“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.