Beast Behaving Badly (23 page)

“You've got it.” She got the feeling he'd enjoy it, too.

Bo started to walk back over to Ric and the others when Blayne grabbed his arm, thinking of one more thing that could really make this hell on earth for Ulrich Van Holtz.

“You need to tell him one other thing.”

“Will it make him even more miserable?”

She laughed. “Oh . . . yeah.”

 

 

“She's laughing,” Lock said next to him. “That's a good sign. Right?”

Ric didn't know. Blayne wasn't acting like Blayne. She was closed off from him. He expected a lot of things from Blayne but that hadn't been it. And he definitely didn't expect her to walk away from him. That last look she'd given him . . . it was like she wanted to rip out his throat. Did she blame him for this? For being taken? For being dragged to Ursus Fucking County of all places?

Maybe she did. And maybe she should.

Although part of him was grateful to the bears for taking her in and patching her up, he also couldn't believe they simply hadn't taken her to the closest shifter-run hospital right there in Brooklyn. They'd transported her out of the state and away from those who'd protect her and didn't see her as “nearly too much wolf to tolerate” as one recently mauled boar with facial lacerations had muttered.

Well, whether she blamed him or not, and whether she was right to blame him or not didn't matter. All that mattered at this very moment was getting Blayne Thorpe back to the city and absolute safety.

“They're heading back,” Lock said low, and Ric turned to face them.

That idiot Novikov led the way, and Ric was kicking himself he'd hired the prick for the team. Sure, they were heading to the Cup Finals because of said prick, but that wasn't the point. He was much too close to Blayne for Ric and Lock's liking, and once they had her back home, Ric was going to put a stop to all the bullshit.

Novikov walked up to him, looked him over, and said, “We're not going back.”

Ric waited for some kind of punch line, some kind of indication the big oaf was joking. Unfortunately, Ric kept waiting.

Lock, however, didn't wait. “What do you mean she's not going back?”

Like Ric, Lock could give a flying fuck what Novikov did or didn't do and who he did or didn't do it with, but Blayne was another story all together.

“Was I not clear in my word usage?” Novikov asked with a condescension worthy of British royalty. “Should I simply use smaller words or speak slower to help you understand?”

Lock stepped into Novikov and Ric quickly got between the two. Something he knew was kind of stupid, but he couldn't help himself. Besides, he didn't have time for their boar-posturing bullshit.

“Are you telling us,” Ric said, trying to pretend that two males much bigger than him were not snarling and snapping at each other over his head, “that Blayne isn't coming back ever?”

“No. That's not what I'm telling you. But Blayne doesn't feel safe in New York. She feels safe here. And I'm on vacation. I need a vacation.”

“Blayne feels safer in Ursus County?” He couldn't help but take a quick glance at all the bears standing around . . . scowling. “Did she hit her head?”

“Heh. Funny,” said the man with absolutely no sense of humor.

“Blayne's coming home with me, Novikov.”

“No, Van Holtz. She's not. But,” he said before Ric could put up a worthy fight, “she will go back to New York when her father comes to pick her up.”

Now Ric was completely confused. He immediately looked at Lock, and the grizzly had the same expression on his face.

“Her father? Blayne's father? Ezra Thorpe?”

“Does she have more than one father?”

“I . . . I didn't think you'd want him to know,” he said to Blayne who stood behind Novikov and it hurt that she'd feel safer behind the asshole who was known for smashing players' heads into the ice than Ric who'd been watching her back for the last few months.

“She does now,” Novikov replied for Blayne. And even that seemed wrong! Had they brainwashed the woman? A woman who barely let anyone speak even when it was their turn? A woman who talked so much that she'd been known to almost pass out from lack of oxygen.
That
Blayne Thorpe was letting this idiot speak
for
her?

“You want Blayne back in New York, you'll need to get Ezra Thorpe to come here and get her. It's that simple.”

“Yes, but—”

Novikov turned away from him, dismissing Ric that easily in the middle of his sentence and walking away. As he did, Blayne suddenly moved forward, and for a brief moment, Ric thought she'd gotten her sanity back. She walked up to him but didn't speak. Instead, she held her fist out in front of her body. Not to hit him, he didn't think, but to give him something. He held his hand out, palm up, under her fist and she opened her fingers, something small and nearly weightless dropping into it.

Without another word, she turned and walked away, Novikov right with her. The older polar stood in front of them.

“You city folk better get in your chopper and fly away. There's a storm comin'. Hate for you to get caught on the wrong side of that.”

Ric closed his hand over what Blayne had given him and said, “I'm not leaving without—”

Van stepped in front of Ric. “Thank you for your hospitality. We'll be in touch.”

“As ya like. But don't waste your time coming back here without Blayne's father. We won't like that one bit.”

“Of course.” Van turned, facing both Ric and Lock. “Let's go, gentlemen.”

“You can't be serious,” Lock said, stating out loud what Ric had been thinking.

“I rarely am serious, but what I can tell you is these bears
are
serious. Would you like to hang around and wait to find out how serious they are?”

Lock glanced around and, eventually, shook his head. “No. He's right, Ric. We have to go.”

Ric nodded, and they all headed back to the rented vehicle they'd picked up at the small airport more than seventy miles away.

Once in the bear-size vehicle and heading out of town, predatory bears of every type watching them from the surrounding forests, Lock asked, “What did Blayne give you anyway?”

Ric realized he'd forgotten all about that and slowly opened his tightly clenched fist so they could look. Lock briefly stopped the SUV, and the three males leaned in and studied what Ric held. It was Van who recognized it first, being that he was one of the rare shifters who, on occasion, enjoyed having pet dogs or cats of his own.

“Holy shit, someone microchipped her.”

And as fury washed over Ric, leaving him nearly breathless, he knew there was only one person in the entire universe who'd have the goddamn nerve, the unmitigated gall, to microchip a goddamn shifter.

CHAPTER 18

B
o stopped the snowmobile in front of the one-story cabin where he'd grown up. It still had the long wraparound porch with those old but comfortable chairs he'd sit in for hours every night and dream about the day he'd get out of here.

Blayne clung to him, her arms tight around his waist, her head resting against his back. If he had to come back here, he couldn't think of a better way than this.

True, he'd expected to be on his way back to the city by now, but he knew Blayne wasn't ready to return. He didn't blame her. At the moment, she didn't know who to trust or what the hell was going on. Maybe if Van Holtz had brought Gwen with him, but bringing the Alpha of his Pack was just . . . weird. Why would Niles Van Holtz come? Why would he care? Being friends with a packmate didn't make you Pack. At least not as far as the Van Holtzes were concerned.

The thought that Van Holtz was interested in making Blayne his own had crossed Bo's mind more than once, and letting her stay in Ursus County until her old man showed up seemed like a better and better idea the more he thought about it. Besides, time alone with Blayne would give Bo a chance that, as far as he was concerned, Van Holtz hadn't earned. Of course, he would have preferred taking this shot with Blayne at one of his other homes. Especially since he had them set up perfectly, including access to free-range hunting.

Not to say he didn't like his uncle's more modest yet sizable house. Bo actually loved this place, not realizing that fact until he'd left.

He opened the always unlocked front door and stepped inside, Blayne still right behind him, holding on to the back of his uncle's denim jacket. The house still smelled the same, looked the same. Yet Bo was shocked at the sense of tranquility he felt stepping inside. He knew immediately that keeping Blayne here, at least for the time being, was the best idea all around.

Once inside, Bo went down the hall and into the living room. He walked over to the giant sectional. A big “L” shape, the couch took up most of the room, allowing up to two polars to sleep on either section as human or as bear.

Bo reached behind and caught hold of Blayne's wrist, tugging her around until she stood in front of him. “I'll be back. Okay?”

She nodded and sat down on the edge of the couch before glancing around. “I feel like I'm in a home for giants.”

Feeling a little playful and wanting to put her at ease, he patted her head and said, “Don't worry, tiny little female. We only eat uninvited canines.”

She slapped his hand off. “Very funny.”

Chuckling, Bo walked away from her, out of the living room and into the hallway. If he went left, he'd find his uncle's bedroom. If he went right, he'd find a guest bedroom, a bathroom, and his old room. That's the way he went first. The door was open and Bo walked inside, but he stopped halfway in, shocked to find that his room was exactly how he'd left it. His desk, with the framed pictures of his parents, still had his last list that included what he'd need to pack and the time he'd need to leave his uncle's house to catch his ride to Philly and his future. His senior year school books, conveniently placed on his desk for easy access during homework time, were still expertly aligned, along with his pencils, pens, and extremely heavy laptop where he'd typed up all his papers. His framed hockey posters were still aligned on the wall, his books were still aligned and grouped according to subject on his bookshelves, and his closet was still neatly arranged with the clothes he'd left behind.

There was one new addition, though. His senior hockey jersey from his final winning game. It had been framed and placed on the wall by the head of his bed. Since he'd never had a headboard, the jersey sort of served in that role.

It seemed so strange to see that his uncle had done that. Not once, in the eight years he'd lived with the man, had Grigori mentioned Bo's hockey obsession other than to say every morning when Bo was heading out to the ice pond, “Skating again?” And Bo would always reply back, “Yep.”

Not sure what any of this was supposed to mean or if he needed to think about it too much, Bo started to back up, but a hand against his back stopped him, and he watched Blayne slip around him and walk into the room.

“This place is kind of freaky big but I think I sort of love it. It's very manly with all the wood and everything.”

She plopped onto his bed, bouncing several times. “Wow. You had a king-size bed when you were in high school?”

“That's considered a double.”

“Oh.”

He had the feeling it was finally starting to dawn on her what she'd put herself into. Not everyone could handle living among bears.

“This is all your neatness, isn't it?” she asked, her avid gaze taking everything in.

“How can you tell?”

“The type of organization you use. The almost Nazi regime alignment you've got going here.”

“You're comparing my love of things being organized to Nazi Germany?”

“Yeah,” she answered simply. She saw the jersey and rolled her eyes. “I can't believe you put up your own jersey.”

“I didn't.”

“Really?” She pursed her lips and watched Bo for a long moment. “So your uncle did it?”

Bo stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Uh-huh. The uncle you haven't spoken to in ten years.”

“The phones work both ways.”

“Well that's some lame-shit excuse-making you've got going there.” She dropped back on the bed. “So where am I sleeping?”

“Here.”

“Someone's getting a tad cocky.”

“I'll be in the guest room, little Miss Assumption.”

“I can take the guest room. You know . . . since I am the guest.”

“Nope. You'll stay here.” He liked the thought of her being in his bed whether he was with her or not. He liked it a lot.

“Are you insisting on that so your sports jersey can subconsciously influence my feelings about you?”

Bo shook his head. “You are so weird.”

“So says Mr. Alignment. Or should I call you Herr Alignment?”

“Funny.”

Blayne suddenly sat up. “I want to go running.”

“Running? Running where?”

“Anywhere. I need to go running.”

“You've been through a lot. Can't you just relax?”

“Running is relaxing.”

“Wolfdog or human?”

“Either.”

“There's a storm coming.”

“Is it a nor'easter?”

Again Bo shook his head, turned to walk out, but found his uncle standing behind him. “I wish you wouldn't do that.”

“I wish you'd be more observant.” He motioned to Blayne with his chin. “Adams is coming over here to talk to your wolfdog.”

“The name's Blayne,” she said while studying Bo's bookshelves. “Feel free to use it.”

“Quiet, sassy.” Grigori leaned in and whispered low, “You better talk to her.”

“Talk to me about what?” When his uncle glared in her direction, Blayne tapped her ear. “Wild dog hearing.”

“Great. Adams will be here in about five minutes,” he told Bo. “Get her ready.”

“Yep.” Bo stepped back in the room and found Blayne walking across the floor on her hands. Although he appreciated the view of her long legs, he still had to ask, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” She forward flipped, landing right in front of him. “I need to go running,” she said again, and he was starting to realize she didn't mean it in the “I had too many funnel cakes and I need to burn them off ” sense.

“Why do you
need
to go running?”

“Because I have a lot of energy built up, and if I don't work it off, I won't be held responsible.”

“That kind of sounds like a threat.”

“It kind of is.”

Bo quickly looked her over. “You can't go running in those clothes.”

“I know. These boots are way too big and the pants way too small.” She leaned around him and gazed into his closet. “Do you have anything I can borrow?” When he snorted, she added, “From when you were a kid?”

“Sure.” Bo went to his closet and pulled out one of his old jerseys. He tugged it over her head, pulled her arms through the sleeves, and let the jersey drop.

“I can't run in a dress,” she said, not even looking at what he'd put on her.

“It's not a dress, which I haven't worn since the baptism.” He pulled her to his dresser mirror. “That's my junior high hockey jersey. I wore this when I was twelve.”

“I sense you're trying to tell me something.”

“I am. I'll need to buy you clothes. If we can find them in your size.”

“That's okay. I'll pay you back when this is over.”

“No.”

“No?”

“If you have to pay me back, it'll limit what I can buy you and how much. I don't like limits. Therefore . . .”

“Therefore?”

“Therefore you will take what I give you and thank me for it by saying ‘thank you.' Since I know you'll assume it—sex will not be required for said clothes.”

“You sure you never went to college?”

“Nope. I just read a lot of books. You should try it.”

“Books . . . so endlessly boring!” Lifting up the sides of his jersey as if it were a gown, Blayne twisted from side to side like a little girl showing off her newest birthday dress. “How about you buy me what you want and I'll make you dinner when we get back. I'll even throw in my killer chocolate mousse. Because I'm that giving.”

“I'll agree if you use my kitchen.”

“You've cleaned my kitchen, so it's totally ready for food service.”

“It's too small. You can use mine.”

“You've scrubbed that kitchen within an inch of its life, haven't you?”

“Actually, no. I don't have that kind of time anymore. So I hire people to do it for me. But they've passed my white glove inspection and that's all that matters to me.”

Blayne laughed, relaxing back so her head rested against his chest. She smiled at him in the mirror. “Your sense of humor is not for everyone, but I have to say it's growing on me. Like an out-of-control fungus.”

“That's lovely.”

Her head tilted to the side. “I hear a truck.”

“That's the police chief, so I'll make this quick. You don't remember anything from the attack after they dragged you out of my truck.”

“I don't?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Remember how worried you were about my reaction to what I saw in the van?”

“Yeah?”

“Use that logic here. Wolfdogs have a reputation, Blayne. Combine that reputation with trained skills instilled in a daughter by her loving father, and we have worried bears. Worried bears lead to easily startled bears, which leads to tragic maulings. Let's keep those to a minimum.”

“I don't understand. Are you telling me that everyone knows or doesn't know about what happened in that van?”

“I think they're not sure. You not remembering protects both of us. What works in your favor is that everyone here considers you small”—he pressed his hand over her head and pushed a little until she bent her knees—“and kind of goofy.” He swooshed her around a bit.

“This is humiliating,” she complained, trying to knock his hand off.

“All their misconceptions work in our favor. You being confused and with some memory loss covers us until we leave.” He released her. “Speaking of which, any ballpark on when your father might get here?”

“My father? Oh. That would be never.”

“Sorry?”

“My father will never come here to get me unless you're releasing my body. And that would be only so he could yell at my corpse for being an idiot at getting caught by trappers.”

“Your father's going to blame
you
for this?”

“If my father could, he'd blame me for World War Two and the disappearance of the Aztecs.”

“You two have a very odd relationship.”

“We do.”

“Then I'm unclear on why you sent Van Holtz to him.”

“So when he realizes how little my father cares, he'll feel guilty and come back here
on his knees
.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “
Then
I'll go back. But not before.”

They heard a knock at the door, and Blayne headed out of the bedroom. She stopped briefly in the doorway. “Can I keep this jersey?”

“No.”

“Thank you!” She skipped out of the room. Were grown adults supposed to skip?

“I said ‘no,'” he called after her. “It was definitely and unequivocally a ‘no.'”

“And I'm definitely and unequivocally ignoring your ‘no,'” she called back.

And for some damn reason that reply made him smile.

 

 

Gwen paced incessantly in the small airport's main room, the staff that handled all the transport for wealthy shifters watching her closely, ready to bolt at any second. She, however, didn't care. She only knew she wanted Blayne back.

The doors opened and the three males who'd gone after Blayne walked through—alone. Her muscles going tight, Gwen rushed up to Lock. “Where is she?”

“Let's talk over here.”

“No. Tell me now.”

Lock caught her arm and pulled her toward the corner, but she knew if Blayne wasn't back, it was one man's fault.