When a Tigon Weds (A Lion's Pride Book 9) Read online

  “He lived.” She didn’t point out that it had come close.

  “You used me!”

  “We used each other. Quite often as I recall. In bed. Out of it.” Each soft syllable she uttered acted as a reminder of those naked moments.

  “Was it that often?”

  “As if you’ve forgotten.”

  She was right, he remembered each moment. Vividly. But he wouldn’t admit it. “The sex was decent, I guess.”

  “Decent?” She sputtered.

  “You have to admit, it’s been a while. And I have been seeing other women. Perhaps I need a refresher. Care to drop your pants so I can have a taste?”

  Her nostrils flared, and her eyes narrowed. Remembrance and jealousy fought for supremacy on her features. Of course, she couldn’t forget the pleasure he’d given her. She might have faked many things, but those clenching orgasms weren’t one of them.

  The petty feline part of him liked that he’d roused her anger by mentioning others. Not that there actually had been anyone since he’d met her. He’d tried to go on dates, not one ever made it to his bed. Their scent was wrong. Their smile not conniving enough.

  “I’m not some slut to please your libido.”

  “You’re my wife.” He purred. “Isn’t it your duty to service my husbandly needs?”

  For a moment, he thought he might have tipped her over the edge. Her eyes flashed with anger. Only for a second, then a smug calm descended over her.

  “I still can’t believe you fell for the innocent schoolgirl routine.” She batted her lashes as she taunted. “I’ve never felt this way before. Alas, it is not meant to be.”

  A reminder of how she’d pushed him to move quickly, declared herself head over heels with him, claiming with her student visa expiring, she’d have to leave him and go home.

  He’d instantly proposed. She’d said yes. They flew to Vegas, and he’d only told his very close friend, Lawrence, a liger who was in hiding but came out to be his best man.

  Dean had led the enemy right to the door. It was pure luck that no one died on his wedding day. And not for a lack of trying. He still remembered the fragile feel of her throat in his hand.

  Chapter Two

  That fateful night…

  “I can’t believe you came.” Dean hugged his best friend, the only person he’d told about his upcoming nuptials.

  “As if I’d miss you getting hitched!” Lawrence had dressed in a tux for the occasion, and if you ignored the bags under his eyes, he appeared in fine shape. He’d lost weight, though. Hiding from the mob would ruin the appetite.

  “Wait until you meet Natasha. She’s amazing,” Dean had enthused. From the first time he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been captivated. He’d never imagined himself settling down, and certainly not with someone as sweet and innocent as she. But somehow, he knew he’d make it work.

  Lawrence clapped him on the back. “I can’t wait to get to know her.”

  And at the time, Dean couldn’t wait to make Natasha his wife.

  She’d dressed in white, the skirt long and flowing, the bodice tight, revealing the curves of her breasts. She’d kept her gaze downcast, and her steps mincing as she came down the aisle, bathed in disco light. In retrospect, he recognized her slight frown as she eyed the priest at Dean’s back. A replacement given the original officiant had met with a mishap. Mainly, Dean not liking his face. He’d asked for a genuine-looking Elvis, not the gorilla in sequins they’d sent.

  A good thing a new officiator could be rented and swapped in quickly. The ceremony unfolded with Natasha barely looking at him. When he grabbed the rings, she’d made her move.

  She tore free her veil and tossed it just as he turned. The frothy fabric of it tangled around his head. By the time he ripped away the tulle enough to see, Natasha had already gone airborne, a knife in her left hand, the surprise and momentum of the move taking Lawrence to the floor. There, his friend pinned under her body, she’d placed the tip of her dagger on his throat.

  It took Dean a few shocked blinks before he managed to say, “Natasha, what are you doing?”

  She never once looked back at him as she growled. “The randy liger knows why I’m here.”

  “Wait, you know Lawrence?” He frowned. That made no sense given his friend hadn’t given any indication of recognition upon seeing her.

  “Someone was a bad boy,” she murmured. “But rather than man up, he hid.”

  The statement only worsened Dean’s confusion. “Lawrence, I thought you said the mob was after you.” At the time, Dean had hammered him with questions, wanting to know how he’d angered the mob. Was it guns? Drugs? But Lawrence had refused to reply.

  His friend barely swallowed as he said, “The mob is after me.”

  He glanced at Natasha, a woman who no longer looked innocent at all despite the remnants of her white dress. “You work for the bad guys?”

  “Bad depends on what side you belong to. And I will add, this isn’t work. This is about family.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset Sasha,” Lawrence declared.

  “You made my cousin cry!” Natasha pressed the knife hard enough to break the skin.

  A serious situation, and yet Dean laughed. “You’re threatening to slit his throat because he and your cousin broke up?”

  “He played her.”

  “I never promised her anything,” Lawrence insisted.

  “Doesn’t make it right. I promised Sasha I’d fix things.”

  “Would you like ominous music with that threat?” Dean reeled from the knowledge that he’d been played.

  “That would actually be rather nice. Do you have a playlist?” Her lips curved into a sadistic smile and damn her for rousing his lust with it.

  Wrong time. Wrong place. Apparently, wrong person. “How about instead of killing Lawrence, you find your cousin another boyfriend?”

  “But that’s not as much fun.” Natasha pouted, and it might have seemed guileless if not for the steely glint in her gaze.

  Who was this woman? Because she obviously wasn’t just sweet Natasha, struggling student with no living family and the sweetest mouth.

  This woman was hotter, and threatening his best friend, who obviously only held off for one reason.

  Dean glanced at Lawrence and gave him a slight nod. Go ahead.

  She must have had some gut sense, or her reflexes were just that good. When Lawrence shoved his knees between their bodies, she went cartwheeling away and landed in a crouch with her knife out and a smirk on her lips.

  “I see someone has taken some self-defense lessons,” she taunted as Lawrence rose to his feet.

  She never looked at Dean. Not once. Didn’t notice the biggest threat in that chapel. She kept her gaze on Lawrence, never noticing that Dean had begun circling behind her.

  “Surely, we can talk about this,” his friend said.

  “I’d rather just stop you from breaking the hearts of young susceptible girls.” She tossed the knife, and it only narrowly missed his friend.

  But she didn’t seem to mind as she pulled another blade from her bodice. Exactly how many did she have hidden on her person?

  “I’m sure Sasha will get over me.”

  “Maybe, but I made her a promise. She said, ‘Tashy, the big, bad kitty made me sad.’ How could I say no?”

  Dean almost laughed.

  As for Lawrence, he’d yet to pull the gun he surely had concealed. Mostly because they were both conscious of the Elvis priest watching them. The very human priest. It was the reason he’d not striped out.

  But Natasha didn’t seem to care that they had an audience. “Are you going to make me chase you in a skirt, or take your punishment like a man?”

  “Funny you should mention punishment.” Dean growled as he lunged, meaning to wrap his fiancée in a hug. Only she danced out of reach.

  “Now, now. No reason for you to get involved.” She shook the blade of her knife at him.

  “I’d say I got involved the momen
t we both showed up to say our I dos.”

  “I do believe I fooled you,” she taunted.

  In that respect, she was right. Usually, Dean proved more cautious. But one sniff of his mate, and he’d lost all ability to see reason. Even now, he wanted to put his mouth on her neck, not tear it out. He yearned to lavish it with kisses before making his way past the bodice of that gown.

  “Speaking of being fooled. I might not have been entirely honest either.”

  “Meaning what?” she asked, finally keeping her gaze on Dean.

  Lawrence took that opportunity to rush her from behind. Only she twirled, dropped to a knee, and threw her knife. It hit him in the upper shoulder, and he roared. His features began bristling, his body bulging, about to shift.

  Elvis was chanting something about blue suede shoes and no place like home.

  Dean shook his head. Not here. Not now. Lawrence hissed as he pulled the dagger free.

  The single ring of a phone, chiming Ave Maria, had Natasha sighing. “I swear, her timing is shit.” She answered with one hand while pulling forth yet another knife with her other. “What is it, Sasha? I’m kind of busy cleaning up your mess.” She listened, her gaze bobbing between Dean and Lawrence.

  Dean always prided himself on his great hearing, but even he couldn’t decipher what was said. He only saw Natasha nod before she put the phone away and tucked the knife into her bodice.

  “It’s your lucky day! Sasha has found a new boyfriend and says while you are scum of the Earth, she looks forward to the day she sees you again because you are sure to be overcome with jealousy. You will suddenly realize how epic she is, and while she will initially deny you, in the end, you will have wild, sweaty sex.”

  Lawrence understandably blinked. “What?”

  “She’s saying you’re not dying anymore, dumbass,” Dean snapped. He’d gone past the point of shock into anger.

  “Yay?” Lawrence stated, a hand clapped to his bleeding wound.

  “You should go buy yourself a lottery ticket because this is your lucky day. It’s not often one of my targets walks free,” she announced.

  The statement prompted Dean to ask, “Who are you, really?”

  As if to make a mockery of the moment, Elvis chose to say, “Congratulations, she appears to be your wife.”

  “Shut up!” They both turned to the guy, who suddenly hugged his bedazzled bible to his chest.

  It was Lawrence who realized it first. “Holy catnip balls. She’s a Tigranov. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

  “Tigranov? As in related to the Russian tiger family?” Dean had known she was a striped feline, but given that he’d believed her lie of being an orphan, he’d never dug into her roots any deeper.

  “Not just any Tigranov, if it makes you feel better,” she’d taunted. “The daughter of Sergeii Tigranov himself.”

  “You’re the tsarina?” Lawrence huffed.

  “In the flesh.” She swept a mocking bow, and then Natasha laughed, not sounding at all like the shy girl he’d known. There was a husky element to the sound. A taunting quality with a hint of evil.

  “Unbelievable. You lied to me the entire time.”

  “Don’t whine just because you were fooled.” She stood in her white wedding dress, still looking beautiful—actually more gorgeous with an aura of menace. She showed not an inch of fear despite antagonizing two capable men. It wasn’t just caution about her skills that held Dean back, but who she was.

  A princess. A mob princess.

  A lie he let walk out of that church.

  A woman that turned out to be his wife.

  And despite his better judgement, his mate.

  Chapter Three

  Why wasn’t the jerk saying or doing anything? He sat in the chair staring at Natasha, meaning she had time to notice that he’d not changed one bit in the months since their fake marriage. Still handsome, his jaw as square as she recalled. His body thick and toned, also relaxed. The man appeared the height of insouciance as he sat there sipping his whiskey. Meanwhile, her heart thumped, and she found herself breathless without having actually exerted herself. He’d always had this effect on her. The jerk.

  “Dear wife.” He said it on purpose. “We shouldn’t be bickering, not when you do me such honor by visiting. Although might I recommend in the future that you use the front door? After all, mi casa es su casa.”

  To think he was her husband. In name only. All their consummation had occurred before the wedding. She ground her teeth. “Don’t call me that.”

  “What? Wife?” He smiled. All kinds of white pearlies, capable of soft, pleasurable nips, and tearing out of throats. She’d seen the pictures. She’d read his file—after the fact, and a little too late.

  Her accidental husband was more than just a lazy tigon with too much money at his fingertips. He worked for the Pride Group. Hunted for them, actually. Was very good by all reports, and yet, he’d never seen her coming. It was a source of personal pride that she’d so thoroughly fooled him.

  But now that he’d tricked her, she wasn’t feeling so benevolent.

  “You know that marriage was a mistake. It was never supposed to be real.” When Lawrence went into hiding, the only lead she’d had was a guy known as Dean, the man’s best friend. She’d planned a fake wedding in order to get Lawrence to reappear in a vulnerable spot where she could make her point. Because she needed to make a point. Mess with one Tigranov, mess with them all. They were the bogeymen that shifters feared. The ones that kept their secrets safe and meted out justice if they were slighted in the least. She was one of their enforcers.

  “Well, if you don’t like wife, then I guess I’ll just go back to my old nickname for you. Baby.” He made a mockery of the sound.

  Once upon a time, she’d enjoyed hearing him say it. Now, it grated. “You’re really pushing it, given I’m the one holding a gun.”

  “Which is surprising. I would have thought you’d have tried to gut me old school, like you tried to do to Lawrence. Remember, the best man at our wedding? The guy you tried to kill.”

  “But didn’t.” She’d never intended to actually kill him, that would have caused complications. But put the fear of the Tigranov family in him? Most definitely. A bit of maiming usually went a long way.

  “You used me.”

  “Are you going to caterwaul about that again?” She rolled her eyes.

  “Hell, yes, I’m going to complain. You convinced me to marry you to draw Lawrence out of hiding.”

  “You can say it. It was a brilliant plan until someone decided to replace my fake priest with a real one,” she said with a glare.

  “Some of us were going for the authentic Elvis wedding experience. The pictures came out great, by the way.”

  She gritted her teeth, not because she disagreed. He’d sent a photo with his note, and she did look pretty damned good. “I want those images destroyed, followed by your agreement to an annulment.”

  A smile tugged at his lips, and it heated parts of her that it shouldn’t. “Why would I do that? I, for one, want to remember that most special of days.”

  “Why?”

  “Unlike you, I meant it when I promised until death do us part.”

  “I should shoot you, right here, right now and save myself the annoyance of a divorce.” Her anger snapped out the words.

  “Living up to your family name?”

  “There’s a reason why I’m Papa’s favorite.” Her brother was a no-good wastrel, and her sister an insipid twit.

  “Ah, yes, your papa. Does he know about our marriage?”

  “No, and you better hope he never finds out. If you think I’m protective of my cousin, you should see how he is about me.”

  “I hardly see how marriage is a bad thing.”

  “You never asked his permission.”

  That got him to raise a brow. “Would he have agreed if I had?”

  She eyed him. Then smiled slowly. “You’d never have made it out of his office ali
ve. Papa isn’t one for marrying outside our kind. Something about ensuring a strong family line.”

  “Funny because I’d always heard that bringing in fresh blood was the way to avoid three eyes and two tails.”

  The insult had her exclaiming, “We are not inbred.”

  “If you say so. I assume this means your father isn’t also your uncle and your brother and that your mother isn’t your sister or aunt.”

  “That’s gross.”

  “That’s where my mind goes when you start talking about family dynasty and that shit.”

  “Well, you’re wrong. There is quite a lot of thought put into the arranged consolidation of family lines.”

  He winced. “Way to make that sound completely unpleasant. I assume this is why you’re engaged to that boy?” His lip curled in disdain.

  On the one hand, she understood the derision. On the surface, her fiancé gave the appearance of a sop. Apparently, her fake husband hadn’t realized he wasn’t the only one with a social persona. “It’s a good match.” Approved by her father, that came with many perks for her.

  “Does golden boy know you’re a killer?”

  Simon was from a very tawny branch of Siberian tigers, more blond than orange. Whereas the Tigranovs tended to range in hues, even striping in some cases brown and black. “Simon knows everything about me,” she purred. “Every inch, sigh, and moan.” She presented the lie and was rewarded by the spill of an angry growl as he reacted.

  “Admitting to adultery, baby?” He visibly bristled. She’d finally struck a nerve. A jealous one.

  She arched a brow. “Is it really adultery if we’re both doing it?” Another fib. She’d not been with anyone since her time with Dean. Hadn’t wanted to, which entailed her fabricating a story with Simon as to why they had to abstain. She’d told him he’d have to wait until their wedding night. Not that he’d ever pushed her. But how long would her fiancé remain content with a few chaste kisses?

  Could she truly marry Simon and take him into her bed? Seeing Dean again, she feared the answer.

  “Have you been keeping tabs on me?” he asked. “I’m flattered.”