Beast Behaving Badly (9 page)

“I'm sorry, no.” Gwen, not nearly done with her side of the conversation, leaned forward a little bit on Lock's lap and said, “I can't just let this go. What do you mean she's
your
fox?”

“I don't know how to make it clearer.” At one time, Blayne would have thought Novikov was being rude, but now she knew that was just the way he spoke. That was the way his mind formed things. Directness without any venom attached. It was his way . . . and something she'd have to work on with him.

Of course, whether she thought he was being rude or not, Gwen didn't care as she kept digging. Kind of like that hole Blayne dug in her dad's backyard a few months back that he still yelled at her about. “Well,” Gwen pushed, “is she your girlfriend?”

“Gwen,” Blayne warned, but Gwen only raised her hand to shut Blayne up.

“No,” Novikov said simply.

“Your lover?” Gwen went on. “Your fuck-buddy? Any of those terms fit here?”

Novikov and the fox eyed each other, then both shook their heads. “No.”

“Then I'm unclear what you mean by she's
your
fox.”

“Polars have foxes,” Lock explained, but Gwen and Blayne still didn't get what that was supposed to mean.

“What?” Gwen demanded.

“Why don't we just let this go?” Blayne asked, trying to keep everyone calm and sort of rational. But Gwen had already had three Guinnesses on top of her four Sprites at dinner. All that sugar and liquor was making for quite the O'Neill volcano.

“Let it go?” Gwen again pointed at the fox. “She comes in here looking like a future
Playboy
spread, and you want to let it go?”

The fox released her grip on Novikov's neck and took the long drop to the ground. She couldn't be more than five-three and maybe a hundred pounds, if that. And the fact that it was the middle of a cold New York City winter didn't seem to faze her either, since she was decked out in the black leather version of a bikini top and shorts. Something Blayne wore in the summer when she and Gwen hit the Jersey Shore, at least the denim version of that outfit, but for winter? Not in this lifetime.

“You got a problem, feline?” the fox demanded.

Gwen tried to shoot off Lock's lap, but the grizzly knew his woman. He tightened his grip on her, holding her with one arm while he continued to drink his beer with his free hand.

“Let me go,” Gwen ordered. “I'm going to tear the little twat's face off!”

Lock chuckled. “That is so not going to happen.”

Blayne, always hating when anyone fought, jumped off Ric's lap and got between the two. They weren't close, but they'd locked gazes. And although the fox was tiny, even by human standards, Blayne knew better than to underestimate them. Small, foxes may be . . . but mean. Sometimes, they were really mean.

“Okay,” Blayne ordered. “That is
it
.” She glared at Gwen. “This is the opening to our friend's club, and you are not going to start a fight.” Gwen hissed a little, but she settled back onto Lock's lap.

Blayne faced the fox, held out her hand. “Hi. I'm Blayne. Nice to meet you.”

The fox blinked painfully bright gold eyes in surprise. “Um . . . hi.” She gazed at Blayne's hand and, finally, took it. It was a short shake, but Blayne meant it. “I'm Sami. Nice to meet you, too.”

“Would you like to join us for drinks?”

Studying Blayne closely, the fox suddenly grinned and shook her head. “You know, I'm going to check on my mate. But I'm sure that Bo would love to stay for drinks.” Somehow her smile grew. “It's been really nice meeting you, Blayne.”

“You, too.”

The fox sashayed off, patting Novikov's arm as she passed. Gwen's eyes narrowed as she watched her, and Blayne said, “What part of ‘let it go' are we not grasping?”

“I don't like her. And I'm in the mood for a good fight.”

“No more Guinness for you,” Blayne said, snatching the half-drunk glass away from her friend.

“Do you want to lose that paw, canine?”

“
Be nice!
” Blayne bellowed.

It was grudging, but Gwen settled down even while the rest of the predators around them watched Blayne closely.
Sure. The drunk tigon is no threat, but the sober wolfdog—watch out!

Annoyed by the hypocrisy, Blayne tossed the glass onto a tray held by a passing waitress before dropping onto the couch next to Ric. Relaxing back, she realized Novikov was still standing there. And—still staring.

“Sit,” she said, motioning to an empty spot on the U-shaped couch. And yes, she did expect him to take the spot she pointed out. Especially since he didn't seem to be one of those purposely contrary types. But what she didn't expect was to suddenly have a tight bear-cat ass shoving its way between her and Ric.

 

 

Once Bo had forced his way between Blayne and Van Holtz, he felt much better. He didn't appreciate the way the wolf and Blayne had sat so close together, Van Holtz's arm around the back of her portion of the couch. A little too proprietary in Bo's estimation. So he sat between them.

Blayne squeaked a little as she moved out of his way, and Van Holtz hit the floor since he'd been sitting right on the edge. The wolf glared up at him and Bo gazed back, sipping his beer. He figured that was the end of it until Blayne punched his shoulder.

“Apologize,” she ordered him.

“For what?”

“You knocked him on the floor. Are you really that rude?”

“It seems that the answer to that would be yes.”

“I'm fine, Blayne.” Van Holtz managed to get to his own big wolf feet without any help from Bo. “I think I'll get another drink. I'll be back.”

He walked off and Blayne hit Bo again.

“What now?”

“This is your fault.”

“What's my fault?”

“Ric being upset.”

“It's not like he ran off to the girls' room crying.”

“Would you care if he had?”

“Other than to laugh? Probably not.”

Blayne turned on the couch to face him, pulling her legs up so she sat on her knees. “How can I help you if you act this way?”

“Help me? Help me with what?”

“Help with
you
.” She waved her hand around his face. “The poor, pathetic, lonely, rich superstar athlete that
you
are.”

Bo glanced over at the grizzly and tigon sitting across from them. “She's serious,” the tigon mouthed to him, making Bo sigh.

“I'm a good person,” Blayne said earnestly, pressing her hand to her chest. “And because I'm a good person, I have friends. And I want you to have friends. But that won't happen if you go around knocking wolves to the floor. Wolves are not to be toyed with just because you can.” She held up her finger, “Hold that thought,” and spun around on her knees so that she faced the back of the couch. “Hey, Dee-Ann!” Blayne screeched across the club. “
Dee-Ann!
You're not leaving already are you? Sit here!
Here!
We still have room!
Dee! Annnnn!
”

With his left ear ringing, Bo watched as some She-wolf stalked off into the crowd while Blayne returned to her original position, facing Bo. “Now . . . where was I?”

“If I want to be a good person like you, I can't toy with wolves just because I can.”

“Right!” Again she pressed her palm to her chest, appearing superbly innocent. “I'm here to help you. Let me.”

 

 

“Dee-Ann, wait!”

Dee-Ann kept walking until a strong hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “Please.”

“I'm done, hoss. I am
done.
”

“It's not that easy and we both know that.”

“Find somebody else. I can't deal with her.” She tried to walk out the front exit, but Van Holtz pulled her down a hallway and into a private room, recently vacated from the heavy scent of feline sex still lingering.

“You can't walk away from this,” Van Holtz told her once he'd closed the door. “Blayne needs you.”

“What that wolfdog needs is heavy medication.”

“Look, let's just talk. Okay? For a second.”

Van Holtz sat down on the couch, and Dee said, “Whoever was on that couch before ya just fucked there.”

The wolf stood right back up. “So we'll stand.” He took a breath. “You can't let her get to you like this. You know Blayne. She just wants everyone to have a good time. To be happy.”

What would make Dee-Ann happy was Blayne Thorpe's head over her daddy's mantel right next to the twelve-point buck he'd taken down in his younger days.
That
would make Dee-Ann happy. Continually discussing one pain-in-the-ass wolfdog, however, would not.

Lord, if they were all like Blayne, Dee-Ann wouldn't help one of them. But thankfully, they weren't all like Blayne. In fact, she'd been meeting some real interesting ones lately. Hybrids with real potential who didn't waste her time by being idiotic and embarrassing in public.

“Don't need Blayne Thorpe to make me happy. Just need her to shut her mouth and wait quietly to be snatched up by scumbags. Don't think I'm askin' too much here.”

“I think we both know it won't be that easy.”

“Well, I can't take much more of her craziness.”

“I know. I know. We'll discuss it at the next team meeting. Okay?”

“As ya like. But I guess I don't know why you don't just take her home with you. Make her yours and she falls under the protection of your kin. Nothing they can do about it.”

The wolf gazed at her a long moment before he finally asked, “Make Blayne mine? You mean . . . you mean mark Blayne?”

Dee-Ann did what her daddy always did when asked a stupid question. Said nothing and waited until the person figured out on their own they asked a stupid question. And, sure enough, the wolf caught on quick, his whole body going kind of tense.

“I can't mark Blayne. She's like a sister to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I can assure you, Dee-Ann, my interest in Blayne is strictly friendship. I have . . . other interests.”

Whatever that meant. Although Dee-Ann didn't care one way or the other. Her biggest concern right now was getting Blayne Thorpe off her radar for good. But until that happened, she had a way around being Blayne's daily watchdog. Normally, Dee-Ann would inform her commanding officers of changes she'd made, but the Group wasn't the Marines and Ulrich Van Holtz wasn't her commanding officer. He was just a rich boy with a powerful uncle who liked him. So Dee would do what she'd been doing for months . . . running the show her way without bothering to let Van Holtz know about it. Why bother? The boy was as useless as tits on a bull, but he still made sure she got paid on time, and she did like getting that money. It was more than she'd thought and much more than she needed, even in this ridiculous city, but it was nice actually having a retirement fund. Especially since she'd never had one before.

“Understand?” he asked.

“Yeah. Sure.”
Whatever.
She didn't understand males. He didn't seem to mind that Blayne was a hybrid and they made a cute couple. Besides, if he wasn't careful, that big buck of a hockey player would snatch little Blayne right out from under Mr. Society. One look and Dee-Ann could tell that Novikov didn't play by anyone's rules but his own. And the way he watched that little gal . . . well, when Dee's daddy thought no one was looking he still stared at her momma the same way Novikov was watching Blayne.

But in the long scheme of things, it wasn't Dee's problem. If Van Holtz wanted to lose out on his chance with that idiot that was his problem.

Figuring the conversation was over, Dee walked out, ignoring the “Where the hell did she go?” that followed.

 

 

When the two boars stared at each other for way too long in Blayne's estimation, she grabbed Novikov's hand and pulled him away from the couch and Lock MacRyrie.

To her surprise, he followed her without complaint, and she led him up two floors until she got to the “Mood Room” level. Mellow tech music and low lights for those who had no tolerance for the exact opposite, Blayne had a feeling this was the perfect place for Bo Novikov. He didn't seem remotely comfortable near the dance floor, and she doubted he'd do much better on the gaming floor or in the karaoke room where she knew she'd find the entire Kuznetsov Pack. It was clear Jess didn't come to the opening. If she had, she'd be working every floor to make sure the event went off without the slightest hitch. But she was seriously pregnant and kind of miserable at the moment, so the opening of a Manhattan shifter club was not a good idea for her. She was much better off home and comfortable with her mate.

Thankfully, though, it looked as if the club was off to an excellent start, and giving shifters choices like the Mood Room was a very smart move.

Still holding Novikov's hand, Blayne went deep into the Mood Room, trying to find a table or booth. Everything was taken at the moment, and when she arrived at the last booth at the very end of the room, she stopped and glanced at the three male lions sitting in it. She was trying to guesstimate when they might be done and leave when the three males gazed past her and up. Blayne looked up at Novikov just as he tilted his head toward the exit. It was a slight move, barely noticeable if she hadn't been looking right at him, but holy shit did those lions move! Blayne stepped back as the felines took their drinks and escaped, their gazes now focused on the floor in front of them.