The Mane Squeeze (22 page)

G
wen woke up starving and annoyed someone woke her up. But it was Lock, and she stopped feeling so annoyed. “What’s up?”

He held out his cell phone. “It’s for you.”

“Me?” She’d forgotten Mitch still had her cell phone. It was probably him, too. Good. Let him find out she’d spent the night with a bear.

Sitting up, Gwen ran her hands through her hair and glanced at the clock on the side table. It was almost noon. She took the phone and said, “What?”

There was an incredibly long pause and when she didn’t hear her brother say anything, Gwen squeaked out, “Blayne?”

“You’re with the bear?”

“Blayne Thorpe—”

“Ha-ha-ha!”

Then her best friend disconnected the call.
“Goddamnit!”

Laughing, Blayne closed her cell phone. When it rang again two seconds later, she yanked out the battery and threw it out of the wild dog’s dining room.

“He’s in!” she cheered, arms in the air, and the wild dogs who’d invited her over for Sunday brunch cheered and badly howled right along with her.

Lock watched as Gwen kept redialing Blayne. She must have tried six times before she threw the phone across the room, flipped over, and buried her head in the pillows.

“Is something amiss, my love?”

“Shut up!” she screamed with her head still buried in the pillows.

“Okay.” Lock stretched out beside her and began kissing along her back, down her spine.

Gwen instantly scrambled away. “Oh, no, you don’t! I need food before we can start all that again.”

“Can’t we eat after—”

“No!”

“We’ll order in then.”

“No, because we’ll have to wait and you’ll look at me with those big bear eyes and before I know it, I’ll be flat on my back again, and afterward I’ll be too weak to eat.”

“You know I’ll feed you.”

She slipped off the bed, stumbling as her legs almost went out from under her. He reached for her but she backed away, holding her hand up to ward him off. “I’m taking a shower and then we’re going out to eat.”

“Like boyfriend and girlfriend?” he asked, making sure to look particularly eager.

“What are you? Twelve?”

“Perhaps in an alternate universe where bears rule.”

She rolled her eyes. “Geek,” she muttered, turning away from him.

Lock stood up. “I need a shower, too.”

“Back off, Jersey. I go alone.”

He let his shoulders slump. “Okay. Of course…it’ll take us longer to get to the food.”

“Don’t even.” She headed to his bathroom.

Should he mention he had a second bathroom? Nah. “I thought you were hungry.”

“Fine. But don’t touch me!”

Should he mention that the shower was almost too small for him alone? Nah. “Okay. I’ll try not to.”

Mitch watched his mother file her nails at the kitchen table. “You know, Ma, you don’t seem real upset that Gwenie didn’t come with me.”

“I’m disappointed. I miss my Gwenie.”

Funny, she didn’t
look
disappointed. “If you miss her so much, tell her she has to come back home. Tell her she can’t just walk away from her Pride.”

“Oh, baby-boy, you know how your sister is when she makes up her mind.” She studied her nails for a moment, then went back to filing. “She’s an adult and can do what she likes.”

“You didn’t have that attitude when Patty Anne took off.”

“Because Patty Anne can’t handle living on her own. She can barely handle
not
setting herself on fire when she makes soda bread.
My
Gwenie doesn’t have that problem.”

“Because she hates soda bread?”

Roxy glanced at her son over her reading glasses. It was still early—for them—barely noon, so she’d yet to put in her contacts. She looked more…
motherly
with her glasses on and less Rockin’ Roxy as the neighborhood kids called her.

“You don’t consider Gwen part of the Pride, do you?” He’d had that thought since his mother had come to New York and then left again without Gwen. Before that moment, he’d never considered it—even when Gwen had told him as much over the years.

“My daughter,” Roxy answered, her gaze still focused on her nails, “has no constraints on her. She can do whatever she wants as long as she has the guts to follow through.”

“But she doesn’t belong here. Just like I don’t.” Although he didn’t belong because the males born to a Pride never stayed with that Pride. Some were bartered off, although that mostly happened in the richer Prides, but most left when they hit eighteen and found a Pride of their own or, like Mitch, a life. Yet it had never occurred to Mitch that Gwen wasn’t considered part of the Pride, if for no other reason than she was Roxy O’Neill’s daughter. Yet even without that, Gwen had lived her life for the Pride, she’d taken care of them, helped them, and at least eighty percent of the gang fights she found herself in the middle of was because of her cousins. How could they not make her part of the Pride? Hell…how could they not put her in charge of it? Just because she wasn’t full lion?

Roxy looked up from her nails and leveled gold eyes on her son. “The O’Neills will always be your blood, always your
family
. For you and Gwen. And we always protect our own, whether you’re in the Pride or not.” Roxy smiled at him. “Now how about waffles for breakfast? Or is too late for breakfast?”

Mitch rested back in his chair. “Maybe too late for breakfast, but it’s never too late for waffles.”

“Good.”

A newspaper landed in the middle of the kitchen table and his Aunt Marie sat down across from him, taking the seat his mother had just vacated, with a glass of orange juice in her hand. “Morning, handsome.”

“Hey, Aunt Marie.”

“Where’s your girl?”

“Sleeping.”

She smiled and began to read the business section.

Mitch watched his mother with her sudden urge to be domestic and his Aunt Marie not gossiping or yelling at him about leaving the toilet seat up again, and it hit him that they were relieved he hadn’t brought Gwen home with him. That they wouldn’t have to explain to her that she was family but would never be Pride. He felt anger for his baby sister and, more importantly, worry. Who’d take care of her now, if not her Pride? Who’d protect her? Did they understand that she’d be nothing more than another hybrid wandering the streets with no Pack, Pride, Clan of her own? Did they care?

Well, if nothing else, Gwenie had him. She had Bren. The Shaw brothers would protect Gwen O’Neill. It was perfect actually. She’d stay in New York, where they could keep an eye on her, but that bear…that bear was going to have to go. Between the grizzly’s clearly unstable mother—Mitch was never one to trust those “intellectual types”—and Gwen’s tendency to be squirrelly, the whole thing was a recipe for disaster. Mitch couldn’t take the risk his baby sister’s beautiful face would be mauled should that bear misplace his vat of honey or she startled him by hissing or something.

But first he needed to figure out who was helping Blayne in her evil plan to destroy Mitch’s happiness…

Tamping down his growing rage that things weren’t working out exactly as he wanted them to, Mitch brought up to his mother the one thing he’d sworn to Sissy he wouldn’t. “So Gwen and Blayne got jumped while away at Brendon’s on Labor Day weekend.”

Not remotely surprised by this information—
am I the only who didn’t know?
—Roxy nodded and pulled eggs and milk from the refrigerator. “I know. She told me. Couldn’t hide that limp from me.”

“Her leg healed up nice, though, huh, Rox?” Marie asked.

“Better than I would have thought from one of those Jersey doc-in-a-box centers.”

“Yeah.” Mitch scratched his chin, watched his mother walk back over to the counter. “But did Gwenie mention she was jumped by the McNelly Pack?”

When the eggs and milk hit the floor and his aunt’s juice sprayed across the room, Mitch leaned back in his chair and reminded his mother, “Uncle Cally warned you McNelly would
never
let that go.”

It wasn’t until the waitress slammed the food down in front of her that Gwen opened her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Lock told her while he reached for the ketchup. “You weren’t snoring.”

She sneered but kept her fangs in, since it was a full-human restaurant. “It would be your fault if I was snoring.”

Lock grinned around the burger in his mouth. He seemed to be a regular in this place. The waitress didn’t blink an eye when he ordered four of their “Big Enuf 2 Kill a Man” Burgers. But the way the same waitress eyed her, Gwen got the feeling he’d always come in alone before, and the waitress was hoping she’d one day be the one sitting on the other side of the table with him.

Too bad. He’s with me, and apparently I’m his girlfriend
.

For the moment, anyway.

Gwen gave a big yawn before she dug into her pancakes. It was almost two o’clock, but she’d been all geared up about getting some breakfast. Thankfully, this diner sold breakfast twenty-four hours a day.

“You knew them, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Knew who?”

“The guys in that blue van from last night. You knew them.”

“Probably.”

She didn’t mention the Unit, because she didn’t have to. Mitch had told her once what they did. Portraying prey to lure out the full-human hunters who focused on shifters—and then killing them. “It’s been three years. They’re still following you?”

“Maybe. There’s been a few problems lately with former members, so they may be checking up on me.”

He wiped his hands on a napkin now that he’d finished devouring those four burgers in record time and dug into his basket of fries, leaving it in the middle of the table to share with Gwen.

He pulled out his cell phone and Gwen tensed, thinking it was Blayne again. Lock let out a sigh after reading a text message, glanced at Gwen, and asked, “Would you mind if we hit a bar after we’re done here?”

“A few hours with me and already you need a stiff drink?”

He grinned. “No. But I figure you could use a little more rest before we head back to my place.”

And damn him…he was right.

Lock walked into the Jersey bar with Gwen behind him. He’d given her what Ric called “The Speech” when they’d driven over. “They’re mostly full-humans there. Don’t talk to anybody. Don’t look at anybody. If someone moves toward you, let me know and I’ll deal with them.”

He’d practically grown up in this bar and he’d seen enough over the years to know what the lowlifes at the bar went for and what they didn’t. Lock had learned early that full-humans were worse than any predators he’d ever encountered in the wild, and being in the military had only driven that belief home. Yet it wasn’t what was in the main bar that he wanted. It was in the back room.

As soon as they entered, every full-human eye turned their way. They immediately turned away from Lock’s direct gaze as they always did, but they all latched on to Gwen the second after that. He popped his jaw and those who’d watched him grow from five-foot nothing to what he was now instantly refocused on their drinks or racing forms. A few of the newer, younger ones were unaware of past incidents and their gazes stayed right on Gwen. Lock could see them debating whether she’d be worth the fight—and she was. For him.

Gwen, being a true feline, seemed not to notice anyone or anything. She moved casually through the bar, her gaze examining the framed pictures tacked to the wall and the ancient jukebox shoved into the corner. But as they neared the hallway leading to the backroom, a new full-human Lock had never seen before spun his bar stool around and made a move to stand. It wasn’t that Gwen turned to look at him. It was that only Gwen’s
head
turned to look at him. A good 180 degrees if Lock were to guess. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t hiss, she didn’t do anything because that one move was all it took.

Freaked out, the full-human spun his stool right back around and faced the bar again. Smirking, Gwen moved into the hallway, and together they walked to the last door. Gwen reached for the doorknob, but Lock pushed her hand away and shook his head. He raised his fist and knocked. Two times. Pause. Two times. Pause. Three times.

A minute passed and the door slowly opened. The seven-two glaring Scotsman stared down at Gwen, and Lock felt her press her body closer to his. Not that he blamed her. He could see her nostrils flare as she caught the scent of a bear-filled room. The grizzly raised his gaze and the scowl turned into an enormous grin.

“Lachlan, my boy!”

Lock grinned back. “Hi, Uncle Nevin.”

Gwen discreetly let out the breath she’d been holding. They were related. Thank Christ, they were related! For a minute there, she’d thought Lock had lost his ever-loving mind bringing her to a bear den. But the way his uncles descended on him, she realized Lock was greatly loved here.