The Mane Squeeze. Shelly Laurenston

      The lion had managed to get him on his back, his paw raised above Lock’s head, while Lock was moments from throwing him off and then batting him around the river until he was nothing more than a gold furry ball of flesh.

      Unfortunately, both males were distracted by the screaming, naked women fighting while a She-wolf quietly watched from a distance and scratched her ear with her back leg.

      Normally Lock would be right there with that She-wolf, watching two really attractive naked women fighting while scratching parts of himself he couldn’t reach as human, but he was still worried about Mr. Mittens’s calf and yes, if he had his way, he’d call her Mr. Mittens until the end of time.

      Shoving the lion off him, Lock stood and shifted. He stalked over as the feline brought up her hands, her claws unleashing and the other female—a canine from the scent of her—covered her face, screaming, “Not the house cat, Gwen! Not the house cat!”

      Not even wanting to hazard a guess at what the hell the canine might be talking about, he grabbed both females around the waist and yanked them apart.

      “Stop it! Both of you!”

      “She started—”

      “You started—”

      “I don’t want to hear it!” he roared, silencing them immediately. “Again with the fighting?” he said to Gwen. “What the hell are you thinking? Your leg is hurt, or did you conveniently forget that part?”

      “You’re hurt?” the other demanded, looking guilty when she really shouldn’t. “Gwen, why didn’t you tell me?

      “It’s not that bad.”

      Lock released the canine. “We need to get this one—” he jostled Gwen a bit, much to her annoyance “—to a hospital. She refuses to go, I’m taking her anyway.”

      The other female placed her hands on her hips, her much shorter, less well-treated nails tapping against her waist in the same way the feline’s had. “Again with this, Gwenie? Again with this bullshit?”

      “I’m not going,” the feline said calmly and with much certainty.

      “Yes, you are,” Lock told her.

      “Oh, no, I’m not.”

      The canine put her hand on Lock’s arm. “It’s all right,” she said. “Let’s just get her back to the house and clean up that wound ourselves.”

      Lock scowled, not liking that idea, because he knew how bad the wound was, but the canine gave him the tiniest wink. He almost missed it.

      “Okay, Gwenie?” the canine asked, smiling.

      “Yeah. That’s fine.”

      “Great.”

      Lock began to release Gwen, but a quick shake of the canine’s head had him stopping and, instead, he tightened his grip. The feline looked down at his arm and then her head snapped up to look at the wolfdog.

      “Blayne Thorpe, don’t even think—”

      The canine, Blayne, took her friend out with a beautiful right cross to Gwen’s jaw. The impact of the hit so strong, Lock was forced to take a step back in order to keep the woman in his arms. He hadn’t seen a punch like that since he was a recruit in training.

      Lock gaped down at Blayne. She had this innocent look to her with that beautiful brown skin and those full cheeks with deep dimples that flashed every time she smiled. And yet…

      “You hit her.”

      “Of course I hit her,” she said, shaking out her hand and wincing. “Although she’s got a jaw like granite. But if we tried to take her to the hospital wide awake, she would have put up one hell of a fight. Now we can just lift her up and go.”

      Lock sighed. “I forgot.”

      “Forgot what?”

      “Philly logic.”

      Blayne laughed and patted his forearm. “Let’s get her to the hospital before she wakes up.”

      Lock lifted Gwen in his arms and turned, but found an alley cat in his way. “Don’t I know you?” Lock asked, feeling like he’d met the man before.

      “Give her to me.”

      Turning away with his prize, Lock shook his head. “No. Get your own cat.”

      “She’s my sister.”

      Lock looked at the Asian feline in his arms and at the Anglo lion standing across from him, seething. “You don’t look related,” he said flatly.

      “It’s complicated.” When Lock merely stared at him, he added, “I’m the half-brother of her half—”

      “Stop,” Lock cut in, remembering that impossible family tree, and in no mood to hear it again. “Look, I’ve got her, I’m carrying her, and I’m taking her to the hospital. So you can back off and let me do what I’m going to do, or you can get your ass kicked and I’m still going to do what I’m going to do. Your choice.”

      Lock saw a flash of lion fang, but the She-wolf who’d been sitting off to the side and watching all this time leaped between them, going up on her hind legs, her front paws landing on the big cat’s shoulders as she shifted from canine to human. “Now, darlin’,” she said in an accent Lock found kind of irritating, “you gettin’ all upset ain’t gonna help our Gwenie one little bit. We’ll let him carry her and we’ll be right behind ’em the whole way.”

      The lion leaned down a bit and whispered, “But she’s naked.”

      Oh, yes. She was. And Lock was enjoying every second of it. She had the softest skin, and with her being so much smaller than he was, he could rub her all over his body like a loofah sponge. He wouldn’t…but he could.

      “Darlin’, we’re all shifters here,” the She-wolf stroked the cat’s shoulders. “Now don’t you worry, we won’t let anything happen to our Gwenie.” The She-wolf looked over her shoulder at Lock and smiled. “You won’t let anything happen to our Gwenie, will you, Mr…. uh?”

      “MacRyrie.”

      “Will you, Mr. MacRyrie?”

      “Nope. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

      “Good.” She patted the lion’s chest. “See? She’ll be fine, Shaw. Let’s just get this done—okay?”

      The cat sighed, but nodded his head. “Okay. But I’m not happy about it.”

      Lock walked off with Gwen