The Mane Squeeze Page 3

  Well, Gwen O’Neill wasn’t going out like that.

  She started twisting and swiping at him with her claws. She could feel fur-covered flesh being ripped off, and although he never once lashed back at her, he didn’t let her go, either—until he got slammed into by the full force of a six-hundred-pound male lion.

  Gwen went down with them, but the bear had to turn his attention to the lion trying to kill him and removed his arms from around her waist. Relieved, Gwen scrambled away as the two beasts fought. It was brutal, bloody, and ugly—she enjoyed every second of it, too, until that multicolored long-furred wolfdog came running up to her, barking and barking until she shifted into a black woman who had a tendency to blame Gwen for everything. So, in a way, she was still barking, when she said, “What the hell are you doing? Stop them!”

  “I shouldn’t interfere,” Gwen said blandly, as two apex predators fought to the death behind her.

  “Gwen,” Blayne chastised, her caring dog side out there on display, “he saved your life. I saw it. Now stop them!”

  Gwen and Blayne had met in what Gwen still referred to as prison but others called Catholic school. Ninth grade detention specifically. After a rocky introduction, they’d been best and inseparable friends ever since, with more in common than people realized and a bond that was stronger than anyone dare risk trying to come between—as quite a few males had learned throughout the years.

  And yet, none of that stopped Gwen from torturing Blayne when the opportunity presented itself…like now.

  Giving a helpless shrug, Gwen said, “It’s really none of my business.”

  “Gwendolyn O’Neill!”

  She blinked. “Ma? Is that you?”

  Blayne pushed her shoulder, so Gwen pushed her back.

  Blayne’s mouth dropped open. “Don’t push me.”

  “You pushed me first.”

  So Blayne pushed her again and Gwen pushed her back.

  “Don’t test me, Gwen,” Blayne warned. So Gwen pushed her again, this time using both hands and putting a little more “shove” in her push than she had before.

  “So what ya gonna do? Huh?” Gwen gleefully taunted, ignoring the brutal pain in her calf and the blood pooling at her feet. “What are ya gonna do?”

  And like she did that first time they met in detention all those years ago, Blayne Thorpe grabbed Gwen’s hair and yanked like she was yanking weeds out of her garden.

  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 Gweni
e, 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 tight against his chest and Blayne beside him.

  “You didn’t back down from him at all,” Blayne whispered, her eyes wide in awe.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because he’s the always-dominant male lion.”

  “Yeah. And I can use his thighbone to pick my teeth.”

  Laughing, Blayne patted his arm as they all headed to the medical center.

  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.”

  “I’ll have to keep that in mind,” the cat practically snarled.

  Lock studied the cat for a long moment before finally asking, “Do I know you?”

  The She-wolf leaned forward a bit and whispered, “You kind of slapped him around at Jessie Ann Ward’s wedding.”

  Lock snapped his fingers. “You!”

  “He didn’t slap me around,” the lion barked. “He assaulted me.”

  “You came at me from behind.”

  “You were near my sister!” As if that alone was a crime.

  “I was talking to her. That is allowed, ya know?”

  “Not in my world, it’s not!”

  As the two predators glared at each other across the room, Blayne suddenly sat up straight and said, “Uh-oh.”

  He didn’t know if it was her tone or the expression on her face, but Lock’s entire body tensed.

  “She’s awake,” Blayne said simply.

  Lock knew then something was very wrong.

  Gwen’s nose twitched, the smell of antiseptic nearly causing her to gag. Then she heard those telltale sounds—a high-pitched beeping, steadily going up; the tear of plastic on hygienically maintained bandages and equipment; and the gruff orders of medical personnel.

  Her eyes opened and an older coyote female smiled down at her. “Hello, Miss O’Neill. Everything is okay. I’m Dr. Davis and you’re going to be just fi—ack!”

  She heard the nurses and other doctors yelling, but all she could focus on was how this murderer, this coyote savage was about to kill her! About to cut her open and remove her organs!

  Die, doctor! Die!

  Strong hands tried to pry her off the coyote’s throat but she’d never let her go.

  “No one’s killing me and taking my organs!” she screamed.