He tossed his jeans into one of the chairs and took another drink as he stared moodily into the night. It was the kind of night a man like him could get lost in. Dark. No moon. Perfect. He could shift and run off the anger coursing through his veins, feeding the tension in his gut, or he could stay right there and drink himself into oblivion. It wasn’t something he chose to do often, but his leopard wasn’t going to want to run without his mate.

“Elijah?”

He closed his eyes and inhaled her, drew her deep into his lungs. The unique scent that was only Siena’s. He could drown in that scent. As it was, he was surrounded by it. It floated to him on the night breeze and carried with it a million fantasies.

“Not a good time, baby,” he warned. “The devil’s riding me hard tonight.”

“Tell me what you need.”

He swung around to face her. She was there in the doorway, leaning one hip against it, dressed in her little camisole and nearly nonexistent lace panties. He liked that she had breasts and an ass he could get lost in. Soft. All woman.

“You need to fucking do what you’re told and stop arguing with everything I say,” he snapped, because the soft vulnerable spot inside of him continued to grow no matter how hard he worked at trying to shut it down. She did that to him. She exposed him like that. Keeping his eyes on hers, he took another long pull of Scotch.

She was silent a long moment, her green eyes searching his face. “Do you really want a yes-woman, Elijah, because you have to know, that’s not me.”

He swore, nearly threw the bottle, wanting to punch something. His temper was escalating. The cat was aroused now, raking and clawing, wanting domination.

“You’ve got to learn, Siena, there are just some things you have to yield on. There isn’t going to be a question about it. You can’t threaten me. You can’t defy me. That isn’t going to work. You just have to yield.”

Her face closed down. Green eyes shifted away from him and he saw her fingers curl into two tight fists, so tight her knuckles went white. She slipped into the chair where he’d thrown his jeans. He took another swig of Scotch, using the neck of the bottle to lift it to his mouth.

“I can see you’re not liking that, baby. But you have to know who I am. Who your man is. My woman stays safe. She has bodyguards. She lives free of the shit we’re mired in, as free as I can make her and . . .” He crouched down in front of her. “Fucking look at me, mi vida, you need to see what I am.” He kept his face close to hers, determined that she understand him.