Beast Behaving Badly (29 page)

CHAPTER 22

D
ez MacDermott knew that if five, ten years ago someone had told her “You'll be sitting in an average office building in downtown Manhattan, that's actually owned by wolf shifters so that you can discuss the hybrid-hunting issue,” chances were Dez would have had them put in for a psych eval.

And yet here she was, doing just that.

“What do you mean they won't help us?”

Dez took the cup of coffee handed to her by her husband, Mace. “Thanks, babe,” she said around a yawn, before refocusing her attention on a befuddled Niles Van Holtz.
Niles? What kind of name is Niles anyway?

“They have to help us,” he insisted. He was cute when confused.

“Yeah, I tried that logic. So did Crush. They said no. Actually, what they said was, ‘Tell 'em to fuck off,' but ya know . . . Brooklyn bears.”

She sipped her coffee, badly needing the caffeine. She hated all-nighters, and that's what it turned into because the bears kept her and Crush waiting for hours before they'd talk to them. Although she wasn't positive, Dez had a feeling this thing was blowing up into quite the drama. She normally wouldn't care, but she liked Blayne. She had a lot more energy than Dez could normally handle, but she was always willing to babysit at the last minute and took great care of Dez's son Marcus. But Crush had told Dez that as long as Blayne was protected by that Russian guy, Novi-whatever, she should be fine.

She hoped Crush was right, because she was seriously enjoying the disbelief on Niles Van Holtz's face and the despair on his cousin Ulrich's. And if it turned out Blayne wasn't safe, she'd feel guilty as hell.

“Looks like I'll have to talk to them myself,” Niles said, sounding pretty haughty.

“Better bring backup. I sensed they would enjoy hurting you. I have to say . . . bears and wolves? Didn't know about all the hate.”

The younger Van Holtz looked across the big conference table at Sissy's cousin Dee-Ann. The She-wolf appearing to care less about Blayne than anyone else in that room. When Ulrich glared at her, she let out an annoyed sigh and dropped her legs off the table, since she'd had them up there through the whole meeting while relaxing back in the expensive chair, sipping coffee and enjoying the donuts someone brought.

“Are you going to do
something
?” Ulrich demanded.

“Yeah,” Dee-Ann shot back. “I'm leavin'. See? This is me walkin' out.” The door slammed shut behind her, and Mace took the coffee out of Dez's hand as he had a tendency to do and sipped it.

“Just an FYI for you,” he said to Ulrich, giving Dez one of his famous smirks. “Dee's been known to wrestle a gator back home in Tennessee when she's bored, so you may want to keep that in mind before you really piss her off, Dog Fancy.”

Ulrich stared at Mace for a good minute before he asked, “Who are you again?”

Knowing that not much else could insult her husband, Dez threw her head back and laughed.

 

 

Dee-Ann marched down the hallway toward the elevator. Not a lot pissed her off. Unlike the rest of the women in her family, she didn't get angry at every little thing. What was the point? But Ulrich Van Holtz was wearing on her damn nerves.

“You!”

Dee froze when something hard and heavy hit her in the back of the head. Fangs out, she spun around but immediately stopped when she realized it was her cousin's pregnant female. It wasn't the whole kid-glove thing because Jessie Ann was pregnant that kept Dee from slapping the little bitch, it was because wild dogs were known to be highly unstable when pregnant. Defensive, highly emotional, and apparently quick to throw things. And the She-dogs standing behind Jessie looked like they weren't about to get involved unless Dee made the first move. Normally, something Dee-Ann wouldn't give a second thought about. But Smitty had made his demands real clear. No picking on the dogs . . . no matter how much they may be asking for it.

And the good Lord knew that Jessie Ann was asking for it.

“This is
your
fault,” Jessie Ann went on, sounding hysterical over a helpless poodle. Did she adopt Blayne, too? How many mutts did the woman need in her life anyway? “Because of you Blayne is trapped in scary bear territory. Because of
you.
”

“You need to stay out of this, Jessie Ann.”

“It's Jessica, bitch!” Jessie snarled as she stomped forward, her belly leading the way and her She-dogs watching her, knowing that Dee wouldn't do anything to harm her cousin's future child.

Thankfully, though, Sissy Mae and Ronnie Lee jumped in front of Jessie Ann, hands on the She-dog's shoulders.

“Jessie Ann, I thought we talked about this,” Ronnie pleaded.

Jessie pointed an accusing finger at Dee. “You! You microchipped her like a . . . a . . .”

“Like the rescue mutt she is?”

Sissy and Ronnie Lee looked at Dee, their eyes wide, and Jessie shoved the pair out of her way, descending on Dee. But before claws, fangs, or fists could connect Smitty was there, grabbing his mate under the arms and carrying her off.

“We'll discuss this later, cousin,” he tossed over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom with his cursing, spitting mate.

“What?” Dee snapped when she realized Sissy and Ronnie were still staring at her, looking surprisingly disgusted for two females whose whole life goal at one time seemed to be the torturing of Jessie Ann Ward.

“I know that tone isn't directed at me, cousin,” Sissy stated, one brow raised. And Dee took it as the challenge it was, stepping forward, but Ronnie Lee quickly got between them.

“No, no, y'all. Not here.”

Sissy crossed her arms over her chest. “You better figure out how to fix this, Dee-Ann. Or I'm going to get real fuckin' cranky. That little wolfdog has a lot of friends, and I happen to be one of them.”

Great. Someone else blaming her for this mess.

Deciding she was tired of playing nice about all this, Dee headed toward the elevator.

CHAPTER 23

“A
re you awake?”
Blayne's eyes opened wide to find a descendent of violent barbarians hanging over her.
“Well?”

“I'm awake . . . now.”

“Good.” He kissed her, and Blayne automatically reached for him, her arms slipping around his neck. But before she could get comfortable, he pulled away. “I didn't want to get up before you did.”

Why did they have to get up at all? Oh. That's right. Because she'd just spent the entire night fucking the most OCD hockey player ever.

Bo sat on the edge of the bed, scratching his head and yawning. “We slept late.”

Hearing someone moving around in the living room, Blayne grabbed Bo's jersey off the floor and tugged it on before glancing at the clock on the nightstand. “You consider seven a.m. as sleeping late?”

“Yes.”

Deciding not to worry too much about the man's issues with time, Blayne raised her arms high in the air and took one of her nice long stretches. She was canine after all.

Her muscles were deliciously sore and now that she was up, Blayne felt a rush of energy hit her system. She wanted to run, to play, to . . .

She stared at Bo's back. It was huge. Wide, muscular, and smooth. Like a giant target calling her name.

Grinning and using all the strength and power in her body, Blayne launched herself at The Marauder.

 

 

Bo felt something tap his back and he opened his eyes to find arms and legs wrapped around him.

“Yes?”

“I have way too much energy and no way to work it off!”

Bo realized that Blayne wasn't simply hanging off him, she was attempting to Blayne-handle him into submission.

“Well.” He grabbed both her hands in one of his. “I have some ideas on how we can work that extra energy off.”

“You want to go running with me?”

“Or,” he tried, “we can get back in bed and fu—”

The bedroom door flew open.
“Morning, Marines!”

Bo snarled at his uncle while Blayne pressed her mouth against his shoulder and giggled.

Dressed in one of his old Marine T-shirts and sweatpants, Grigori marched into the room. “So what are we planning for today? Anything interesting?”

“Not anymore,” Bo muttered, earning himself a slap to the side of the head. “Ow.”

Grigori leaned in, scowling right into Blayne's face. She only giggled more.

“And what are you planning, Daddy's Girl?”

“Running, sir!”

“Running? You know what runs, Daddy's Girl?”

“Is the bellowing really necessary?” Bo complained.

Ignoring Bo, Blayne answered, “Dainty little princesses, sir?”

“Exactly! Dainty, pretty, little princesses. Just like you!”

Bo rolled his eyes. This was just painful.

“What about you, boy? 'Cause you can't just sit around all day, doin' nothin'.”

“When have I ever sat around, doing nothing?”

Blayne jumped off the bed. “I'm getting in the shower.”

“You're showering
before
you go running?” Bo asked.

“You want me to run while unclean?”

Why did he ask these questions?

Blayne cheered, “Wahoo! Running!” and cartwheeled out of the room.

Grigori smirked at him. “You're letting her wear one of your precious jerseys?”

“Why are you still standing here?”

His uncle leaned back, peering out into the hallway. “I need you to come to town with me,” he muttered.

“You're not on my schedule.”

His uncle scowled. “I'm not what now?”

“I wrote out a schedule. You're not on it.”

“Uh-huh. Can you fit me on the schedule?”

Bo grabbed the notepad off his night table and looked it over. “Well, let's see, maybe I could move—”

Grigori snatched the pad from him and tore it up, throwing the tiny pieces at Bo's head.

Bo stared at him. “You don't think I made a copy?”

“Get dressed,” his uncle spit out between clenched teeth.

“I have to shower first, and Blayne's using the only one that works.”

“Can't you just take a bath?”

“I don't have a duckie. How can I take a bath without a duckie?”

“It's like you want me to beat you. It's like you're begging me, too. And what happened to my goddamn coffee table?”

“That was Blayne. Blayne did it.”

Hands on his hips, his uncle glared at him. “You're blaming your girlfriend for that mess in my living room?”

It wasn't until his uncle said it that Bo realized that Blayne was his girlfriend—even if she didn't know it yet. He grinned and happily answered, “Yeah. I am blaming my girlfriend. My girlfriend Blayne.”

They heard the panting behind them and together watched Bo's shifted girlfriend Blayne turn in circles trying to catch her tail. She didn't seem to be in any rush to stop.

“How long can she keep that up?”

“My girlfriend Blayne?”

“You're going to keep calling her that now, aren't you?”

“Yeah, actually, I am. Just to annoy you. As we know my whole goal in life is to annoy you.” Bo motioned to the hallway. “She's still going.”

“Twenty bucks she throws up.”

Bo felt confident in his girlfriend Blayne. “You're on.”

 

 

It had been a gut feeling that sent her back to the States. That feeling she sometimes got when she knew something was really off. That's what had hit when she'd been sitting in that Thailand bar planning to roll a couple of worthless and rich full-human Aussie males who kept yelling at her slowly because they were sure she couldn't speak English. Why the yelling, she didn't know, and how saying something slowly would help if she really didn't speak English was another way down Lack of Logic Lane, but in the end it hadn't mattered.

Sami had walked away from some easy money—dragging Sander behind her—because she knew something was wrong. And now that she was standing in the middle of Bo's Manhattan apartment, staring down a She-wolf who'd been caught going through his shit, she knew she'd been right.

Sander walked into Bo's office, his nose in the air. “I scent She-bitch,” he announced. “Oh,” he said when he caught sight of the She-wolf. “Guess that's you.”

“Is there a reason you're in our friend's apartment?” Sami asked. “Or are you just stealing?”

“Because that's our job,” Sander added, not really helping.

The She-wolf didn't respond, cold amber eyes sizing up both Sami and Sander.

The one thing foxes prided themselves on was being able to spot trouble. Not merely by scent but by a general sense of preservation. Extremely necessary when the smallest of the predators and nearly every breed and species didn't trust you. The only species more loathed than foxes? Hyenas, which was kind of depressing when Sami thought about it too much. Because hyenas were just creepy.

And now that Sami had checked out this She-wolf, she knew that not only was Bo in trouble, he had trouble searching his apartment. This female would kill them and have them in a shallow grave before lunchtime. Actually, she'd probably work up a little appetite for lunch.

When the She-wolf finally spoke, her accent combined with the female's size had both Sami and Sander making sure they could instantly escape out the window or door if necessary. She didn't know what the Smith wolves fed their pups, but Christ they were a
huge
breed of canine!

“You the hybrid's friend?” the She-wolf asked.

Knowing panicking now would only set the female off, Sami answered honestly, “He's our polar.”

She frowned a little at Sami's answer, but shook her head. “Whatever. I need information. About the Brooklyn bears. Thought he'd have something here.”

“Bo doesn't know anything about the Brooklyn bears.”

“They hate him,” Sander added.

“'Cause he's a hybrid?”

“No, it was because of that year he played with the Jersey Stompers.”

“Yeah. He
stomped
all over that Brooklyn-born bear playing for the Long Island Devourers. They said every one of his vertebrae had been ruptured. Took him years to get back to playing—and he was never the same.”

“He shouldn't have taken Bo's puck,” Sami argued, like she'd been arguing for five years since it happened.

The She-wolf let out a breath. “I was really hoping I could find something here to help me out.”

Sami, always more distrustful than Sander, questioned, “What for?”

“Because I need to help one irritating little wolfdog. That's what for.”

Knowing exactly who she was talking about, Sami wondered what the hell she'd been missing since they left town. She dropped into the leather seat across from the desk the She-wolf had been going through. “Why don't you tell me what's going on, and I'll see what information I can get for you.”

“You could get me information?”

“There's a lot of foxes in this town, and we give each other information about ongoing cons, the best fences in the city when you need some quick cash, and when someone's bringing in the latest shipment of high-quality diamonds. We're all real friendly with each other—as long as we're not trying to take each other's polar.”

“Yeah,” Sander agreed, dropping into the other chair. “Because
that
would be wrong.”

 

 

Blayne was running down a side street of the town when a door opened and she ran face first into it.

Stumbling back, her hands to her forehead, Blayne heard, “Oh! Oh! You poor thing! Blayne, are you all right?”

“Yes, Dr. Luntz.” She smiled in an attempt not to wince. “I'm very hard headed.”

“Let me see.” The sweet sow studied her head closely. “Don't even think it'll leave a dent.” She patted Blayne's cheek. “You look . . . cheery.”

Blayne raised a brow. “So do you.”

The doc's eyes widened, and Blayne whispered, “I won't say a word about you two.” Then she gave the sow two thumbs up. Dr. Luntz turned a lovely shade of burgundy and glanced behind Blayne.

“You have a small army following you, dear.”

“Yeah. I know.” Blayne looked over her shoulder at the small pack of dogs that had been following her since she and the pittie mix left Grigori's house. “Do you know where they're from, Dr. Luntz?”

“Marci, dear. Call me Marci. And”—she shrugged—“I'm not really sure where they come from. They just show up. Don't bother any of us, so we don't bother any of them. Foxes fight with them, though.” She frowned. “I doubt they'd do all that damage.”

They wouldn't. Coyote shifters maybe, but not the foxes. They were all about the thieving, no time for random dog brawls.

So then where did these dogs come from? They were clearly more escaped fighting dogs like the pittie. Many of them covered in scars, missing one or both of their ears, or had damaged limbs. It broke her heart to see them, but it wasn't the human part of her they responded to. They knew their own kind. Every one of them had been crossed with a wolf. Rotties, pinchers, pits, German shepherds. All power breeds. All dangerous working dogs on their own but add in that part of wolf that had been bred out of them and there was a whole new world of dangerous added to the equation. She refused to believe any of the locals had anything to do with these dogs, but then who did?

“Well, Blayne Thorpe,” a voice said beside her. “How are you doing?”

Blayne smiled at the sow. She didn't know her, but she seemed friendly. “Good morning.”

“Love the earmuffs,” she said.

“Thanks! They're little fake raccoon heads. Bo said they were unholy because he felt like they were staring at him. He's so cute when he's being unreasonable.”

The sow examined her carefully before introducing herself. “I'm Superintendent of Ursus County, Kerry-Ann Adams.”

“I'm Blayne Thorpe. Plumber,” she tacked on, feeling the need to have a title.

Kerry-Ann blinked. “You're a plumber?”

“Blayne has her own business,” Marci bragged. And when Blayne looked at her in surprise, she added, “Bo told me. Now exactly what do you want, Kerry-Ann Adams?”

“Do I need permission to talk to her, Marci Luntz?”

“As Blayne's personal physician . . . yeah, ya old sow. You do!”

Sensing a fight but not sure why, Blayne quickly cut in with, “I'm hungry!”

Both sows jumped, eyeing her. Blayne motioned to the tea shop Marci had just exited. “How about an all-natural honey bun. Yum. I love honey buns. Don't you?”

“I don't know, Blayne,” Kerry-Ann confessed. “I have been dieting lately.”

“Why bother?” Marci sneered. “Nothing will help to make that fat head of yours smaller.”

“All right then!” Blayne put her arm around Marci's shoulders, going up on her toes to do so, and practically dragged her “personal physician” into the tea shop. “Yum. Smell those honey buns. Are those fresh?” she asked Lorna Harper.

“Right out of the oven. And,” Lorna said, smiling, “sugar-free. Just for you.”

“Oh, my God,” Blayne said sincerely. “You guys are so sweet.” She pointed at a table. “You two sit down, and I'll help Lorna bring everything over.”

Snarling at each other, the two sows headed over to the table, but Blayne caught Marci's arm. “Be nice,” she whispered.