The Mane Squeeze

CHAPTER 25

Alla Baranova-MacRyrie watched her son lift her husband’s old and extremely heavy desk up and out of the way and put in the new one.

“I thought your father just wanted you to fix the old desk.”

“I know.” Lock shifted the new desk back, forth, back, trying to make sure it was perfectly situated. “But after examining it, I decided he needed a new desk.”

“He likes the old one because his son made it.”

“I was thirteen. It’s flawed.”

Alla rolled her eyes. Some things would never change. “Yes. Horribly flawed. It only managed to last eighteen years in perfectly acceptable condition. At your father’s dangerous hands, no less. Must be a huge disappointment to you.”

Stepping back until he stood beside her, Lock observed the desk and the surrounding area. “Think he’ll like it?”

“He’ll adore it.”

Lock glanced at her. “Why are you wearing a witch’s hat?”

“It’s Halloween.”

“Yes. I know. I’m going to a party later tonight.”

“You? Going to a party? With people?”

“Cute.”

Arms crossed over her chest, Alla said, “That desk is really beautiful, Lachlan.”

“Thank you.” Lock cleared his throat. “I’m…uh…” He cleared his throat again. “I’m probably going to be doing this as a business.”

“Building desks?”

“Yes. No. I mean, building desks, chairs, tables, whatever.”

“Like an assembly line?”

“No, not at all. I’m talking handmade pieces.”

“Art.”

“It depends who you talk to.”

Alla nodded. “That fits you.”

Lock gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re not…”

“Disappointed?”

“Since I’ve been back you’ve been pushing school, teaching—”

“Lachlan, you’re very good at many things, but I want you to do what makes you happy. The military didn’t make you happy. Software—” she rolled her eyes “—honestly. Where’s your joy in that? But this?” She held her hands out, gesturing to the desk. “This brings you joy. That’s all I’ve ever cared about.”

Alla turned to face him and placed her hands on both his cheeks. “I want my son happy. Because when you’re happy, you shine.”

Lock kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Now you’ve got a party to go to. And I hope you’re not going alone.”

“Nope. I’m going with Ric.”

Alla let out an annoyed sigh. “I did not mean Ulrich.”

Lock grinned. “I’m meeting Gwen there.”

“Excellent.”

“You like her.”

“I like her for you.” After a moment, she shrugged and added, “And I like her.” Because she makes you shine.

“Children are beginning to show up,” Brody said as he walked into the room. “I can’t terrify them from the bushes if you’re not manning the door, Alla.”

“Of course. Because that’s what makes this dreadful holiday so entertaining.”

Brody walked over to his new desk. “This is gorgeous!”

“I’m glad you like it, Dad.”

“And a rolltop.” He pushed the rolltop up and then twisted around and under to see inside. “I’ve always wondered how these types of desk work.”

“Dad. Don’t take my desk apart.”

“Of course not!” Brody pursed his lips. “But if I were just to—”

“No!” Mother and son barked in unison.

Brody pouted and Alla had no idea why when he did that it always made her love him a little more. “There’s no need to get testy,” he grouched.

Gwen opened the door and stared at her best friend. “I can’t believe you still have that costume.”

“I can’t believe I still fit in it.” Blayne twirled once in the hallway. “Isn’t it great?”

“Yep. It’s great.” And very, very Blayne. Her idea of a 1950s Satan’s Cheerleader, complete with a full-length red poodle skirt—only the poodle was a snarling Doberman pinscher—a black V-necked sweater, saddle shoes, short black socks, black and red pom-poms, an inverted-cross necklace in black, and her long hair blown out straight and in a high pony tail with bangs combed over her forehead. Plus the “blood”-covered rosarys hanging off her hip was a nice and recent touch.

Blayne studied Gwen. “You and your sixties obsession.”

“Best era for clothes and music.”

“You look like you should be in an Andy Warhol movie.” Blayne’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a wig?”

“Nah.” Gwen ran her hands through her freshly shorn locks. “I cut it.”

“Lemme see.”

Gwen lowered her hand and shook out her hair. She’d kept the front ends a little longer and cut the back shorter. It had been a whim after studying some old photos online when she was pulling her costume together. Blayne dropped her pom-poms and circled Gwen, playing with the ends of her hair.

“It’s perfect.”

“You like it?”

“I love it.” Blayne dug her hands into Gwen’s hair and scrubbed like crazy. Laughing, Gwen batted her off.

“Let’s go!” Blayne cheered, doing a forward cartwheel back into the hallway—and almost popping Gwen in the face with those long legs. “I’m so ready to go. It’s gonna be a blast!”

“Yeah,” Gwen agreed. It’ll be a blast—for Blayne. Gwen, however, would spend the whole evening keeping track of her mother and brother and making the peace when it was necessary. But Lock promised he’d meet her there, and she had no doubts he’d come through. If nothing else, she had a great after-party party to look forward to.

Hell, if she had her way, she’d forgo the stupid costume party altogether and hook up with Lock. But her mother…

“You ready or what?” Blayne asked eagerly.

“Uh…hold on.” Gwen went to the coffee table and grabbed a pack of gum, a tube of lipstick, her ID, and cash. She placed those inside her boots. Then she grabbed the closed straight razor she’d carried with her everywhere in Philly and now New York and slid it into the small holder sewn into the inside of her pants. Having claws, she didn’t need the weapon with other shifters, but when she dealt with humans, a lot of them carrying those damn cell phones with cameras around, she found it necessary. She’d rather be arrested for having an illegal weapon than end up on the cover of the Daily News as evidence of werewolves or something.

Gwen walked back to the front door and headed out with Blayne, closing the hotel door behind her.

She was glad to see that Blayne had had the cab wait for them. Halloween was a busy night in Manhattan, and she had no desire to get on the subway.

Traffic was thick, but they made it to the party in good time. The entire club had been rented out for the Kuznetsov Pack, and they could already tell tons of people had shown up. They found themselves stuck in line for a bit before reaching the front door. While they waited, Gwen glanced over and watched as a too-young-for-those-tiny-shorts Assault and Battery Park Babe rolled up to them.

Gwen shook her head at Kristan’s outfit and laughed. “Your mother is going to snap her leash when she sees you, girly-girl.”

“Can I help it if I look really good in this?” Kristan said as she gave Gwen a warm hug and then Blayne.

“She does look good,” Blayne agreed.

“Too good, if you ask me.” Gwen glared at the three cougars standing behind them, checking out the young wolfdog. She hissed and they hissed back, so she tossed in, “Jailbait.” That got them to look away, but her gaze quickly scanned the street, feeling like someone else’s eyes were on them. “Who you looking so good for?” she asked Kristan as she turned back to them.

“Nobody.”

Gwen snorted. “Liar.”

“Total liar,” Blayne laughed.

“Come on, kid. Fess up.”

“Okay. There’s a guy at school.” She shrugged, looking adorably sweet. “He may swing by tonight.”

“You bringing him in?”

“Are you kidding? He’s full-human. My father will have a fit.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Gwen warned her, unable to help herself.

“I’ll work on that.” Kristan pointed at the crowd. “Why are you two standing in line?”

“Because the last time we cut a line, Blayne got stabbed in the arm.”

“I can’t believe you’re still blaming me for that.”

“You shouldn’t have cut the line.”

“Oh, my God. You two are like bickering old women.” Kristan grabbed an arm from each and skated forward, dragging them with her. “They’re with me,” she told security, who immediately let them in.

“Power of the pups,” she explained happily before skating off down another corridor.

“We’re going to have to keep an eye on her tonight, too,” Gwen sighed.

“Why?”

“Look at her in that outfit.” They did.

“Okay. Maybe you have a point.” Then Blayne grinned. “You’re so sweet, though.”

“Huh?”

“Watching out for Kristan.”

“In those shorts?” she murmured, watching some male walk by the entrance they’d just come through, his gaze slowly moving from Kristan and back to Blayne and Gwen before one of the security guards motioned him away. “Someone has to.”

They went down a long hallway dressed up with jack-o’-lanterns, skeletons, and bubbling cauldrons. When they reached another set of doors, the phrase “Enter at your own risk” was scrawled across it in red paint. When Gwen grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, one of her favorite sixties songs, “Denise,” was playing. She and Blayne grinned at each other, immediately feeling at home. At least where the music was concerned. Gwen loved anything from the sixties, but for Blayne it was the fifties, although they overlapped eras to keep their friendship intact.

They walked in, and Gwen admired the job the wild dogs had done, going for the high school gym look rather than the standard haunted house. An even nicer touch was all the “bodies” lying around.

“Carrie,” Blayne blurted out.

“Who?”

“Not who, what. This is the prom scene from the movie Carrie. See over there? That’s where one character gets slammed by water from a fire hose. And that’s Carrie getting dumped with blood, and over there is the teacher who was nice to her and got cut in half. Brilliant,” Blayne sighed.

Gwen had to agree. One could get a lot of things when they had the money to buy them, but something told Gwen that the Kuznetsov Pack lived for these kinds of details and, rich or poor, they’d always create entertainment at this level. They didn’t do it to impress anyone but themselves and their intense geekiness. Gwen admired that.

Shame she wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy it. “I better find my mother.”

“There’s Mitch,” Blayne pointed out. Gwen nodded and walked over to the table her brother was sitting at.

“Nice costume,” she mocked.

“Hey, hey. Watch what you say.” Mitch glanced over his Roman soldier outfit. “I’ll have you know I’m a legionnaire.”

“A common foot soldier,” she threw back at him. “You couldn’t even make yourself a captain or a general?”

“What?” he asked as she dropped in to the seat beside him and Blayne sat across from them. “You think I have Roman soldier costumes lying around for my use? I got this from the wild dogs. Everyone’s in costume tonight, according to wild dog law.” He looked his sister over. “So you better change.”

“I am in costume, you cretin.”

Mitch leaned back, took another look. “Really?”

“White go-go boots? You see me wear these every day?”

“Don’t get snappy. You look cute. The mole’s a nice touch.”

“It’s a beauty mark.”

“Whatever.”

“Aren’t you going to say ‘hi’ to me?” Blayne asked.

Mitch glared. “No.”

Determined to deal with her burden now rather than later, Gwen demanded, “Where’s Ma?”

Mitch shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Gwen kneeled on her chair and studied the crowd closely. “Where is she? Who is she talking to? She didn’t corner anybody yet, did she?”

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for our mother. Why aren’t you?”

“Because she’s not here.”

“What do you mean she’s not here? You said you didn’t know where she was.”

“I don’t know where she is in the big cosmic scheme of life at this very second. But I do know she’s not here.”

“How do you know that?”

“’Cause I talked to her ten minutes ago on the phone and she was screaming about how she was running late and the goddamn neighborhood kids were already ringing her doorbell and how she hated giving the goddamn neighborhood kids goddamn chocolate, but she didn’t want them egging her goddamn house. And she hated this goddamn time of year, and why was I calling her on this goddamn night when she had to take the goddamn kids trick-or-treating?”

Blayne fell back in her chair laughing, while Gwen could only shake her head.

“So unless she’s planning to sprint from Philly to Manhattan in the next few hours,” Mitch added, “I think you’re off the hook.”

“Except I’ve gotta watch out for you.”

“Nope. I’m sticking to two beers tonight.”

“Since when?”

“Since I’ve gotta keep an eye on my woman. More than four shots of tequila and someone’s going to jail…and it’s usually Ronnie, which means Bren will be pissed and I gotta hear about it.” Her brother looked at her. “So it looks like you’ll be taking care of yourself tonight, baby sister.”

Gwen sat in her chair, dropping her legs to the floor. “I’ve still gotta watch Blayne.”

“Nope. I don’t drink.” Gwen and Mitch laughed at Blayne. “What?”

“Thank God you don’t drink,” Mitch said. “I can’t imagine the level of trouble you’d get into if you weren’t constantly sober.”

“Yeah, but unlike you and your mother, I don’t actively look for trouble. It finds me.” She smiled at Gwen. “But I’m safe in a completely controlled environment, so you should just relax and have a good time.”

Gwen nodded, sure things wouldn’t go that easy. “I’ll work on that.”

Blayne glanced around. “When’s he getting here?”

Mitch sneered. “That bear? Ow!” He glared across the table at Blayne. “What did you kick me for?”

“Because you should mind your own business,” Blayne snapped.

“I don’t want my baby sister settling on some flea-bitten honey-lover! Ow! Stop kicking me!”

“Then leave your sister alone or I swear by all that’s holy—”

Sissy walked up and dropped into Mitch’s lap, forcing Blayne to cut off the rest of her threat. Gwen didn’t know what was going on between Mitch and Blayne, but then again…she didn’t really care.

“Where’s Bren and Ronnie?” Mitch asked Sissy while he still glared at Blayne.

At the mention of the canine’s name, Gwen hissed and arched her back.

“Calm down, vicious kitty, they’re off somewhere across the room.” Sissy scrutinized Gwen. “You gonna tell me what happened between you and Ronnie?”

“Nothing,” Gwen lied. “Why?”

Mitch stared down at his mate’s T-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. “Why are you not in costume?”

“I am in costume. I told them I’m a killer of wild dogs who annoy the fuck out of me. Needless to say they backed off the whole costume thing.”

“How is that fair?”

“We’re predators, darlin’. There is no fair among predators.”

“I keep forgetting.” Mitch focused back on Gwen and Blayne. “Now you two need to understand something. I’ve got a reputation that must be maintained at all times. These wild dogs love me, so don’t embarrass me.”

Gwen and Blayne shrugged easily and said in unison, “Yeah. Okay.”

Mitch had never noticed it before, but as soon as he’d told Gwen their mother wasn’t coming to the party, all the tension she’d walked in with seemed to evaporate. Now she and Blayne were bopping their heads to the music and…Christ, was his sister smiling?

The whole thing was probably something he should look into but…eh. Why bother?

“Great music,” Gwen said, and that was not an easy compliment to get out of her. She was as finicky about her music as she was about her food.

“It’s all that oldies crap you like. According to Phil, that’s what they’re mostly playing tonight.” The music on the sound system changed and he added, “And the eighties, because apparently a wild dog party isn’t a wild dog party without Adam and the Ants.”

Blayne grinned. “I love this song!”

“‘Prince Charming’ circa 1981,” Gwen announced.

“How little I care,” Mitch said dryly. He pointed at his face. “This is my ‘How little I care’ face. Can you see that?”

“Really?” Gwen asked, just as dryly. “’Cause this is my ‘Beat the shit outta my brother’ face. Do you like this face? Do you wanna see what I can do with this face?”

“Y’all!” Sissy snapped. “Cut it out!”

“She started it.”

Sissy glared down at him. “Leave your sister alone, Mitchell Shaw.”

“You still don’t understand, do you? I am not the Alpha Male to your Alpha Female,” Mitch patiently explained to the woman he loved.

“Is that right?”

“That’s right. I am the Lord High God Ruler to your Alpha Female. And the sooner you learn that, and bow down to my greatness, the sooner this relationship is running like a well-oiled machine.”

“You’ve lost your ever-lovin’ mind!” Sissy shouted out, laughing.

“It’s true! And do you know why it’s true? Because I am a lion male. Ruler over all I survey. Tell her, Gwenie…Gwenie?”

Mitch looked for his sister and gasped in horror. “Good God, what is she doing?”

Sissy gazed out at the dance floor, and her laughter turned downright hysterical. Not that he could blame her when his baby sister and her best friend were in the middle of a bunch of wild dogs dancing. But not mere dancing, because that he could tolerate. They were actually doing the moves from the original Adam and the Ants “Prince Charming” video. All of them, together…in sync.

“Apparently my ‘do not embarrass me’ speech has been ignored!”

“You’re lucky she didn’t deck you again. Besides,” Sissy gave him a quick kiss, “she looks like she’s having fun for once. I didn’t know the girl knew how.”

“My sister has fun.”

“Not from what I’ve seen. So why don’t you leave her alone?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Not listening.” Sissy stood up and announced to anyone in earshot, “Tequila for everybody!”

When Mitch glared up at her she leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry, darlin’. Open bar, so we don’t have to pay a cent.”

“That’s not what I—” But she was already gone and Mitch had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

Lock and Ric walked through the double doors and all Lock could say was, “Definitely a wild dog party.”

“Absolutely,” Ric muttered.

Lock surveyed all the costumes. Some must have cost a small fortune and some were ridiculous. “Is that supposed to be a used condom?”

Ric’s lip curled in distaste. “That’s just vile.”

Lock was glad he and Ric had gone with the all-black look—black jeans, long-sleeved tee, boots, and leather jackets. Simple and understated. When it came to his wardrobe, Lock liked understated.

“What do you want to do first?” Ric asked.

“Find Gwen,” Lock answered, eager to see her. Gwen had spent every night with him the past week and it had gotten to the point where he didn’t even want to think of her sleeping anywhere else but in his bed, with his arms around her.

“Sounds good,” Ric replied, but they’d only managed to get a few feet when Jess stepped in front of them.

Pleasantly startled, Lock peered down at her. “My God, Jess…you look beautiful.” Although he wouldn’t mention the pointed ears.

“Thanks! I’m a wood elf of the royal family.”

Lock and Ric glanced at each other and then said together, “Okay.”

She motioned to the two of them. “And what are you two wearing?”

“Clothes,” Lock answered, immediately worried.

“Where are your costumes?”

Panicked, Lock turned to Ric who said, after a moment, “These are our costumes, Jessica.”

“Explain please.”

“We’re…uh…spies. I’m Double-O Seven.” He motioned to Lock. “And this is Jaws.”

Lock scowled at him. “That’s not funny.”

Jess glared at them a few seconds longer, then waved her arms in the air. Before he could take his next breath, Sabina and Maylin appeared on either side of her.

Ric scrutinized Sabina’s entire costume but appeared most focused on the short red lines she’d drawn around her entire neck. “Uh…who are you?”

“Queen Marie Antoinette,” Sabina immediately answered. “They took her head in the French Revolution, but then they sewed the head back on and now she is one of the undead searching for fresh blood. Preferably of innocent virgin boys.”

Ric let out a breath. “Lovely.” He motioned to Maylin. “And you’re—”

“Bonnie!” She grinned. “To my Danny’s Clyde.”

“The bloody bullet holes are an…interesting touch.”

“Thanks!”

“Lock and Ric are trying to tell me these are their costumes.”

“No,” Sabina stated flatly. “That will not do.”

“We’re comfortable in our costumes,” Lock said, desperately trying to avoid where this was going.

“Those are not costumes,” Maylin said, looking extremely disappointed in both of them.

Jess crossed her arms over her chest. “The invite said costumes a must. Did you not see that?”

“But Ric said—”

Throwing up her hands as if the weight of the world were placed on her shoulders, “Well, this will have to be fixed!”

“Or,” Lock said quickly, “I can go home.”

Turning quickly before he could see that first wild dog tear track down that pretty face, Lock took several steps but stopped when Jess tossed after him, “I’ll tell Gwen you left.”

Damn! He’d have to remember that he couldn’t panic and leave his loved ones behind. Very bear-type behavior but rude.

“Where is she?”

She jerked her thumb at the enormous dance floor that was filled to capacity. “Out there with Blayne. Having a wonderful time in costume…without you.”

Not just in a costume but in a costume that made her look freakin’ adorable! And apparently the males surrounding her and Blayne thought so, too.

Lock’s jaw popped and he took a step, but a small hand fell against his chest. “Don’t even think about going out there without a costume.”

He scowled down at the adorable little wild dog who was pissing him off. “You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as linoleum.”

Not sure what that even meant, Lock sent Ric a questioning glance, but the wolf could only shake his head. Ric’s logical brain had given up trying to make sense of wild dog thinking years ago.

“The men, they like Gwen, yes?” Sabina asked brightly.

He snarled at her, and Ric quickly stepped between the two.

“Jess, we’re sorry about this. But it’s so late and we can’t get costumes now. All the stores will be out. And the ones that aren’t won’t have our size.”

“We know that.” Jess grinned. “And that’s why we’re providing costumes for those who don’t have them!” She pointed at a room off in a corner. “We even have tailors standing around to help with fittings.”

Ric glanced at Lock and immediately grimaced when he saw his face.

“You walked right into that one!” Lock bellowed, causing several nearby wild dogs and felines to take off running.

“Come, bear.” Sabina grabbed his arm. “We dress you so you don’t look more like fool than you usually do.”

Jess took Lock’s other arm and led him to the room. Ric tried to back out the door, but Maylin got a good grip on him and dragged him along behind them all.

“I so blame you for this, Van Holtz!” Lock snarled at his best friend.

“Like I’m not also in hell?”

The music changed from “Psychotic Reaction” to “Land of a Thousand Dances” and Blayne was immediately back by Gwen’s side, the two of them doing each dance called out in the song, the wild dogs clapping and cheering around them. Yup! Great music. As one nun had told her—or hissed at her, depending on your perspective—“Your only saving grace is your excellent taste in music, Devil’s Whore.” Gwen appreciated the compliment but could have done without that damn nickname.

Laughing and impressing the wild dogs, the friends danced, while Gwen enjoyed herself more than she had in a very long time.

After a few minutes, Blayne’s teammates ran up to them. There were a few moments of derby-girl squealing and hugging that for once, because she was having such a good time, Gwen didn’t mind—even though she did think, Didn’t you people just see each other yesterday?

Gwen didn’t even mind when they squealed and hugged her, too.

“I didn’t know you guys were coming,” Blayne said, her arm around Suli, a.k.a. Our Lady of Pain and Suffering, who was dressed as a very hot Sailor Moon.

“Invited by Jess Ward-Smith herself. She’s been at every bout we’ve had lately.”

“I heard you guys made it into the championships next week.” Gwen smiled at Blayne. “Congratulations.”

“You’ll have to be there,” Suli said. “As our…what was it, Blayne?”

“Teammate in spirit!” And Blayne threw her arms up, cheerleader style.

“Right.” Suli laughed. “But seriously, Gwen, you should join the team. We’re up against the Furriers again.”

Gwen shook her head. “No, thanks.” She was more than happy to let that call for revenge go. “But I’ll definitely be there to support you guys.” And Blayne.

The music changed again, Martha Reeves and the Vandellas’ “Heat Wave” blasting through the club. The two friends grinned at each other before letting out a scream and breaking into the Watusi, the wild dogs going right along with them.

Nope, Gwen thought as she and Blayne moved expertly around each other. Nothing can make this night any better!

Nothing can make this night any worse!

Lock held on to the marble pillar, using his four-inch claws, while nearly ten She-dogs tried to pry him loose and drag him out of the room.

“I’m not going!”

“Come on, Lock! You look fabulous!”

“I look like an idiot! And I’m not going out there!”

This was ridiculous. He was an apex predator! There was no predator big enough or strong enough to hunt a grizzly except, maybe, another grizzly or polar—and humans didn’t count, since they had to use guns. But instead of batting these tiny She-dogs around like they deserved, he was holding on for dear life and hoping they’d grow bored.

Of course, he should know better. They were dogs! Dogs didn’t grow bored. They could dig a hole for hours, chase their tails for hours, and apparently, they could tussle with a bear for hours!

Then Jess was there. The queen of the wild dogs. She personified doglike behavior. Like the brilliant poodle hanging out with all the dumb labs.

“You’re going out there,” she said.

“No. I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” And she reached up, gripped his nipples, and twisted.

“Ow!” Lock released the pillar to protect his nipples and that’s when one of them screamed, “Heave!”

The next second Lock MacRyrie was skidding to a halt outside that damn room.

A tiger male standing by looked at him and snorted. “Nice skirt, Gentle Ben.”

Embarrassed, mortified, and pissed off in general about the nickname, Lock slammed the back of his fist into the tiger’s nose.

The tiger flew back twenty feet, eventually hitting the floor, his hand over his face. “Motherfucker! You broke my nose!”

Not caring about the sobbing cat, Lock turned to the room, ready to retrieve his clothes and run home like a frightened cub, when the door slammed shut in his face. “Sorry!” the She-dogs yelled from the other side. “We’re closed!”

“Open this door right now, or I’ll—”

“Lock?” he heard from behind him. “Lock, is that you?”

Cringing, Lock slowly faced the She-wolf. “Hi, Adelle.”

“Lock!” Hands covering her mouth, Adelle walked around him in a complete circle. She looked elegantly Van Holtz in a Grecian gown, her hair done up on top of her head in a mass of curls, with plastic snakes sticking out. “You look…”

“Like an idiot?”

“No. No! Not at all.” Adelle stopped in front of him. “You look—” she took his hands and lifted his arms, gawking at him “—amazingly, deliciously Scottish.”

“Half-Scottish,” he corrected.

“Uh-huh.” Adelle dropped his arms and began to fan herself. “My, my. You have grown since I…uh…I last noticed.”

“You mean since I was ten?” Because she’d always treated him like he was still ten…until this moment. At this moment, she wasn’t treating him or looking at him like he was still ten.

This was becoming a nightmare!

“So, Lachlan,” she said, her hand stroking her collarbone. “Would you like a drink? Or something?”

“No…no thank you.” He sidestepped away from Adelle, disturbed that the woman he saw as one of his aunts watched him as if he were a wounded baby deer.

He had to find Ric, he had to get his clothes back. He couldn’t walk around for the rest of the night like…

Lock stopped, stared down at the Pack of She-dogs gaping up at him. They weren’t Jess’s Pack, they were Asian wild dogs visiting from Japan and really pretty…and gaping.

He forced a smile, knowing he wouldn’t be able to slap them around either. “Hi.”

“Hi,” they all sighed out and, shaken, Lock sidestepped around them. He spotted Ric at a bar across the room, and headed over to him. As he walked he heard distinctive She-wolf whistles, dropped glassware, and several “Oh, my dear God in heaven!” exclamations. If they were directed at him, he didn’t know, didn’t care, and wasn’t going to ask. He wanted out. He hadn’t felt this in danger since his military days when he had to sit around and patiently wait for full-humans to get him in their sights.

“We need to go,” he said as soon as he was next to Ric.

“They have some of the most exquisite wine here tonight. And a sommelier to serve. Surprising as it may sound, the wild dogs are rife with class, my…holy shit! Look at you!” Laughing, Ric shook his head and examined his friend. “I thought it was bad when they made me wear this Jane Austen–suitor outfit, complete with cravat. But you! You look like you just escaped the set of Braveheart.”

“Right. Yeah. We need to go.”

“Why? You’re already in costume, you might as well have a drink and relax.”

“That will not be possible.”

“Why not?”

Lock motioned behind him with a tilt of his head and Ric leaned over to get a look. His entire body jerked and he abruptly stood straight, facing the bar.

“Dear God, man. They’re following you like you’re the Pied Piper of Scottish sex.”

“There were six behind me before.”

“Well, now you have fourteen.” He glanced again. “And the number is growing.”

“What am I going to do?”

“If you try and make a run for it, they’ll simply take you down. It’s best to see if they lose interest.”

“Think they will?”

“Maybe if you’d worn a shirt—”

“They said they didn’t have a shirt!”

“Then I have nothing for you, my friend. You’re trapped. I, however—”

“Take one step away from me, you Mr. Darcy wannabe, and I’ll snap your spine.”

Nodding, Ric settled back into place and picked up his wineglass. “Well, then, here’s to an interesting evening.”

“Gwenie?”

Dancing to “I’m the Face,” Gwen barely heard her friend, but when she realized every female on the dance floor was staring off, Gwen looked over at Blayne. And, yep, her friend was staring in the same direction as all the other females.

“What’s going on?”

“You need to see this,” Blayne said, grabbing Gwen’s arm and yanking her over.

Gwen expected to see that her mother had arrived or Mitch had decided to do something particularly stupid. But it wasn’t either of those painfully atypical scenarios. Instead, it was Lock MacRyrie simply standing by the bar. Yet it wasn’t that he was merely standing there, it was that he was wearing a kilt. And it was the “full kilt experience,” as Roxy liked to put it—and one of the reasons Roxy and her sisters insisted they go to the Highland Games every year although they were Irish.

The pattern was a combination of dark green, blue, and white with the kilt reaching Lock’s knees, a large brown belt around his waist, and a swath of material stretching from his waist and over one shoulder, held together by a big brooch with a coat of arms printed on it. He also had brown leather armbands on both wrists and fur boots with thick flannel socks…and that was it. No shirt.

And wow…was that a lot of perfection to look at. Seven feet and three hundred and fifty pounds of perfection.

While most guys—most guys being her brother, cousins, and uncles—would be lapping this up—pocketing numbers, getting girls to strip, and playing “who can get my kilt to rise”—Lock looked more like a bear cub cornered by hungry grizzly males. But what exactly did he expect in that outfit? She didn’t want to imply he was asking for it but…he kind of was!

“What do you think?” Jess asked as she and Maylin stood next to them. “Doesn’t he look great?”

Gwen pointed a finger in Lock’s direction. “Who are those women?” Those women all over him!

“I’m going to guess they’re fans of Scottish culture and that kilt I have him in is a perfect replica of the MacRyrie family kilt.”

Fans of Scottish culture, my ass! “They’re checking out his legs.”

“He’s got great legs,” Jess said as one of the bouncers from the front whispered something in her ear and she walked off.

But that was no problem, because May quickly took her place and said, “He’s got big strong thighs, huh? Like a Clydesdale.”

“My Clydesdale,” Gwen ground out between clenched teeth, making the dog jump back from her.

“Well, if you’re going to get all upset,” Maylin looked at the whores surrounding Lock, “then you better get over there and get him.” Maylin reared back from the slashing claws. “And there’s no call to get nasty!”

Gwen cracked her knuckles and said to Blayne, “Watch my back.”

“Go get your man, Gwenie.”

The friends banged fists, then Gwen took several steps, crouched, and leaped forward. The legs she’d inherited from her father launched her from the dance floor, landing her directly in front of Lock. She slammed down in front of him and spun around to face the whores crowding around him.

“Hey!” some She-wolf complained. “We were talkin’ to him.”

Great. More horny hillbillies.

“Fuck off.”

“Why don’t you make us?”

Gwen unleashed her hiss-roar and the wild dogs took off running, the felines sidled away, and the She-wolves snarled back.

“I don’t see your name on him, feline,” another hillbilly complained.

“How about I put my name on you?” Gwen slashed her claws across the female’s upper chest to get her meaning across. “Would you like that, whore?”

Covering up the gushing wounds with her hands, the She-wolf backed off and the others did the same, easing back until they seemed to fade into the dancing, partying crowd.

Snarling around what suspiciously felt like a hairball, Gwen caught hold of Lock’s arm and dragged him over to one of the tables. She looked at the three males taking up her space and snarled, “Move!” They snorted at her and went back to their conversation. That’s when Lock quietly said, “Move.” And they did.

Gwen pushed Lock into a chair, paced off, and, after two seconds, paced right back.

“Have you lost your mind?”

He gazed up at her, looking so cute and sweet and unbelievably sexy she could eat the bastard alive! “In what way?”

What kind of answer was that exactly?

She was about to ask him that question, too, when some She-jackal eased up to his side and asked Lock in what could only be described as a disgustingly forced baby voice, “So are you really Scottish?”

“Oh, my God!” Gwen bellowed, beyond fed up. “Fuck off!”

“If you’re going to get so defensive,” the She-jackal sniped, that baby voice miraculously disappearing, “you may want to mark him so we’re all clear.”

Gwen’s head lowered, her eyes locked on the target in front of her, and she growled out, “I will kill you.”

Lock quickly grabbed Gwen’s arm and dragged her onto his lap while she watched the jackal practically sprint back into the crowd.

Yanking her arm out of Lock’s grasp, Gwen faced away from him, her legs straddling his big thighs, and she scowled at any encroaching females. No one was getting near what was hers. Nobody.

“Hi, Gwen,” Lock finally said to her back.

“Don’t talk to me,” she snapped, still good and pissed.

“Ever?”

Gwen looked at him over her shoulder. “What were you thinking, sashaying around here dressed in that outfit?”

“I didn’t sashay. Although I might have swaggered a bit.”

Turning her body around so she faced him, Gwen moved up on Lock’s lap and said, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s not my fault.” He pointed at the crowd. “It’s their fault.”

Without turning her body again, Gwen’s head snapped around until she could look behind her.

The wild dogs standing behind her screamed in horror and ran off. All except two. Sabina, who looked as if she didn’t run from anyone, no matter how terrified she may be. And Jess.

Gazing in fascination, Jess asked, “How do you do that? Is it a genetic deformity?”

Gwen pulled her gums over her fangs, and Sabina caught Jess’s arm and dragged her off into the crowd.

“But I need to know!” Jess argued. “That is not normal! But, I mean, how cool!”

Feeling surprisingly better knowing that Lock didn’t pick this costume himself, Gwen faced him again and said, “You can’t wear outfits like this around predator females, Lachlan. They’re worse than males. They descended on you like vultures at a lion kill.”

“I think you’re blaming the victim.”

“Shut up.” She pointed a finger. “And don’t laugh,” she added when she saw his lips tighten.

“Okay.” He gazed over at the bar and she knew he was holding it in. “I won’t laugh.” A few seconds later, he looked back to her. “Can’t I laugh a little?”

“No!”

She wasn’t surprised when her answer made him laugh anyway.

“I should have known you let Jess ‘Weepy Eyes’ Ward-Smith talk you into this.”

Lock reached up and tugged the ends of Gwen’s hair. “You cut it.”

“What?”

“Your hair.” He ran his hands through her hair. It was much shorter and she’d blown out the curls but…“I like it.”

“Thanks.”

He sighed. “And they ganged up on me.”

“Who?”

“The wild dogs. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“You’re so weak.”

“I know, I know.

“And something else—” Gwen began, but it wasn’t movement that snagged Lock’s attention away from her but a change in landscape from the corner of his eye. One second they had a nice ring of space around them, the next a She-wolf was standing beside them. Gwen hissed and bared her fangs, but unlike the others, canine or feline, this She-wolf didn’t run.

“That’s a very nice how-do-ya-do.” The She-wolf smiled at Lock. “Hey, MacRyrie.”

“Don’t sneak up on me, Dee.”

“Lord, when did you get so sloppy? There was a time nobody could sneak up on you. Now you’ve got your hippy hair—”

“Told you your hair is too long.”

“Let it go, Gwen.”

“—and your feline girlfriend and you have become one lazy bear.”

Chuckling, Lock introduced them. “Gwen O’Neill, this is Dee-Ann Smith. Dee-Ann, this is Gwen. Dee and I were in the Unit together.”

“This?” Gwen asked with a definite snarl. “This is your Marine buddy?”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“We both know why!”

“Hi, Dee-Ann.” Ric smoothly stepped in and smiled at Dee. And with his glass of wine and his Jane Austen-inspired costume, he couldn’t look more wrong for Dee-Ann Smith. Not that that particular fact, Lock knew, would stop a determined Van Holtz wolf. Especially such a wily one. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too.” She slapped him on the shoulder and Ric kept his smile until he turned his face away and then Lock saw the poor guy’s expression contort into one of surprised pain.

“What are you doing here, Dee?” Lock asked. “A wild dog party doesn’t seem like your speed.”

“Figured what the hell. They’re family now and all. Nice costume, by the way.”

“Don’t start.”

“Well…” Dee looked back and forth between Ric, Gwen, and Lock. “See ya.” Then she walked off.

“Friendly girl,” Gwen muttered.

“Leave her alone. She rescued me from a bear trap once.”

Gwen threw her hands up. “How can I compete with that?”

“No one asked you to compete with anything—now let it go.” Lock glanced over at his friend and couldn’t help but smile. “And Ric, how’s that shoulder?”

Ric sat down at the table. “Fine. Fine.” He moved it around a bit. “And with some reconstructive surgery and ten to twelve months of physical therapy…I’m sure it will be perfect again.”

The two friends laughed while Gwen just rolled her eyes.

“She’s sitting on his lap,” Jess said, while spying through the partially opened door of their temporary Ye Ol’ Tailor Shoppe.

“Only so she can scare off other She-predators,” Sabina complained while trying to push Jess out of the way to get a better look. “It means nothing.”

“She’s not just sittin’ there,” May noted. “They’re talkin’. Looks deep.”

“It looks like arguing.” Sabina observed.

Blayne went up on her toes to see over all of them. “It is arguing, but that’s not bad.”

“It’s not?”

“Not with Gwen. She doesn’t argue unless she gives a shit about you.”

“I have to admit—” Jess went up on her toes, trying to get a better look “—I never thought your plan would work, Blayne, but it seems that it has.”

“Told you they were perfect together. All they needed was a little nudge in the right direction. And I have to say, ladies, excellent choice on Lock’s costume.”

“It wasn’t us.” Jess motioned behind them to their “Insider.” “That was her idea.”

“Lord knows,” their Insider said, “there’s something about a man in a kilt that just—”

“Ahhhhhh-Haaaaa!”

Screaming and slamming into the door, the wild dogs and hybrid spun around to see Mitch and Brendon Shaw standing behind them, having found the second doorway in the back of the room. Ronnie came in behind the two men and shrugged an apology. “Sorry, y’all. They got away from me.”

“You traitor!” Mitch said, pointing an accusatory finger at Sissy Mae, a.k.a. their “Insider.” “You’ve been helping them all this time! How could you?”

“Now, darlin’—”

“Don’t ‘darlin” me! You’re working with her.” That accusatory finger moved over to poor Blayne and Jess cringed. “She’s already tainted my innocent baby sister with her insanity, now she’s gotten you.”

Jess grabbed Blayne’s arm before the wolfdog could start swinging. “You’re being a drama king,” Jess sighed.

“I’m protecting my baby sister!”

Blayne crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, this is so typical of you, Mitch Shaw. You’re barely in Gwen’s life until you get your ass shot, and then, now that you’re no longer a cop and seem to have way too much time on your hands, you want to roar in and take over like you have a right.”

“And you,” Mitch snarled back, “wanna mind your own goddamn business!”

“I like to see you make me!”

“Y’all!” Sissy stepped between them. “I can’t handle another slap fight. And maybe, Mitch, it’s time you open your eyes and realize that the grizzly out there is perfect for a woman who does that freak thing with her neck. ’Cause let me tell ya, he doesn’t blink an eye when she does it, but it makes me want to call up an exorcist!”

“That’s my sister you’re talking about!”

“And we only want what’s best for her.” Jess stood next to Blayne now, both of them with their arms crossed over their chests. “I’m also telling you as your friend and worshipper of your karaoke skills that you need to give Lachlan MacRyrie a chance. It’s the fair thing to do.”

“Fair?” Mitch pointed at his face. “Lion male. Totally irrational, self-absorbed, all about me. There is no fair in my world. Wake up to the reality, ladies. This bullshit is over.”

Gwen crossed her arms under her chest and Lock looked to Ric for help. “Tell her, Ric. I told her about Dee, so I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ric was still moving his shoulder, wincing from whatever that She-wolf had done to him. What Gwen found a little scary was that she doubted Dee tried to purposely hurt him. “Actually,” Ric admitted, “you do have a tendency to downplay things.”

“Ha!” Gwen crowed, triumphant.

“Dude! Where’s the Bro-love?”

“I’m not sure what that is…nor do I want to know. But remember in tenth grade, when I wanted to go out with that junior and you said, ‘Eh. I don’t think she’s the right girl for you’?”

“She wasn’t.”

“Because she was setting things on fire!” Ric announced loudly, making Gwen burst out laughing and Lock roll his eyes. “I’m serious, Gwen.” Ric went on. “And when I say setting things on fire, I mean entire buildings. Mostly schools. She’d been setting them on fire or trying to, for weeks. I didn’t find out until the cops came and arrested her during gym class. But does he say to me, ‘She’s setting things on fire! She’s crazy! Stay away from her!’ No. He says, ‘Eh. I don’t think she’s the right girl for you.’ And he’s all calm about it over our chocolate pudding in the cafeteria.”

“I don’t see the point of getting hysterical.”

“I didn’t need you to get hysterical. But a little more specificity when these types of issues arise would be greatly appreciated. I’m sure if you said to Gwen, ‘My old Marine buddy, the heavy-handed but statuesque beauty with’”—Ric sighed and stared off—“‘perfect breasts, soft pink lips, and silky-soft hair,’ Gwen would have been fine.”

“I’m doubting it.”

“You know,” Gwen admitted, “I’d have to go with Lock on this one.”

Smitty walked up to the coyote pair who headed security for the evening. He’d be the first to admit, he was never a fan of coyotes. Had no real reason for his dislike other than an instinctual need to wipe them off his territory, but when it came to business, Smitty put all that aside and even he had to admit that coyotes did a good job when it came to securing locations. He knew this when the male escorted him to the back room they held for any interlopers who may try and get into the party and found his cousin handcuffed to the table.

“We found her sneaking around the back of the building, trying to find a way in.”

Dee-Ann pursed her lips and sneered a bit.

“Is that right?” Smitty said. “I swear, just any ol’ raggedy thing can come wandering in here, huh?”

His cousin glared at him and he laughed. “Give us a minute, Chuck.”

“You sure? She’s mean. And was carrying this.” He held up the leather holder with the bowie knife inside it. Smitty took it and slid the blade out. At least eight inches and probably a gift from her daddy.

“I’ll take this,” Smitty said about the blade. “And I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Howl if you need us.”

The coyote left and, rolling her eyes, Dee lifted up her foot and placed it on top of the opposite knee. She pulled a thin piece of metal from the heel of her boot and quickly removed the handcuff from her wrist.

“Damn cy-otes. Gettin’ in my way.”

“I can’t believe they caught you.”

She rubbed her newly freed wrist. “I was busy, didn’t notice them sniffin’ around.”

“You know you had an invitation, darlin’. You could have come in the normal way.”

“I did come in the normal way, and then I went back out again.”

“What for?” Dee opened her mouth and Smitty quickly added, “And don’t lie to me, Dee-Ann. I’m married to a woman who could convince Saint Michael himself that hell is heaven and heaven is Detroit if it would protect her Pack, so don’t think I won’t know if you’re lyin’. Now tell me plain why you’re at my mate’s party if it’s not to be social.”

Dee stood and they met eye to eye. She wasn’t the tallest of the Smith family females, but Lord knew she was the most dangerous.

“I’ve been followin’ somebody and they led me here.”

“Why?” When she only stared at him, he tossed in, “Tell me or I’m callin’ your momma and telling her you broke into the party like some common stray.”

“All right, all right.” She let out a breath. “I may have found a new job.”

“Is that right? A new job that has you huntin’ our kind?” And he couldn’t keep the snide tone out of his voice, which was something he should have thought about a little more so he didn’t get that fist to his face.

Smitty briefly closed his eyes and let out a breath as pain tore through his jaw and bells rang in his head. He’d almost forgotten the kind of strength his cousin had.

“Ow,” he snarled.

“Watch what you say to me, Robert Ray Smith. I don’t take shit from your daddy and ain’t gonna take none from you. I protect my kind. Always have, always will. Just like my daddy before me. But sometimes our kind needs to be protected from within as well as without. Sometimes, there are a few who don’t know what loyalty is.”

Realizing that Dee was the last being on the planet—full-human or wolf—who would ever betray their own, Smitty dropped his head and nodded. “You’re right. And I’m real sorry for what I said.”

That’s when Dee smiled a little and he wondered if she was going to kill him now. “You may look like your daddy, but you sure don’t act like him. Never known that man to apologize ’bout a damn thing, no matter how wrong he is.”

She patted Smitty’s arm, sending him stumbling into the table. He had to remember to brace himself better when dealing with Dee.

He turned and watched her head toward the door. “Where you goin’?”

“To find what I came for before your mate’s little party goes to shit.” She glanced back at him and shrugged nonchalantly. “Although…it may already be too late to bother.”

Mitch was trying his best to untangle the wild dog females and one wolfdog who’d wrapped themselves around him like boa constrictors—trying to prevent him from marching right outside and telling his sister that the whole thing with the bear had been a plot hatched by Blayne “I have no boundaries or sense” Thorpe—when his phone rang.

Snatching it off his sword belt, Mitch snapped, “What?”

He stood up straight, blinking, the words his cousin Trish were hurriedly telling him not quite making sense. Something about his mother and McNelly and revenge and Asiatic lions and…and…a hair salon?

“Mitch?” Sissy asked, the headlock she had Brendon in while Ronnie held on to the cat’s waist, loosening as she watched him. “Darlin’, what’s wrong?”

With her chin resting on Lock’s shoulder, she watched the wolf pup desperately searching for something. He kept trying to cast for a scent, but he was too young to even understand how to separate the hundreds of scents that were surrounding him. When he stopped near her, going on his toes to look over the crowd’s collective head, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Johnny.” She said his name low so she didn’t get anyone else’s attention. He blinked, startled by her, and tried to slip away. “Get over here,” she snapped.

Letting out a sigh, the kid walked over to her and Gwen sat up straight, Lock looking over his shoulder at Jess’s adopted son.

“Hey, Johnny.”

“Hi, Lock.”

“What’s going on?” Gwen asked, although she already kind of knew.

He shrugged and said, “I’m looking for Kristan.”

Of course he was.

“You two have a fight?”

“Sort of.”

Gwen couldn’t help but smile. “Let me guess…you scared off the full-human she was supposed to meet outside.”

Growling, the kid arrogantly put his hands on narrow hips. “I don’t know what she was thinking!” She’s thinking how can she torture you, but Gwen wouldn’t say that out loud. “I know that kid,” he went on. “He’s a complete scumbag.”

“So she ran off mad.”

“Not quite. She started talking to some wolf. I didn’t know the guy and I told her that and—”

“She completely ignored you. Right. Go on.”

Lock looked away but she could feel his chest move as he quietly chuckled.

“Then they were gone. And we all know the Pack’s going to blame me. It’ll be my fault if something happens to her.” Gwen knew Johnny was more worried about what little Kristan may be up to with another wolf than he was about his mom’s Pack, but why argue that with him now? In another few years, he’d learn that all on his own.

“I’ll help you find her.” Gwen patted Lock’s chest. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Why don’t you just get her mother?”

Shocked he’d even suggested it, Gwen said, “I’m not rattin’ the girl out to her mother. I’ll take care of it.”

Lock caught her arm before she could walk off. “Because she’s your responsibility? I thought you had the night off with your mother still in Philly?”

Gwen leaned in and said, “You have your wild dog loyalties, and I have mine.” And Gwen wasn’t about to let Kristan do something she’d regret in the morning just to get even with Johnny. If she could stop even one girl going down that road, she would. “Now stay here and I better not find any more swarms of females around you when I get back.”

“I’m still not sure how that would be my fault.”

She snorted in reply, took Johnny’s hand, and went off into the crowd of partiers.

Ric watched Gwen disappear into the crowd before he turned back to his friend. “So are you going to be like your uncles and move your woman into your house to live in sin, or like you father and marry her in a proper wedding?”

Lock smiled like Ric hadn’t seen him smile in years. “I’m thinking a combination.”

“Always smart.”

“Just one problem.”

“Which is?”

Hands slammed down on the table in front of Lock. “Where’s my sister?”

Lock sighed. “Them.”

Ric stared up at the lion siblings. How Lock hadn’t killed them already, he didn’t know. If nothing else, Ric would have had them…managed by now. They’d be alive, but in Siberia.

“Where is she?” Mitch Shaw snapped again.

Lock shrugged.

“Aren’t you keeping an eye on her?”

“Because she suddenly can’t take care of herself?” the grizzly asked.

“No. Because my mother shaved McNelly’s head!”

The two friends stared at each other across the table and then both burst out laughing at the same time.

Ric wished his family was half this interesting.

“This isn’t funny,” Brendon Shaw said, shaking his big lion head. “Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Lock argued.

“No. Not funny,” Mitch snapped. “Because Dee-Ann just told us she followed Donna McNelly and her Pack to this club, then lost ’em.”

Lock’s laughter cut off instantly and he peered up at Mitch. “When was that?”

“I don’t know. Sissy and Dee are trying to find out if they got in and I’m trying to find Gwen, because she doesn’t know that our insane mother shaved a woman’s head out of retaliation for Labor Day weekend!”

Ric stood up. “Everyone calm down. We’ll figure this out. Let’s just find Gwen and then…”

His words trailed off as he watched his friend slowly stand up, his head moving as he cast for a scent. Lock had always amazed Ric; he was able to pick up scents nearly twenty miles away.

Lock’s large body faced the direction Gwen had gone off, his head lowering, his breathing becoming heavy, and the air around him filling with a tension Ric had never been able to name but understood all too well.

Lock started moving and Mitch went to grab him, but Ric caught his arm. “Don’t get in front of him, don’t cut him off, and do not touch him. Follow and keep your mouth shut.”

When the brothers started to argue, Ric said, “Gentlemen, you need to trust me on this.”

Johnny stopped midway on the stairs that led to the basement and picked up the skate he found lying there.

“She probably fell down the stairs,” Gwen said behind him. “It takes a certain skill to learn to go down stairs in skates.”

She took the skate out of his hand and kept moving, Johnny following.

He couldn’t believe he’d been reduced to this. Most days Kristan Putowski made him crazy, but lately she’d been really getting on his nerves. To be honest, he couldn’t wait until he graduated in June and headed off to college. He needed to get away from her, her constant chatter, her annoying personality, and her goddamn scent! It was beginning to drive him insane, and it was getting harder and harder to resist her.

Nope. Distance was good. In fact, he might be able to manage distance a little sooner if he could get into the summer music program in Ohio. Three months of practice, classes, private concerts, and lectures. But most importantly…no Kristan.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Gwen said. “We’ll find her.”

Once they were in the basement, Gwen sniffed the air and headed to a door a short way down the hall. She had her hand on the doorknob but stopped. She leaned in, sniffed again, and that’s when she reached back.

She slammed her hand against Johnny’s chest and shoved him away. “Go get—”

From the other side, the door was torn open and a frighteningly large female reached out and grabbed Gwen by the hair, yanking her inside the room. A male came out and reached for Johnny, but he scrambled back and took off down the hallway, grateful he’d gone with one of the Roman soldier costumes rather than the more complicated and heavier medieval armor costume. The male was closing in behind him as Johnny made it up the stairs. He slammed his hands against the unlocked door, shoving it open. Hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back. An arm went around his chest and Johnny’s mouth was covered.

Desperate, he reached for the switchblade he’d had since he was twelve and living with a foster family that had made him extremely nervous. But before his hand could reach it, he looked up at a massive body wearing only a kilt…and rage. Forgetting his blade, he watched as the bear reached down and grabbed hold of the arm wrapped around Johnny. Lock took it and twisted until the arm snapped.

The wolf released Johnny and howled in pain as Lock dragged the unknown canine away, flinging him across the club.

When the bear looked back at him, Johnny pointed down the stairs and said, “They’ve got Gwen.”

She hit the ground, the wind briefly knocked out of her, poor Kristan’s skate flipping out of her hand and disappearing under one of the tables.

McNelly reached down and caught hold of her neck, lifting Gwen up. “Always the do-gooder, rushing down here to help the kid,” she said.

One of the males had hold of Kristan, his hand over her mouth, his arm around her waist. She was struggling, tears pooling at her feet. Poor kid. She was one of those protected pups, not used to this kind of attack. But Gwen and McNelly? They were more than used to it.

Gwen shoved McNelly off her. “Let the kid go. This is between you and me.”

“‘This is between you and me,’ “McNelly imitated back to her in a high-pitched voice. “You’re fucking pathetic. Just like the girl. She might as well get used to it now. Might as well realize she’ll always be a mixed-breed loser.” McNelly stepped in closer. “Alone and helpless…and a freak.”

And that’s when Gwen popped her in the mouth, the She-wolf stumbling to the side as her Pack came at Gwen.

Gwen unleashed her claws and lashed out, swiping at anything that got close to her, trying to work her way over to Kristan.

Someone grabbed her from behind, and Gwen lifted up her legs and kicked out at one of the wolves in front of her, sending him flying back. Then she brought her legs back down, keeping her knees tight. Her feet slammed into the femurs of whoever held her and she heard a scream of pain as bones in both legs broke and the wolf released her. More wolves came at her, so she dashed up onto the tables and shelves, knocking things off them as the wolves tried to get hold of her. She kept going until she landed in front of Kristan. That’s when she pulled out her razor and flicked it open.

She cut the face of the wolf holding Kristan and yanked the girl away.

She saw the open window that the wolves must have come in through and she pushed Kristan up on the table beneath it. “Go! Now!” Gwen yelled, spinning back around and lashing out with the razor, slicing someone’s hand and someone else’s jaw.

McNelly came at her again, catching the hand that held Gwen’s razor. She twisted Gwen’s arm, all that brute strength nearly tearing Gwen’s arm from the socket. And while she held her, Gwen desperately reaching out for something, anything, she could use as a weapon, another male came at her. He took the razor from her hand and held it in front of her face.

“Wanna know how this feels, bitch?” Gwen already knew. She’d gotten the damn thing from the person who’d used it on her during a street fight.

He raised the blade over her and Gwen felt something under her hand. A pair of scissors.

Gripping them tight, she swung them out as the razor came down toward her face. But she was falling, the grip on her other arm suddenly gone. She landed flat on her back and saw the big arms of Lock reaching out. But the razor was already in motion and the blade cut across his forearm.

Uh-oh was the last thing Gwen could think before Lock’s boar-rage snapped and unleashed on every wolf in that room.

Blayne pushed past the crowd standing at the doorway and flew down the steps, Sissy, Ronnie, and Sissy’s cousin right behind her. As she neared the last door down the hallway, she heard a roar that she now knew. Lock’s roar. She pushed past Mitch and Bren, yanking her arm out of Mitch’s grip when he tried to pull her back. But she ended up stopping at the doorway anyway as a human body spiraled across the room.

Lock lumbered after it, still in his human form, but for the first time since she’d met him she could see the hump between his shoulders. It had grown and was now a mass of muscle that only intensified his already incredible strength. And all that strength was slamming into the wolf trying to pick himself up off the floor.

Four-inch claws dragged across the wolf, tearing off flesh and hair and clothes. Then hands rammed into the wolf’s back, with an untold amount of pressure pushing against his ribs. The wolf screamed and sobbed, unable to fight off the boar-rage raining down on him, but he’d gone after the wrong girl, hadn’t he? He’d gone after Gwen.

Gwen flipped onto her hands and knees. The scissors she’d been about to use and had dropped had been picked up by McNelly. She was charging toward Lock’s back, hoping to protect the male Lock had pinned to the floor.

Fangs unleashing, Gwen charged McNelly, but Blayne rammed into McNelly first, shoving her into the opposite wall. The scissors skittered away and Gwen picked them up, letting out a breath. Another She-wolf stood next to her, but she knew this one.

“I hear sirens,” Dee-Ann said. “Someone must have panicked and called the cops.”

Gwen nodded.

“Sissy’s gonna grab her friend Dez. She’s a cop and here somewhere. She’ll control things as long as she can, but we need to—”

“I know.”

Dee-Ann leaned down a bit to get a better look at her. “You want me to handle Lock for ya, darlin’?”

Gwen didn’t even know why the She-wolf was asking that. “No.” She handed over the scissors. “But you deal with the wolves.”

Gwen moved up behind Lock. He was crouching on the wolf’s back, one claw dug into what was left of the back of the wolf’s skull, the other pawing his exposed and torn flesh. He was breathing hard, the air pounding out of him as he fought not to shift and finish the job. She could see his muscles rippling as he fought the change, fought that last step that would turn this into a moment of regret for him. He had too many of those, she knew. She wouldn’t let these McNelly fuckers hang him up with any more.

She pressed against his back, let him feel her weight on him before she pressed her mouth to his ear. “Let him go, Lock.”

His muscles rippled again, she felt them moving against her own. She kissed his ear, nuzzled the side of his head. “I just want you to take me home. Keep me safe.”

Slowly, the bear stood, stepping off the battered mass beneath him. One blood-covered hand reached out for her, claws still unleashed—and Gwen took it, gripped it tight. He pulled her into his side, his arm tight around her.

“Gwenie? Maybe you should—”

At the sound of Mitch’s worried voice, her big brother still trying to protect her, Lock’s head snapped around, his gaze latching on to the crowd of concerned shifters blocking the doorway. He roared and Mitch shoved Bren forward. “Take him!”

“You bastard!” Bren shouted at his brother.

Lock roared again and everyone took off running, bolting up the hallway and back to the club. Once they were gone, Lock’s arms went tight around Gwen and he lifted her up, lumbering out after the retreating shifters and carrying her home.