Bite Me

CHAPTER 32

The private jet landed at the small New Jersey airport. Dee-Ann said her good-byes to the pilot and flight attendant and went into the tiny terminal. Malone was supposed to pick her up alone, so Dee-Ann was surprised when she saw Ric with her. In fact, she was kind of grateful.

Dee-Ann went into his open arms and hugged her mate tight.

“How did it go?” he asked, not bothering to complain that she’d gone to see his cousin without a word to him.

“Me and Malone were right.” She stepped back. “Can’t speak for BPC, but The Group and KZS knew, at the very least, about Damon Kowalski.”

“They knew the badgers would bring whoever was protecting Whitlan out in the open.” Ric’s handsome face turned angry. “And put Livy at risk.”

“Don’t think your uncle knew it would get that bad that quickly, but—”

Dee-Ann blinked, her words stopping abruptly after a fist slammed into her face.

Of course, the blow didn’t hurt her as much as startle her. Too bad the one swinging that fist couldn’t say the same.

Toni Jean-Louis Parker, looking exhausted and angry and surrounded by extremely large bears and Ricky Lee, held her fist and yelped from the pain.

“Good to see you, too, Antonella.”

“Don’t talk to me, pit bull. I know you did this. I know what you did to Blayne that time, and now you set up poor Olivia!”

“Hey!” Malone cut in. “This isn’t Dee-Ann’s fault.”

“How would you know?”

“I know!”

Ricky Lee raised his hands, attempting to placate, which he was usually good at. “Why don’t we all just calm down.”

“I don’t want to calm down,” Toni snapped. “I want her beaten horribly!” She pointed at Dee-Ann. “Get her, Ivan!”

The seven-foot-plus bear stared at Toni. “Get who?”

“Dee-Ann.”

“Smith? You want me to beat up Dee-Ann Smith?”

“Yes.”

The bear glanced at the other bears surrounding him. “Uh . . . we don’t believe in beating up women.”

“She’s barely female.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, Ulrich. I know she’s your mate, but—”

“Come on, Ivan.” Dee-Ann grinned. “Give us your best shot.”

The bear took a step back. “No thank you.”

“Wait, wait.” Ric stepped in front of Dee-Ann. “Stop goading.”

“Didn’t realize I was.”

“Yes, you did,” Malone muttered.

Okay. She did know. But Dee-Ann actually felt horrible. Unlike with Toy Poodle Blayne, Dee-Ann liked Livy. She didn’t talk more than was necessary. She tolerated Reece Lee better than most. And she found Blayne as annoying as Dee-Ann did. What was there not to like about the girl? So this whole thing didn’t sit right with Dee-Ann at all.

Dee-Ann’s time in the military meant that she’d been shot quite a few times, but never sixteen . . . at one time. One shot hurt enough; she couldn’t imagine that many shots over and over, believing the whole time you were about to die. No one should go through that. Especially when all the girl wanted was the man who’d hunted and killed her daddy.

Which meant, at least to Dee-Ann, that a little fight with big ol’ bears might make her feel a bit better. At least in the moment.

Ric smiled at her. He could read Dee-Ann without her saying a word.

“Listen, Toni,” Ric began, turning to face the jackal, “we’ll . . .”

Ric stopped, looked around, and finally asked Ricky Lee, “Where’s Antonella?”

Ricky Lee Reed glanced at the suddenly smug-looking bears and shrugged. “Got me.”

Vic walked into the bedroom he’d set Livy up in and found her desperately rubbing her back against the bathroom doorway.

“What are you doing?”

“My back is so itchy.”

Closing the bedroom door, Vic went to Livy and turned her around. He lifted the sweatshirt she had on.

“Sex? Now?”

Vic chuckled. “I’m looking to see if any of your wounds are infected, silly.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Carefully studying the multiple wounds that Livy had received, Vic was glad to see that there was no obvious infection. Instead, it looked like the wounds were healing so fast, her body was itching because of that.

“They all look pretty clean. But I think we should put some anti-itch stuff on your back.”

“Do we have that?”

“Novikov has first-aid kits in nearly every room of this house and first-aid trunks out by the rink and derby track. I can’t tell if he’s just super-prepared or if Blayne is that clumsy.”

“Both.”

Vic went into the bathroom and pulled out cotton balls and a bottle of anti-itch gel that should help Livy get through the worst part of her healing process.

He walked back into the bedroom and stopped in his tracks. Livy was naked and facedown on the bed.

“Uh . . . Livy? What are you doing?”

“Making it easy for you to deal with my wounds.” She looked at him over her shoulder and grinned. “See how helpful I am?”

“You are such a bad influence.”

“I know.”

Vic kicked off his Converse sneakers and sat on the bed beside Livy. Determined to get this done before they did anything else, Vic forced himself to focus on each of Livy’s wounds. First he applied the gel to her back, then rolled Livy to her side and dealt with the ones on her hip. She watched him while he worked, and Vic had to admit having her eyes on him was beyond distracting. He wanted her so badly, but he didn’t want to rush her. Not physically. She might think she was completely okay, but Vic wanted to be sure. Really sure. He didn’t want to do anything that might hurt her more.

“I think that’s it,” he said, pulling his hand back and tossing the used cotton balls away.

“You sure?” Livy asked as she slowly sat up.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” She placed her hand on either side of his jaw and kissed him. Suddenly, the idea of taking it slow or waiting to make sure she was really okay evaporated from his weak, pathetic mind. He kissed her back and began to lower her to the bed when a knock on the door stopped him.

Livy pulled out of their kiss and snarled, “What?”

Jake opened the door enough just to stick his head in. “Decent?”

“Do you mean morally?”

Livy’s cousin rolled his eyes. “Put your clothes back on, ho.”

Growling, Livy tugged on her sweatpants and shirt. She stood. “What is it?”

Jake pushed the door open and stepped in, revealing a tired-looking Toni standing behind him.

The two women stared at each other for a long moment until Toni burst out with, “You bitch!”

That seemed a surprising reaction to Vic, but Livy turning to him, and accusing, “You called her?”

“I did not! But I’m not surprised she found out since Ric Van Holtz had Coop, Kyle, and Cherise sent back to Washington as soon as everything happened.”

“Wait a minute.” Toni stepped farther into the room. “What was Kyle doing here? He was supposed to be in Italy.”

“Do you see what you started?”

Vic reared back at Livy’s accusation. “Me? What did I do?”

“He didn’t call Toni,” Jake cut in. “I did.”

“And why would you do that?” Livy demanded.

“Because,” Toni answered for Jake, “I told him when we were sixteen, if he ever hid anything from me when you got yourself into trouble, I would hunt him down and cut his balls off!”

“And you believed her?” Livy asked her cousin.

“Yes,” Jake answered bluntly. “Yes, I did. When it comes to you two”—he waved a finger between the females—“I don’t get in the way. A rational man never would.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me, Livy!”

“Coop and Cherise were here to watch Kyle, and Coop told me your parents knew everything!”

“I’m not talking about that idiot Kyle. I’m talking about you. How could you not tell me about your father? About being shot? About everything?”

Livy gave a small shrug. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“And you!” Toni snapped at Vic. “How could you not tell me what was going on?”

“Why do I keep getting dragged back into this?”

“Just don’t think for a second that because of your freakish size—”

“Freakish?”

“—and obscenely thick neck—”

“Well, that’s not necessary!”

“—that I won’t hunt you down, too, and cut your balls right off!”

“Hey, Vic,” Jake said calmly, “why don’t we see if anyone left us some honey to eat? Downstairs. Far away from here.”

Deciding it was best to leave before things got any stranger, Vic got up and walked out of the room. When Vic reached the stairs at the end of the hallway, Jake turned to him.

“Are you serious about my cousin?”

Vic didn’t see the point in being vague. “Very.”

“Then a little advice. When it comes to those two, just say, ‘Hey, why don’t I go get us some honey?’ Then leave the room.”

“But I—”

“No, no. There’s no debating this. This is a standard plan I’ve had in place for years from hard-earned lessons.”

“It’s just that—”

“No, no. You’re still doing that bear thing.”

“Bear thing?”

“Going with logic. There’s no logic when a jackal and a honey badger are friends. In the wild . . . they eat each other’s cubs. In suburban Washington, they watch out for each other’s siblings and violently threaten or attack those they feel may have emotionally harmed their best friend. So I’m telling you, ’cause I like you, and because I can tell how you feel about my cousin . . . next time, just smile and say . . . ?”

Vic stared down at him.

“And say . . . ?” Jake prompted again.

Vic sighed and parroted, “ ‘Hey, why don’t I go get us some honey?’ ”

“Good man.” Jake patted his arm. “There might be hope for you yet.”

“Please don’t cry,” Livy begged as the two women held on to each other. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me!”

“You were in Siberia. Not Brooklyn. Siberia.”

Toni pulled back, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “You found out about your dad before I went to Siberia, though. Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t tell anyone about that. Not even Vic. I did, however, yell at my mother.”

“Please tell me she didn’t actually kill the person we put in that grave.”

Livy went to the nightstand and grabbed a tissue from the box. “She swears whoever it was, was already dead. I decided not to push her on it.”

Gently, Livy wiped her friend’s face. “I’ll be honest, Toni. I didn’t know what to do. I never liked my old man, but . . . to see him like that.”

Toni took the tissue, blew her nose. “What did you do?”

“You mean other than getting shot?” Livy shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I beat up Melly, got thrown into jail, and Vic took me to a bear-only town called Honeyville. Then I jousted.”

“You have always wanted to try that.”

“I was really good against the cats. The bears kicked my ass, though.”

Toni sat down on the bed next to Livy. “Did Vic joust?”

“No. He would have been great, too, but he was too busy yelling at me about how dangerous and stupid it was for me to joust.”

“He yelled at you because he’s in love with you.”

Livy lifted her feet, studied her bare toes. “Did you know Honeyville has over three hundred and seventy types of honey? I think I tried almost all of them.”

“So you’re going to pretend I didn’t just say what I just said?”

“Pretty much.”

“Avoidance is still your friend, I see.”

“How else do you think I’ve managed to survive with this family?”

“You’ll have to face it eventually,” Toni singsonged to her.

“You’re gonna have to shut up,” Livy singsonged back.

Toni put her arm around Livy, and placed her head on her friend’s shoulder. “I’m so very glad you didn’t manage to get yourself killed.”

“That’s the nicest way to blame the victim I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m really good at that. So did Kyle ask Vic to pose naked?”

“Yes. But I can’t blame the kid. The man has amazing cheekbones.”

Jocelyn pushed open the door to her cousin’s bedroom and sighed. “Help me,” she ordered Jake and Shen.

Jake responded immediately, but Shen stopped in the doorway and stared. “Is she dead?”

“No,” Jocelyn said casually as she crouched down. “Just drunk off her ass.”

“Another fight with the boyfriend she stalks?” Jake asked.

“No. He’s the stalked fiancé now.”

“Maybe we should call an ambulance . . . or something.”

“Not necessary.” Jocelyn stood. “Just pick her up, Shen.”

“Pick her up?”

“Pick her up.”

Sighing, Shen reached out and lifted Melly onto his shoulder. She seemed to barely weigh anything, and it was terribly easy. But then Jake said, “If she starts squirming, drop her. She’s about to piss on you.”

“And if she grunts,” Jocelyn added, “throw her. She’s about to shit or projectile vomit.”

Horrified, Shen practically ran to the room they’d set up for Melly. Easels and paints and the brilliant lighting from the above skylight made the room perfect for an artist. But he had a hard time believing the woman over his shoulder was an artist.

“Stand her up for me,” Jocelyn ordered.

Shen did, making sure to turn Melly away from him. Although he realized that might not actually save him.

Jocelyn stared at her cousin for several moments before pulling back her hand and slapping Melly in the face. The first time did nothing, but the second slap had Melly swinging fists and cursing.

“Melly. Melly!”

The honey badger stopped. “Hey, Jocelyn. What’s going on?”

“We need you to work for a little while.”

“I don’t feel like it.” Melly searched her dress, which had no pockets. For her phone, Shen guessed. “I don’t understand how he can’t love me.”

Jake looked at Shen and rolled his eyes.

“We’ll have to worry about that later, sweetie. Because I really need you to handle this right now.”

“Handle what?”

Jocelyn held up a poster of an old Matisse painting that had been stolen from a Belgian art museum nearly ten years ago and never recovered.

“Ohhh,” Melly drunkenly sighed. “Matisse. I love Matisse.”

“I know you do.” Jocelyn nodded her head at Shen, and he released Melly’s shoulders. Jocelyn began to walk backward, holding the painting up and Melly stumbled after her. “Only you can do this, Melly. You know that, right?”

“Yep. I know.” She waved her hand at Jocelyn. “Pin it. Pin it.”

Jocelyn pinned the poster to an easel and Melly stood in front of it. She stood. She stared. She weaved a little.

With a finger to her lips, Jocelyn gestured for the men to leave. Together, the three walked out, Jake silently shutting the door behind them.

Shen started to say something, but Jocelyn shook her head and indicated for them to walk down the stairs. Once they were on another floor, Shen asked, “Are you sure we should leave her alone? She looks about to pass out again.”

“She’ll be fine,” Jocelyn said with absolutely no concern in her voice.

Shen wasn’t so sure but . . . he wasn’t about to go back and risk getting hit with all manner of disgusting things. He just hoped the family knew what they were doing since a lot of what they were planning hinged on a bipolar honey badger female with an obvious drinking problem.

Toni watched Vic open another jar of honey, put a spoon into it, and hand it to Livy. “The cinnamon-infused.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m going to go watch TV with Shen.”

“Ball game on? Maybe a little hockey?”

“No. Star Trek: The Next Generation marathon.”

“Of course.”

Vic kissed her cheek and walked out, leaving the two females alone in the kitchen. They sat on the island, their feet hanging over the side.

“Honey?” Livy offered.

“I hate honey.”

“What kind of demon hates honey?”

“So, how long before you admit to Vic that you love him, too?”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?”

Toni laughed. “Oh my God. This is the best. I actually have something to torture you with. This is like heaven on earth.”

“Shut. Up.”

Livy’s mother pulled the sliding glass door open and walked into the kitchen. She’d clearly been shopping, her hands filled with bags from stores like Chanel, Coach, and Saks Fifth Avenue. She stopped, though, when she saw Toni sitting next to Livy.

“Oh. Antonella. How nice,” her mother practically sneered.

“Chuntao,” Toni said, always knowing how much Livy’s mother hated when Toni and Jacqueline called her by her given name. She’d worked hard to be Joan Kowalski, and she didn’t appreciate being called out by “those artistic snobs.” “How are you holding up?”

“Fine. Just fine. Thanks.”

Joan cut across the kitchen.

“Love the mink,” Toni lied. “It’s always nice to wear the fur of a dead animal on your back.”

Joan paused by the doorway that led to the hall. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Antonella dear.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled so that the pair could easily see her fangs. “It’s so hard these days to find a good friend.”

Once Joan was gone, Toni asked Livy, “Your mother really does hate me, doesn’t she?”

“I think she hates your mother much more. But you are a close second.”

Toni gave a dismissive wave. “Then my job here is done.”

Sitting at the dining table, a glass of red wine nearby, Semenova chewed on elk jerky, flipped through a copy of Russian Vogue, and watched honey badgers skitter around. They probably didn’t see themselves as “skittering,” but that was how it seemed to Semenova. They moved quickly, stopped, listened, moved again.

Watching them made her want to go on a hunting-killing spree, but she knew her son wouldn’t appreciate that. So she focused on her magazine and her elk jerky instead.

She heard bickering and glanced through the big glass windows that looked out on the backyard. It was that Olivia Kowalski and her mother Chuntao “Joan” Yang.

Semenova knew Joan Yang. Not personally, but anyone in her line of work made it their business to know the Yangs and the Kowalskis, as well as all the Mongolian Chinbats, the Russian Popovs, the African Owusu, the Albanian Dushku, the American Phillips . . . good God, the list of honey badger families went on and on.

The honey badgers, however, had always been unique among shifters. They dealt mostly with full-humans and didn’t involve themselves in shifter politics. They did, however, involve themselves in full-human politics because it amused them to do so. It amused honey badgers to fuck with people. It amused them to steal, torment, and toy with those who weren’t part of their families. They bred many to ensure their strength among the shifter nation, in general, and other honey badger families specifically.

Of all shifters, Semenova always felt that the honey badgers were the ones who could take over the world . . . they simply never felt like it. Instead, they managed to keep the balance. They kept the world from ending, but they never allowed things to become perfect.

Perfection was a curse. Perfection was boredom—and badgers hated boredom.

So they served their purpose in the world, but she still treated badgers as the criminals most of them were. Especially in Eastern Europe and Mongolia, where Semenova and her mate worked long and hard helping law enforcement keep control.

What could Semenova say? She and her Vladik were very good at what they did. Her Vladik was the sweet-talker, negotiating with everyone, from mobsters to pirates to government rulers.

Semenova, however, was . . . what did her son call it? Ah, yes. She was “The Bad Cop.” She’d been trained by her mother, who had been Soviet Secret Police. Not because she’d been forced to or recruited, but because she’d enjoyed it. She’d enjoyed it greatly.

Just as Semenova enjoyed what she did . . . greatly.

A sudden banging on the table had Semenova looking up from her magazine. An old Asian She-badger stared down at her. An old She-badger she knew.

“Hello, feline,” the badger greeted.

“Ancient rat.”

The badger smirked. “Ratel . . . but you know that.” She pulled out one of the dining chairs and slowly sat down. Every bone creaked as she did. How old was this woman? Semenova had seen at least six birth certificates. Some from China, others from the States. One from Paris. And she looked anywhere from seventy to eighty to ninety.

“Tell me, ratel,” Semenova asked with a smile, “how many of your . . . what’s the English word? Kin, is it? How many of your kin have I had put away? At least two daughters, a son . . . that third husband of yours.”

“I liked him. He was young. Very handsome. Good amount of insurance on him. Tragically died in Qincheng Prison.” She pressed a perfectly manicured hand to her chest. “Broke my heart.”

Semenova laughed. “It’s fun to pretend that either of us has one.”

The badger, grinning, reached into her large handbag with the atrocious flower pattern and pulled out a bottle of the best vodka that Russia had ever produced.

She slammed the bottle onto the table. “Let’s drink, feline. Drink . . . and chat.”

The bottle slid across the table and into Semenova’s outstretched hand.

Curious and desiring a taste of home, Semenova opened the bottle and took a deep drink. “Yes, old woman. Let us chat.”

Vic glanced away from the TV to see Livy walk into the living room. She sat down on the floor near his legs and stretched a large towel out.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Jake stopped by my office and picked up my camera.” She placed the damaged equipment on the towel. “I’m going to see if I can fix it.”

“You know how to fix cameras?”

“I’ve restored cameras. Fixed a few minor problems.” But never had the inside of a camera been in so many pieces before. She looked at Vic. “If I hadn’t already killed those bears . . . I’d totally kill them again. Because this”—she held up her damaged camera body that still made those very disheartening rattling sounds—“is just wrong.”

Shen leaned forward so he could see around Vic. “Are you crying?”

Tears fell down her cheeks. “Because this is so wrong!”

“But . . . they shot you and you didn’t cry. You found your father’s body stuffed and in a woman’s apartment and you didn’t cry. But the bears break your camera and . . . you’re weeping.”

“I don’t understand your point.”

“Okay.” Shen leaned back into the couch, nodded at Vic. “I’m done.”

Livy cleaned up her tears and worked on her camera until an elderly honey badger with a vicious long scar running down one side of her neck slowly made her way past the living room archway, her walking stick tapping against the marble flooring.

“Great-Aunt Li-Li?”

“Don’t mind me.”

“I don’t mind you,” Livy replied. “I just didn’t know you were still here.”

“Well, I am.”

“Why are you still here?”

“Livy.”

“What?”

“Be nice.” Vic leaned in and whispered, “She’s old.”

“Yes. And that doesn’t make her any less mean. So, Aunt Li-Li—” Livy stopped talking, and Vic realized that her great-aunt had disappeared.

“Where did she go?” Shen asked.

Vic shook his head. “Something tells me we probably don’t want to know.”

“We don’t,” Livy promised. “You don’t get to be one step below matriarch of the Yang family without some . . . let’s just call it edge.”

“One step below?”

“Until her mother dies, she’ll be one step below.”

“Her mother is still alive?”

“Oh yeah. She’s outlived eight husbands, too.” Livy glanced at Vic. “Some of them even died naturally.”

“You know,” Shen said low to Vic, “you really need to stop asking her questions about her family.”

“You’re right, because the answers continue to freak me the heck out.”

Livy walked into the room she shared with Vic. He was in bed, reading a Star Wars novel.

“Exactly how high is your geek level?” she asked.

“Pretty high. Is that a problem for you?”

“I just like to know what I’m getting into here.”

Livy walked over to the garbage can in the room and dropped the towel filled with what was left of her digital camera into it.

“Just giving up?”

“Sometimes you have to.” She started toward the bed. “My camera’s fucked.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It could have been worse. They could have done this to my Hasselblad. Then, of course, I would have had to destroy the entire bear nation and all of Russia.”

“Why?”

“Because my Hasselblad rig cost more than your SUV when you bought it new.”

“For a camera?”

“The best camera.”

Livy turned away from the bed and toward the bedroom door when she heard a knock. She opened it and smiled up at Vic’s father.

“Hello, Vladik.”

“Hello, beautiful Olivia,” he boomed. The man didn’t seem to have any volume control. “Is my son too busy to see his papa?” He leaned down and said in what he probably thought was a whisper but was still more yelling, “You two were not busy, were you? I hate to interrupt.”

“Papa.”

Vladik walked past Livy, not waiting to see if he was interrupting anything. Just lumbering by as bears liked to do.

“What is the tone?” Vladik asked his son. “I am just glad you found woman. I was a little worried,” he said to Livy. “He is very shy, my handsome son, and his mother and sister coddle him.”

“Papa, please stop talking.”

“I only speak truth. But my little girl”—Ira’s little?—“she says she likes you, beautiful Olivia. You are small, but very strong. You will make my son good mate.”

Vic tossed his book across the bed. “Papa!”

“Again with tone! Why tone?”

Vic rubbed his forehead. “Olivia and I are just—”

“Just? Just what? Why waste time with just?”

“Papa, do you need something?”

“We leave.”

“Leave?”

“Go.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. We have things to do. We came to check to make sure you were safe and that beautiful Olivia had not been killed. You are safe. Olivia is alive. We now go.”

“Are you sure it’s safe? Chumakov—”

“Does not worry me. But don’t you be foolish. You see what he will do.”

“Yeah. All to protect a full-human.”

Vladik snorted. “He does not protect Whitlan to protect Whitlan.”

“What does that mean?”

“It is about honor for him. He has given Whitlan his protection. If he can’t protect Whitlan, his precious honor will suffer. That is all he cares about. Remember that. Now we go. Come say good-bye to your mama.”

Vic slid off the bed while Vladik hugged Livy, which was like being briefly suffocated by a giant.

“Take care, beautiful Olivia.”

“Should I go down and say good-bye to Nova?”

“No,” both males immediately replied.

“I won’t be long,” Vic added sheepishly.

He walked out with his father, closing the door behind him. Livy yawned, pulled off her clothes, and naked, stretched out stomach-down on the bed. She picked up the book Vic had tossed and read the back cover. She barely made it halfway through before she rolled her eyes and tossed the book back onto Vic’s side of the bed.

Vic walked out the front door of Novikov’s house. His mother sat sideways in the rental car, her legs hanging out and crossed at the knees, while she freshened up her lipstick.

Coming down the stairs, Vic stopped by Livy’s honey badger uncles. “Mind not staring at my mother like that?” he asked, trying desperately to keep in mind they were Livy’s blood relatives.

“Your mother is very pretty,” Balt remarked, his brothers smiling beside him.

Vic gave a short roar that managed to shake the house windows and moved the car a few feet.

The smiling turned to badger sneering. “That is annoying, hybrid,” Balt snarled.

“We have no time for this.” Vladik grabbed Balt and Gustav from behind and, ignoring the hissing and claws, tossed them toward the front door, quickly followed by Otto and Kamil. He was reaching for David when that badger held up his hands.

“I can walk, bear. I can walk.”

“Come.” Vladik moved to the car, remotely releasing the Mercedes-Benz trunk. “Take this.”

Vic opened the heavy briefcase, looked in, blinked, gazed at his father. “Seriously?”

“Take it. Use it. You cannot just sit around all day using your tail inappropriately with that She-badger—”

“Papa!”

“—and not do something to help yourselves out of this situation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Victor,” his mother called out. “Victor, my dear. Come to Mama.”

Vic closed the briefcase and walked around the car to his mother. He crouched down in front of her since he knew she wasn’t about to stand.

“Take this,” she said, touching the case. “Use it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “Hide it from badgers. They are nothing but thieves.”

“Mama.”

“I do not mean your little Olivia. She has no distinct criminal record for at least a decade now. That is good. But her family.” She rolled her eyes. “Good luck protecting your wallet.”

Before Vic could ask his mother to stop—or just simply repeat “Mama” with tone—she went on. “The thing you must remember is getting this Whitlan person is just part of what you need to do. If you want to protect your badger, you’ll need to ensure Chumakov is made impotent.”

Vic reared back a bit from his mother. “That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure you’re using the right word?”

“Do not insult me, Victor Barinov. Ungrateful boy!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Be smart. Take care of this.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now kiss me so we can go.”

“Where are you going?”

“To do what we can from our end.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Why do you question me so?” his mother bellowed. “It is like you do not trust me!”

“I trust you! I trust you!”

Vic kissed his mother on both cheeks and stood while he was grabbed by his father in one of his all-encompassing hugs, then kissed twice on both cheeks.

“My brilliant, amazing son!” Vladik boomed. “Do not get yourself killed or my rarely seen rage will be unleashed on the entire world!”

“I know, Papa.”

“Good. And you take good care of our little Olivia. Your mother may find her too tiny to be worthy of love—”

“When did I say that?”

“—but I like her. She is good for you and doesn’t appear to find your awkward silences off-putting.”

“Thanks, Papa.”

Vic walked back into the bedroom, a briefcase in his hand. Shen was beside him, but when they saw Livy naked and on top of the comforter, Vic shoved the leering panda out of the room by poor Shen’s face.

“Hey!” Shen yelled through the door. “What was that for?”

“What are you doing?” Vic asked Livy.

“Waiting for you.”

“How about some clothes?”

“I felt like being naked.”

“What do you mean, you felt like being naked?”

“I really don’t know how to make that sentence any clearer.”

“There are people all over the house.”

“My family’s seen me naked. And there are no cubs . . . so I’m not sure what the problem is except you’re jealous that Shen saw my ass.”

“Yes,” Vic replied. “I am jealous he saw your ass.”

“It is a nice ass!” Shen yelled through the door. “You should feel very proud!”

“Thank you!” Livy called back.

Vic yanked the door open, and Livy heard Shen’s big panda feet running away.

“Enjoy that, did you?” he asked, slamming the door.

“I do so like being naked,” she teased. “If I could, I’d walk around naked all day long.”

Vic chuckled. “And if I could, I’d let you.”

Vic placed the case his parents had given him in the closet and stretched out on the bed with his back against the headboard. If Livy noticed the case, she certainly didn’t show it.

“Sorry about my father,” Vic said. “He has no boundaries. Especially when he likes someone.”

“I find his directness refreshing. Like Kyle, without the personality disorder.”

“Kyle doesn’t have a personality disorder.”

“No. He just makes other people have them.”

Vic studied the cover of his book and asked, “My father didn’t . . .”

“Scare me off?”

“You like your space.”

“I like tight spaces, but I don’t like to be crowded and I don’t like to be backed into corners. I don’t feel that way with you. Never have. That’s why I was always in your cabinets. Tight space but no crowding. Which, considering the height and width of your immediate family, is extremely amazing. More importantly, there’s something you keep forgetting.”

“And what’s that?”

Livy placed Vic’s book aside and crawled into his lap, her thighs on either side of his, her arms resting casually around his neck. “I don’t scare. Kyle told me my lack of fear was a sign of my sociopathic nature. I told him that should make him very worried that I would kill him in his sleep. So he stopped saying it.”

Vic laughed and stroked Livy’s naked back. His fingers traced the healed wounds—now scars, he guessed. Some were indented, reminding him of the holes they’d made. Others were raised, keloids. It reminded Vic how close he’d been to losing Livy.

“You make me want to burrow,” Livy told him, her arms moving down to his waist as she snuggled into his chest. “Usually I want to burrow away from people,” she murmured. “You’re the first I’ve ever burrowed toward.”

Vic wound his arms around Livy, making sure to keep her close so that she couldn’t see his smile. So that she wouldn’t know, not yet.

Because her words meant everything to him. More than he’d ever thought they would.

Livy woke up swinging, her fist ramming into Vic’s palm, which he was quick enough to raise so that she didn’t hit his face.

“Good morning.”

Livy cleared her throat. “Sorry about that. I dreamed I was fighting rampaging squirrels . . . and Blayne.”

“Were you winning?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She sat up. “You going out?”

“Back to the City.” Vic lowered his head. “I’ve got important work to do.”

“You look adorable when you’re trying to be terrifying.”

“Are you saying I’m not terrifying-looking?”

“No. I’m saying that I find your terrifying look . . . extremely attractive. Should I be worried about where you’re going?”

“No. Just organizing a few things. But there is something you should know.”

“What?”

Vic gave a weird, almost guilty smile, which made her nervous. “Well . . .”

“What?”

“It’s funny you mentioned Blayne.”

Livy scrambled to her knees. “She’s here . . . isn’t she?”

“She wanted to talk to you about the wedding. Since apparently she still plans for you to be the photographer. But, if it helps, Gwen, Lock, and Novikov are with her.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you? She is here. Just to torment me.”

Vic kissed her on the cheek. “I may avoid telling you things because I don’t want you to snap, get your hands on a death ray, and start wiping out whole countries . . . but I would never lie to you.”

“How do you know I’d get my hands on a death ray?”

“Kyle said he was designing one, because it needed to be aesthetically attractive, and was going to have Freddy and Troy build it.”

“Then I can get my hands on a death ray . . . that’s good to know.”

“And that’s what has me worried.”

“Are you going into the City alone?”

“Bringing Shen.”

“You’ll be careful?”

“I will. You promise not to throw another locker at Blayne?”

“No.”

“Livy, remember? Novikov and Lock saved your life. And Novikov loves Blayne.”

“Why?”

“Livy.”

“I’ll be nice.” She tried to smile to show her sincerity, but Vic leaned away from her.

“Don’t . . .” He shook his head. “Don’t force it.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah. It’s that bad.”

Gwen sat down on the couch next to Lock. He’d been quiet since they’d pulled into the driveway, and although he wasn’t a chatty bear in general, it wasn’t like him to say nothing.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked, not bothering to lower her voice since she couldn’t be heard over Blayne’s excited squealing as she ran out the French doors that led to an enormous backyard.

“Nothing.”

“Hate when you lie to me.”

Lock shrugged those massive shoulders she sometimes hung off just because she could. “He bought her a house.” He glanced over at Novikov, who didn’t seem impressed by his own purchase. Then again, Novikov rarely seemed impressed by anything. “Actually, he bought her a mansion. I made you a table.”

“The mahogany one you had in the back room of your workshop?”

“You saw it?”

“Saw it. Loved it. Already planned to move it into the new apartment.”

“It’s not a mansion.”

“And you’re not Novikov and I’m not Blayne.”

Blayne squealed again and charged back into the living room, slamming the doors behind her. Something rammed into the doors from the other side, nearly sending Blayne crashing to the floor.

“Squirrel!” she squealed.

“What?” Novikov asked.

“Squirrel!”

“What did you do to them now?”

“I didn’t do anything. They just attacked me!”

Novikov rolled his eyes and began looking around his house again. “Man, these badgers are sloppy. We’ll have to bring that cleaning service I like in to go over the place again before we can stay here.” Another bang at the door and Novikov glared at Blayne. “Would you stop fooling around with those squirrels?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything!”

“You sure? You didn’t try to pet one?”

Her back still against the door, Blayne admitted, “I just wanted to see if they were friendly.”

“Well . . . now you know they’re not.”

Gwen looked at Lock. “And I am seriously okay with not being them.”

Livy walked into the room, and Gwen was happy to see her friend-in-derby, whom she privately called “my personal battering ram” looking healthy and surprisingly happy, considering.

“Hey,” Novikov greeted her, a real smile on his face.

“Hey.” She nodded at Novikov and then Lock. Livy’s way of saying “thanks for saving my life” without actually saying it.

“Livy! Hey!” Blayne cheered from her spot at the door, her body the only thing keeping the squirrels outside.

Livy studied Blayne. “What are you doing?”

“Slight problem with a squirrel. Or squirrels. Probably squirrel s at this point.”

“Oh yeah.” Livy walked up to Blayne, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her from the door. She snatched the doors open and hissed. Panicked squeals and chattering followed, and Livy closed the doors.

“Sorry about that. My uncles got drunk the other night and kind of had a feeding frenzy out there with the squirrels and raccoons.”

Horrified, Blayne demanded, “Why would they do such a thing?”

“I wouldn’t let them bring snakes here and they were hungry for something that would fight back.”

“Thanks,” Novikov said. “For not bringing snakes in here.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Really?” Blayne asked her mate.

“What do you want me to say? ‘Go on, bring your snakes in’? That sounds poorly planned, in my opinion.”

Blayne dismissed her mate with a wave of both hands and suddenly walked toward Livy, arms opened wide. The badger immediately held her hand up, stopping Blayne in her tracks.

“No,” Livy told Blayne.

“But—”

“No. No hugging. You can say ‘good to see you’ from there.”

“Oh, come—”

“No.” When Blayne stamped her foot in frustration, Livy offered, “I can open those doors and let those squirrels right back in here.”

“Fine. But you’re being kind of a bitch.”

“To be honest, I’ve never been kind of a bitch. I just am.”

Blayne glared at Gwen. “And you can stop laughing.”

“I could . . . but I won’t.”

Dee-Ann sat at the kitchen island in the apartment she shared with her mate. And it was her mate who put a cup of coffee in front of her and said, “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t know why.”

Ric sat down next to her. “Because you’re kind of . . . depressed. I’ve never seen you depressed before. It’s completely freaking me out.”

“I failed. Hate failure. Just another word for weakness.”

“How did you fail? If anything, it sounds like our bosses failed. Miserably.”

“You didn’t see how your friends all looked at me. Like I’d shot Kowalski myself. I’ve never not been trusted before.”

“Dee-Ann.”

She revised her statement. “I’ve never not been trusted before by those I wasn’t actively trying to kill. Happy now?”

“Just trying to keep you honest.”

The doorbell rang, and Ric kissed Dee-Ann on the forehead before walking out of the kitchen to answer.

“Dee-Ann?” Ric eventually called out.

“What?”

Ric came back into the kitchen. “You have a visitor.”

She looked up to see Barinov taking up the entire doorway.

“Hey, Dee-Ann.”

“It wasn’t me!” she suddenly exploded, surprising everyone in the room, even herself. “I’d never put someone in that kind of danger. All right, maybe Blayne, but Kowalski ain’t ever annoyed me as much as that mutt—”

“Dee-Ann. Dee-Ann!” Barinov chuckled. “I’m sorry we bailed the way we did. At the time I was not comfortable trusting . . . anyone.”

“You trusted Novikov,” she couldn’t help reminding him. “And Blayne.”

“It’s a mutt thing.”

Ric snorted, and when Dee glared at her mate, he quickly walked toward the refrigerator. “Would you like something to drink, Vic? Orange juice? Honey soda?”

“No thanks. I’m actually here to let Dee know . . . wait. There’s honey soda?”

“Y’all!”

“Sorry. Sorry. We found Whitlan.”

Ric closed the refrigerator and faced Barinov. “You found him?”

“He’s being protected. Heavily.”

Dee-Ann shrugged. “Don’t care if he’s being protected by Satan himself, where is he?”

“Russia.”

“Oh, you can’t go there,” Ric immediately replied.

“Van Holtz—”

“Don’t even, Dee-Ann. You can’t go to Russia.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna stop me.”

“Since the prime minister still so lovingly refers to you as The Murdering Twat, I think we need to come up with another option. And who, exactly, is protecting Whitlan in Russia?” he asked Barinov.

“Rostislav Chumakov.”

Ric’s mouth dropped open, and he took a step back. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. We have a plan to lure him to New York, but we need someone to deal with Whitlan in Russia. We could use one of our Russian contacts, but considering who Chumakov is . . .”

“He’s on the BPC board.”

“Plus, he’s a powerful mobster. I don’t know many shifters willing to take on bears. Especially connected bears like Chumakov.”

“I do,” Dee-Ann said. “I know someone who’d be more than happy to do this job.”

“Dee-Ann,” Ric reminded her, “you can’t go.”

“Not me. But it is someone I’d trust with my life. And all yours.” Dee-Ann grinned, and both men backed away from her.

Barinov shuddered. “No offense, but I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”

Livy looked over the unbelievably meticulous drawing of the wedding venue that Bo Novikov had created.

“This is very . . . precise,” she noted.

“I knew you probably couldn’t come to see it until the day of the wedding.”

“Very true. Did you study architecture in college?”

“Never went to college. Figure if I want to know something, you can always find books to read about the subject.”

“I see.” No wonder Toni knew how to handle Novikov so well. He was just another freaking prodigy. Brilliant while emotionally stunted.

“You will be at the wedding, though . . . won’t you, Livy?” Blayne asked.

She could have tormented Blayne, like she did most days. But Livy just didn’t have the heart. Not when the wedding clearly meant so much to her.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Russian bears with guns wouldn’t keep you away?”

They all looked across the table at Gwen. She shrugged and admitted, “It sounded much funnier in my head. Then when it actually came out of my mouth . . .”

Lock took Gwen’s hand. “I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘too soon.’ ”

Livy shrugged. “There’s no ‘too soon’ with the Kowalskis.”

“You know what really sucks,” Blayne pointed out. “You can’t come to the bachelor-bachelorette party we’ve planned. No strippers.”

“Although my mother did beg,” Gwen sighed.

“My mother did, too,” Lock added. “But only out of intellectual curiosity.”

“Yeah, right,” Livy snorted. But when the grizzly glared at her, she choked back her laughter. “Just kidding.

“You know what?” Blayne jumped up from her chair and began to pace around the table. “We should move the party here.”

“You’re unfamiliar with the concept of being in hiding, aren’t you?” Livy asked.

“We’ll just invite a few friends. That way you don’t have to miss anything!”

“That sounds like a great idea!”

Snarling, Livy turned toward her nosy cousin. “No, Jake.”

“Come on! Everybody loves a party.”

“I was very clear to you about how you’re going to treat this house. No parties. No snakes. No stealing.”

Novikov tugged on Livy’s sweatshirt. “I find detailed lists about what they can and cannot do . . . very helpful. They may not stick to it, but you do have proof that you told them.”

“You guys are forgetting something,” Blayne stated. “This is my house. A wedding gift from my future husband. And if I want a fucking party here, I’m going to have a party.”

Lock pointed at Livy. “Your eye is twitching uncontrollably.”

“We in the family,” Jake said, his hand landing on Livy’s shoulder, “call that Livy’s tell.”

Livy spun and rammed her fist into her cousin’s stomach. He didn’t drop, but his knees looked ready to buckle and his face blanched.

“Did I tell you that?” Livy asked.

“You want me to help who get into my country?” Grigori Volkov demanded.

Vic held up his hands. “No, no. I can get him into the country. I need your Pack to lead him to Chumakov’s territory through yours.”

“Oh! Well then!” Grigori’s voice boomed around the room. “Is that all?”

“Grigori—”

“You come to me, bringing your stuffed panda with you—”

Shen looked away from the e-mails on his phone. “Hey! What did I do?”

“—and you dare,” Grigori yelled, getting in Vic’s face—one of the few men who actually could—“ask me to lead this . . . mangy sobaka into the territories of my people?”

Vic placed his hands on Grigori’s shoulders. “Referring to a fellow wolf as a dog does not help anyone, Grigori Volkov.” Vic stepped closer to his friend. “But giving a fellow wolf assistance in this matter . . . would reward you, old friend, with a powerful ally.”

“More powerful than me?”

“In this country? Yes.”

Grigori turned away, and Vic knew the old wolf was turning over the possibilities of an alliance in his head. Like a true Alpha wolf, Grigori only appeared to be led by emotion, when in fact, wolves were a cold, calculating species, often loving only to those they considered part of their Pack.

“To help you in your decision-making,” Vic said, “I have something for you. From my father.”

Vic placed the briefcase his father had given him on the table and opened it.

Grigori glanced at it, quickly looked away, then slowly back. “That is for my Pack?”

“The gold bricks are. The cash is for any last-minute issues that might come up. A sign of goodwill.”

“Your parents,” Grigori said, smiling, “never fail to surprise me, Victor Barinov.”

“Are you in?”

“To help an old friend?” Grigori held his arms open wide and happily bellowed, “How could I not?”