Bengal's Heart

◆ 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.

The hunger for his mate was growing even stronger than that for freedom. The possessiveness, the need, the demand that he claim her was becoming overwhelming. And with it came the anger.

Cassa was the hardest battle he had ever faced, and he admitted it. He had admitted it more than once in the years since he had nearly killed her along with her husband.

Douglas Watts had been an abusive bastard. Cabal’s initial investigation into the man’s background had turned up surprising information. Information such as the fact that he had abused several ex-girlfriends. Yet there had been no proof that he had abused his wife, but Cabal knew in his gut.

Cabal hadn’t needed proof; he knew instinctively that Watts had to have abused his wife. He wouldn’t have changed his pattern, even for love. If he had known how to love, and Cabal had no doubt in his mind that Watts had not loved his wife. The investigation he had conducted had shown several instances where the man had cheated on his new wife.

Did Cassa know that her husband of barely a year had had a new lover every other month? Mostly one-night stands. Women he had barely known. He’d had the perfect, faithful wife, and he had betrayed not just her emotions and their vows, but the principles she had lived by and the battle that she had accepted as her own.

Breed freedom. He had sold Breed freedom for a paltry couple of hundred thousand dollars. He had sold information on the majority of the rescues he had covered with his wife. Not all of them, he’d been smarter than that, smart enough that he’d managed to slip past Jonas Wyatt, and that wasn’t an easy feat.

And here Cabal was, more than eleven years later, still in conflict with himself over Watts’ wife. Over his own mate.

He watched as she continued her slow stroll along the bank of the river, obviously scouring the area for some clue as to the missing former mayor’s fate.

There was nothing to find. Cabal and his team had searched that bank more times than they should have. There were no clues, it was that simple. Just as there had been none at the scene of Alonzo’s murder. It was as though David Banks had simply walked off the face of the earth. Or had been jerked from it. Which, Cabal couldn’t say for certain. The only thing he was certain of was that Banks had been a part of the Deadly Dozen, the group of men responsible for the abductions and deaths of Breeds who had escaped the labs before Breed Law.

Banks, as well as Watts, had been a close associate of Brandenmore and Engalls, the pharmaceutical giants currently under indictment for the attempted murder of Breeds as well as suspected illegal Breed genetic research. Both men had been known to hunt with the pharmaceutical family, for the four-legged variety of prey as well.

Watts had been as evil and as vicious as his scent had indicated seconds before Cabal had killed him. But did his wife know what he had been?

Cabal clenched his teeth at the thought of Watts touching her. For eleven years it had tortured him, knowing that she had been married to Watts. Tortured him? It enraged the man as well as the animal that lived within. It was like an acid burning in his gut, knowing she had lain with him, that she had loved him.

He watched her now, the glands beneath his tongue throbbing as he tasted the hormone seeping from them. The spicy taste was stronger now, the need to claim her growing more desperate.

He had to get away from her. If he didn’t, he was going to destroy them both. He could feel the need to snarl in rage at the thought of Watts touching her. The fact that he had been married to her didn’t matter. Cabal didn’t give a fuck. She’d had no business wearing Watts’s ring, allowing his touch.

And Cabal also knew he had no business blaming her for it. He shook his head. He was falling into the same pit he fell into each time she was too close for too long. The same conflicts. And the same angers.

He saw her, ached for her, and each time he saw the men and women who had died in that pit, because of her husband. Not because of her. It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. Douglas Watts had betrayed those rescues on his own. He hadn’t even needed his marriage to Cassa to do it. He had already been chosen to cover those rescues. So what the fuck was Cabal’s problem? Other than a green-eyed monster that refused to fucking let him go. And a hunger that threatened to destroy him.

His brother Tanner had warned him this was coming. The brother he hadn’t known he’d had until his rescue. His biological twin brother. Tanner had known on sight what they were to each other; it had taken Cabal a few months to accept it.

But only his blood could be as damned conniving as he was himself. Yeah, Tanner was his brother, and Cabal had accepted it. Just as he’d finally accepted that Cassa was his mate.

Cassa paused at the edge of the water and stared into the rock-strewn edge as minute waves lapped at the darkened soil.

This was the path David Banks normally took for his evening walk. He had been seen here the evening he had disappeared. Right here, in this very spot, below the falls and the old water management plant.

She stared across the water at the brick building with its hollow spillways and boarded windows. In the overcast light it appeared brooding, sinister.

Kanawha Falls. The water that crashed into the small lake ran its course back into the river and continued along its way. And here David Banks had been standing, staring up at the old plant, the last time he had been seen.

That had been two weeks before.

There had been an extensive search of the river. Divers had been called in, satellites had been aimed into the murky depths and remote search bots had canvassed the water for days. Nothing had been found.

The sheriff, Danna Lacey, had led search teams through the area. Not so much as a clue to what had happened to the former mayor had been found. It was as though he had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Shaking her head, Cassa turned and stared up the sloped bank that led back to the parking area and a small picnic location. Winter-dried bamboo saplings waved in the breeze, while the hulking skeletons of bare trees cast dark shadows out over the bank and reminded her that nothing in this beautiful little town was as it seemed.

Breathing out roughly, she made her way back up to the parking area before turning and heading into the edge of the trees that led back to the main river on the other side.

There had been nothing to indicate that David Banks had walked into the forested area. It wasn’t part of Banks’s known walking trail, and it had been searched many times. She didn’t expect to find anything to indicate that he had been there; rather, she was making note of whom she saw and what she saw.

One thing she had made note of was the fact that she was being followed by none other than Cabal himself. She had seen two other Breed Enforcers in town earlier, at the small café where she had breakfast. Rule Breaker and Lawe Justice had been quietly amused as they watched her. They had then traded off duties with Cabal after she left the café.

He’d been following her ever since.

Didn’t he have his own investigation to see to? She was certain he had more resources in the area than she had managed to dig up, despite the fact that she was acquainted with several of the journalists in town, as well as the sheriff.

There was a dead end here on Banks as well as H. R. Alonzo’s murder. And what made it even worse, one of the first news stories of the morning was the report that H. R. Alonzo had died in a blaze that had swept through his Missouri home. The cause of that blaze was yet to be determined, but the unofficial report was that HR’s fireplace and the fire that had burned within it had somehow been the cause.

It would be ruled an accidental death, just as the others had been. Jonas Wyatt and the Bureau of Breed Affairs were amazingly efficient, at all times.

It would make the story she was working on more difficult. It was hard to report someone had been murdered by a Breed when a human coroner ruled the death accidental. The pictures she held were next to worthless, but not a total loss.

What the hell was going on? She couldn’t believe the Bureau would turn a killer loose, but she knew Wyatt and his enforcers. If there was a rogue Breed out there threatening the stability of the Breed community, then they would have neutralized that threat as quickly as possible. Which meant they didn’t know any more than she did.

More than likely, they were being led on the same wild-goose chase she was being led on, and refused to admit to it.

“Ms. Hawkins, you do like to live dangerously.”

Cassa came to a hard stop as Dog stepped just far enough from the other side of a tree to allow her to recognize him.

The overcast day lent a brooding, harsh quality to his expression. It cast shadows that did nothing to soften his features or to help him appear less threatening. Though Cassa doubted anything could make the Coyote Breed appear less threatening. And considering the fact that Cabal was likely not far behind her, the situation had turned into one with the potential to become rather dangerous. At least for Dog.

“And you say I like to live dangerously.” She gave a short, sarcastic little laugh. “You must be suicidal.”

“That’s the general opinion.” His lips quirked into a rueful, if not mocking, smile, and his strong white teeth gripped an ever present cigar. “But you’re definitely showing signs of following in my footsteps.”

She gave a false shiver of dread. “Bite your tongue, Coyote. I can’t think of anyone who would want to do anything so foolhardy.”

For a second, something dark and bitter flashed in his gaze, but then it cleared and the familiar icy disdain replaced it.

“Neither can I actually,” he drawled. “Which leads me to wonder exactly why you’re still in Glen Ferris. You should be in Missouri covering H. R. Alonzo’s accidental death.” His lips tilted in a cruel, cold smile. “Poor bastard burned himself to a crisp.”

“So I heard.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket as she watched him warily.

“Coroner ruled an accidental death. Did you know his will states a wish to be cremated? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” His canines flashed warningly.

Alonzo didn’t die in a damned house fire and he knew it. Dog had been in those mountains the night before, most likely for the same reason she had been there. To find proof that the Bureau was hiding a rogue Breed. Unlike Dog though, it wasn’t the killings she wanted to reveal, it was the reason behind them. She wanted a story that wouldn’t destroy the Breeds, while she was certain Dog was more inclined to see the worst possible scenario revealed. He was rumored to be part of whatever was left of the Genetics Council. He was the muscle—no one had quite figured out for certain who held his chain.

“Why are you bothering me today, Dog?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and faced him suspiciously. “I think we’re both aware Cabal isn’t too far away.”

“Yeah, those Felines have a rather good habit of keeping track of their mates,” he commented with a slow nod of his black-streaked gray head.

The breeze whispered through the dark and light strands of hair as he turned his head against it and stared out at the river once again for long seconds.

The coarse strands rippled over his shoulders and down his neck. Long hair for a Breed, she thought. She much preferred Cabal’s golden blond and black hair. It was soft to the touch; she remembered that suddenly. Feeling his hair against her face as he leaned into her so long ago.

I own you.

“I hope the memory is a pleasant one.”

She was jerked out of her reverie by Dog’s mocking voice. She stared back at him suspiciously, watching the slow, cold grin that shaped his lips.

“You’re picking into things here that you need to stay out of, girl,” he finally drawled warningly, those cloudy gray eyes flashing dangerously. “You need to get the hell out of Dodge, as they say.”

“And you need to get the hell out of my business,” she stated tightly.

His lips tightened around the cigar he still held between his teeth, before he reached up and lifted it free with two fingers.

“Girl, you need to heed a warning now and then,” he snapped back at her. “Let me help you out here. You and your mate. Drag his ass to the nearest bed, get yourself nice and warm and sit this one out. Let it the fuck go.”

“And why would I do that?” She narrowed her eyes back at him.

“Because you don’t want the answers you’re going to find here. And trust me, Jonas doesn’t want you to find them. That could make for a very sticky situation for both you and Cabal.”

“And you care for what reason?”

He stared back at her speculatively before answering. “I’m not really certain. Maybe I’ve found a conscience.”

“In a Cracker Jack box?” she snorted. “Give me a break, Dog, we both know better.”

He laughed at that. She had researched Dog, perhaps almost as much as she had researched Jonas Wyatt. The two men were like the opposite sides of the same coin. Not exactly a good-and-evil type thing—shades in between, but poles apart.

Dog wasn’t a man that would listen to a conscience, even if he had one. She had her suspicions about who and what he actually was, but she kept them to herself. There were levels of being wrong. If she was wrong about him, then it could be such a major wrong as to be fatal.

“Cracker Jack box,” he repeated musingly. “Interesting. But, as I was saying, it’s time for you to leave Glen Ferris. I figure I’m the Breed to ensure you do just that.”

“And you’re going to accomplish this how?” She laughed.

Cassa was almost amused. She had to admit, Dog taking an interest in this made her distinctly uncomfortable—an interest in her that she didn’t particularly like right now.

He inhaled slowly. His smile was positively even more evil than before.

“I have my ways,” he drawled, then stepped forward.

Her hands dropped from her breasts as she tensed, stepping back.

“You know he’s watching,” she whispered, feeling her heart race as panic began to override the normal calm she always fought to achieve.

“Of course he’s watching.” His smile was predatory, his de meanor threatening. “He’s always watching you, Ms. Hawkins. If not him, then someone he directs. You are always being watched, at all times.”

She swallowed tightly. Cabal wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t have her watched like that. She shook her head, trying to understand why he would do such a thing, if he was.

“You’ve got a screw loose,” he said softly. “Dangerously loose. Do you think he wouldn’t see the threat you could be?”

“So you’re going to do what? Kill me while he watches?” she snapped back, her head swinging around as she fought to catch sight of Cabal. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t allow anyone to harm her, ever. If he was going to kill her, then he would do the job himself, it was that simple.

“Kill you?” He chuckled at the suggestion, as his eyes glinted with brief amusement. “I have no desire to kill you, Ms. Hawkins. But I have to admit, I was wondering how sweet your kiss would taste. Tell me, has he kissed you yet? Touched you?” There was an edge of anticipation that surrounded him now, that filled his expression. An edge of hunger.

“He’ll kill you.”

He laughed again. “You think you know him so well, don’t you, Ms. Hawkins? Well enough to believe he would lose his mind if I touched his woman.”

“He came after you last night,” she reminded him.

“He did.” He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I knew he would. He’s a Bengal. I was chasing you, he was chasing my team. You were an incidental.”

An incidental. Yeah, that sounded like the story of her life. Incidentally left out in the cold and in the dark.

“For whatever reason,” she replied. “He’ll kill you if you touch me.”

“He’s a Bengal.” Hard, sharp canines flashed in the dreary light. “He’ll wait. He’ll watch. At this moment he’s calculating the chances that I’ll actually touch you. He’s deduced there’s a ninety percent chance I will, and he’s deliberating his move. He’s a Bengal, my dear Lady Hawkins. Cold. Manipulating. Calculating. Deceiving.”

“Bored.” Cabal’s voice seemed to echo inside her head as he stepped around the trunk of a nearby tree, his broad shoulders rippling beneath the dark long-sleeved T-shirt he wore, his arms resting casually at his side. Black jeans conformed to long, powerful legs, while black biker boots gleamed with a dull, dusty edge on his feet.

Cassa’s heartbeat kicked in; it slammed against her chest as her womb gave a surge of complete feminine surrender and a slick, wet heat dampened the flesh between her thighs.

Out of hand. He might as well have kissed her already, mated her, because her body was more than interested in giving up any fight her mind might want to wage. Traitorous hormones surged and rioted through her body, even as she fought back every reaction that weakened her knees.

His amber-flecked green eyes glittered in his bronze face; a stubble of a beard darkened his lower jaw and gave him a rough, dangerous appearance. Even more so than Dog.

And he did look bored.

Dog turned a knowing look on her, a sandy brow arching in mocking acknowledgment of his own assessment.

Looks were deceiving, Cassa knew, and as Dog had said, Cabal could be manipulative, calculating, deceiving. She wasn’t a Breed; she couldn’t smell the danger in the air, but she could feel it. Cabal was anything but bored. He was controlled, a quiet, ready control that filled Cassa with tension.

“She thinks she knows you, Bengal,” Dog drawled as he flicked a glance back at Cabal. “She thinks you’re possessive of her.”

Cassa took another step back. There was something about Dog’s tone, about the mocking amusement suddenly filling it, that warned her the situation could deteriorate. Quickly.

Unfortunately, Dog wasn’t using what should have been his normally superior Breed senses, because he followed her step for step. A move Cabal watched with predatory awareness.

“Does she then?” Cabal asked, the smooth, dark resonance of his tone sending a shiver racing down her spine as he followed each move Dog made.

Cassa stepped farther away, but to the side, edging closer to Cabal as he turned his hand, palm up, toward her. That smallest indication had her heart tripping with something other than dread or fear.

It was that slow outreach of his fingers. At first, a casual movement, nothing to really suggest anything emotional, anything to attach hope to. But those fingers, long and broad, powerful, his palm held out to her. It became a lifeline to something she wasn’t certain of, something she knew she couldn’t refuse.

Keeping her eye carefully on Cabal, she moved for the safety of that touch. Something urged her, warned her, that if she didn’t get to him, if she didn’t hold on tight, then she would never be safe.

“Not quite yet.”