The Mane Squeeze

by Shelly Laurenston

  Gwen applauded, but again, Lock knew from her body language how stressed she was. And he didn’t blame her one bit.

  CHAPTER 11

  By the tenth time Blayne was flung at the crowd like a Frisbee, Gwen didn’t even cringe anymore. And Lock simply sat there, no longer jumping or snarling when Blayne came flying at them.

  Yet what amazed Gwen was that no matter how many times Blayne got tossed around by that giant bitch, she not only got back to her feet seemingly undamaged, but she was always smiling. Gwen knew Blayne was tougher than most people gave her credit for, but even she had no idea how resilient her friend was. Like heavy-duty Tupperware, Blayne kept bouncing back.

  “Kill her!” Jess screamed at Blayne, Gwen and Lock looking over at the cute wild dog with the unnatural bloodlust. “Wipe her from the face of the earth, Evie!”

  “They’re pulling her out,” Phil announced and Gwen saw that it was true. Blayne was being benched, confirmed by the announcer. The crowd booed, but Gwen understood the decision. Although it might be entertaining for these people to watch Blayne Thorpe get tossed around by a blond missing link, it didn’t exactly advance the bout.

  The last quarter went fast and hard, neither team willing to back off. But when the final whistle blew, the Furriers had beaten the Babes by a good twelve points.

  “That was great!” Jess cheered. “I’m so coming back.”

  Gwen smiled. Another derby convert. She knew the signs.

  “We’re going out to see Blayne,” Jess told her. “You want to come with?”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  Gwen stretched, yawned, and that’s when it hit her—she was still on Lock MacRyrie’s lap! Had been for the entire bout, including halftime—and he hadn’t said a word about it. Sneaky Jersey bear!

  “Why don’t I meet you guys there?” she suggested.

  Nodding, Jess got up with her Pack following. They filed out and Gwen waited until they were gone. Then she scrambled off Lock’s lap, turned, and began slapping at him with her hands.

  He held his arm up to block his face and laughed at her.

  “What did I do?”

  “You let me sit on your lap that whole time!”

  “I was comfortable!” He caught hold of her arms and pulled her forward. “And so were you,” he taunted. At least it sounded like taunting.

  “That’s not the point!”

  “Besides, I figured you’d temporarily deemed me your feline throne.”

  “Very funny.” She pulled her arms away. “I’m going to see Blayne.”

  Frustrated and embarrassed and a tiny bit confused—because she really had been comfortable on his lap—Gwen marched up the stairs and out the door, Lock right behind her.

  “This way,” he said, catching hold of her hand and leading her around a corner, through a small hallway and into a much larger one filled with girls on skates and their adoring fans.

  The wild dogs were already hugging Blayne, but as soon as she saw Gwen, she pulled away and skated over.

  “Gwenie! I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Gwen hugged Blayne tight. “I am, too.”

  When Blayne pulled back, Gwen couldn’t help but wince. “Blayne…your face.”

  “It’ll heal,” she dismissed with a wave. She caught sight of Lock behind Gwen. “Hi, Lock!”

  “Hi, Blayne. You were—”

  “I know, I know,” she said before he could finish. “I need work. I know.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “I was pathetic, hopeless! You don’t have to tell me.”

  “But I wasn’t—”

  “Just a mess! I know!”

  Gwen patted Lock’s chest. “Let it go.”

  As Blayne continued to rhapsodize on how bad she was, a group of Furriers came down the hallway, heading toward the locker rooms. They had a large group of fans and friends around them as they made their way, but that didn’t stop Gwen from coldly eyeing the one who kept going after Blayne.

  And the female eyed Gwen right back as she rolled by, an annoying smirk on her face.

  Deciding to let it go, for now, Gwen turned back to find Blayne still listing her flaws. She was about to tell her to stuff it already, when Gwen’s nose twitched and her desire to hiss nearly strangled her.

  “You all right?” Lock asked.

  Surprised he’d noticed since she hadn’t made a move, Gwen said, “Yeah. I’m fine…I’ll be back.” Then she calmly walked off down the hall.

  Jess tugged on Lock’s arm, pulling him away from staring after Gwen, wondering what she was up to. “So…?”

  Lock shrugged at Jess’s vague question. “So…what?”

  “You, hanging out with Gwen.” She grinned and danced on her toes. “A good thing?”

  “We ran in to each other before the bout. I just tagged along.”

  “She sat on your lap for almost two hours, Lachlan MacRyrie of the Clan MacRyrie.” A name she insisted on calling him any time she saw him.

  “I know what you’re thinking and forget it. I already asked her out, and she turned me down.”

  “Are you that naive?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Lock, she’s a cat. She wouldn’t deign to sit on your lap for two whole hours if she wasn’t interested.”

  “Don’t start, Jess.”

  “I’m serious.” He knew she was and he didn’t want to discuss it, because he didn’t know what was going on between him and Gwen. He only knew that it was a fragile thing, easily destroyed. He didn’t want that to happen.

  Deciding to torture his favorite little wild dog in the hope of distracting her from this topic, Lock gripped her nose between his thumb and forefinger.

  She scowled. “Let me go.”

  He didn’t.

  “Now.”

  Nope.

  “Dammit!” Lock laughed as Jess tried to pull away from him, her hands slapping at his. When Jess got like this she always reminded him of a dog trying to wiggle out of her collar.

  “Where did Gwen go?” Blayne asked, seemingly oblivious to the wild dog trying to fight him off.

  “Down the hall—”

  Lock’s body jerked, his fingers immediately releasing Jess as he heard the unmistakable roar-hiss of Gwen. Yet before he could move to find out what the hell was going on, she came slamming out of the locker room, her body wrapped around the behemoth derby girl who’d tortured Blayne. Pounding her fist into the female’s face, Gwen roared again, oblivious to the Furriers streaming from the locker room to help their teammate. Derby girls were notoriously protective of their own, and Lock quickly saw how bad this could get.

  Even worse, D.F.A. wasn’t the type of female to quietly take a beating. She swung Gwen off her and slammed her into the opposite wall.

  “Holy shit!” Jess burst out as Blayne charged past them, intent on getting to Gwen. She did, too, tackling the She-wolf and shoving her to the ground. The timidity Blayne showed on the track disappeared in an instant now that Gwen was involved.

  Now D.F.A. had two Philly hybrids on her, both of them slamming their fists into her face, screaming profanities that Lock hadn’t heard since one of his teammates had been “accidentally” shot in the ass by his resentful girlfriend.

  Lock moved forward but the Babes’ captain caught his arm, gold cat eyes watching Gwen and Blayne take on the vicious She-wolf. Based more on her size than her scent, Lock guessed she was a liger, a normally sweet-natured hybrid. He found it odd that she’d play on a derby team.

  The Furriers jumped in to help their teammate, one of the wolves grabbing Blayne around the waist and throwing her off D.F.A. and at the rest of them.

  Lock caught Blayne before she could crash into them, but before he could pass her off to the wild dogs, she screamed out, “House cat her, Gwenie! House cat the bitch!” Still not wanting to know what the hell that was, Lock tossed Blayne at a couple of the male wild dogs as Gwen got slammed onto her back and her face pounded by the She-wolf. That’s when the two teams
merged, the fight getting ugly fast since no points were at risk and no refs were there to stop them.

  That was also around the time that Lock had had enough.

  He slammed one foot down, the sound ricocheting around the hallway, and followed it with one of his roars. The two teams separated, each breed reacting instinctively, which meant the cats took off, the wolves snarled and backed up, looking to each other for someone to lead them in to that particular fight, while the hyenas laughed and ran but didn’t go too far because they wanted to see someone hurt. Some of the hybrids reacted in similar fashion, but at least two broke down into tears, a wolf-coyote tried to dig through a concrete wall, and their liger team captain smiled at him.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I wasn’t sure I could break that one up on my own.”

  Lock nodded at her and reached down to tear the two still-battling women apart, both of whom appeared completely unaffected by his roar.

  Once he separated them, they both scrambled to their feet, but Lock stepped between them before they could go at each other again.

  “She’s the one!” Gwen yelled, trying to go around him but he kept pushing her back. “She’s the one who jumped Blayne and me at Macon River!”

  “That little half-breed whore started it, you fuckin’ bitch!”

  In answer to that, Gwen leaned around Lock and spit blood into D.F.A.’s face, and the She-wolf—who he now realized must be a McNelly—came at Gwen again by trying to climb over Lock. That’s when Gwen slipped her hand into one of the pockets of her cargo pants. He saw the flash of silver and knew what she was about to do. Refusing to let this go that far, Lock shoved McNelly back, sending the She-wolf flying down the hallway. He grabbed hold of Gwen, pinning her right arm against her body so she couldn’t pull out the blade she had on her, and carried her in the opposite direction.

  “Bring it, bitch!” Gwen yelled, those scary nails of her left hand pointing at McNelly over Lock’s shoulder. “I will kill you, you fucking whore! You touch my friend again, I will kill you!”

  Lock slammed into the men’s locker room halfway down the hall and shoved the door closed. He released Gwen and pushed her farther inside, but once loose, Gwen tried to go round him. He shoved her back again and, again, she went for the door. When he shoved her back a third time, Gwen went up and over him, using those powerhouse legs to leap from a standing position. She was at the door when he grabbed her from behind and spun her around.

  Angrier than he’d ever been with anyone not trying to kill him, Lock lifted her up and held her there. She was fully out of control, the two felines inside her roaring for blood. Her claws were out now, tearing at his favorite T-shirt, and Lock couldn’t imagine either a full lion male or a full tiger male being able to handle her when she was like this. He wasn’t even sure she knew what she was doing.

  Out of ideas, he did the only thing he could think of. He carried her to the showers, turned her so she faced away from him, and flipped the water on full blast and cold.

  Gwen screamed, but she finally sounded human. He held her under the water even as she kicked to get away. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  “You son of a bitch! Put me down!”

  He spun her in his hands until she faced him again. “You have control of yourself?” he demanded.

  She answered him by slapping his face. So hard he actually felt his teeth rattle, then she was kissing him and he…uh…kind of stopped caring about the whole teeth rattling thing.

  Attacking someone without warning for something they did weeks before? Check. Ready to turn a simple breed dispute into something far uglier with the razor blade she kept on her at all times? Check. Using blood as a weapon of rudeness? Check. Threatening death? Check. Attacking a helpful stranger or friend? Check. Kissing a helpful stranger or friend without warning or permission? Check.

  Yeah, it only took Gwen six weeks to become her mother.

  The horror of that was staggering and perhaps that was why she was making out with Lock MacRyrie in a men’s locker room. She knew it belonged to the men because of the testosterone funk permeating every corner. Normally she’d gag, her delicate feline senses unwilling to accept the lingering aftereffects of too many male breeds mulling around the same area after a game. But for some reason kissing this man focused her attention on him and only him. Not only distracting her from the “man funk,” as Blayne called it, but from her rage. A rage that, once unleashed, could rarely be contained or controlled by anyone, which was why she fought so hard to hold it in—but when she realized who that bitch was…

  Yet none of that mattered right now as all that anger and hatred slipped back into its safe place and she allowed herself to enjoy this kiss. She still didn’t know how he did that…that…thing with his lips, but it did make her wonder what effect those lips would have on other locations of her body.

  And God, he tastes so sweet. It must be all the honey he eats.

  Was there a way to make this kiss last forever? With the freezing cold water pouring down on them from the showerhead, she could almost imagine they were standing under one of the Macon River falls, fresh from a swim in the river, and making out like two teenagers.

  She briefly wondered how far she could take this little fantasy when Gwen heard Blayne come into the bathroom. “Gwenie? Hon, are you oooooooooo—wow. Okay. Yeah. Uh…”

  Blayne wasn’t alone, either. She had Jess with her and the two canines, in their pathetic attempt to leave quickly without being noticed, slammed into each other and then tripped over the other as they tried to make it to the door.

  By now Lock had stopped kissing her so he could watch the two boneheads over his shoulder. Although Gwen didn’t blame him. Some things simply couldn’t be ignored.

  Jess yanked open the door, slamming it right into Blayne’s face.

  “Ow!”

  “Oh, shit. Sorry!” Jess pushed her out the door and smiled back at Gwen and Lock. “Sorry,” she mouthed before she spun away and right into Blayne, who hadn’t moved.

  “Ow!”

  “Oh, Blayne! Honey, are you okay?”

  The door swung closed and there was a moment, maybe two, before she heard that first snort from the bear. After that, it took forever for them to stop laughing.

  CHAPTER 12

  He drove her back to her hotel, everyone having cleared out of the hallway by the time Gwen and Lock came out of the bathroom. He’d assumed he’d drop her off and go, but when he stopped amid all the limos and cabs to let her out, she’d asked, “You’re coming in, right?”

  That had been forty minutes ago. Forty minutes for Gwen to shower, change in to sweats, clean up all those facial lacerations, and somehow—someway—end up in Lock’s lap.

  How he got her in his lap, he still didn’t know. They’d barely glazed over the fight with McNelly when she’d blurted out, “You need a damn haircut!”

  When he’d disagreed, she’d suddenly crawled onto his lap. Not that he minded. Not at all. Especially with her facing him, her knees resting on either side of his hips and her amazing little ass resting right over his cock. So nope, he didn’t mind at all.

  Gwen put her hands in his hair and pushed it off his face. She studied him for a moment and then pulled her hands out. “I’m not talking a major haircut here.”

  “I don’t want a haircut. I’m enjoying my wild side.”

  “There’s wild and there’s unruly. You don’t want unruly, do you?”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “You’re the guy with all the degrees. Shouldn’t you know that already?”

  “Much to my parents’ disappointment, I only have one degree.”

  “Pieces of paper,” she muttered, still playing with his hair. She seemed fascinated with the silver-tipped ends, studying them closely. “Seems to me you got more of an education in the military. Especially if you saw combat.” She leaned in closer, her studious gaze moving up the strands of hair. She smelled wonderful, especially with that damn honey shampoo she was
using. “Did you see combat?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t in a combat unit.” She turned her head to look at him and her mouth was so close. It took everything in him to not kiss her again, to not slip his tongue in her mouth and lick his way to heaven. “We’re stalkers. We hunt the ones who hunt us.”

  “You were in the Unit?”

  He nodded and she released the strands she held and picked up another handful. “You really do have amazing hair,” she said, not asking him anything further about his military past. “I know women who would pay a fortune for this kind of coloring.”

  He didn’t think she was changing the subject because she was uncomfortable with it. Almost all shifters knew about the Unit and what their role in the full-human military was. Instead he got the feeling she was changing the subject because what he once did didn’t bother her one way or the other. At least not the way it bothered his parents. Then again, Gwen was a takeno-prisoners kind of female. That’s how she’d been raised, that was how she lived. He knew that from the way she’d brutally fought McNelly. No bluffing, no warning growls or cat scratches to get her point across. He could easily imagine the two females fighting until one or both were dead.

  “What shampoo do you use?” she asked.

  “Whatever’s on sale at the grocery store when I go shopping.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she laughed. “My brother’s head would explode if he heard that. The first job he ever got when he was sixteen was so he could pay for his conditioner. And before you ask, yeah, it was that expensive.”

  “I’m too lazy for all that.”

  “You don’t have a mighty mane. A sign of a lion’s sexual maturity and power.”

  Having had more than his fair share of male lions to deal with while in the military, Lock could do nothing but roll his eyes in disgust.

  She lifted another handful of his hair. “It wouldn’t hurt to shape it a bit. I’ve got my clippers, I could do it here.”