, had her head lifting, watching as Saban jumped to the ground, lifted Mike from the lawn, and nose to nose snarled furiously, flashing the sharp canines in his mouth as his fist struck with lightning quickness into the soft padding of Mike’s belly.

  The sheriff tried to tear them apart, tried to force himself between the two men, but Saban was too enraged.

  She heard her own voice screaming his name as she jumped to the ground, rushing to the fray and gripping Saban’s arm as it came back for another round.

  Mike’s eyes had rolled back in his head, his body slumped as Saban stilled, his head whipping around to Natalie, his eyes slicing to where she touched him.

  “Let him go.” Thin and reedy, she had to force her voice to work, force herself to think. “Let him go now.”

  She stared back at him, shaking, shuddering with the force of the knowledge tearing through her now. Whatever he had done to her had more far-reaching effects than an arousal gone haywire.

  “Let him go.” She lifted her other hand, wrapped it around the wrist where his fingers were still clenching Mike’s neck. “Please.”

  Mike was gasping for air as Saban opened his fingers slowly and allowed him to collapse to the ground where the sheriff jerked him back up and hustled him back to the cruiser.

  Natalie stood beneath the hot summer sun, distantly aware of the neighbors that had come from their houses to watch in horrified curiosity.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered. She could still feel Mike’s touch echoing painfully through her arm. She couldn’t wipe it away, couldn’t stop the churning in her stomach.

  Saban grimaced, turned to her, then wrapped one hand around the nape of her neck and lowered his lips to hers. His tongue speared past her lips, tangled with hers, and in a second she was devouring the taste of him, suddenly, horrifyingly craving the dark taste of lust that spilled from his tongue.

  It was a brief moment in time, no more than a touch, a taste, but when his head lifted, Natalie felt as though the energy had been sapped from her body, but so had the pain. She laid her forehead against his chest, her breath hitching in fear.

  “What have you done to me?” she whispered. “Oh God, Saban, what have you done to me?”

  Mike watched the scene in the front yard. That animal touching her, kissing her, his arms going around her as he pulled back and Natalie rested her head against his chest.

  She leaned into the Breed, let him support her, let him hold her through whatever pain she was feeling, and he hated it. He wanted to rip the bastard apart, cell by cell. The son of a bitch had what should have belonged to Mike. He was stealing it, had been stealing her away from him for God only knew how long.

  This was the reason she had been so all-fired determined to divorce him, to walk away from him. This was the reason she never depended on him, never leaned on him and let him guide her, because of this Breed, this animal.

  He wiped his hand over his face, feeling the sweat building there, running down his temples. The soldier that had come to his apartment just after she left town was right. Mike hadn’t believed it, couldn’t believe that those bastard animals could have the control over a woman that he was told they had.

  But he was seeing it with his own eyes. He had seen her, unable to bear his touch, her face going white, the shock of it darkening her eyes a second before the Breed had torn him away from her.

  And now the animal was holding her rather than the husband she should have never divorced.

  God. What was he going to do? He had to get her away from that bastard. He had to get her to the doctor the soldier had waiting so they could fix this.

  This was why she divorced him. He shook his head in amazement. He hadn’t understood it at the time. He was her husband, he had the right to have her home when he wanted her home, the right to protect her and look over her. To keep her safe from bastards like that animal Broussard.

  He let his eyes lock with the glowing green of the Breed’s and swallowed tightly at the promise of retribution there. Broussard would kill him if he had the chance. Mike would have to make certain he didn’t get the chance. There would be a way; he would find a way to draw Natalie away from this, to save her, to get her to that doctor so he could cure her. So he could wipe the effects of whatever had been done to her out of her mind.

  He knew her. The Breed didn’t. He could do it.

  “Man, you have a fucking death wish.” The sheriff got into the driver’s seat and glanced back at him pityingly.

  Pityingly, as though Mike didn’t have a chance. He did have a chance. He just had to get Natalie where they could help her, that was all.

 
“She’s my wife,” he snapped.

  “Ex-wife,” the sheriff reminded him with a sneer.

  Mike glared back at him.

  Shaking his head, the other man turned and started the vehicle before pulling out of the drive.

  Mike continued to watch Natalie. She was arguing with the Breed now. He knew that look on her face, had become intimately acquainted with it in the year before their divorce.

  He had wondered what had happened to his wife. The woman who loved him, who obeyed him. This was what had happened to her. This Breed. And Mike was going to have to fix it.

  SEVEN

  He should feel guilty, he should have a conscience, shouldn’t he? He should feel pain: the same pain she felt that she was bound so irrevocably to him that even the touch of another male brought her distress.

  But he wasn’t. And the true problem lay in the fact that he couldn’t hide that he wasn’t. That was why he had to rush to keep up with her as she stormed into the house, nearly slamming the door in his face before he could get past it.

  “You know, cher, I’m a man,” he stated as she whirled to confront him in the living room. “I am a Breed male. Possessive, confrontational, and territorial. You can’t ask me to be any different.”

  “I could ask you not to drag me into it. I could ask you not to show your ass on the front lawn simply to stake your pitiful claim, and I could ask you not to commit murder while the sheriff is watching. For God’s sake, some things should just be private.” Her voice rose as she spoke, anger spiking each word, clipping them until they rolled off her lips like a curse on the head of the unwary.

  “He touched you.” That was enough for Saban. “He caused you pain.”

  “Oh yeah, and he knew that gripping my arm was going to cause that freaky hormone you infected me with to send knives slashing into my flesh.” Disgust colored her words.

  Her molasses eyes were hot, boiling with temper, her face flushed with her fury, and he swore even her hair seemed to have picked up fiery highlights. She was like a dark flame burning before him, searing him with the wonder of her. That and pure male ownership.

  She was his woman. His. The one thing nature had created solely for him. If she thought for even one second he would allow another to touch her, to claim her, then she had best think again.

  “I should have warned you of that perhaps,” he grunted, though he was certain that warning her of it would have done no good. “I would have thought Ely had taken care of that.”

  “Expect discomfort.” She pushed the words past her lips like some filthy curse. “Expect a few side effects. Tell me, Saban, what the hell else should I expect now that you’ve actually fucked me?”

  He felt his teeth clench at the derogatory tone of voice.

  “Don’t push me, Natalie,” he warned her softly. “My own temper hasn’t yet cooled from watching that bastard attempt to claim you.”

  “No one claims me.” Her fists balled at her sides, and he could have sworn she nearly stamped her foot.

  How interesting. It was definitely a sight to be wary of, because he could smell the pure violence simmering inside her. Her patience with him, with Breeds, with males in general was rapidly reaching its limit. He wondered, though, and couldn’t help but be fascinated with the idea of her losing that patience and temper.

  There was a warrior inside her; he could feel it. A woman ready to take on the world when it counted and to flay a Breed at twenty paces should he deserve it. And he definitely deserved it; hell, he was almost looking forward to it. From what he had seen of his pride leader, Callan, and Callan’s mate, makeup sex could be damned satisfying.

  The books Cassie had pawned off on him had assured him that it was satisfying. Often the best sex of any relationship. Though, to be honest, if it got better than last night and this morning, he may not survive it.

  “Did you hear me, Saban Broussard?” Her voice roughened, rasped with her anger. “No one claims me.”

  “That mark on your neck proves otherwise.” He shrugged as he stared back at her calmly. “I’ve claimed you, cher, for better or worse. There is no divorce, there is no separation, and there will be no ex-husband believing he can rescind that claim.”

  Saban kept his voice calm though firm. He had a feeling that if he lost control of his hot Cajun temper, then he would have lost this battle from the beginning. Because with the temper came a resurgence of the heat, hotter and brighter than before, as he knew Natalie was now learning.

  Nature did not allow the breed mates to confront each other without a safeguard in place. They may fight, they may rage, but they would not deny each other.

  In the face of her anger, he could feel no guilt. He wasn’t a man to do anything by half measures; he had been trained to know what to do, how to do it, and not question himself over every decision made.

  But as he stared back at Natalie now and saw the flash of hurt and fear beneath the anger, he wondered at the ache in his chest. Guilt? Perhaps. He’d never known that emotion either until Natalie, so it was hard to be certain.

  Her independence had been hard-won, and now she felt it threatened. He didn’t blame her for her anger, but he would not allow her to deny him or the mark she now carried.

  “You should leave.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears and unresolved fury. “Now!”

  “Well, cher, I’ll just make certain I do that,” he growled. “With your ex-husband prowling around like a demented coyote and that fool sheriff sticking his nose in where it don’t belong. Oh yeah, I’m jus’ gonna pack up and head on out, eh?”

  He was growing tired of being told to leave her.

  “I have to get out of here.” She shook her head. “I have to get away from you before you drive me completely crazy.”

  “Until your ex-husband showed up, you had no problems with me.” He felt like snarling, like roaring in his own frustration as the thought hit his mind. “Does he mean so much to you that now you have to run from me?”

  The look she cast him was so filled with disdain that had he been a lesser man, he may have flinched.

  “Don’t pretend to be stupid, Saban; you just don’t pull it off well,” she informed him caustically. “I don’t know what your Breed rule book says, but common decency should keep you from acting like a complete moron just because it suits your purposes to do so. You threatened Mike. You nearly killed him. And you shouldn’t be standing in front of me as though this mating heat bullshit makes it all right.”

  “I will protect you.” He stepped closer, glowering down at her as the animal part of his brain demanded that he show her, again, just how much she was his woman. “Claxton wasn’t being reasonable, Natalie, you know that.”

  “And you were?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at him. “You were choking him to death. One-handed.”

  “Would you have preferred I used two hands? I thought it sporting to give him a handicap at least, but next time I’ll make certain I do the job right.” The next time he would just kill the bastard and have done with it.

  The look she flashed him spoke volumes of her fury and her opinion of that statement.

  He watched, fascinated, as she restrained her rage. Her arms unfolded, her body tightened, until he wondered if her spine would snap.

  “I have things to do today,” she informed him then. “Things that do not include you. Excuse me.”

  She headed for the stairs, dismissing him as though the argument were over, simply because she deemed it over?

  “Not so fast, mate,” he bit out, moving quickly to slide between her and her destination. “This argument has not yet finished.”

  “Why? Because you haven’t gotten fucked yet?” She flicked a glance at the evidence of his erection beneath his jeans. “I’m not in the mood.”

  He growled at that. “You damned sure are ready to fuck, but that wasn’t on the agenda quite yet. Your anger at the moment is, because it’s completely illogical. Claxton was gearing himself up for violence, Nat
alie, and you know it. Better he found that outlet with me than with you. It ensured his survival.”

  “Mike wouldn’t hurt me.” A frown flashed between her brows. “I was married to him for years, Saban, he never touched me in violence.”

  It was the way she said it, the telltale flicker of her lashes, the scent of deceit. She wasn’t lying to him, but she wasn’t telling him the entire truth either.

  “What did he do then?” he asked her carefully.

  The sudden evasion in her eyes was proof that he had done something.

  “He never hit me, and do you know what else he never did, Saban? He never started fights with men over something so asinine either.”

  “No, he likely started them with you.” Saban could feel the renewed need to rip the man to shreds, one limb at a time. “Is that why you divorced him, Natalie? Why you fight the mating with me so hard? Did he attempt to control all that wild, beautiful fire inside you? Or did he attempt to douse it?”

  “Conversation is over.” She said it calmly, but he could sense, smell the hurt and the anger raging inside her.

  Like those flames Claxton had wanted to control, she pushed it back, buried it, hid it beneath that mask of calm self-control. She could teach a Breed about self-possession.

  She could definitely give him lessons in it, because he wasn’t handling this nearly as well as she was, but also, he knew, he had already accepted what she was to him. She still had that journey to make.

  “This conversation is not over.” He bared his teeth in frustration; he could feel that frustration rising inside him now, threatening the boundaries of his control. “Hear me well, Natalie. It doesn’t matter who it is, man or woman; any threat to you will be dealt with. Any strike against you will be retaliated against. So much as a thought, a flicker of threat, and I will be there. Whether you like it or not, whether you want it or not.”

  “Whether I want it or not.” Her voice was bitter, cutting like acid into his soul. “Because you decree it. Stand wherever the hell you want to stand, Saban. As long as it’s well away from me.”