“I’m telling you—cute. Adorable!”
“Blayne, forget it.”
Blayne sighed. “Okay. You’re probably right.”
“Do you really think that pouty-face move is going to work on me?” Jess asked. “I perfected it.”
“What about two pouty faces?” Ric rested his chin on Blayne’s shoulder and blinked big brown eyes at Jess. “Will that work?”
“What are you doing?”
“I have no idea.” Ric grinned. “But I have to say that I’m completely in for the ride.”
“But this is my Lock,” Jess argued. “I mean…who is she?”
Now it was Blayne’s turn to gasp in outrage. “Are you implying my Gwenie isn’t good enough for your bear?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it. Out loud.”
“Breedist!”
“I am not!”
“Breed-ist!”
While the two females snarled viciously at each other, Ric grabbed a stick from the ground and waved it between Jess and Blayne. “Look! Look! A stick! Who wants it? Who wants it? Go get it!” He threw the stick and Jess and Blayne watched it flip across the forest floor. Once it landed, they looked back at Ric.
“Dude,” Jess told him, “that was just rude.”
Niles Van Holtz, Alpha of the Van Holtz Pack, briefly glanced up from the pan he was scrubbing. “Hold on.”
His assistant watched him for several long minutes until Van was satisfied the pan was perfectly clean. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was crud on his dishes and cookware.
“What is it?” he finally asked while carefully drying the pan with a clean cloth.
“There was a territorial breach on Van Holtz property. Another Pack.”
“Which property?”
“East Coast. Macon River Falls.”
“Uh-huh.”
He certainly hoped there was more to it than a simple territorial breach for his assistant to come in on his day off. Especially if it involved his cousin Alder’s New York-New Jersey territories. As it was, Van didn’t involve himself in the day-to-day operations of his cousins’ territories and sub-Packs. He made the assumption that those who’d fought their way to the top could manage. Besides, the only thing he liked to micromanage was his restaurants, his kitchen, and his delicious wife when they were in bed. Any other time, she wouldn’t tolerate it, and he couldn’t be bothered.
“There were injuries.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough we were given a heads-up by the medical staff. And there’s something else.”
He hoped so because right now it didn’t sound like anything his idiot cousin couldn’t handle.
Van hung the now-dry pan from the rack over his counter before he faced his assistant. “And what’s that?”
“The ones that were attacked were hybrids.”
Van sneered. No, his cousin couldn’t handle this. Or maybe Van should say that Alder wouldn’t handle this, his opinion on hybrids having been made quite clear over the years. Yet Van understood what his cousin didn’t when it came to hybrids—an attack was rarely just an attack when mixed breeds were involved. “Get my cousin on the phone.”
His assistant sighed. “Which cousin, sir? At last count, you had—”
“I know how many cousins I have.” And why did he allow his wife to hire his assistants? They were all like her in tone but without the added benefit of a great ass and genius-level IQ. “Get me Ulrich out of New York on his cell and put him through to my office.”
Cousin Alder wouldn’t like it, but it was time to see what Alder’s youngest boy, or as Alder liked to call him, the “useless, worthless, prissy boy” was truly made of.
CHAPTER 6
Gwen sat on the top stair of the porch, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin resting in the palm of her hands. She stared off into the woods.
She stared and she sulked. She hated when she sulked.
As it grew later, finally drawing to a close this hellish day, Blayne sat down beside her, resting her elbows on her knees, her chin in the palm of her hands. She stayed silent a good five minutes, which for Blayne was pretty much a record.
“What’s wrong?” Blayne finally asked.
“Nothing,” Gwen answered. “I’m just sitting here. Staring.” Maybe hoping a bear would wander out of the woods to say “hi and I’m sorry I broke my promise.”
“How’s the leg?”
“Healing.” Although it did feel like rats were inside her calf, tearing the flesh apart with their teeth and then sewing it back together with a giant needle and some thread.
“Hurts like a bitch, huh?”
“I haven’t started screaming yet, have I?”
“You have a point.” Blayne took a deep, satisfied breath. “It’s really beautiful here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Beautiful house,” she sighed. “Great weather.”
“Yep and yep.”
“And that grizzly—”
“Left me!” Gwen screamed out, startling the birds from the trees.
Lock brushed the attacking bees off his face and dug into the hive again, pulling out the honeycomb. He shook off the clinging bees and broke off a piece. Ric sat down against a tree opposite from Lock that was close enough so they didn’t have to scream at each other, but far enough away to help Ric avoid the rampaging bees.
Once he seemed comfortable, he observed, “You’ve stripped the trees of their bark quite nicely.”
“Yeah,” Lock mumbled around the honeycomb. “Sorry about that.”
Ric shrugged. “My father had them imported from Japan for a tidy seven-figure sum, had them featured in that Vanity Fair article on him and the Van Holtz dynasty, and got an award from the Tree Rescue Foundation for his efforts to resurrect nearly extinct trees—but I’m sure he won’t be too upset.”
Lock winced. “Now I feel bad.”
“Don’t,” Ric said good-naturedly. “Now—” Ric cringed when Lock bit into a honeycomb and spit out a bee he’d started to chew on “—Adelle is going to make her honey-glazed chicken. Unless you’re all honeyed out.”
Lock stared at his friend, and Ric nodded. “As I thought. So dinner is set. But before we go back, perhaps you can fill me in on why you’re sitting out here, tearing the bark off trees and abusing bees.”
Ric cringed again when Lock spit out another bee.
“What?” Lock demanded, tired of being judged for his eating habits. “Would you prefer I eat them?”
“No, no. You keep doing whatever it is you enjoy doing. No matter how vile.”
Lock stared down at the remnants of the hive and admitted what was bothering him. Something that even honey wasn’t curing. “I should never have left her.”
“Did you have a choice?”
“If I wanted to fight a polar.”
“Weren’t you the one who told me that when it comes to bears—bigger wins?”
“Yeah.” And Toots was definitely bigger. “But I promised her I wouldn’t leave her. I guess I just feel like I let her down by not being there when she woke up fully.”
“Okay, so maybe you did let her down a little. But I’m sure when she calls, you can explain—”
“Calls?”
“To thank you, of course. It’s proper etiquette to send a thank-you note or call after someone saves you from a violent Pack, Pride, or Clan attack.”
“I’m sensing she didn’t get much shifter etiquette training in Philly. Or, now that I think about it, any etiquette training in Philly.”
“But you did give her your number? Or you got hers?”
Lock stared at his friend. “My number?”