And, of course, that comment didn’t please him in the least. His expression became darker, tighter.
“And if I decide I do want to deal with it?”
Cassa laughed at that. Trust a Breed to only want to do something if challenged.
“I’d tell you to check your little black book for the name of one of your little playthings then.” She heard the contrary tone of her own voice and assured herself that she wasn’t jealous.
She had been assuring herself of that for years. She didn’t believe it now any more than she had believed it then.
Hell yes, she was jealous. Every time she turned around there was another woman on his arm. Even after she had learned about the mating heat, and learned that the reaction had begun all those years ago in that facility, still, he’d ignored her. She’d begun taking the hormonal treatments to contain the arousal that bloomed inside her at the most awkward times, while Cabal had satiated his lust with other women.
There were days she was thankful that he avoided the heat with the same dedication she did. There were other days that she thought she just might hate him for it.
“So we’re going to just keep pretending we’re not dying for each other?” he asked, as he pulled into the parking lot of the inn.
Cassa could hear the throb of lust in his voice. It was hard to miss. The dark, husky pitch was a vibration of hunger and need.
“That was my plan.” She ignored the regret that ached inside her just as she ignored the loneliness that wracked her at night.
She’d found over the years that there was more to this reaction than just the physical. There were the nights when she’d lie alone and wonder which woman he was with, and hate them both. And there were nights when she wished she was the one he was lying beside.
“Think that plan is going to work?”
She turned to him as he asked that question. “It’s worked so far.”
He nodded slowly, then reached out to touch the hair that had fallen over her shoulder.
“It won’t work if you stay here.”
Cassa felt her breath lodge in her throat as the backs of his fingers brushed over the material of the thick shirt covering her breasts.
“Meaning?” She was breathless now, waiting, telling herself she wasn’t going to let him torture her even as she almost welcomed the surge of sensation that tore through her body.
“Meaning, you’re too close,” he explained, his voice dark, filled with hunger. “Meaning, Cassa, get the hell out of Glen Ferris, or you’re going to find yourself mated. And I promise you”—he leaned closer as she fought to breathe through the stifling atmosphere of lust that suddenly filled the vehicle—“you won’t be writing this story then. You’ll be too exhausted to consider a story. I’ll make damned certain of it.”
Her teeth snapped together in offended fury as she curled her fingers into fists and leaned just close enough, just far enough that she knew he could feel her breath on his lips.
“And I promise you,” she stated tightly. “Nothing you do, no matter how you do it, is going to keep me from this story. Remember that, Cabal, before you make the worst mistake of both our lives.”
Before he could reply, she hit the latch at the side of the door. When she jerked the handle back to open the panel, it flew open and she jumped from the seat without bothering to look back. Back straight, pride bruised, she strode for the door to the inn.
She could feel him watching her. She could feel him wanting her. And she could feel every hair at the nape of her neck lifting in warning at the thought of exactly what he could do to her.
He could possess her. He could make her beg, and he could break her heart. And Cassa knew, breaking her heart was the one thing that could very well destroy her.
She wanted his love, not just his body. She had a very bad feeling though that love was the last thing Cabal wanted to give her.
◆ CHAPTER 4 ◆
Cabal watched her, and he wanted her. Four hours after she left the inn two days later, he was still watching her broodingly.
What was it about her that had made nature decide that she belonged to him?
He tilted his head and watched as she walked down the bank of the Gauley River, following the path David Banks, the former mayor of the city, often took for his evening walks.
She had a nice, long-legged stride, though at the moment her slow, careful walk disguised it. He watched as her jeans conformed to the twin globes of her nicely toned ass. The low band of her jeans enticed him as well. It would take very little, so very little to touch the sweet mound of her pussy at the front of those jeans. The tip of his finger inserted beneath the snap.
He tightened his jaw, his teeth clenching together furiously as the riotous hunger raced through his system. His tongue was swollen; the glands beneath it were spilling the spicy taste of the mating hormone.
The Breed curse. That was his definition of it; others saw it differently. Those couples that had mated called it a gift. Cabal saw very little in the demented reactions of mating that could be a gift.
At the moment, every sense he possessed was focused on the woman rather than the mission he was on. The mission was close to taking a backseat to the mate he had denied himself for so many years.
And why had he denied himself what nature had decreed was his and his alone? What had made him insane enough to believe that he could ever be in the same vicinity without taking her?
Anger. A sense of betrayal. He could still see that flash of knowledge in her eyes when her husband had accused her of knowing what he was doing. Something inside her had already warned her of his deceit. Unless she had truly loved him. Love was blind, Cabal understood that; he saw it on a daily basis with the mated Breed couples. It was blind faith, blind trust, and it took the ultimate evil to tear away those rose-colored glasses.
Her husband had done that. In one moment, whatever she had sensed inside her husband had become clear, and she had seen him for the evil he was.
She should have seen it sooner, the jealous part of him argued. She should have sensed the evil of the man she slept with.
And there they were. The second reason why Cabal had restrained himself. Because she was his mate, because mating brought out the animal within the man and because it kept the man from hiding the true core of his nature.
He was a Bengal Breed—in some ways more, in some ways less, than most Breeds. More animal, more cunning, more savage and vicious and much more deceptive than the normal Breed. And less human.
It was documented, proven. It was what the scientist who developed the Bengal genetics had worked toward. Unfortunately, Bengals didn’t fare well in captivity. Those that had survived were impossible to train, as proven by Cabal’s team. His pride. Those that he considered his family.
A dozen male and female Bengals. Cunning, fierce, they had been working within the facility for years against the Council. They had smuggled out information, destroyed targets that were Council friendly as well as the targets the Council had sent them after.
They had shed innocent blood, that was true. But they had shed more enemy blood than innocent. And they had saved those that they could.
Cabal had played the reluctant Bengal. Attention was focused on him, while those considered weaker worked around the scientists, trainers and psychologists to destroy them.
So many had died. It was believed that all but Cabal had died; that was a belief that Cabal perpetuated. Those who lived should live free for a change.
Cunning was their strongest weapon, and his people were cunning. They were surviving outside the Breed communities. Cabal was surviving, barely, within it. The restrictions often chafed at him, smothered him. The hunger for freedom after the years of captivity was still a gnawing ache inside him.