The Mane Squeeze. Shelly Laurenston

      She looked up from her mystery novel and watched as the younger members of her Pack limped and yelped their way back to the cars. She knew those two hybrids couldn’t have done this much damage. Then again, maybe they weren’t as alone as she’d first thought.

      It was an O’Neill she’d sent the younger members of her Pack after. She knew it was an O’Neill as soon as she’d seen the pickup truck by the Macon River pier that morning with the family name stenciled on both doors, and when she’d seen that the female getting out of the driver’s side was Asian, she’d known without a doubt it was Roxy O’Neill’s half-breed spawn. Years of hatred had welled up nicely, and she didn’t even bother trying to let it go. Sometimes things were simply too perfect to pass up.

      Too bad she’d relied on others for what she could have easily done by herself.

      Her daughter came forward, probably not wanting to shift back to human until she knew her mother’s mood. As usual, she seemed to have the least amount of damage, which was typical since she took after her mother and knew, instinctively, how to hit fast and strong while avoiding any real injury to herself.

      Behind her daughter was that useless boyfriend of hers. A plotting little fucker, always up to something. No use complaining, though. He brought in money and that was something that made it easier to overlook his major flaws. She knew, though, watching him, that he was up to something again. That he was plotting again. He stopped, staring back the way they’d come. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, wondering what was going on in that dense head of his.

      Closing her book, she said to her daughter now standing in front of her, “Let me guess…you got your asses kicked by two freaks.”

      And when her daughter’s head quickly turned away, eyes gazing off—she knew she was right.

      CHAPTER 3

      “Mind telling me what happened?” The lion sounded gruff and angry when he spoke to Blayne, who Lock now knew was a wolfdog hybrid, but she didn’t seem to notice the cat’s tone or to mind it.

      Blayne grinned. “Oh, no. I don’t mind telling you!”

      Lock finished pulling on the hospital scrubs given to him by one of the nurses. He was grateful the medical center employed bears, because they had his size in stock. Nothing was quite as embarrassing as putting on pants that ended up looking like he was wearing knickerbockers. But as he pulled the green-colored shirt down his torso and shook his hair out of his eyes, he noticed that Blayne had yet to answer.

      She was still smiling at the lion, while the lion and She-wolf sitting across the small waiting room near the front doors of the center were staring back.

      Lock watched, fascinated, as the mutual staring went on for nearly a minute before the lion barked, “Well?”

      Blayne jumped, her smile fading. “Well what?”

      Gold eyes turned to him and Lock shrugged. What did the cat expect him to do?

      The She-wolf, Ronnie Lee Reed—said in an annoying, almost singsong way, as if it was one single name, “ronnieleereed”—placed her hand on the cat’s arm while asking the wolfdog, “What happened, darlin’?”

      “We got jumped.” Blayne paused, thought a moment. “Actually, I got jumped. Then Gwenie got in the middle of it and it turned into a street fight, which was kind of fun because we haven’t been in the middle of one of those in a long time. We’ve been trying to be less McFighty the last few years,” she said to Lock. “But it turned nasty fast, which really sucks, because I didn’t actually do anything wrong to deserve getting slapped around. I mean a girl is minding her own business, trying to catch a squirrel, and then she’s jumped for no good reason other than someone’s political agenda—”

      Blayne abruptly stopped talking when the cat snarled at her.

      Lock understood the cat’s frustration. It seemed he felt responsible for Gwen or Gwenie or whatever the hell the feline’s name was, and took it personally that she’d been hurt. Still, there were better ways to handle a skittish wolfdog, and snarling at her wasn’t it.

      Dropping into the chair beside Blayne, Lock cringed when the plastic squealed in protest. Sure, the center may have scrubs and operating tables big enough for bears, but they hadn’t planned far enough for their chairs. But his reaction got Blayne to laugh a little, and he knew that would help.

      “See how they treat the grizzlies?” he asked, smiling with her.

      “At least it didn’t break.”

      “Thanks. That makes me feel much better.” She giggled a little more. “Did you know the wolves that jumped you?” he asked casually, but directly. He could tell that being direct with Blayne was important if he wanted direct back.

      She shook her head, her smile again fading as she thought carefully on her answer. “No, but…”

      “But?”

      Her brows pulled down and Lock could see that she was remembering the whole fight. Of course, he could remember the fight by simply looking at her face, arms, and feet. She had bruises and cuts, but none like Gwen’s wound. Meaning Gwen had pissed someone off. Although, it wasn’t really a stretch for him to see how she could do that.

      “Earlier today we went down to the pier to hang out a bit—we used to go there every summer when we were younger—and there were lots of wolves. They may have locked on to us from there. The scents may have been the same, but I’m not sure.” She gave a frustrated little pout. “Yeah. I’m not sure.”

      “That’s okay,” Lock assured her.

      “But the She-wolf who jumped me,” Blayne went on, “she came after me like I fucked her father or something.”

      Lock snorted, then laughed. “But you…uh…didn’t?”

      Her smile came and went and came back again so easily, even as she wiped blood out of her eye, that Lock found her interesting and very sweet. “No. I’m not into the older sugar daddy-younger girl thing. But I’ve always had a father figure in my life. I call him Dad. So maybe that has a lot to do with why I can resist the temptation. I often go for unemployed losers my own age instead.”

      “Would you know any of that Pack if you saw them again?”

      “Maybe.”

      “Wouldn’t you know them if you saw them again?” the cat asked Lock, although Lock sensed there was definite sneering behind that question.

      “Not necessarily,” Lock answered honestly. “I was asleep and they woke me up.”

      “That was Gwen,” Blayne filled in, answering the question that had been bothering Lock since he’d recognized Gwen’s face as she hung off that cliff. “She aimed right for you. I thought she’d lost her mind, especially when she bit your big grizzly hump.” Blayne blinked and then, slowly—and in a pathetic attempt at nonchalance—leaned back, trying to see between Lock’s shoulder blades.

      Lock leaned back with her and said, “It’s not nearly as prominent when I’m human, Blayne.”

      She quickly sat forward. “I wasn’t…I mean…I was only…um…”

      “When I get startled awake,” Lock went on to the lion and She-wolf, trying not to chuckle at Blayne’s embarrassment, “I wake up swinging and anything in my way gets slapped around.”

      “How nice for your friends and family.” And there went that sneer again.

      “My friends and family know how to ease me out of my slumber.” He glanced at Blayne. “Coffee’s always good. Croissants with honey on the side, even better.”