One step closer, his hand reached out, touched her cheek. “Let me care for my mate, if only briefly, if only in this small way.”
“I hate what you’re doing to me. What this is doing to me,” she muttered, feeling the defenses she had been building through the day crumble. He wasn’t demanding anything, he was asking, and it wasn’t a ruse. He wasn’t pretending.
Saban grimaced, his nostrils flaring. “In this moment, I don’t blame you for hating me, boo . Perhaps, at this moment, I hate myself as well. Let me take care of you.” He held his hand out to her. “Just a little bit.”
Natalie stared at his hand, fighting herself now as much as she was fighting him. This was a side of him she hadn’t seen. There was no teasing, no flirting, no deliberate male innocence, which hadn’t gone over well with her at all.
She wondered for a moment who this man was, this Breed whose eyes were so somber, whose expression wasn’t dominating but rather filled with quiet pride and confidence. She lifted her hand and placed it against his, feeling the roughness of his palm, the strength of his fingers as he clasped it and led her to the kitchen.
“A young Breed teenager, the daughter of a mated pair, she knew you were coming into my life,” he said as he led her to the kitchen table and held her chair out for her. Natalie sat, uncertain now what to say.
“She’s psychic or something.” He shrugged. “Cassie Sinclair has gifts none of us have really been able to determine, but sometimes she knows things. She told me more than a year ago that you were coming into my life.” He turned from the freezer and cast her an amused, baffled smile. “I didn’t believe her. But she pushed dozens of books off on me: How to Charm Today’s Woman , Sex and the New Generation .”
He shrugged before pulling the steaks from the freezer and moving to the counter. “Asinine.”
“But you read them?” Natalie pushed her hair back from her head and tried to breathe through the flash of heat that suddenly tore from her.
And he knew. His head jerked around, a frown pulling at his brows as his eyes suddenly flashed with primal awareness.
“I read them.” His voice was harder, thicker. “If you were going to arrive in my life, then I wanted to be ready.”
The heat tore through her vagina then, causing her to tighten her thighs and hold her breath against it.
Saban’s fists clenched on the counter as his body tightened.
“Saban, I need to go upstairs.”
She moved to rise from the table.
“You need me.” He kept his back to her, but he snarled the words, a declaration, an agonized certainty.
“Not like this.” She breathed out roughly, then tried to draw enough breath into her lungs to breathe through the building contraction of heat tightening in her abdomen. “I trusted you enough to allow you to stay in my home. I trusted Lyons and Wyatt enough to make certain nothing happened to me. You’ve forced me into this.”
He shook his head slowly.
“You know you did,” she whispered, tears finally thickening her voice. “You knew when you kissed me what you were doing.”
“You belong to me.” He turned then, his eyes glowing in his face, hunger and need tightening his features into savagely hewn lines. “You’ve had one day to feel what has grown inside me for weeks. One f**king day, Natalie. I’ve burned for you through the days and the nights. I’ve ached for your touch, and even that you would not give me. I flirted, I teased. I did everything those f**king books said a man should do, and nothing worked.”
Natalie stared back at him, confused, uncertain. “And you thought throwing me into this would?” she finally asked bitterly. “That forcing my compliance was the only step left? You forced this on me, Saban. How is it any different from rape?”
How was it different? His lips opened, fury pounded in his head that she would think such a thing, that she could ever believe he would force such a choice from—
Saban felt it then, the knowledge, the certainty, from her point of view, that it was exactly what he had done. He had given in to his own frustration, his anger at her defiance, his hunger, and he had unleashed it on her in a way she could never fight, one she could never escape. He had never raped a woman in his life. The Cajun swamp rat who had raised him would have been horrified that the young man he had such pride in at his death, had done something so vile. The sickness of it clogged his throat, tore at his conscience.
“Ely gave you the hormonal treatment, didn’t she?” he finally asked.
“That injection? Yeah, she shoved something up my veins and slapped a bottle of pills in my hand before we left. Wyatt didn’t give her much of a chance to explain them though.”
He nodded quickly. That sounded like Jonas. Jonas would do that for him, but he had done Saban no favors, no matter what he thought.
“They ease the heat.” His throat was so tight he could barely speak now. “They adjust the hormones during this phase, allow you some ease.” He grabbed the steaks and stalked to the door. “I’ll fix your dinner. Take them. Bath, shower, whatever you need.”
He slammed the door behind him and took a hard breath of fresh air, fighting to push the scent of her need and her anger from his head.
God help him, it was the same as rape.
He slapped the steaks in their protective containers on the narrow table beside the new grill before bracing his hands on the wood and staring along the forests that bordered the house. He needed to run. He needed the mountains and the silence, he needed the peace that came with it to clear his mind, to think.