Shelly Laurenston: The Mane Squeeze

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.

“Gwenie! Look, Gwenie! Look what I have!”

Recognizing Blayne’s voice and knowing the wolfdog loved her and would save her from having her vital organs sold on the black market, Gwen glanced over.

“Look at the sparkly, Gwenie! Don’t you wanna touch the sparkly?”

Of course she did! Gwen released whatever she had in her hand and reached for the sparkly, shiny thing Blayne held. Gwen loved sparkly, shiny things. They were sooooo pretttttyyyyyyyyyyyyy…

Blayne came back into the waiting room and, letting out a dramatic breath, sat down beside Lock again.

“Whew! That was close. I had to steal someone’s car keys off their desk to distract her.”

“What happened?” Lock had to know. He hadn’t been this entertained in years.

Blayne shook her head. “I told them when we came in how they should treat her dosage, but they never listen.”

Ronnie frowned. “Treat her dosage?”

“We’re hybrids,” she needlessly reminded them. “What works for you as wolf doesn’t necessarily work for me as wolfdog. And it’s the same with Gwenie. Her metabolism is way higher than any lion’s or tiger’s. Most doctors try and base it on her weight as cat, which is about three hundred pounds unless she’s a little bloaty. Then it’s like three-hundred-and-twenty-five, but either way, basing it on her weight never works. I told them if they didn’t give her enough, she’d wake back up. ‘Don’t worry. We’re giving her something that will paralyze her muscles,’ they tell me.”