The Mane Squeeze

CHAPTER 3

“Mind telling me what happened?” The lion sounded gruff and angry when he spoke to Blayne, who Lock now knew was a wolfdog hybrid, but she didn’t seem to notice the cat’s tone or to mind it.

Blayne grinned. “Oh, no. I don’t mind telling you!”

Lock finished pulling on the hospital scrubs given to him by one of the nurses. He was grateful the medical center employed bears, because they had his size in stock. Nothing was quite as embarrassing as putting on pants that ended up looking like he was wearing knickerbockers. But as he pulled the green-colored shirt down his torso and shook his hair out of his eyes, he noticed that Blayne had yet to answer.

She was still smiling at the lion, while the lion and She-wolf sitting across the small waiting room near the front doors of the center were staring back.

Lock watched, fascinated, as the mutual staring went on for nearly a minute before the lion barked, “Well?”

Blayne jumped, her smile fading. “Well what?”

Gold eyes turned to him and Lock shrugged. What did the cat expect him to do?

The She-wolf, Ronnie Lee Reed—said in an annoying, almost singsong way, as if it was one single name, “ronnieleereed”—placed her hand on the cat’s arm while asking the wolfdog, “What happened, darlin’?”

“We got jumped.” Blayne paused, thought a moment. “Actually, I got jumped. Then Gwenie got in the middle of it and it turned into a street fight, which was kind of fun because we haven’t been in the middle of one of those in a long time. We’ve been trying to be less McFighty the last few years,” she said to Lock. “But it turned nasty fast, which really sucks, because I didn’t actually do anything wrong to deserve getting slapped around. I mean a girl is minding her own business, trying to catch a squirrel, and then she’s jumped for no good reason other than someone’s political agenda—”

Blayne abruptly stopped talking when the cat snarled at her.

Lock understood the cat’s frustration. It seemed he felt responsible for Gwen or Gwenie or whatever the hell the feline’s name was, and took it personally that she’d been hurt. Still, there were better ways to handle a skittish wolfdog, and snarling at her wasn’t it.

Dropping into the chair beside Blayne, Lock cringed when the plastic squealed in protest. Sure, the center may have scrubs and operating tables big enough for bears, but they hadn’t planned far enough for their chairs. But his reaction got Blayne to laugh a little, and he knew that would help.

“See how they treat the grizzlies?” he asked, smiling with her.

“At least it didn’t break.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel much better.” She giggled a little more. “Did you know the wolves that jumped you?” he asked casually, but directly. He could tell that being direct with Blayne was important if he wanted direct back.

She shook her head, her smile again fading as she thought carefully on her answer. “No, but…”

“But?”

Her brows pulled down and Lock could see that she was remembering the whole fight. Of course, he could remember the fight by simply looking at her face, arms, and feet. She had bruises and cuts, but none like Gwen’s wound. Meaning Gwen had pissed someone off. Although, it wasn’t really a stretch for him to see how she could do that.

“Earlier today we went down to the pier to hang out a bit—we used to go there every summer when we were younger—and there were lots of wolves. They may have locked on to us from there. The scents may have been the same, but I’m not sure.” She gave a frustrated little pout. “Yeah. I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay,” Lock assured her.

“But the She-wolf who jumped me,” Blayne went on, “she came after me like I fucked her father or something.”

Lock snorted, then laughed. “But you…uh…didn’t?”

Her smile came and went and came back again so easily, even as she wiped blood out of her eye, that Lock found her interesting and very sweet. “No. I’m not into the older sugar daddy-younger girl thing. But I’ve always had a father figure in my life. I call him Dad. So maybe that has a lot to do with why I can resist the temptation. I often go for unemployed losers my own age instead.”

“Would you know any of that Pack if you saw them again?”

“Maybe.”

“Wouldn’t you know them if you saw them again?” the cat asked Lock, although Lock sensed there was definite sneering behind that question.

“Not necessarily,” Lock answered honestly. “I was asleep and they woke me up.”

“That was Gwen,” Blayne filled in, answering the question that had been bothering Lock since he’d recognized Gwen’s face as she hung off that cliff. “She aimed right for you. I thought she’d lost her mind, especially when she bit your big grizzly hump.” Blayne blinked and then, slowly—and in a pathetic attempt at nonchalance—leaned back, trying to see between Lock’s shoulder blades.

Lock leaned back with her and said, “It’s not nearly as prominent when I’m human, Blayne.”

She quickly sat forward. “I wasn’t…I mean…I was only…um…”

“When I get startled awake,” Lock went on to the lion and She-wolf, trying not to chuckle at Blayne’s embarrassment, “I wake up swinging and anything in my way gets slapped around.”

“How nice for your friends and family.” And there went that sneer again.

“My friends and family know how to ease me out of my slumber.” He glanced at Blayne. “Coffee’s always good. Croissants with honey on the side, even better.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” the cat practically snarled.

Lock studied the cat for a long moment before finally asking, “Do I know you?”

The She-wolf leaned forward a bit and whispered, “You kind of slapped him around at Jessie Ann Ward’s wedding.”

Lock snapped his fingers. “You!”

“He didn’t slap me around,” the lion barked. “He assaulted me.”

“You came at me from behind.”

“You were near my sister!” As if that alone was a crime.

“I was talking to her. That is allowed, ya know?”

“Not in my world, it’s not!”

As the two predators glared at each other across the room, Blayne suddenly sat up straight and said, “Uh-oh.”

He didn’t know if it was her tone or the expression on her face, but Lock’s entire body tensed.

“She’s awake,” Blayne said simply.

Lock knew then something was very wrong.

Gwen’s nose twitched, the smell of antiseptic nearly causing her to gag. Then she heard those telltale sounds—a high-pitched beeping, steadily going up; the tear of plastic on hygienically maintained bandages and equipment; and the gruff orders of medical personnel.

Her eyes opened and an older coyote female smiled down at her. “Hello, Miss O’Neill. Everything is okay. I’m Dr. Davis and you’re going to be just fi—ack!”

She heard the nurses and other doctors yelling, but all she could focus on was how this murderer, this coyote savage was about to kill her! About to cut her open and remove her organs!

Die, doctor! Die!

Strong hands tried to pry her off the coyote’s throat but she’d never let her go.

“No one’s killing me and taking my organs!” she screamed.

“Gwenie! Look, Gwenie! Look what I have!”

Recognizing Blayne’s voice and knowing the wolfdog loved her and would save her from having her vital organs sold on the black market, Gwen glanced over.

“Look at the sparkly, Gwenie! Don’t you wanna touch the sparkly?”

Of course she did! Gwen released whatever she had in her hand and reached for the sparkly, shiny thing Blayne held. Gwen loved sparkly, shiny things. They were sooooo pretttttyyyyyyyyyyyyy…

Blayne came back into the waiting room and, letting out a dramatic breath, sat down beside Lock again.

“Whew! That was close. I had to steal someone’s car keys off their desk to distract her.”

“What happened?” Lock had to know. He hadn’t been this entertained in years.

Blayne shook her head. “I told them when we came in how they should treat her dosage, but they never listen.”

Ronnie frowned. “Treat her dosage?”

“We’re hybrids,” she needlessly reminded them. “What works for you as wolf doesn’t necessarily work for me as wolfdog. And it’s the same with Gwenie. Her metabolism is way higher than any lion’s or tiger’s. Most doctors try and base it on her weight as cat, which is about three hundred pounds unless she’s a little bloaty. Then it’s like three-hundred-and-twenty-five, but either way, basing it on her weight never works. I told them if they didn’t give her enough, she’d wake back up. ‘Don’t worry. We’re giving her something that will paralyze her muscles,’ they tell me.”

“Probably pancuronium.” When they all stared at Lock, he asked, “What?”

“Yeah,” Blayne said. “That stuff. Which I, personally, piss out. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

“At all?”

“Nope. And I warned them it wouldn’t work on Gwen unless they gave her enough. And what happens? She woke up and everyone is all shocked. ‘Why is she up?’ She’s up because you idiots didn’t listen to me in the first place.”

“Is that why she’s afraid of hospitals?” Lock asked.

“No. She’s afraid of hospitals because she saw this documentary on PBS once about organ theft. Ever since then, she’s been convinced they—the elusive ‘they,’ the terrifying ‘they’—want to steal her organs.

“Seriously?”

“I’m not that creative. Couldn’t make that up.”

“But everything will be all right now?” the cat asked. “She has the right dosage now?”

“Doubt it.”

Clearly not the answer the cat wanted. He snarled, “What do you mean you doubt it?”

The wolfdog leaned away from him, and Lock got tired of his attitude.

“Don’t yell at her.”

“I wasn’t yelling, and no one’s talking to you.”

“Now ask me if I care you’re not talking to me?”

“Why are you still here?” the cat demanded.

The She-wolf reached for him. “Brendon—”

“Stay out of this, Ronnie.” He glared at Lock. “Look, Baloo—” and if there was one thing Lock hated, it was those damn bear nicknames, even the ones from classic literature “—I think it’s time for you to go.”

“I think I’d like to see you try and make me.”

The lion actually stood, but the She-wolf grabbed the bottom of his hospital shirt, desperately trying to yank him back to his seat. At that moment, the doctor walked into the waiting room. The expression on her face was…odd. Although “confused,” might be a better word. But Lock knew that as a patient, he never wanted his doctor to look odd or confused.

“What’s wrong?” The lion stepped toward her, forgetting Lock. “What happened?”

“She’s…uh…disappeared.”

“She…she what?” The cat stormed past the doctor and into the medical suite, Ronnie Lee and the coyote behind him. But Lock noticed how Blayne didn’t move. Nor did she look very concerned.

Lock sighed. “Where is she?”

Blayne shrugged. “Knowing my Gwenie? Halfway back to Philly.”

“You sure? She wouldn’t be hiding in a closet? Or in the bathroom or something?”

“Nope. Out the window is my guess. She’ll stay in the trees. She’s got those fierce tiger legs but, because of her weight, she can go like fifty feet, easy. Double what most tigers can do. Even if she is hopping.”

“And you want me to go after her.” He wasn’t asking because he already knew that’s what she wanted before she sweetly smiled up at him.

“Would you?” she asked, those brown eyes begging. “Please?”

“Fine. For you.” Lock stood, walked out of the medical center and around the building until he caught the feline’s scent. He followed.

Gwen lounged on that tree limb, panting softly and enjoying the fresh air.

She detested hospitals. The way they smelled, the off-white or green painted walls, and that lingering vibe of death. Okay, so she hadn’t been in an actual hospital this time but close enough. If there were doctors and nurses, she was in a hospital.

It drove her mother crazy. Roxy had been a registered nurse for years before she opened her first salon, and two of Gwen’s aunts and several of her cousins had been doctors’ assistants or medical technicians. Roxy had tried to put Gwen on the same track, starting her off as a candy striper. But that after-school job lasted about a day before Gwen took off running and spent the rest of the night throwing up in the bathroom from her full-on panic attack. She hadn’t willingly been back in a hospital since. “Willingly” being the keyword, because Gwen had found herself in hospitals more than once. She’d wake up and boom! There she was. But she was older now and crafty. They couldn’t keep her if she didn’t want to stay. No matter how much her leg hurt or how weak she felt from blood loss, she wasn’t going back to that death motel.

Of course, no worries on that. Not with her so high up. And even if they found her, they’d never get her down from here. Even Brendon, cat that he was, couldn’t climb a tree.

Gwen rested her head on her folded arms and began to drift off to sleep.

“Comfortable?”

“Hmm,” she answered. She liked that voice. It was so low. She could imagine waking up to that voice every day, with it whispering that breakfast was ready or asking her if she wanted to share the shower. She could imagine all sorts of dirty things to be done with soap if that voice was involved. And yet…why was that dirty, sexy voice so close?

Gwen opened her eyes and blinked several times. His arms were folded on her tree limb the same way hers were and his head rested on them as he watched her with those beautiful brown eyes.

“Christ, how tall are you?”

He scowled. “It’s not that I’m so tall, Mr. Mittens, it’s that you’re not that high up.”

“Bullshit.” She had to be like, forty feet up. Maybe even fifty! Right? She glanced down. Wrong.

Still, she wasn’t exactly lying on the ground either. “You’re like seven feet tall, aren’t you?”

“I am not seven feet tall,” he snapped at her as if she’d really insulted him. “I’m six-eleven.” When she smirked in disbelief, he added, “And three-quarters.”

“And that quarter inch makes such a difference, too.”

“That’s it. I’m taking you back to the medical center.”

Like hell.

As the grizzly reached for her, Gwen unleashed her claws and quickly scrambled up higher. She knew for a fact that grizzlies couldn’t climb trees, either. So there! She was totally safe. She’d simply stay here until she healed up and then she’d head on back to the safety of her Philly streets.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he called up to her.

“I’m not going back there to die. I can do that just as well out here, in the fresh air.” With all her organs intact in her decaying body.

“If you go back to the medical center you’re not going to die.”

“Like I’ll believe that lie for two seconds.”

“And what about when the fever hits? You’re going to fall out of that tree eventually.”

Gwen couldn’t help but get kind of smug. “The O’Neills don’t get the fever.”

“Don’t even try it.”

“We don’t. My brother got shot three times two months ago, and he didn’t get the fever.”

“I bet your family gets shot at a lot, huh?”

“Hey, hey!” Gwen said excitedly. “Look at this! Look at this!” She extended her arm and gave him the finger.

“I should leave your Philly ass up there!” he snarled.

“Like I’d ever need help from some Jersey rich boy!”

“Look, Mr. Mittens—” and Gwen didn’t think she could explain how much she hated when he called her that “—either you get your ass down here or I’m getting you out of that tree the hard way.”

“You have an enormous head,” Gwen taunted, enjoying the way his entire body tensed. “It’s like a giant kumquat.” Then she giggled hysterically, liking the word “kumquat” way more than she should.

“You want it that way,” he said low, “you’ve got it.” He stepped back and pulled off the hospital scrubs he’d been wearing. She only had a moment to wonder why he was getting naked—and enjoying that astounding view for all it was worth—before he shifted to bear. His height increased considerably once he did, going from his nearly not-quite seven feet to a full ten, but she was still too high for him to reach.

Leaning over, she taunted, “Nice try but no—”

Gwen squealed, gripping the branch she was on. He didn’t try and climb up to her, he simply took firm hold of the old tree and began to shake it. Christ, how much did she guess he weighed as bear? Fifteen hundred pounds? Maybe more? And all of it pure muscle. With his claws gripping the trunk, he simply shoved the tree back and forth. It was an old tree—sturdy, strong, and disease free—but it still wasn’t strong enough to stand up to the grizzly, the roots beginning to tear from the ground as he relentlessly kept up his actions.

“Stop it!” Gwen yelped, but he ignored her.

The tree, loose from its anchor in the ground, swung forward, Gwen’s lower half flying free of the branch and dangling in midair. She yelped again, and the tree came swinging back. Her body already weak, her hands lost their grip on the tree and she went headfirst toward the ground.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to see that last second of her life. Yet the bear again showed how fast he was for his size, plucking her out of the air and pulling her in tight against his body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands resting on the giant lump of muscle between his shoulder blades.

Gasping for breath, she clung to him, burying her face against his neck. She felt his fur recede, his body straightening as it shrunk down to its only slightly less freakishly tall height, while the dramatic hump between his shoulder blades grew smaller and smaller until she could only feel it as several extra layers of muscle. He began walking, briefly stopping to pick up the scrubs.

“I can’t go back,” she whispered against his neck, horrified she couldn’t stop the shaking of her body.

He stopped, the tree he’d taken her from crashing to the ground behind them, and gently asked, “What are you afraid of?”

“Dying.”

He stroked her side with his fingertips and she was surprised at how gentle his hands were. How gentle he was, considering he’d torn an eighty-year-old tree out of the ground and she’d told him he had a kumquat head.

“You’ll be fine.”

“You can’t promise that. They’re going to get me on that table and they’re going to start cutting me open and they’re going to—”

“Hey, hey.” He leaned back a bit, trying to catch a glimpse of her face. “Wait a minute. Where’s my tough Philly girl?”

“Dead, if you take me back there.”

“Do you really think I’d let anything happen to you? That I’d let anyone hurt you? After everything I’ve done today to keep you breathing?”

“I’ll be alone with those sadists and you’ll be in the waiting room.”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“They won’t let you.”

His smile was so warm and soft, she found herself wanting to trust him when she barely trusted anyone.

“Do you really think anybody can force me to do anything?”

“Another bear?”

“You’d have to find one who cares,” he whispered. “Most of us don’t. But we do keep our word. It’s the MacRyrie bear way.”

“You promise you won’t leave me?”

“I promise.”

With her free hand, she clutched his shoulder with what was left of her strength. “Tell me something about yourself. So I know I can trust you.”

“Um…I was a Marine.”

“No. Not that. Something else. Something…just about you.”

“I do a little woodworking.”

“Like birdhouses? Whittling?”

“Okay.”

“And what else? Tell me something private. Something no one else knows.”

He thought a moment before he lifted her closer and Gwen couldn’t believe how good his skin felt dragging against hers. Whispering against her ear, he confessed, “When I’m really stressed out…I play with my toes.”

Gwen leaned back a bit and stared at him. “Seriously?”

“It’s really relaxing and very bearlike.”

And very weird. And yet…“I’m oddly comforted by this information.”

“When this is all over, I’ll show you how to do it.”

She gave a little laugh, her eyelids trying to close. “There’s a specific way to do it?”

“If you want maximum benefit.”

“Oh. Well, then…”

“I’m going to take you back now, okay?”

She tensed up but she could no longer fight her desire to sleep. “But you won’t leave me?”

“I promise.”

“And you won’t let them kill me or remove any of my vital, healthy organs to sell on the black market? Or exchange my vital, healthy organs with crappy, full-human ones?”

“Not a chance.”

“Okay.” She snuggled in closer, her nose against his neck, breathing in his scent. “I have your word?”

“You have my word.”

“’Cause where I come from, your word means something.”

“And you’ve got it. I won’t leave you, Gwen. I promise.”

“And you’ll stop calling me Mr. Mittens.”

“Let’s not ask for the world, okay?”

And even as she felt him taking her back to that death trap, she still managed to smile.