She’d never known happiness. She didn’t even know such a thing existed. Or families. But she could give those things to her daughters by leaving. They would never have to be ashamed of their mother and her highly sexual nature. They would never have to learn to kill with an intimate bite that was meant for love, not death.

She couldn’t breathe. No air found its way into her lungs no matter how hard she tried to drag it in. She truly was afraid she might vomit, her stomach roiling and churning, knots so hard she wasn’t certain she could ever get them loose again. Her chest was the worst. A horrible, heavy weight pressing and pressing until she was certain her heart would implode from the sheer pressure.

She had to get out of there. Now. That minute. She couldn’t stay another second or she would break down completely and lose her nerve. He didn’t deserve that either. She turned away from the bed and lifted the small bag she’d packed. She’d kept it under the bed in preparation for him falling asleep. She hadn’t taken much. She didn’t need much.

She had nowhere to go. No skills. No paperwork. She was nothing. She wouldn’t allow Wyatt Fontenot to tie himself to nothing – to trouble that would eventually get him or someone else killed. She loved him too much for that. She loved her daughters and Nonny too much for that.

A hand slapped hard around her wrist, tightening like a vise, yanking her back to the edge of the bed. “Just where the fuck do you think you’re goin’?”

She closed her eyes at the pure rage in his voice. She did that to him a lot. There was no way to explain this to him, no way that wouldn’t put him in a position of having to try to talk her out of it.

She refused to turn around and look into his eyes. She couldn’t. “Let go, Wyatt. I don’t want to have to fight you, but I will. Just let go.”

“Fight me?” A hint of amusement slid through the rage. “You think you’re capable of winnin’ a physical fight with me, babe?”

He yanked her hard, and she sprawled across the bed. Sprawled on top of him. Her gaze jumped to his face, to the eyes she knew better than to look into. There was no amusement there whatsoever. He was furious.

“Wyatt, I’m leaving. I can’t do this. There’s nothing more to say.” She fought to keep her voice low. Controlled. Firm.

She still couldn’t breathe, her lungs burning for air. Her chest felt like it might explode. Fear skittered down her spine and the terrible knots in her belly rose to her chest to add to the weight threatening to crush her.

“You’re not leavin’ me, Pepper.”

She actually saw the glitter of the cat as the dominant male rose in him. The need to meet every challenge. She wasn’t trying to challenge him, she was trying to save him. She couldn’t stand this. Couldn’t do this. She was such a coward to try to run in the middle of the night from him, but she knew this would happen. Knew he would fight her, and she couldn’t bear that either.

It hurt. It hurt to breathe, to think. She tried getting her wrist back, dropping the bag and using her other hand to try to pry his fingers loose.

“Wyatt, stop it. Let go of me.”

“No.”

Just like that. No. That was Wyatt.

“Mon Dieu, Wyatt, just let go. I have to leave. We both know it. Stop acting like you don’t. It just makes it worse.” It burst out of her. Unexpected. Frightening in that she couldn’t contain it.

He went still. His eyes changed. His entire demeanor. The anger slipped, but his grip on her wrist didn’t. “You’re stayin’ right here, Pepper, and we’re goin’ to figure out just what’s wrong and fix it.”

Something inside her, the terrible, frightening, explosive knot in her chest expanded and contracted, radiating such pain she thought her heart might have actually burst. There was no containment. No way to stop the volcano from erupting. She felt it rising like a tide, a mad insanity she couldn’t escape.

“Wyatt. Mon Dieu!” She scraped one hand through her hair. “How can you not see I have to do this for you. To protect you. You won’t protect yourself. What’s wrong with you that you don’t see someone has to protect both you and the girls from me? From what I am? You’re such a good man. Clean and decent. You have a family who loves you. You came from that, Wyatt. I don’t even have a last name. I can’t unmake what I am. No matter what I do, I’ll always be this.”

She swept her hand down her body, tears spilling, lungs burning, throat raw. “What I do is so vile, so disgusting, entrapping men with sex and then killing them. Watching them adore me as the life goes out of them. I won’t have that for you. Or the girls. I have to leave. I have to.”

She couldn’t stand it one more second; she began to fight, swinging at him, trying to break his unbreakable grip. He rolled fast, forcing her onto her back, and he was over her in an instant, his thigh coming down over the top of hers, pinning her while his hands caught both her wrists, stretching her arms above her head and pinning them to the mattress. She thrashed, trying to dislodge him, desperation setting in.

“Wyatt. Please. You aren’t thinking this through.”

“Stop fighting.” His voice went soft. Smoky. Drawling. A sexy Cajun drawl.

She felt the heat of his body and tried to buck him off of her. She was strong, but not in comparison to him. And she would never, ever hurt him. Never use venom to escape. He seemed immune to the biochemical spilling from her body, so she couldn’t even use that weapon against him.