Authors: Shelly Laurenston
“Do me a favor,” Vic said to Shen. “Check on Melly.”
“Because she’s smelly?” He laughed at his joke.
“Shen—”
“I’ve got it,” he said, heading for the stairs. “I’ve got it.”
Vic walked through the house, greeting those he knew, nodding at those he didn’t but who looked like they might come over to talk to him if he didn’t nod.
He’d never been a fan of crowds. Small dinner parties were more his speed. Quiet discourse over good food. But this sort of thing just made Vic nervous. He’d been caught in too many out-of-control crowd situations during his time in the military.
And something told him that—for different reasons—Livy felt the same.
“Vic! Vic!”
Vic turned and saw Toni making her way through the crush of bodies. Once she reached him, she placed her hand on his arm, and Vic leaned over so she could say into his ear, “You know where to find her, Vic.”
He stared at Toni a moment, then smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Vic cut through the crowd and headed into the kitchen.
“Vic!” the badgers cheered, bottles of snake poison–infused vodka spread out on the island along with what he was guessing was snake jerky.
“Hi.”
“Vodka?” Balt offered.
“Nyet.”
The badgers laughed at his quick use of Russian, not realizing he always fell back on the first language he’d learned when he was particularly stressed out.
Vic walked to the high cabinet where he and Livy had stashed their favorite honeys, out of easy reach of her family. He opened the door and Livy—thankfully fully dressed this time—glared at him until she recognized Vic.
“Where the holy fuck have you been?”
Vic didn’t answer; he just put down the bag he carried and reached in for Livy. He pulled her out of the cabinet, dropped her over his shoulder, retrieved the bag, and escaped out the sliding kitchen doors.
Livy didn’t complain that she’d been tossed over a man’s shoulder like some sort of deer trophy. She was just glad to be out of that house with so many goddamn people.
What happened to the small party Blayne had talked about? “Just a few friends,” she’d said. Lying wolfdog!
Livy loathed crowds unless she had her camera. Her camera gave her a wonderful feeling of apart-ness that nothing else did. She felt safe with a camera in front of her. But her camera was in pieces in a trash can. So she’d ended up feeling completely naked with everyone talking to her, trying to hug her, trying to show affection. Yeah, yeah, they were happy to see her alive. That was great. That did
not
mean they had to touch her.
Toni had tried to help her stay at the party, but eventually her friend came to the same conclusion that Livy had—without a camera, all Livy wanted to do was start killing people. Eventually Toni had distracted everyone by giving Blayne a sugar-filled drink but telling her it was sugar-free. By the time the wolfdog was doing backflips across the living room floor, Livy was able to slip into the cabinet and away from everyone.
Until Vic.
He’d come, and like a knight in shining armor, he’d rescued her from all the annoying singing, dancing, and general enjoyment everyone was feeling, carrying her off into the wooded area around Novikov’s house.
She’d never been so grateful before. And yes, that included the time Novikov and MacRyrie saved her life. Getting shot was one thing, but being social and friendly was “a whole ’nother,” as her father used to say.
Finally, Vic stopped and placed her by a tree, the full moon giving their predator eyes enough light to see everything.
“Are you all right?” Vic asked, crouching in front of her.
Livy responded by throwing herself into his arms. “Thank God, you came!”
“How did this happen?”
“It was Blayne’s fault,” Livy couldn’t help but spit out. “Since we were going to miss her stupid bachelor and bachelorette party. As if I’d have gone to that little event in the first place.”
“You went to karaoke.”
Livy pulled back and relaxed against the tree. “That was your fault.”
“True.”
She let out a relieved breath, finally feeling free again. “Everything go okay?”
“Everything went fine.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re back.”
Vic sat down across from her. “I brought you something.”
She smiled. “Honey?”
“Don’t you have enough honey?”
“I kind of ate most of it while I was in the cabinet. Especially after I heard my mother shout, ‘Let’s do the hustle!’ Honestly, is my life not hard enough right now?”
“Apparently not.”
“So, what did you bring me then, if not honey? Diamonds? A fancy watch? A small child I can use as slave labor?”
“You don’t wear jewelry, so that takes out the diamonds and watches. And you don’t seem to like children unless they’re prodigies.”
“Stupid children bore me.”
“So I brought you this instead.” He placed a large paper bag with handles next to her. Livy dug into the bag and let out a sigh. She gazed at Vic a moment before saying, “You magnificent bastard.”
Vic watched her pull out the boxes, handling each one with a reverence he’d only seen from holy men at the Russian Orthodox church he’d visited in Moscow when he was trying to track down a contact.
Livy looked at everything for a very long time until she finally said, “You got me a camera.”
“The guy at the store said it was the best. Now, before you think, okay, they saw a sucker coming, Grigori recommended the store. And they knew Grigori recommended it, so they wouldn’t risk pissing him off.”
“Vic . . . I can’t take this. It must have cost you a fortune.”
“Grigori-friend discount, which apparently translates into fifty percent off. And after seeing the price tag . . . I’m very grateful for that fifty percent.” Again, Livy didn’t say anything for a very long time. “Is it okay? Because I’d kind of hate to take it back after the discount and all—”
“It’s perfect. It’s a pro camera. The best Nikon makes. One step above the one that got destroyed.”
“Good. I did remember your brand. Just not the model number or anything. If you want, you can put it together now and then go back to the party.”
Livy’s head came up and she looked at him. “Huh?”
“I know you hate crowds without your camera. Unless, of course,” he felt the need to add, “you’re jousting bears. Because you’re
that
ridiculous. And no, I’m not letting that go.”
“Fuck,” Livy said as she buried her face in her hands.
“What? What’s wrong?”
She looked at him. Actually, it was more of a scowl. She scowled at him.
“I’m in love with you,” Livy snapped. “And it’s your fucking fault.”
“Uh . . . sorry?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Well . . . if it makes you feel better, I’m in love with you, too.”
“As a matter of fact, it
doesn’t
make me feel better. Do you know why?”
“Not a clue.”
“Because love is a trap. Just ask my parents.”
“But your parents were divorced.”
“Several times, apparently. But no matter how many times they were divorced, they were always together. Why? Because they were madly in love. Like idiots.”
“Maybe that’s how
they
love. We’re different.”
“I am tainted by their bloodline.”
“You’re not tainted. I’m not tainted by my parents.”
“And how do you figure that?”
“I can’t saunter into a room and make everyone in there want to have sex with me or kill me like my mother. But I can have a conversation in a tone of voice that doesn’t travel through several states . . . unlike my father. And although you have a mean streak a mile wide just like your mother, you seem to only use it on Blayne. And like your father, you do seem to like a good fight, but you only seem to enjoy fighting Melly . . . and beehives. And to me that means we can love each other any way we want to. Even like normal people.”
“You mean normal people who have a mouthful of fangs and a prehensile tail.”
“You like my tail.”
“I also like my mouthful of fangs . . . that doesn’t make us normal.”
“Well,” Vic asked, since he was at a complete loss, “do you want to go back inside?”
“No,” she snapped, “I want to stay out here by this stupid giant tree and fuck.” Livy threw up her hands. “See? Pathetic.”
“You’re a very hard woman to understand sometimes.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” she accused. “You understand me better than anybody.”
“And that irritates the hell out of you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes! Because I’ll rely on you now. You’ll always mean something to me. You’ll be important in my life. My
art
is the only thing that should be important. Love is just this fucking distraction. It destroys good art.”
“Only if you let it, which you won’t because you are selfish enough not to.”
Livy nodded. “That’s a good point. And you travel a lot, so I won’t come home every day to find you sitting on the couch, waiting for me to be there, so you can annoy me with your attention and affection.”
“God forbid.”
“Yeah,”
Livy said, not quite getting the sarcasm.
“But, hey, you never know. We could still get killed. We’re not finished yet.”
“But we both know that’s bullshit. I’m a honey badger. And you’re just . . . freaky.”
“Thank you.”
She sighed as if she’d realized the worst thing imaginable. “We’re going to be together and in love forever, aren’t we?”
“Probably.”
“That’s so fucking typical of my life,” she spat out. “I can never get a break.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No. I’m not.” Vic leaned down and pressed his forehead against Livy’s. “Can you say it again?”
“I don’t want to. No. That’s not true. I do want to, but I shouldn’t want to.”
“Say it anyway. For me.”
She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“See? Why do you have to be so mean?”
Laughing, Vic hugged Livy tight. “Sorry. That must be the feline mean streak I got from my mother.”
“Probably.”
Finally getting past all those people, Shen peeked into the makeshift art studio and found Melly doing what she’d been doing since she’d been given the job to create a perfect Matisse . . . she was sitting and staring.
An arm reached around him and softly closed the door. The arm belonged to Jocelyn.
He started to say something, but Jocelyn shook her head, one finger against her lips. She took his arm and pulled him down the hallway.
“I don’t want to doubt you guys, but . . . she’s just sitting there, staring. That’s all she’s been doing.”
“She’ll start when she’s ready.”
“We don’t have a lot of time.”
“There are some things you can’t rush.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You, understandably, may not have faith in that crazy bitch. But you can have faith in us. We’ve been doing this sort of thing for a very long time. We know what we’re doing.”
“I really hope you’re right. There’s a lot riding on this.”
“Trust me, sweetie. That I do know. Livy and Jake are the only cousins I haven’t actively tried to kill or dismember.” She thought a moment. “Well, definitely haven’t tried to kill.”
The orgasm eased through Livy slowly, almost languidly, but it was more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced because it was with someone she loved.
When the last wave passed, she dropped onto Vic’s chest and his big arms surrounded her, and held her close while his tail stroked her back and eventually curled around her thigh. She hated him a little for making her feel so safe. But it was just a little hate.
They lay under that tree, not bothering to speak. Something Livy adored about Vic. No postcoital chattiness. She loathed analyzing sex that had happened just seconds before. Thankfully, Vic didn’t need to confirm his sexual prowess by grilling her on how it all went. Instead, she knew he was probably thinking about food—as was she. The problem was whether to go back to the house to get food or ignore their growling stomachs until everyone eventually left.
Yet before they could debate the pros and cons of both alternatives, Vic suddenly turned on his side, Livy going with him. He raised his head as he sniffed the air.
“Vic?”
He began to growl. A low, rumbling noise that rolled through Livy; his lips curling and twitching; his body tense and trembling.
“Vic?”
Staring off toward the house, Vic let out a snarl and he suddenly released Livy. He scrambled to his feet and shifted, his body going from big to enormous. Livy was forced to scramble away so she didn’t get crushed by his giant ass.
Vic took off toward the house, and Livy grabbed her clothes and ran after him. She came out of the trees just as Vic locked on to his only natural foe—and charged him.
The two hybrid predators collided in midair, Livy immediately forgetting she was still naked as she watched Victor Barinov go ridiculously-sized claw to ridiculously-sized fang with Bo Novikov.
Someone grabbed Livy around the waist and carried her over to stand with the crowd of predators watching the battle.
“Don’t worry,” Lock said as he placed her down and quickly released her. “This is just play fighting. Now that they’ve both gotten lai—” Lock stopped, eyed Livy. “Now that they’ve both had some one-on-one time with their women,” he revised.
Bears. So damn polite.
“Play fighting?” Livy asked. “Seriously?”
“I know it doesn’t look it. But I think . . . because they can’t really do this with anyone else without killing them . . . they’re doing it now with each other.”
“What is going on with Novikov’s fangs?” Livy wanted to know. “Are those tusks?”
“They’re not
tusks,
” Blayne argued, pushing past Lock. “They’re fangs. Like the mighty saber-toothed cat of yore.”
“It is like watching
Jurassic Park,
” Livy’s mother muttered.
“And before we start throwing stones,” Blayne said, the most-likely-sugar-filled drink in her hand giving her a lot of bravado, “let’s talk about that tail good ol’ Vic is rocking there.”