Beast Behaving Badly (31 page)

She quickly typed in the password and zipped through the system, finding what she needed faster than she thought she would. Yet as she delved deeper, looked closer, she began to realize that, as usual, Blayne had found her way into more trouble. Honestly, how did that poodle manage to live so long?

Realizing the Group would need to move faster than she originally thought would be necessary, Dee logged off the PC and stepped back—and right into a rather large wall.

“Find what ya needed?”

Dee looked over her shoulder and up. Way up.

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Good. Hope it was worth it.”

And when Dee's head collided with that wall, she wasn't really sure she could say it was.

 

 

Bo stared out the big picture window of the police chief's office while his uncle and Adams discussed Blayne.

He didn't understand it. Three days ago, after a call like Adams had just gotten from the bears out of Brooklyn, they would have pushed Blayne to the outskirts of town with the force of every deputy they had. And that would have been if they were in a good mood. But now? Well, now things were different, weren't they?

“They say the Van Holtzes are really pushing to get her back,” Adams said. “And they wanted to see the bodies of those full-humans. Even sent some polar to ask.”

“And?”

“Told 'em to fuck off.”

“Good. They'll get her back when
she's
ready to come back.”

Mouth open, Bo again wondered how the woman did it. She'd only been here three days!

“Anything else?” Grigori asked.

“Yeah. We're sure it's because they're attracted by Blayne but, uh . . . I've been getting complaints about all the strays running around town the last couple of days. They're gettin' into trash, shittin' all over the place. What do you want to do?”

“Have Ben Chambers catch 'em and put 'em down. We have it in the town budget.”

“Okay. I'll put in a call and—”

“You're going to kill them?”

Bo could actually
feel
the boars behind him cringe at the sound of Blayne's voice coming from the open back door. Biting back his grin, he looked over his shoulder. She stood there in her gray and pink winter running outfit, one of those “strays” sitting patiently at her side, big brown dog eyes—from both canines—staring at the males.

“You . . . you can't just kill them.”

“Blayne—” Grigori began and, right on cue, Blayne Thorpe burst into devastated tears.

 

 

Dee backed up from the wall, her hand swiping at the blood flowing down her mouth and chin.

She faced the four bears behind her.

“Did you really think we didn't know you were coming here, canine? That it wouldn't spread through the foxes that some She-wolf was looking for a way in, and that that information wouldn't get back to us?”

“Thanks for the naked thing, though,” another said, grinning. “That was fun.”

The bears unleashed their much larger claws, and Dee asked, “That's it? You're not even going to let me offer sex for a chance to get out of here alive?”

The one who'd tossed her into the wall snorted. “Sweetie, your shoulders are bigger than mine.” The grizzly had a point. “Besides, we told your Alphas to stay away. Now the Van Holtzes need to learn a lesson.”

Dee smiled. “Oh, darlin', I'm not a Van Holtz . . . I'm a Smith.”

The smug smiles faded, along with the bravado, and Dee scented the panic and the rage that only came from bears. Apparently the foxes hadn't told them everything about her after all.

A long arm swung out, claws aiming for her face. Dee caught the grizzly's wrist in both her hands and yanked the bear forward. She unleashed her fangs and bit into his forearm, tearing out flesh, muscle, and possibly some artery when she pulled away.

Roaring, the grizzly snatched his arm away from her while a black bear attacked her from behind. Dee ducked and went under the bear's legs, grabbing the retractable baton he had in his back pocket. Not her bowie knife, but it would do in a pinch. She moved away from the black and into a polar, slamming her fist into the polar's throat. Trachia crushed, the polar dropped to his knees, so Dee planted her foot onto his shoulder and launched herself at the black bear, using his own baton by smashing it into his head.

The last bear was in the middle of shifting when she landed and took him out at both his still-human knees. She was loving this baton!

Laughing at the wounded bears, Dee opened the door to leave—and froze, her laughter dying in her throat. Boars she could handle . . . but sows?

Dee slammed the door shut, shoved a desk in front of it, and sprinted for the vent. She never looked back.

“How could you even think it?” Blayne cried, burying her head into Bo's chest after running into his arms. “They're defenseless! Helpless! Abused!”

“Blayne,” Grigori begged, “please calm down.”

“I'm just like them! Are you going to do the same to me? The big green needle?
Or just shoot me in the back of the head?
”

“We're not doing anything!” Chief Adams swore loudly. “I promise!”

“Swear it!” she commanded through her tears.

“I swear it, Blayne. We won't touch the dogs.”

“Even after I leave?” She glanced back at both bears. “You'll protect them once I'm gone?”

“Blayne—” Grigori began, but Chief Adams cut him off.

“We will. We
both
promise.”

Taking in a shaky, tear-filled breath, Blayne again rested her head against Bo's chest.

“I'll take her back to the house,” Blayne heard Bo tell his uncle.

“All right. I'll be home in a bit.” Really big hands patted her back, almost breaking her nearly unbreakable bones. “Don't worry, Blayne. Everything will be just fine.”

She sniffed, nodded, and let Bo take her away from the chief's office and into the woods behind it.

After a few minutes, Blayne straightened up but took Bo's hand as they walked for a while through the woods, snow starting to fall again. When they were about a mile outside of town, Bo asked, “Feeling better?”

She sniffed. “Yeah. Much.”

Bo stopped, lifted her hand, and pressed it to her chest. “Blayne?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Did you really expect me to buy that load of shit performance back there?”

Blayne snatched her hand back. “Shut up!”

“Oh,” he said in a high voice, “you're going to hurt my dogs? My poor wee brutal fighting dogs? Who will love and protect the brutal fighting dogs who've been taking down the Ursus County deer population for the last month? Who? Who?” Bo laughed and didn't seem able to stop. “That was the best dinner theater I've seen in years!”

Refusing to respond, Blayne grabbed hold of the bottom of Bo's long-sleeve tee and wiped the tears from her eyes. Then she blew her nose in it.

When she pulled back, the look of horror on the hyper-neat hybrid's face was worth the risk to her life she knew she was taking.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“You disgusting little—”

“I didn't have a tissue!”

“That's not an excuse!”

She giggled. “It is for me.”

Bo reached for her, but Blayne squealed and took off running, Bo Novikov right after her.

Okay. She knew it was wrong, but seriously . . . she was having the
best
time!

CHAPTER 24

R
ic looked up from his desk. “What?” he asked the leopard standing there.

“We're ready to go.”

“Good.” He pushed his chair back and walked to the door. The team he'd handpicked for this was waiting and armed to the teeth. They wouldn't waste time with shifter etiquette since this would be full-humans they'd be dealing with.

Ric grabbed his own weapon—a .45—and put it into his holster before he bothered to look at the woman he loved but refused to speak to. Although it was hard to be mad at her with her face looking like that.

“I'm okay,” she said again.

Unable to not speak to her for any length of time, Ric said, “Dee . . . they were sows. We both know your ribs took a beating from them.” Not to mention her legs, spine, and head, but her ribs took the worst of it.

“I said, I'm okay.”

He motioned to one of the team leaders and the lioness led everyone out. When they were alone, Ric said, “You're not going.”

“Don't answer to you.”

“Actually, you do.”

She ignored him, reaching into her locker and pulling out her vest and several weapons he didn't remember placing on the authorization list.

He walked up to her. “Dee?”

When she didn't answer, he placed his hand under her chin and lifted.

“I'm fine.” She slapped his hand away.

“You can't even move.”

“I can move enough.”

He placed his hand on her forehead, and she jerked away, but not fast enough for him to notice another problem. “You've got the fever.”

“Probably. But it won't hit good and proper for at least another hour or so. We'll be done by then.”

“Dee—”

“I need to be in before the fever has hold of me. Won't be responsible for anything I do if you keep me out. Understand?”

Yeah. He understood. Understood that she was the one who'd gotten the information that was leading them to the New York base of the people who'd grabbed Blayne. Dee wasn't about to let someone else follow that through. Not when she'd been working on it for so long.

And the fact that the bears had known this info since they'd tracked the full-humans' damaged vehicle and their weapons to the location was something he and his Uncle Van would deal with at a later date.

“All right. But when the team's done, we take you to the hospital.”

“Fine.” She held her vest in one hand and kept her other hand pressed up against her ribs. “Help me get this thing on, will ya?”

It was the first time he'd heard her ask anyone to do anything for her not in the context of ordering food at a restaurant. He decided to take it as a positive sign.

He took the vest from her and turned her so she faced him.

“And no need to look so full of yourself, Van Holtz,” she complained.

He was polite enough not to disagree, but he did smirk. It was a Van Holtz thing. He couldn't help himself. At least that's what he said when she snarled at him.

 

 

“I need ice time,” Bo complained after writing a list of all the things he needed to do that evening in order to reorganize his uncle's library—and burning his soiled shirt in his uncle's backyard pit. “Want to come with me?”

Blayne snorted. Not exactly the answer he was expecting.

Pulling a training jersey over his head, he watched as she fed the dog under his uncle's couch.
When Grigori realizes she's expecting him to keep that dog . . .
“What does that snort mean?”

“It means do you really expect me to be like the other skanks who shine your knob? Sitting around
watching
you play hockey?”

“I don't want you to watch me play. I need training and you're available.”

“I can't help you train.”

“Because you're a girl?” And he was surprised when that bowl of fresh chicken and steak for the dog
didn't
come flying at his head.

“No, you sexist prick. Because you equated my roller skating ability to a seal moving across land. I somehow doubt my ice skating skill will impress you any more.”

He crouched in front of her, the dog under the couch whimpering and moving farther away. Good thing the couch was so big. “This is true, but I'd hate for these to go to waste.” He brought around the box he'd been hiding behind his back and placed it on her lap.

She stared down at the box and sighed. “This isn't a clock, is it?”

“No. This isn't a clock. I think you'll like it.”

Blayne didn't seem too convinced, but she pulled off the top and moved the tissue paper around until she gasped and grinned. “Oh, my God!”

“They should fit. Norm had to search like crazy to find your size, though.”

“They're ice skates.”

“They're
hockey
skates.”

She held them up. “
Sparkly
red hockey skates.”

“They didn't have pink.”

“I can't play hockey in pink, isn't that the law?” She dropped the skates in the box, tossed the box aside, and threw her arms around his neck. She hugged him tight, and he'd never been so glad he'd followed a whim before.

“Thank you so much! I love them!”

He hugged her back and kissed her neck. “Good. Now let's get going.”

She pulled back. “I'm still not sure what you want me to do. I haven't gone ice skating since I was thirteen when Gwenie decided it was a good idea to teach me some derby moves. That humiliation alone was enough to ensure I never got on ice again.”

“Well, I have uses for you and your exemplary stick skills.”

“Such as?”

He grinned. “I need a goalie.”

What the hell had she been thinking?

“Eek!”

Why did she agree to this?

“Ack!”

Why didn't she just say “no”? Or even “hell no”?

“Ow!”

Like her father had constantly told her, “You don't think before you do, then you're shocked when you end up on the wrong side of a shit pile.” As always, the cranky old wolf was right, and she'd ended up on the wrong side of a big, fat shit pile.

Blayne tried to duck, but the hard piece of plastic slammed into the back of her head. “That's it!” she roared, positive her skull must have cracked in several places from that hit. What good was a helmet if it couldn't protect her precious cranium from small, flying, lethal objects? “That is
it
! I'm done!”

She tried to shake off the two different gloves she had to wear, one for blocking and one for catching the puck, but he'd taped the damn things on her with duct tape since they were too big.

After wearing nothing more than elbow and knee pads and some glitter with her derby uniform of tiny shorts and tank tops, she felt completely weighed down by the hockey equipment. Even worse, she had to use Bo's grade school stuff, which was
still
too big for her! Plus she couldn't see with the damn helmet that kept sliding all over the place. Christ! How big was this guy's head anyway? She did, however, have the lovely bright red—and sparkly!—skates he'd gotten for her. She loved the skates. But that was all she loved about this vicious, violent sport!

“I can't do this anymore!” She struggled to get the helmet off, not easy when she couldn't get off the gloves, which meant she couldn't get a grip on the strap holding the helmet in place.

Bo skated by her, not appearing to weigh his just-shy-of four hundred pounds by the way he managed to glide.

“Wuss,” he teased as he glided by again.

She snarled, her arms dropping to her sides. “I am not a wuss. I am simply tired of being pummeled by that damn puck.” For hours! He'd been torturing her for hours! She was hungry and cranky and covered in little puck-size bruises!

“Just a girl,” Bo tossed out as he skated around her in sexy little circles. She couldn't explain why they were sexy, but damn him they were! “Can't play in the man sports. You'll need to stick with your little girly derby.”

Blayne swiped up the junior hockey stick and swung at Bo. He caught the curved end of her stick with his own and skated backward, pulling her along with him.

“You,” she hissed, “couldn't handle derby. The Babes would eat you alive and you know it.”

“Could I wear those shorts?”

She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. The image of him in the Assault and Battery Park Babes short-shorts would stick with her for eternity.

 

 

Bo pulled Blayne around the pond without looking behind him. He'd worked this pond so much as a kid, he instinctively knew its dimensions, so he didn't need to look.

“You trained on this pond, didn't you?” Blayne asked. “When you were a kid?”

“Yup. I came out here every day before school and after, during the winter.”

“You miss it, don't you?”

“I guess.”

“You should visit more. I'm sure your uncle would love to have you.”

“Blayne—”

“I'm just saying.”

“Don't.”

“Everyone loves having you back. You're the town hero.”

“And you know this because . . .”

“Bob Sherman told me.”

So startled, Bo almost tripped. “Bob Sherman?” he asked. “Who runs the gas station?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why were you talking to him?”

“I bought bottled water from him this morning during my run—I put it on your account by the way—after I chatted with Craig and Luther Vanders outside of the farmer's market.”

“You talked to Craig and Luther?”

“Yeah. They're really nice. Gave me free fruit.”

“They
gave
you free fruit?”

“Yup. I offered to run back to Grigori's place to get some money, but they said it wasn't necessary. They really are sweet.”

And stingy. Craig and Luther were stingy bears. They didn't give anything away for free. A pear, a strawberry, a peanut. Nothing!

Instead of asking about the Vanders brothers, he asked about Bob Sherman, also referred to as Mean Old Bob Sherman or That Old Bastard Bob Sherman. “You talked to Bob Sherman? And he . . . talked back?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Don't feel bad because you can't do that. Not everyone has that skill.”

“Can't do what?”

“Be chatty and friendly. I'm a firm believer not everyone
needs
to be, and it really irritates me when people try to force others to do it. Like they're not being normal if they're not talking, talking, talking.”

“Uh-huh.”

“More important,” she went on since nothing ever deterred the woman from her ultimate goal, “if you're staying with your uncle when you visit, you won't have to talk to anyone but him. And the most you two do in the mornings is grunt at each other. So it's a win-win for both of you.”

“You're not clear on the whole ‘letting it go' concept, are you?”

“Uh . . . Bo?”

“Okay, fine.” He didn't want to argue with her. They were having such a good time, why ruin it? And let's face it, if he hadn't snuffed the life from her for blowing her nose on his shirt, he had to be crazy about her. That was the only explanation that made sense to him. Of course, how she felt about him, he still didn't know. “I'll visit Grigori more often.” Not hard since he just had to do it more than once in ten years to keep his promise, but those were little details she didn't need to know.

“No, no,” she said, frowning. “I don't mean—” She stopped skating, bringing him up short. He was impressed by her technique and about to tell her that when she motioned toward the far side of the pond with a small tilt of her head.

Bo looked across the ice . . . and sighed. “Shit.”

They were all standing on the outside of the pond, wearing hockey uniforms from the town's weekend team. A group of locals who got with other locals to play when the mood struck them. Most of them bears that Bo had grown up with. If this were Ursus County's main lake, about ten miles from where they were standing, Bo wouldn't have thought much about the locals showing up. But this pond was on Grigori's territory, and no one would come out here without an invitation because no one wanted to fuck with Grigori.

Snarling a little, Bo glared down at Blayne. “This is your fault, isn't it?”

“I thought they'd give me more time to talk you into it.” At least she didn't try to lie to him.