Shelly Laurenston: The Mane Squeeze

How did he know this particular hybrid was a Philly girl? Because she had it spelled out in easy-to-read script on the gold necklace hanging around her throat.

Knowing he had seconds to end this before he was forced to call the cops or dispose of bodies—both of which he’d really like to avoid, if possible—Lock moved around the three females until he was upwind of them. A small, summer-night breeze passed and both She-lions raised their heads, their noses sniffing the air as their bodies tensed, and they seemed to sober up immediately. He watched as they slowly faced him, their dark gold eyes wide as they gazed at him in mute horror. He could have done a lot of things at that moment, but Lock didn’t need to. He kept the hardcore bluffing for his own kind.

Instead, all he did was curl his lip the tiniest bit and give off the softest, faintest grunt. Almost a hiccup. It worked like a charm, too, the two cats tripping backward, slamming into each other before they skidded on the damp grass and took off running into the wedding.

That left him and the hybrid. She hadn’t moved at all while the cats were scrambling around her, trying to get away. But now that they were gone, she faced him. Her bright gold gaze traveled from his head to his feet and back again. He knew she might run, knew she might take a wild leap for the trees. Not hard when she had those legs.

She did neither. Instead a slow smile spread over those lips and she said, “Jersey bear to the rescue.” Her head dipped a bit and she looked up at him through pitch-black lashes. “Because we both know what I would have done if they’d made a move on me, don’t we, Jersey bear?”

Uh…yeah, yeah. Sure. Whatever . The bear in him could care less about all that…he only knew he wanted the pretty kitty. He wanted to pick her up and carry her back to the closest river he could find and offer her fresh salmon, honeycombs with desperate bees still clinging to them, and never-ending sex. Yeah. Sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Grizzly-Lock was so focused on the feline standing in front of him, looking sexier than anything he’d ever seen—or even dreamed of—before, that he wasn’t at all aware of anything else. At least not until that hand roughly landed on Lock’s shoulder and a male lion snarled behind him, “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing with my sister?”

Startled, Lock reacted the only way the bear in him knew how. With complete and utter violence.

Spinning around, Lock grabbed the cat by the neck, lifting him up. The male’s eyes grew wide, his hands turning into claws, but Lock chucked the imbecile fifty feet into the surrounding woods before he could do anything.

Jaw popping, the rage and fear ripping through him, Lock started to go after the big-haired bastard to neutralize the threat until there was no more threat, but the feline female jumped in front of him. “No, no, no, no, no, no! ”

She placed her hands on his chest and he felt that touch go straight through his clothes and skin and right into him. Lock immediately stopped, his fangs and claws retracting. He’d never met anyone, who wasn’t family or a very close friend, brave enough to risk touching him when he was like this. Brave enough not to run off, leaving friends, lovers, and blood relatives to fend for themselves. And that alone startled him back to rational thinking.

“Please don’t,” she begged. “They’ll blame me and then the O’Neills will be responsible for another wedding brawl.”

Lock watched her closely, barely aware that another She-lion— How many did Jess know and invite to her damn wedding anyway? —had come out of the reception in time to see the male go flying.

“Brendon!” he heard the She-lion gasp as she ran after the cat. “Oh, my God! Are you okay?” Her voice was high and weak-sounding because of her fear for the male, making the predator in Lock want to follow and finish the job. To finish both cats and carry this feline off for that fresh salmon meal. But when his gaze followed the sound coming from the woods, the feline pressed harder against his chest to get his focus back.

“As it is,” she went on, her cool but tough Philly exterior disappearing in a flurry of panic and fear, “because of other people’s stupidity, we’ve been banned from three Catholic churches, two Protestant, and one of the Lutherans’. And there are several reception halls where we’ve been added to the ‘Do not allow’ list.”

Lock closed his eyes, more angry at himself than anyone else. “He startled me.” And he winced at the growl of his voice, sounding more pissed-off grizzly than rational human.

“Everybody knows you don’t grab a bear from behind. Not if you like having your face attached to your head.” She rubbed her hands against his chest and Lock’s eyes nearly crossed. She had painted nails that, although not ridiculously long, were longer than any he’d seen on predator females, with each nail painted dark red and elaborately decorated with flowers and other designs in black. It must have taken her hours to get those done, and the feel of them through his clothes was making him crazy. He should hate those nails. He normally considered that sort of thing tacky or gaudy, but damn if that look didn’t work on her. And because it worked on her—it was really working on him.

“This is all my fault,” she went on, oblivious to the effect she was having on him. “It’s a domino effect that only my mother can cause, and I’m sorry. I was trying to keep an eye on her, but she got away from me.” Mother? What did her mother have to do with this? Neither She-lion who’d been about to fight looked old enough to be her mother.

Swallowing, trying to keep his desire to maul in control, Lock motioned toward the woods. “That’s your brother.”

“Him?” She laughed. “No. He just wants to be. He’s the half-brother of my half-brother. And the female who went in after him is his twin, who I really hate, but that’s another story. Which makes her the half-sister of my half-brother, but neither of them have a blood connection to me.” Lock was busy trying to place all that in some semblance of a family tree in his head when she tossed in, “Life in the Pride. It’s not for everybody.”

“I have one set of parents and one sister,” he admitted, “and I’ve never been more grateful.”

“I’m sorry about all this.” She pulled her hands away and he almost made a grab for them so he could put them back where she’d had them. “Why don’t you go before someone comes out here wondering what the latest drama is? I’ll take care of this.”

One side of him yelled at him to stay, to spend more time with the Philly feline, but his more rational side told him to get the hell out while he still could.

Because really, what was he going to do with a woman like her? Like most bears, he liked things calm and quiet, and something told him that even a moment with this woman would never be that.

“Thanks,” he said, taking that first step back from her.

“No problem.”

He told himself he didn’t see regret in her eyes as he turned to walk away. He told himself, as he waited for his SUV at the valet station, a hot but clearly high-maintenance feline like her would never be interested in an average grizzly like him. He told himself, as he got into his SUV and drove away, that she would have only tolerated his quirky nature for as long as he could give her things or buy her things or pay off her debt for her.

And by the time he’d made it to Long Island’s Southern State Parkway, he’d nearly convinced himself that all that was the truth.

Now this was living. A warm breakfast that eventually stopped moving, a lovely swim in a big, empty lake, and now a chance to relax in the tall grass under the last of the summer sun.