Hunger Untamed (Feral Warriors #5)(28)

She took a deep breath and let it out on a ragged sigh. There was no going back, only forward. What was done, was done. All they could do now was try to find Hookeye before he attacked again. As if Melisande hadn't been trying for hundreds of years. Hopelessness pressed on her as she stared at Kougar's rigid back. He was going to die. The poison would take him, just as it had taken so many she'd loved. And when it did, now that the mating bond was well and truly attached, she was going to suffer.

Even if she hated her mate, the bond's rupture would damage her.

And she didn't hate Kougar.

But neither did she love him as she once had, with that certainty, that wholehearted exuberance. What she'd once felt for him had long ago become twisted with dark layers of grief and horror and anger. Instinctively, she knew the best thing was for her to keep it that way.

Then maybe, when Kougar died, she wouldn't feel like she'd died, too.

Chapter Seven

Kougar gripped the window frame until he heard the wood creak beneath his fingers. He was losing it, the emotions that had been all but dead for a millennium turning into a wild storm inside him as he struggled for control. He wanted to shake Ariana until her teeth rattled for severing the mating bond and walking away from him. He longed to yell at her until his throat was hoarse. And he yearned to make love to her. Goddess, he needed to make love to her.

And that would be a monumental mistake.

Already, his body was a living inferno from just a kiss and the quick slide of his finger inside her. He hadn't meant to touch her like that. He hadn't meant to touch her at all, but he was losing control. All he could think of was tearing off Ariana's clothes and making love to her until neither of them could think . . . or stand.

And he didn't want that!

From the moment he saw her again, he'd needed to be inside her. From the moment he'd ushered her into his bedroom, even through his rage, he'd shaken with the need to toss her onto the bed and follow her down.

Goddess, all he wanted was her out of his life again!

Yet deep inside him, his cat clawed to reach her, to claim her. Not as he wanted to, with his c**k deep inside her, but as his mate. Their mate.

No. Not again. They might not be able to sever the bond again, but that didn't mean he had to care what happened to her. He didn't have to love her. He'd done that once, and it had damn near killed him.

He refused to fall for her again.

But his body burned, hot and throbbing, desperate to be inside her. It wasn't going to happen. He wasn't having sex with her. He refused to lose control like that with her again. But his body burned.

Turning, he found her watching him, her jeans once more up around her hips, though not zipped. Those too-blue eyes watched him, the fire he'd set in them banked but not out. Not nearly out.

Goddess.

He walked to his desk and dug through the wreckage until he found his scissors, then crossed to her and removed the tape binding her hands none too gently.

She rubbed her wrists, her eyes sharp with annoyance.

He was a fool. A f**king weak fool.

"Take off your clothes." The words came out of his mouth, little more than a growl, and he knew he was lost.

"Now, why are you mad?" Anger flared in her eyes even as she pulled off her T-shirt and tossed it on the chest at the foot of the bed.

"Because I don't want you. Because I refuse to fall back into that soul-sucking trap of needing to be inside you every moment of every day."

He closed the distance between them and once more yanked her jeans down over her hips, taking her panties with them.

She stared at him, her face a mask of heat and confusion. "Then what are you doing?"

"Losing control."

Her Ilina mating scent--that lush, intoxicating fragrance Ilinas used, at one time, to lure males into their sensual traps--began to spin its magic, lighting fires in every part of his body. If he hadn't been hard as a rock already, he would be now, though he doubted she released the fragrance intentionally. Ariana had always lost control of hers at some point in their lovemaking. Usually, the moment he started to undress her.

He shoved his hand between her legs. She moaned and ripped open his shirt, sending the buttons flying. He drew his claws and reached for her bra, but she grabbed his wrist before he could slice through it.

"Bras cost money." She removed the filmy lace, exposing her fully to his gaze once more.

As he reached for the soft mounds of her br**sts, her hands went to his belt; but he grabbed her wrists, stopping her.

"No." Instead, he picked her up, intending to toss her onto the bed.

But Ariana had never been a woman to give in meekly. She kicked out of his hold to curl her bare legs around his waist, flinging her arms around his neck, leaping onto him like a wildcat on the attack. An erotic, sensual attack. His arms pulled her closer as she fused her mouth with his, devouring his. Pebbled br**sts teased his skin, slender fingers raked into his hair, cutting him with memories.

She'd always slept without clothing in those days, and he'd loved to surprise her in bed. She always seemed to sense him coming, and she'd greeted him just like this, flying into his arms, curling herself around him like a wild cat claiming her mate.

Memories flayed him of those idyllic days even as anger burned inside him at Ariana, the Mage, the fates, for stealing them away.

As he cupped her bu**ocks, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, desire flamed higher.