“At the moment.”
“Then can we get started? Everybody’s waiting for you.”
“Everybody?”
“They’ve multiplied since the last time.”
“No pressure though.”
“You can stop acting like a victim, feline. I just watched you happily threaten the sweetest being on the planet.”
“It wasn’t happily.” When he only stared at her, she insisted, “It wasn’t! Just necessary.”
“You going to be all right?” MacDermot asked as she finished the last of her fries. They sat in the booth at the back of the diner near the Sports Center, her Yankees cap pulled low to hide her swollen face. Of course, it didn’t hide much of anything and everyone kept looking at
him
like he was the one who’d actually hit her. Although their reaction told him a lot about full-human society.
“I’m fine.”
“You seem fine, which I find a little weird.” She finished her soda. “Gentry still wants to put a security detail on your house.”
“Why?”
“I think she cares if you die.”
“Why?”
“And we’re done.” She slipped out of the booth, reaching back to grab her jacket.
“What did I say?”
“Nothing. You’re just kind of weirding me out. I don’t know how you just accept all this.”
“What am I supposed to do? Cry?”
“Don’t irritate me, Crushek. I’ve had enough of males whose reactions I don’t understand.”
Crush smirked. “When you got home, did Llewellyn roar a lot in disapproval over your dangerous life as NYPD that led to your face looking like that or did he just lick your bruises?”
“Both. But what really freaked me out was ...”
“You really liked the licking?”
She shrugged. “It was comforting.”
“Don’t worry. We all like the licking.”
“Yeah, whatever.” She pulled the hood of her parka over her head since it was another day of close to zero temps outside. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
After MacDermot left, Crush sat at the table a little while longer. He knew he should feel
something
about all this, but he just ... didn’t. What did that say about him as a person?
Deciding to pay the tab and go before he thought too long about that particular question, Crush pulled out his wallet and took out a couple of bills. He was just throwing them on the table when he realized that the other side of the booth was no longer empty.
He looked up, blinked, then looked around, convinced someone was playing a joke on him.
“Um ...” He shook his head, confused about what he should say to the man sitting across from him. “Do ... do you need something, Mr. Novikov?”
“Peace. And. Quiet.” Bo Novikov looked up from the menu he was studying. “If I have to listen to one more rookie whine about me shoving the Zamboni at him when he wouldn’t get out of my way, I’m going to go off. And you can call me Bo or just Novikov. Calling me Mr. Novikov makes me feel like your dad.”
“But then wouldn’t you be Mr. Crushek? Or I’d be Mr. Novikov?”
The pair stared at each other until Novikov said, “That was a really bear moment.”
“Yeah. It really was. Sorry.” Unable not to ask the question, though ... “So you shoved a Zamboni at your teammate?” Crush had no idea how much those things weighed, but they were motor vehicles designed to keep the ice on a rink smooth. And since there were few motorized work vehicles that were light, he’d guess there was much poundage involved.
“He annoyed me.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal, but then your girlfriend told Blayne.”
“My ... my what?”
“Malone. Your girlfriend, right?”
“She’s not—”
“She always goes for the jugular, that female. She’s lucky she’s a good player.”
“Or you’d throw a Zamboni at her?”
“Nah. Wouldn’t be right. She’s a woman. I was raised better than that.” There was silence for several moments while Novikov finished looking over the menu and placed it on the table. “I did, however, toss her out a five-story window once into a Dumpster, but she’s feline. She cleared the Dumpster and totally landed on her feet. So you wanna stay and have lunch with me or what?”
C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN
A
fter spending the week chasing down drug-dealing bears and tips on Whitlan, Crush was grateful when the weekend came and he had a whole Saturday to sit at home with Lola, relax, and watch the Islanders game. It was still early and he had no intention of getting up for several more hours, when he heard the purring. No. That wasn’t right. He didn’t hear purring. He felt it. All over his body. And wow! That was kind of amazing. So amazing, he woke up. Unfortunately, as soon as he woke up the wonderful spell was broken and he was forced to face the reality that his house had been broken into—again.
“Why are you here, Malone?” he asked, even as he reached for her.
“We had a date.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“Ice Party. You’re supposed to come with me as my date.”
“But I specifically told you no.”
“That was before you kissed me.”
“You kissed
me.
Besides, Islanders game today.”
“You’re saying
I
am less important than the Islanders?”
“Yes.”
She stroked a finger across his chin. “I think you’re lying,” she purred. “I think you’re absolutely fascinated with me and you’re dying to go to the party.”
“Look, I’m sure there are a lot of guys out there who haven’t gotten to know you who would be really glad to—oh, God, please stop doing that.”
She was licking and grazing her teeth against his jaw, making Crush’s toes curl, his hands clench. But he had to fight it.
But she’d started purring again, her hands sliding up his arms, gripping his shoulders, and her hips rocking back and forth against him. They weren’t even naked! She was fully dressed and Crush had on his sweatpants. And yet he felt like he might come at any second.
Deciding he needed control, he grabbed Malone’s arms and rolled her onto her back. But, Crush quickly realized that only made things worse. Because now he had her right where he really wanted her. On her back, his cock between her legs.
Pinning her to the bed, both of them panting and gaping at each other, Crush was moments from pawing off her clothes with his claws. And the way her fingers tightened on his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist, he got the feeling she really wouldn’t mind.
But before Crush could do anything, a male voice from downstairs bellowed, “Celly! Let’s go!”
“Who’s that?”
“My brother. He drove me here.”
“Your brother is in my house and you’re ...”
“Rubbin’ up on ya? Yeah.”
“And I could totally hear it!”
Malone cringed and yelled, “Shut up, Tommy!” She let out a breath, looked back at Crush. “I didn’t bring him in. I swear. He just—”
“Broke in? Like you?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Crush released the feline and rolled away from her. “Out.”
“Okay, fine.” She sat up. “Don’t come. But my Aunt Deirdre swung at me earlier today.”
Confused, Crush lifted his hands. He felt like he was praying for guidance. “Why is your elderly aunt swinging at you?”
“Because I’m not afraid to tell her that her soda bread sucks.”
“It totally sucks,” Tommy agreed from the first floor.
Ignoring the male cat, Crush asked, “Still, it seems a little overly aggressive. Are you sure she doesn’t have dementia of some kind?”
“No. She just doesn’t like me.”
“
I’m
not sure I like you.”
The feline slowly got to her knees in front of him and slipped one arm around his neck.
“Do not kiss me,” he told her. But she did it anyway. And before Crush could stop himself, he had his arms around her and her body pulled close to his. They nearly had each other’s pants off when her idiot brother yelled, “Are you two at it again?”
Malone pulled away first and quickly got off the bed.
“You want to come with us?”
“I haven’t showered or anything and I need to take care of Lola and—” Crush frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Pouting. Until I get what I want.”
“Dude! Just tell her you’ll meet us there,” Tommy yelled.
“Yeah, but—”
“Dude!”
“All right!” he roared back, and the male tiger laughed at him. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Promise? Because I know you. You won’t break a promise. So promise me.”
“Fine. I promise. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll text you the coordinates so you can find it.”
“Can’t you just give me—?”
“We’re trying to keep out the riffraff so we have it in the middle of nowhere. You’ll need coordinates.” She stretched across the bed and kissed him again. “I’ll see you there.”
Crush fell back on the bed and again wondered what he’d gotten himself into with this crazy feline.
Cella got in the SUV with her brothers. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Where’s the bear?” Liam asked.
“He’ll meet us there.”
“So he’s dumping you already?”
Cella let out a breath. “No. He’s not dumping me.”
“Because I think you should go for the RV dealer in A.C.”
“He’s a cousin, you idiot!”
“What is the deal with you and all these rules?”
Cella made a fist and turned, but Tommy, who was in the driver’s seat, caught her hand. “Would you two cut it out? I’m not going to have all this fuckin’ arguing all the way to the party! Now everybody face forward and be quiet!”
All the siblings faced forward and were quiet—for about five minutes. Then they argued all the way to the party.
Crush followed the directions his GPS gave him based on the coordinates provided by Malone. He ended up in Macon River County. One of the vacation places that only shifters knew about. There were quite a few of these, but Crush had heard a lot about Macon River because it was very bear-friendly. Some places were bear-friendly, some places bear-only, and some places simply didn’t like to have bears around at all. Of course, that was usually anyplace with a lot of wolves, coyotes, or mountain lions. Other cats and wild dogs had more tolerance, but didn’t get too close to bears, either. And wherever there were bears, there were foxes somewhere—stealing shit.
When Crush finally hit the end of the directions, he parked his truck beside a bunch of other trucks, SUVs, vans, and Hummers. Vehicles big enough for all sorts of bears.
He stepped out and looked around. Beautiful country that no rational human beings would be wandering around with close to zero degree temperatures and hard-packed snow and ice on the ground and covering the trees. Although for Crush, it was kind of pleasant.
He started walking, hearing music off in the distance. He didn’t know what he expected with it so cold out. Maybe the Malones would have a little barbeque. Seemed weird in the middle of an East Coast winter ...
Crush stopped at the top of the rise, gazing out over the area beneath.
During Crush’s time in undercover, he’d gone to more than a few outdoor raves. How could he not? The best drug dealers always showed up to those things. Either to sell or party, but they were there. But those raves clearly had nothing on
this.
The first thing Crush could see was the giant dance floor packed with partially dressed shifters. Polar bears, Arctic foxes and wolves, Siberian tigers, snow leopards. Grizzlies and black bears, too, probably from Kamchatka, tough Russian country. Dressed in shorts, T-shirts, fur bikinis, flip-flops, they writhed on the dance floor to what sounded like Caribbean tech music.
A musk oxen—where the hell did they find a musk oxen?—ran behind Crush, two tigers and a leopard chasing him down. Farther down in the trees, Crush could see two polars fighting over a seal. When he looked down and to his left, he could see an ice lake through the trees and a rough hockey game going on.
And when he looked right next to him, Crush could see an Eskimo. Okay. Not really an Eskimo, but Blayne Thorpe dressed in the biggest, warmest parka zipped so high he couldn’t see her mouth, the hood pulled down so low over her forehead, he could barely see her sunglass-covered eyes. Big mittens on her hands, big ski boots on her feet. Honestly, he only recognized her because of her scent.
“Hi, Blayne.”
She said something, but he couldn’t really understand it through the layers of parka.
“Huh?”
She unzipped a bit of the parka so that he could now see her mouth. “I said, ‘Hi, Crush!’ ”
He laughed. “How are you, sweetie?”
“Okay. Cold.”
“Hon ... why are you here?”
“I’m marrying a man more Arctic bear than African lion. I figure I better get used to it. It’s not bad, though. They have a really big hot tent.”
“Hot tent?”
“Yep. All the more African-based shifters are there. I try not to see it as segregation, though.”
“I’m sure it’s done strictly for health reasons.”
“Can I ask you a question, Crush?”
“Sure.”
“Do you like Bo?”
“Uh ...”
“I don’t mean in a weird way. I’m not talking about hockey and I don’t mean sexually.”
“Oh, that’s good ... ’cause ... yeah.”
“I just mean in general.”
“Well ...”
“For instance, do you find him rude or overbearing or obsessively psychotic?”
“No.”
“Okay. That’s good. Um ... do you ever want to stab him in the face or set him on fire or go back in time and destroy the origin of his bloodline?”
“No.”
And there in her big parka, Blayne did a little shimmy. “I knew it! I knew he could have friends!”
“I don’t know if we’re actually friends, though.”
“Sha-sha-sha. Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Okay.”
“Now come on.” She took his hand with her mitten-covered one and together they headed down toward the party.
“Is this your first Ice Party?” she asked as they walked.
“Yeah.”
“Me, too. I’m having a blast!”
“Even though you’re dressed like you’re on a National Geographic expedition?”
“Hot tent!” she reminded him.
They walked to the edge of the dance floor and that’s where Blayne stopped. She looked up at him and then out at the dancing bodies. Crush followed her line of sight. It took a second, but then he saw what Blayne was trying to show him. Malone.
In denim cutoff shorts, black motorcycle boots, and what he could only assume was a white-fur bikini top, Cella danced between two males. She held a Guinness in her left hand, leaving her right hand free to fist-pump at the most appropriate times, usually when one of her cousins yelled out, “Malones, call back!” And all the Malones yelled in return, “Maaaaalonnnnnnes!” Followed, of course, by what Crush had always termed the “Long Island Fist-Pump.”
Blowing out a breath, enjoying how he could see it in the air, Crush looked at the wolfdog still holding his hand. “Really?” he asked her.
Blayne laughed. “What did you expect? She’s a Long Island girl.”
“I guess.”
“And you’ve gotta admit, she looks fierce as hell in that outfit.”
Yeah. Crush did have to admit that.
“And I have to admit,” Blayne went on, “although freezing to death, I’m really enjoying the party side of the snow-loving.” She turned toward him, still holding his hand. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because something about you tells me that you’re the duck-out-the-first-time-you-get-the-chance guy. Unless you’re about to arrest someone.” She blinked, thought a moment, then asked, “Are you here to arr—”
“No, Blayne. I’m not here to arrest anyone.”
“Cool! Want me to get Cella for you?”
“Sure. Okay.”
“No problem.” She finally released the grip she had on him, put both her hands to her mouth and screamed out, “
Cella!
”
And yes, that was something he could have done himself, but why quibble?
Malone turned, saw them, and ran over. When she was about ten feet from Crush, she launched herself at him, hitting him hard, her legs wrapping around his waist, her arms around his neck. “Hi!”
“H—”
She didn’t let him finish, her mouth pressing against his, arms tightening around his neck. And for those few seconds Crush forgot about everyone else.
When she finally pulled her mouth away, Crush still had his eyes closed.