Beast Behaving Badly

by Shelly Laurenston

  Bo felt something tap his back and he opened his eyes to find arms and legs wrapped around him.

  “Yes?”

  “I have way too much energy and no way to work it off!”

  Bo realized that Blayne wasn’t simply hanging off him, she was attempting to Blayne-handle him into submission.

  “Well.” He grabbed both her hands in one of his. “I have some ideas on how we can work that extra energy off.”

  “You want to go running with me?”

  “Or,” he tried, “we can get back in bed and fu—”

  The bedroom door flew open. “Morning, Marines!”

  Bo snarled at his uncle while Blayne pressed her mouth against his shoulder and giggled.

  Dressed in one of his old Marine T-shirts and sweatpants, Grigori marched into the room. “So what are we planning for today? Anything interesting?”

  “Not anymore,” Bo muttered, earning himself a slap to the side of the head. “Ow.”

  Grigori leaned in, scowling right into Blayne’s face. She only giggled more.

  “And what are you planning, Daddy’s Girl?”

  “Running, sir!”

  “Running? You know what runs, Daddy’s Girl?”

  “Is the bellowing really necessary?” Bo complained.

  Ignoring Bo, Blayne answered, “Dainty little princesses, sir?”

  “Exactly! Dainty, pretty, little princesses. Just like you!”

  Bo rolled his eyes. This was just painful.

  “What about you, boy? ‘Cause you can’t just sit around all day, doin’ nothin’.”

  “When have I ever sat around, doing nothing?”

  Blayne jumped off the bed. “I’m getting in the shower.”

  “You’re showering before you go running?” Bo asked.

  “You want me to run while unclean?”

  Why did he ask these questions?

  Blayne cheered, “Wahoo! Running!” and cartwheeled out of the room.

  Grigori smirked at him. “You’re letting her wear one of your precious jerseys?”

  “Why are you still standing here?”

  His uncle leaned back, peering out into the hallway. “I need you to come to town with me,” he muttered.

  “You’re not on my schedule.”

  His uncle scowled. “I’m not what now?”

  “I wrote out a schedule. You’re not on it.”

  “Uh-huh. Can you fit me on the schedule?”

  Bo grabbed the notepad off his night table and looked it over. “Well, let’s see, maybe I could move—”

  Grigori snatched the pad from him and tore it up, throwing the tiny pieces at Bo’s head.

  Bo stared at him. “You don’t think I made a copy?”

  “Get dressed,” his uncle spit out between clenched teeth.

  “I have to shower first, and Blayne’s using the only one that works.”

  “Can’t you just take a bath?”

  “I don’t have a duckie. How can I take a bath without a duckie?”

  “It’s like you want me to beat you. It’s like you’re begging me, too. And what happened to my goddamn coffee table?”

  “That was Blayne. Blayne did it.”

  Hands on his hips, his uncle glared at him. “You’re blaming your girlfriend for that mess in my living room?”

  It wasn’t until his uncle said it that Bo realized that Blayne was his girlfriend—even if she didn’t know it yet. He grinned and happily answered, “Yeah. I am blaming my girlfriend. My girlfriend Blayne.”

  They heard the panting behind them and together watched Bo’s shifted girlfriend Blayne turn in circles trying to catch her tail. She didn’t seem to be in any rush to stop.

  “How long can she keep that up?”

  “My girlfriend Blayne?”

  “You’re going to keep calling her that now, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, actually, I am. Just to annoy you. As we know my whole goal in life is to annoy you.” Bo motioned to the hallway. “She’s still going.”

  “Twenty bucks she throws up.”

  Bo felt confident in his girlfriend Blayne. “You’re on.”

  It had been a gut feeling that sent her back to the States. That feeling she sometimes got when she knew something was really off. That’s what had hit when she’d been sitting in that Thailand bar planning to roll a couple of worthless and rich full-human Aussie males who kept yelling at her slowly because they were sure she couldn’t speak English. Why the yelling, she didn’t know, and how saying something slowly would help if she really didn’t speak English was another way down Lack of Logic Lane, but in the end it hadn’t mattered.

  Sami had walked away from some easy money—dragging Sander behind her—because she knew something was wrong. And now that she was standing in the middle of Bo’s Manhattan apartment, staring down a She-wolf who’d been caught going through his shit, she knew she’d been right.

  Sander walked into Bo’s office, his nose in the air. “I scent She-bitch,” he announced. “Oh,” he said when he caught sight of the She-wolf. “Guess that’s you.”

  “Is there a reason you’re in our friend’s apartment?” Sami asked. “Or are you just stealing?”

  “Because that’s our job,” Sander added, not really helping.

  The She-wolf didn’t respond, cold amber eyes sizing up both Sami and Sander.

  The one thing foxes prided themselves on was being able to spot trouble. Not merely by scent but by a general sense of preservation. Extremely necessary when the smallest of the predators and nearly every breed and species didn’t trust you. The only species more loathed than foxes? Hyenas, which was kind of depressing when Sami thought about it too much. Because hyenas were just creepy.

  And now that Sami had checked out this She-wolf, she knew that not only was Bo in trouble, he had trouble searching his apartment. This female would kill them and have them in a shallow grave before lunchtime. Actually, she’d probably work up a little appetite for lunch.

  When the She-wolf finally spoke, her accent combined with the female’s size had both Sami and Sander making sure they could instantly escape out the window or door if necessary. She didn’t know what the Smith wolves fed their pups, but Christ they were a huge breed of canine!

  “You the hybrid’s friend?” the She-wolf asked.

  Knowing panicking now would only set the female off, Sami answered honestly, “He’s our polar.”

  She frowned a little at Sami’s answer, but shook her head. “Whatever. I need information. About the Brooklyn bears. Thought he’d have something here.”

  “Bo doesn’t know anything about the Brooklyn bears.”

  “They hate him,” Sander added.

  “ ‘Cause he’s a hybrid?”

  “No, it was because of that year he played with the Jersey Stompers.”

  “Yeah. He stomped all over that Brooklyn-born bear playing for the Long Island Devourers. They said every one of his vertebrae had been ruptured. Took him years to get back to playing—and he was never the same.”

  “He shouldn’t have taken Bo’s puck,” Sami argued, like she’d been arguing for five years since it happened.

  The She-wolf let out a breath. “I was really hoping I could find something here to help me out.”

  Sami, always more distrustful than Sander, questioned, “What for?”

  “Because I need to help one irritating little wolfdog. That’s what for.”

  Knowing exactly who she was talking about, Sami wondered what the hell she’d been missing since they left town. She dropped into the leather seat across from the desk the She-wolf had been going through. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, and I’ll see what information I can get for you.”

  “You could get me information?”

  “There’s a lot of foxes in this town, and we give each other information about ongoing cons, the best fences in the city when you need some quick cash, and when someone’s bringing in the latest shipment of high-quality diamonds. We’re all
real friendly with each other—as long as we’re not trying to take each other’s polar.”

  “Yeah,” Sander agreed, dropping into the other chair. “Because that would be wrong.”

  Blayne was running down a side street of the town when a door opened and she ran face first into it.

  Stumbling back, her hands to her forehead, Blayne heard, “Oh! Oh!You poor thing! Blayne, are you all right?”

  “Yes, Dr. Luntz.” She smiled in an attempt not to wince. “I’m very hard headed.”

  “Let me see.” The sweet sow studied her head closely. “Don’t even think it’ll leave a dent.” She patted Blayne’s cheek. “You look… cheery.”

  Blayne raised a brow. “So do you.”

  The doc’s eyes widened, and Blayne whispered, “I won’t say a word about you two.” Then she gave the sow two thumbs up. Dr. Luntz turned a lovely shade of burgundy and glanced behind Blayne.

  “You have a small army following you, dear.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Blayne looked over her shoulder at the small pack of dogs that had been following her since she and the pittie mix left Grigori’s house. “Do you know where they’re from, Dr. Luntz?”

  “Marci, dear. Call me Marci. And”—she shrugged—“I’m not really sure where they come from. They just show up. Don’t bother any of us, so we don’t bother any of them. Foxes fight with them, though.” She frowned. “I doubt they’d do all that damage.”

  They wouldn’t. Coyote shifters maybe, but not the foxes. They were all about the thieving, no time for random dog brawls.

  So then where did these dogs come from? They were clearly more escaped fighting dogs like the pittie. Many of them covered in scars, missing one or both of their ears, or had damaged limbs. It broke her heart to see them, but it wasn’t the human part of her they responded to. They knew their own kind. Every one of them had been crossed with a wolf. Rotties, pinchers, pits, German shepherds. All power breeds. All dangerous working dogs on their own but add in that part of wolf that had been bred out of them and there was a whole new world of dangerous added to the equation. She refused to believe any of the locals had anything to do with these dogs, but then who did?

  “Well, Blayne Thorpe,” a voice said beside her. “How are you doing?”

  Blayne smiled at the sow. She didn’t know her, but she seemed friendly. “Good morning.”

  “Love the earmuffs,” she said.

  “Thanks! They’re little fake raccoon heads. Bo said they were unholy because he felt like they were staring at him. He’s so cute when he’s being unreasonable.”

  The sow examined her carefully before introducing herself. “I’m Superintendent of Ursus County, Kerry-Ann Adams.”

  “I’m Blayne Thorpe. Plumber,” she tacked on, feeling the need to have a title.

  Kerry-Ann blinked. “You’re a plumber?”

  “Blayne has her own business,” Marci bragged. And when Blayne looked at her in surprise, she added, “Bo told me. Now exactly what do you want, Kerry-Ann Adams?”

  “Do I need permission to talk to her, Marci Luntz?”

  “As Blayne’s personal physician… yeah, ya old sow. You do!”

  Sensing a fight but not sure why, Blayne quickly cut in with, “I’m hungry!”

  Both sows jumped, eyeing her. Blayne motioned to the tea shop Marci had just exited. “How about an all-natural honey bun. Yum. I love honey buns. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t know, Blayne,” Kerry-Ann confessed. “I have been dieting lately.”

  “Why bother?” Marci sneered. “Nothing will help to make that fat head of yours smaller.”

  “All right then!” Blayne put her arm around Marci’s shoulders, going up on her toes to do so, and practically dragged her “personal physician” into the tea shop. “Yum. Smell those honey buns. Are those fresh?” she asked Lorna Harper.

  “Right out of the oven. And,” Lorna said, smiling, “sugar-free. Just for you.”

  “Oh, my God,” Blayne said sincerely. “You guys are so sweet.” She pointed at a table. “You two sit down, and I’ll help Lorna bring everything over.”

  Snarling at each other, the two sows headed over to the table, but Blayne caught Marci’s arm. “Be nice,” she whispered.

  “But—”

  “I get tense when people get pissy. Unless you want me chasing my tail or hiding under that chair over there… be nice!”

  Marci agreed and walked away, and Blayne leaned over the counter as Lorna placed a tray filled with honey buns and decaffeinated tea—again, just for Blayne—in front of her. “What’s going on?” Blayne whispered.

  “Knowing that Kerry-Ann, she’s about to ask you for a favor. Kind of the same way they do it in The Godfather, I imagine.”

  “Will it involve me killing anyone?”

  “Doubtful.” Lorna laughed. “But it will probably involve that Bold Novikov.” Lorna leaned in closer, Blayne following suit, and she whispered, “She’s been bragging around town how she can get your Bold to play with the team against the Canadian bears. Just a friendly game, mind, but that boy never did anything to help anyone but himself.”

  Blayne wanted to argue with Lorna, but she couldn’t. Although after spending a little time in Ursus County she understood why Bo was that way.

  “You do know,” Blayne felt the need to explain, “he’s not my Bo?”

  “That’s not what Marci Luntz told us earlier.”

  Small towns. Blayne loved visiting them, but she wasn’t sure she could live in them full-time. Everyone was in everyone else’s business. Something she would never do… unless her help was needed. Then, of course, she’d get involved.

  Picking up the tray, Blayne walked over to the table.

  “Now, dear—” Kerry-Ann began, but Blayne cut her off.

  “I’ll help you on one condition.”

  The shrewd She-bear glanced over at Marci as if to say, “Told ya so.”

  “And what would that one condition be, dear?”

  “You stop calling Bo ‘Speck.’”

  That didn’t seem to be the response the sow had been expecting, immediately trying to defend herself and the entire town. “Well, it’s just a nickname. We all have them and—”

  “He doesn’t like it. And it seems kind of mean to me. I hate mean and I don’t help mean people. Because mean people upset me.” She placed the tray on the table. “You wouldn’t want me upset would you, Superintendent?”

  The sow slumped back in her chair. “You’re a sobber, aren’t ya, Blayne Thorpe?”

  “I prefer the term sensitive.”

  “Took you long enough in the bathroom,” Grigori complained as they walked into town. “You’re like a woman.”

  “According to my girlfriend, Blayne”—his uncle growled—“I’m supposed to let the conditioner sit for fifteen minutes.”

  “Conditioner?”

  “Yes. According to my girlfriend, Blayne—”

  “What are you? Twelve?”

  “—I need better conditioner than that combo stuff you use. I need all-natural with no silicones so that I can have a beautiful shiny mane.”

  “You cannot be my brother’s son. You can’t be.”

  “She also says—this is my girlfriend Blayne again—that by putting in a little more effort on my hair, I won’t have to worry about that receding hairline that you’re currently dealing with.”

  Bo easily ducked the swipe of that big arm and grinned. “Gettin’ a little slow in your dotage.”

  “And you’re becoming a smart ass.”

  They hit town, heading toward the police chief’s office on Main Street. As they walked, the locals passed and each one greeted them with, “Mornin’ Grigori… Bold.”

  After the fifth time, Bo stopped, his uncle turning to face him.

  “What?”

  “Why are they all calling me Bold?”

  “That’s your name, idiot. Or are you starting to forget after too many pucks to the head?”

  “Don’t forget an
ything, which is why I know something is up. No one in this town calls me Bold but you and Dr. Luntz.”

  “Can’t you try calling her Marci? She takes it so personally when you don’t.”

  Bo’s eye twitched. “When did you start caring about how Dr. Luntz takes anything?”

  “That’s none of your goddamn business, boy.”

  “Since when?”

  “Why are we arguing about this?” Grigori bellowed.

  “I don’t know!” Bo bellowed back.

  Muttering, his uncle stormed off and Bo followed him. The entire way to the police chief’s office everyone went out of their way to greet Bo, some asking after Blayne. It was weird and made him nervous. By the time they arrived at Adam’s office, Bo was tense and anxious. Before he knew it, he’d begun to organize the chief’s incredibly disorganized desk, ignoring the deputies and his uncle who watched him.

  “Sorry,” Adams said as he walked in from a back room. “Just got off the phone with our people in New…what’s that boy doin’?”

  “Ignore him,” Grigori said.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Ignore him or we’ll be here all goddamn day!”

  Bo held up a near empty Pepsi can that was warm and had probably been sitting there for three days. “Are you saving this for a reason?”

  “No, but—”

  He dropped the can in the trash and kept organizing while Adams began talking. Obviously the chief had faced the fact he had two choices here: Let Bo clean—or deal with an anxious, big-fanged hybrid.

  “Heard from our people in New York. Those Van Holtz fellas are gettin’ pretty anxious about your girl. They were pushing for more info on the ones who caught her.”

  “Why?”

  “They weren’t real sure, but they heard it had something to do with her father.”

  Grigori sniffed. “Probably wants them dead for touching her. Not that I blame the man.”

  “The bears in New York weren’t real helpful to the Van Holtzes or us. They kept saying they had more research to do.”

  “Research about what?”

  “Got me. The one I talked to was acting real sketchy. Don’t much like sketchy.”

  “Me, neither,” Grigori agreed. “Think we need to worry?”

  “Doubt it. Because we’ve got the one thing no one—bears or anybody else—wants to risk. We’ve got the boy. They want him to play for this year’s Cup with the Carnivores.”