Bite Me

by Shelly Laurenston

  Vic had thought he knew Livy . . . but he didn’t know her at all. She was, however, fascinating.

  Freaky, yes. But fascinating.

  “You need to make this stop.”

  Vic looked up to see Novikov standing over him.

  “Come on,” Vic said. “I know the Novikov name. You’re Russian like I am, and we have polka, too.”

  “I’m half-Russian and half-Mongolian, but that’s not the point. Blayne likes the polka music. She now wants it at our wedding. So we can dance to it. Dance to polka. Me.”

  “I’m sure your Cossack ancestors would happily dance to polka music at their weddings. You should feel honored. It’s probably a family tradition.”

  “It is not a family tradition.”

  Vic snorted. “It is now.”

  The pair sized each other up until Novikov asked, “Why don’t I want to kill you right now?”

  “Remember that song the wild dog sang a few minutes ago?”

  “ ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’?”

  “That’s the one. Your lion’s asleep.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You had a couple of drinks, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The feline part of you is out cold, numbed by the alcohol and lack of danger. I had a couple of vodka shots, so my tiger is out for the night. My grizzly, however, is up and ready to party.” Vic grinned. “Wanna dance?”

  “Not with a dude.”

  “See? The polar gives a rational response to my question. If the male lion in you had been awake when I asked that, we’d be tearing each other apart and destroying this quaint bar right now to sadly prove how manly we both are.”

  Novikov thought on that, shrugged, and replied, “Yeah. Whatever. Is that vodka you were drinking good?”

  Vic grinned. “The best. Let’s get some.”

  Livy and Jake helped Vic up the stairs to the Jean-Louis Parker rental home. Blayne, who was sober, ended up driving Vic’s SUV back to the house. She and Novikov would then spend the night at the wild dog house across the street.

  “He weighs a ton, Livy,” Jake complained.

  “Put your back into it. We’re almost there.”

  “Move,” Novikov said, pushing Livy and Jake away.

  “Hello, my hybrid brother!” Vic crowed.

  “Christ, Novikov,” Jake demanded. “How much vodka did you give him?”

  “I don’t know. A bottle. Or two.” He then picked Vic up in a fireman carry, and Livy rushed up the stairs to unlock the door.

  Novikov carried him to their room, dropping Vic onto the bed.

  “Can you make it back to the wild dog house?” Livy asked.

  “Of course,” Bo snapped. “I’m not weak like him. I’m strong. Cossack strong.”

  Then Novikov walked into a wall, stumbled back, and passed out on the floor by the bed.

  Livy stared down at the two snoring, drunk males. “Well . . . I’ll go tell Blayne that Novikov is staying here for the night.”

  “Hey, cousin.”

  “What?”

  “Think we can get some signed jerseys from Novikov?”

  Livy faced Jake. “Are you asking because you’ve suddenly become a hockey fan, or do you just want to sell them for some outrageous sum to very rich European shifters?”

  Jake shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  Sighing, Livy walked away from her cousin and went to track down Blayne.

  CHAPTER 28

  Livy felt someone stroke her hair, and she looked up to see a showered, shaved, and expertly dressed Vic crouching beside the bed she’d gone to sleep in the night before, when she’d left him and Novikov snoring in the other bedroom.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Almost eight. You going in to work?”

  “Sure. Where are you going?”

  “Have to go meet someone.”

  “A woman?”

  “No. Why?”

  “You’re all dressed up.”

  “There are some people you don’t meet looking shabby.”

  Livy snorted. “You’re meeting a Russian mobster?”

  Vic blinked, his entire body tensing. “How did you know that?”

  “You ask me these questions when you know I come from a family of unrepentant felons.”

  He chuckled and kissed her. “I’ll call you when I’m done. Novikov’s already gone to get in his training. So don’t worry about him.”

  “I wasn’t planning to worry about him,” she sighed out, snuggling into her pillow. “Be careful.”

  Vic stopped in the doorway and gazed at her a moment before replying in Polish, “I will.”

  That was when she realized she’d actually cautioned him in Polish. A language she reserved for talking to her family. And it was like Vic understood the significance of that slip.

  Livy, however, refused to dwell on it. Refused.

  Vic met Grigori Volkov in a private dining room above the Russian restaurant the mobster owned with his Pack deep in the heart of Brighton Beach.

  The Volkov Pack out of Moscow had a rich and violent history. Some American Packs referred to them as the Smiths of Eastern Europe. An insult that had started many a mauling back in the day.

  The two men were sitting at a small round table dwarfed by their size, cups of coffee poured for them by a pretty She-wolf waitress.

  “It’s good to see you again, Victor Barinov,” Grigori cheered. Unlike many wolves, the older male was a typically happy canine, but his cheerfulness hid a dangerous side that no one really wanted to face without body armor and an escape route. “It has been long time.”

  “It has, Grigori. And it’s good to see you, too. I hope all is well with you and your Pack.”

  “Very well. The streets of this city are paved with gold and need. My two favorite things.”

  Vic smiled, hating himself a little for liking the mobster so much.

  “My brothers handle Russia. I handle business here. It all goes well for the Volkovs. But I know you’re not here to catch up on old times, dear Victor. So, what has you coming to Grigori?”

  “I’ve been looking into something for someone. And I came across a name that I know was associated with you and your Pack in the past. Don’t know about now, but before anyone moves forward—”

  “You want to make sure no ugly lines are crossed. You are so thoughtful for man with feline mother.”

  “A feline mother who turned you down for a date, I believe.”

  “She did. Big mistake. You could have been my son. All this could have been yours.”

  “Oh, let’s admit that your mother never would have let that happen. She’d have seen you and my mother dead first.”

  “Excellent point. My sweet mother does hate felines more than fleas in heat of summer.” He flicked his hand. “But that is past. Tell me this name and we will go from there.”

  “Rob Yardley.”

  And Vic felt it. In that moment. In that second. The air went out of the room. The other wolves who played chess and watched TV nearby slowly looked at him.

  Immediately, Vic raised his hands. “Not a problem. I’ll—”

  “Quiet,” Grigori snapped. He looked around the room. “Everyone out!” The wolves slowly got to their extremely large feet. “Move as if there is purpose!” Grigori bellowed.

  Within seconds, the room cleared out, leaving the two males alone.

  “Listen, Grigori—” Vic began.

  “No, Victor. No. I speak to you as friend who came to my little girl’s wedding. The friend who saved my life many years back.”

  “Grigori, come on. We paid each other back for all those things many years ago.”

  “No. I used to think, how do I pay back man who saved life when he is not part of Pack or family or breed? But now . . . now I can pay you back.”

  Vic was suddenly very confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Yardley is degenerate gambler.”

  “You love degenerate gamblers.”
/>
  “Yes. And he owed me much money. But I sold his debt to another.”

  Vic leaned back in his chair. “You sold his debt? After you broke his legs or arms or something?”

  “No.” Grigori leaned in, lowered his voice. “I would have not sold his debt because I like people who owe me to pay me back themselves. But I did it anyway. What does that tell you, Victor Barinov?”

  “That Stalin himself came back from the dead and paid Yardley’s debt? That’s the only reason I can think of that might prompt you into doing something you don’t want to do.”

  Grigori looked off. “Zombies do terrify me, but no.” He looked back at Vic. “I admit this only to you, my friend. But there is only one man I would ever think of giving in to since the untimely death of my father.”

  Vic blinked at the statement. The death of Grigori’s father had been untimely . . . because he’d been murdered in the streets of Moscow. Cut down in full view of passersby with a knife against his throat. A murder that no one had ever been tried for because the one who’d used that blade had been . . .

  Vic let out a breath. “Chumakov? Rostislav Chumakov? He bought Yardley’s debt from you?”

  “It sickened me. To give that man anything. But you know why I did it.”

  To protect his Pack. To protect his children and mate. Because all of them would have been at risk if Grigori had said no.

  “You must back away from this, Victor Barinov. I tell you this as my friend. Because if he hears you look for those connected to him, even a rumor . . .”

  “I can’t.”

  “Victor—”

  “No, no. I mean . . . I have no problem backing away. But those I’m helping—they will never back off, Grigori. They will never back away.”

  “Are they foolish full-humans? Because what species or breed would not back away from Rostislav Chuma—”

  “Honey badgers.”

  “Oh,” Grigori said, his usually cheerful canine eyes suddenly looking very sad for Vic. “Oh, my friend . . . we would be better if this involved zombies.”

  Vic walked out of the restaurant and over to his SUV. He rested against the vehicle, wondering how he was going to handle this.

  And that was where he stayed for a good hour—with absolutely no ideas on what to do next.

  So he did what he always did when he didn’t know what to do next.

  Vic pulled his phone out of his back pocket and hit the speed dial. When he heard the voice on the other side, he sighed out gratefully.

  “Papa,” he said in Russian, “I need you.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Livy placed the two prints side by side on the work desk at the far side of her office and stepped back. They were both prints of one of the shots she’d taken of Vic, but she’d played with each differently. Now she was trying to decide which to put in her show.

  With her arms crossed over her chest and one hand pressed against her mouth, she studied the work with a critical eye now rather than a strictly artistic one. She needed to see the flaws that others would see and fix them. The problem was, she could only see Vic in these prints.

  “Livy!” Blayne cheered as she charged into Livy’s office. For once, the wolfdog didn’t have on her skates, but was dressed in work pants, work boots, and a worn sweatshirt with B&G PLUMBING scrawled across the front.

  “Hi, Blayne,” Livy said, her attention drawn right back to her prints. “What do you think?” she asked.

  “You should go home.”

  Livy blinked, studied the prints a little harder. “Are they that bad?”

  “Is what that bad?”

  “The prints.” Livy gestured to her work by raising her elbow.

  “Oh.” Blayne looked at the prints. “Oh my God. They’re beautiful.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Is that Vic?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is he naked?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Yowza.”

  Livy couldn’t help but nod. “I know, right?” She turned to Blayne. “Wait. If it’s not the pics, why should I go home?”

  “Huh? Oh! Yeah. That She-lion from last night?”

  “She-lion?”

  “The one whose knee you crushed?” Livy shrugged. “At derby last night?” Livy continued to stare. “You were thrown out of the bout early because of it?” Livy stared some more. “Then you went skates-up with Vic in the team locker room?”

  “Oh yeah. What about her?”

  Blayne scratched her head and said, “Yeah, her Pride’s here and looking for you. They want you to handle her medical bills because she had to have surgery on her knee to fix it correctly. I know you won’t do that because . . . well, you’re you. So Cella wants you to go away while she handles them.”

  “Why?” she asked. “I can tell them to suck up their own goddamn bills myself.”

  “No!” Blayne cleared her throat. “I mean . . . that’s not necessary. Cella will handle it for us.”

  Livy smirked. “You afraid I’ll do something bad, Blayne?”

  “Of course not! It’s just . . . why make the situation worse? Right?”

  “If I go home, I’m not coming back, and you’ve got that stupid wedding meeting you keep insisting I need to come to, so—”

  “Just make yourself scarce. Out of your office. For a little bit. I promise, me or Bo will track you down when it’s safe.”

  “It’s safe now,” Livy reasoned. “I don’t have a problem talking to some bitchy cats.”

  “Livy!”

  Rolling her eyes, Livy grabbed her camera off the desk and her backpack. “No need to get hysterical, Mighty Mutt. I’ll take the back stairs down and see if I can get some random shots of the gymnastics team. If you or Bo don’t know where that is, ask one of the other hockey players. They do know where to find the gymnasts.”

  Blayne snorted. “Thanks, Livy.”

  Livy walked out of her office and down the hall to one of the stairwells that could be used during an emergency. It was a quick way to get back up to the street and out of the building without alerting the full-human populace to the presence of people who ranged in sizes from five feet to more than seven-and-a-half and had eyes that reflected nearby street lamps. Very important during night games.

  Livy had only made it one flight when she heard female voices coming the other way. She sniffed the air and immediately scented She-lions.

  Yeah, Malone might be currently showing that Pride Livy’s empty office to prove she wasn’t there, but cats were always smarter than that. Whoever was in charge had sent a separate bunch up another way to see if they could track Livy down.

  Grinning, she eased open the door she’d stopped in front of and stepped out of the stairwell. She carefully closed the door and waited. The She-lions were loud and so busy shit-talking about what they were planning to do to “that little rat girl”—and the other name for honey badgers was ratel, not rat—that Livy didn’t actually have to strain her ears to know when they’d passed, nor did she worry too much about their scenting her out.

  Yeah. You could always tell the city shifters from the country ones. The country ones knew how to actually hunt.

  Livy heard the door close on the floor she’d just escaped from, and she went back into the stairwell. She went down another flight of stairs and opened the door.

  But before Livy could step through, she was flying back and down the stairs she’d been tossed on until she hit the wall.

  Laughing, she looked up the stairs to tell the cats to fuck off . . . but it wasn’t bitter She-lions blocking her on both the stairs leading up and the ones leading down.

  There were bears. Big, brooding bears. And she quickly figured out how much trouble she was in when one of the bears walked down the stairs, crouched in front of her, and greeted her in Russian with, “Hello, little badger. You should have left your father dead and stuffed.”

  Blayne was starting to think that having Cella handle this wasn’t any better an idea than having Livy
handle it.

  She-tiger versus She-lions had begun to get pretty nasty, pretty fast.

  So she was grateful when she saw Gwen come through the training rink doors for their three o’clock meeting with Cella’s mother, who was now part of the current argument going on.

  “What the hell is this?” Gwen asked, dropping her backpack to the floor. Gwen had just come from a job and was also dressed in her work clothes like Blayne.

  “The sisters and cousins of the Howler Livy got into it with at last night’s bout.”

  “Why are Cella and her mother arguing with them?”

  “Cella offered to handle them.”

  “And you agreed to that?”

  Blayne shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. It’s not like Livy’s going to pay for anyone’s medical bills.”

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “Is that what this is about?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You make everything so complicated,” Gwen complained.

  “What did I do?”

  Her best friend walked away without answering, but she pointed at Bo and Lock, who were eating ice cream and watching the fight with obvious bear-enthusiasm.

  “You two . . . go get Livy.”

  “Can’t we watch the fight?” Lock asked.

  Gwen stopped, put her hands on her hips, and glared at her mate.

  “Okay, okay. It was just a question.”

  Lock got up and gestured to Bo.

  Bo shrugged. “What do I need to go for? He can bring back Livy without me.”

  “Do you really think the rest of their Pride isn’t around here somewhere looking for Livy right now? They’re She-lions. That’s how they hunt. So get off your ass, Novikov, and find her before the rest of the Pride does. Then escort her back here; you’ll be her protection.”

  Sighing, Bo stood.

  “She’s two floors down photographing the gymnasts,” Blayne told them. And, as Livy had suggested, it had been Bo’s hockey teammates who’d told her where to find the gymnasts.

  Gwen was near the arguing cats when one of the She-lions shoved Cella. Knowing exactly what that would lead to, Gwen ran between the females, slapping her hands against Cella and holding her back. Then she did what Blayne knew her best friend in the universe would do. Gwen turned just her head one hundred and eighty degrees until it lined up with her spine and told the She-lions behind her to, “Back the fuck off!”