Shelly Laurenston - The Mane Squeeze

“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 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.

“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? ”