Shelly Laurenston: The Mane Event

Then they made Dez, who dangled between both worlds. Her straight brown hair had a reddish tinge. Her skin seemed to have spent too much time in the sun. Plus she had the same damn freaky-colored eyes as her dad.

Mason seemed to have the same problem. He belonged and he didn’t.

He always had the golden hair. The golden eyes. Even that golden skin. But now he had something rough and ready about him. He had stubble on that strong, square jaw. He had recently shaved off that golden hair, although it seemed to be fighting its way back. His pensive gold eyes showed he’d seen a lot of the world over the past twenty years. And based on the brutal scar that cut across his neck, the world had been pretty hard on him.

Yeah, but Bukowski probably hit it right on the head. A guy like Mace was way out of her league…if she had a league. It’s not like she dated much once her marriage to “The Idiot” ended four years ago.

Still, the fourteen-year-old Mace used to give her this little tingle at the base of her spine when he would smile at her in biology lab. This adult Mace, though, made her entire body tingle—violently.

She didn’t even think Mace noticed her back then. He always treated her like a sister he didn’t actually hate. After seeing him now, though…well, she really hoped he didn’t actually look at his own sisters like that.

Dez had changed. And all for the better. No longer the painfully shy girl trying to hide huge breasts behind a load of books so the jocks would stop trying to grab her, this Dez reeked of attitude and confidence. Almost cocky. Even the way she moved. She walked with her back straight, head held high, breasts straining beneath a burgundy turtleneck sweater, daring a guy to touch them. And seeing the way she moved, Mace had no doubt she would snap the neck of the first fucker who tried something.

Yup. He still wanted her. Had to have her. And, like a gazelle running past him on the African plains, he would do whatever necessary to get his paws on her.

Mace looked at the door that blocked him from his sister. With a heavy sigh, he walked toward it and prayed they got along better this time. He wasn’t sure he could handle any more stitches on his throat.

“What exactly were you doing with that…that…police person?”

Mace’s feet sat comfortably atop his sister’s desk, and his eyes stared up at the ceiling.

“Well, if you hadn’t interrupted us, I probably would have laid her out on your desk and—”

“Mason Llewellyn! This is not funny. That idiot is a cop—believe it or not—and she’s trying to prove that I had something to do with Alexander’s death. She actually asked me if I killed him.”

Mace watched his beautiful sister. She took after their mother. He took after his father. And they got along about as well as that pair did.

“Did you?”

Missy glared at him. “Of course I didn’t!”

“Just checking. I know how cranky you can get.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“As a matter of fact—”

“You have no idea what’s going on.”

Something in his sister’s tone made him stop. Something tired…and scared.

“You’re right. So why don’t you explain it to me.”

Missy began rubbing her temples. A sure sign her stress level just hit a new high. “I don’t know. I think someone’s trying to take over the Pride. Force the males out.”

“You’re telling me lions shot Petrov?”

“I said I don’t know.”

“Clearly.”

An unspoken rule among shifters—never fight against another shifter with anything but your fangs, claws, and hunting skills. One of the reasons few lions shed a tear over the loss of the Withell Pride a few months back. Using poison on your claws? Tasteless.

“You sure it’s not hyenas? I know I’ve been away for a while, but you can’t tell me you’re getting along with them.”

Missy sniffed. “Hardly.” No. He didn’t think things had changed that much. Not when Missy still sported a scar on her back from a childhood fight with a hyena. They were the only shifters Mace knew of born with their fangs and the belief that everything around them existed simply to be their prey.

“Just be careful, Mason. If some other males are planning to take over, I’m not sure if they’ll see you as a threat or not.”

Males always left the Pride they were born to, but since the Llewellyns were one of the “civilized” Prides that traded their males out, his existence created a bit of a problem and a threat to outsiders trying to claim his sisters and cousins as their own. With his money and name, the Pride could get three higher-level males for him.

Of course, that particular thought made him want to retch.

Although, Mace really wasn’t worried. He learned a long time ago how to survive without the Pride. He’d been the hunter and the hunted. Trapped in the middle of firefights with seemingly no way out. He’d killed. Humans. To protect his men and himself. His days of pampering had disappeared as soon as he went off to the Naval Academy.

But his sister’s concern almost made him feel like he didn’t hate her. Almost.

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing at the moment. Just keep breathing.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know yet. I don’t want some renegade males trying to take over this Pride. Sherry had two cubs last month by Petrov.” Missy shuddered. “I’d hate to think what they’d do if they got in.”

He didn’t want to ask the next question, but his stupid sense of duty and loyalty wouldn’t allow him to do any less. “Do you need me to stay here?”

“No. Shaw and Reynolds won’t stand for it, and I don’t need you three snarling at each other over breakfast. Besides, we have some important people coming over for a holiday banquet tomorrow. And since I know you won’t clean yourself up for it—”

Mace held up his hand. “A simple ‘no’ really would have answered my question.”

“Where will you stay? And don’t say your apartment. It won’t be safe.”

He wanted to say “between Dez’s thighs,” but that would simply set his sister off again.

“Actually a buddy of mine from the navy is coming to town. He and his Pack are staying here for the holidays. I can crash with them for a while.” He looked up to find his sister staring at him in horror. “Is there a problem?”

“Did you say Pack?”

“Yes.”

“You’re friends with a…a…dog?”

“He prefers wolf, but yeah, I am.” He actually considered Smitty his brother. They’d saved each other’s life on more than one occasion.

“But…you can’t be friends with him.”

In theory, maybe. They were Pack and Pride, dog and cat; he and Smitty should be the worst of enemies. Especially with the Pack-Pride war that had been going on for decades. But the military created strange bedfellows. Guys who had to rely on each other for their survival. Smitty was and always would be one of his best buds. Even if Mace caught him on more than one occasion licking his own balls.

“You know the funny thing is, Missy, I’m really not asking your fucking permission.”

“Don’t you dare curse at me, Mason! I’m not one of your military cohorts or that slut from the Bronx.” Mace looked back up at the ceiling. Five minutes with his sister and he felt twelve years old again.

“Now,” she continued, “are you at least going to come over for Christmas? I have a gift for you.”

Mace glanced around Missy’s office. There wasn’t one sign that in five days the world would be celebrating Christmas. It could easily be the middle of August for all the decorations that his sister had up.