She almost blurted the truth: that she didn’t love him. Probably never would. Simon didn’t consume her thoughts. Didn’t make every part of her vibrate with awareness.
“It’s a good match.” A solid one that would produce perfect little heirs.
“If you say so.” His tone expressed his doubt, and she hated his astuteness. The reality was that the main reason she’d agreed to marry Simon was because she’d made a promise to her dying babushka. Funny how she could kill anyone the family told her to handle, but when her babushka told her she wished Natasha would marry that St. Petersburg heir and make some babies, she’d not argued—much. Mostly because her aunt Cecilia grabbed her in a headlock and yelled, “Promise her, you twit, she’s dying.” Which turned out to not be entirely accurate.
Babushka had a miraculous recovery not long after Natasha agreed to marry Simon, meaning she could still lord it over the family streak, which for the non-tiger-born meant queen bitch over the striped masses.
“Are you done with your questions regarding my upcoming nuptials?” she snapped. “I’d like to get done with our business.”
“Say it like it is, baby. Divorce. Thing is, I don’t think I want one. Doesn’t seem right to just give up.”
The gun ended up suddenly pointed at his face. “Either you sign the papers I’ve brought, or I shoot you. Your choice.” She really hoped he didn’t choose the latter. She didn’t have a spare set of clothes if he ended up being a bloody squirter.
“You drive a hard bargain, baby.”
“No bargain. It’s do or die.”
“Let’s see those papers.”
The gun remained trained on him while her other hand pulled the envelope tucked into the long pocket stitched down her thigh. Cargo pants were her garment of choice when she went skydiving. The papers never cleared her pocket, her gaze instead caught by a red dot. She left the envelope in her pocket and instead watched the dot as it dragged and dipped rapidly across the wall, seeking a target.
There was a less than fifty percent chance it was for her. Didn’t matter. She yelled, “Down.”
The man didn’t argue. He hit the floor, landing on his hands, gaze tilted to follow the red dot.
Natasha dropped to her haunches and spun to see out the glass window she’d smashed. Which, in retrospect, did scream attention whore. She’d thought about coming in the front, knocking like a mature adult, but…her way was more fun. She’d wanted to catch her supposed husband off guard.
Instead, the man, as suave as ever, acted as if he’d been expecting her.
The dot extinguished without a shot fired, but that didn’t stop her from running in a half-crouch out the door, avoiding the shards of glass, gun held and ready to fire.
Emerging into the night, it took a moment to orient her senses.
His pool, lit from the lights embedded in the tile shell, illuminated the night in ripples. Shadows appeared to move, mostly because of the shifting water rippling the light. By the cabana, she noticed something out of place, a deeper pocket of black.
She ran for the spot of darkness, only to see a flash of fur tear by, orange and black, with a ridiculously fluffy mane and a tufted tail also in orange and black. The coloring of a tiger, with the fur of a lion. Neville had shifted into his tigon, and she stumbled at the sight.
He was ridiculous and gorgeous all at once. How had she never seen this side of him before? Their whirlwind courtship had never allowed the time for her to ever meet more than the man.
Rawr. He pounced, and something squeaked.
“Don’t eat them!” she yelled. Not until she knew who they were aiming at. Probably her husband. No one knew she’d be here.
A sound at her back had her turning. Her gaze scanned the dim interior of the house before rising to the roofline. She’d knocked the sensors out on her way in, the helicopter being kind enough to let her drop a mile back. She’d coasted in using a short-term propulsion glider. It helped that the winds were in her favor tonight.
The roof had a visitor with a gun, the red spot of it aiming past her towards the scuffling and growling bodies.
“Oh no, you don’t!” She ran for the patio table, leaping to the top of it and then springing again, fingers reaching for the roof’s edge. She gripped the eavestrough and swung her legs to hook. In a second, she’d clambered onto the terra cotta tile and was racing after the quickly moving target.
They reached the peak and disappeared down the other side. In seconds, she was over the top in time to see them leaping. Then, vroom, the grumble of an engine as they took off, the single red taillight of the motorbike mocking her.
Ugh. She sat down on the edge of the roof and was just leaping down when a naked man came running from the side of the house, yelling, “Come back with my bike, asshole!”
Now it should be noted that a naked Neville was just as sexy as a naked Dean, changing his name in her mind didn’t negate that fact. She’d never had any complaints about his body. Not even the striped fur on his chest. She knew for a fact that he dyed it on top to keep it dark. A dye that didn’t survive the shift. His bright, striped hair was ruffled as he raked a hand through it, and he sounded quite disgruntled as he said, “Why didn’t you shoot them?”
“I only shoot those that deserve it.”
He cast her a glare. “You keep threatening to shoot me.”
Her lips quirked. “Proving my point.” She hopped to the ground. “Any reason why someone is trying to kill you?”
“Until tonight, no one was.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
He shrugged. “I’m not saying no one has ever tried. But they usually only get one shot.”
“Arrogant.”
“Not if it’s true.”
“Listen, I don’t need to get involved in your problems. I just came for a divorce. Consider yourself served.” She pulled the envelope with the documents and held them out, doing her best to keep her gaze on his face and not the naked body that tempted the eye.
He didn’t grab the papers. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to find some pants first. Then a drink. And after that, I’m going to question the person in my pool house.”
She blinked at him. “You caught the shooter?”
“Not all of us failed.” He stalked off, taut ass a thing to stare at, taking some of the sting out of his insult.
“The person I was chasing had a head start!” she argued, following that ass.
“And you were slow. Why didn’t you shift?”
“Not all of us feel a need to do so in public.”
“My yard isn’t public.”
“Tell that to your two visitors.”
He paused and whirled to glare at her. “Are you really going to blame me for being a victim?”
Just because she knew it would irritate, she said, “Yes.”
“I can see why the Tigranov streak chose you as their ambassador of evil.”
She blinked. “My official job title is enforcer.”
“Same thing.”
“Sounds like you’re jealous.”
“Can you blame me?” he retorted. “Who wouldn’t want to be a killer for hire for the most important people in our society?”