Beast Behaving Badly (22 page)

Blayne pulled on thermal underwear, sweatpants, and a sweatshirt.

“Hmmm,” the doc said. “I was afraid of that.” She motioned for Blayne to stand on the bed, and she examined the bottom of the sweats. “These are fox cut pants, but, as I feared, they're too short for you.”

“We'll be here another half hour. Tops. She can suck up the shortness.”

Before Blayne could point out that no one had asked his damn opinion, the doc did it for her.

“And who asked you, Bold Novikov?” Marci said, tossing shiny black and gray hair off her forehead.

“Bold?” Blayne giggled. “Did you call him Bold?”

“That's his name.”

“Dude, your name is Bold?”

“First off, stop calling me dude. And second, you got a problem with my name?”

“Not if you were on the cover of one of my mom's old romance novels.”

“Bold is actually a very old and respected Mongolian name,” the doctor interjected. “It means steel, and as you know the early Mongolians were all about the power of steel.”

“Steel Novikov,” Blayne said, ignoring Bo's head dropping forward in defeat. “How
cool is that
?”

“Do not run around telling people my name is Steel or Bold or anything else.”

“But—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Just let me—”

“No.”

“Someone's Mr. No Fun!”

Laughing, the doctor headed toward the door. “I'll come back for you when Grigori shows up to take you to town. I can't miss the chance of meeting an actual Van Holtz,” she said, a teasing smile on her face.

Before walking out, she stopped in the doorway and said, “Oh. One other thing.” She walked back to Blayne, pulling something out of her hospital coat and putting it in Blayne's palm.

Staring down at the tiny electronic item, Blayne asked, “What's this?”

“A microchip. It was in your back, right beneath your shoulder blade. Your body was trying to expel it. Probably why you had such a harsh reaction from that last badger attack Bold told me about.”

“I don't understand. Microchip?”

“You know,” the sow said as she walked to the door. “The kind you'd use to microchip your pet dog or cat. I had the lab check it out, and this one actually has a homing beacon. The lab technician said someone could track you for up to three hundred miles. I'll be back in a few,” she promised before walking out the door, leaving Blayne to stare at the chip in her hand.

 

 

No way. No.
Way
.

They wouldn't, would they? They wouldn't actually . . .
microchip
Blayne, would they?

But the way she went to sit on the bed, missed it completely, and ended up with her butt on the floor, Bo knew that, at the very least, that's what Blayne thought.

He went down on one knee in front of her, his hand on her shoulder. “Blayne?”

“Ric . . .
microchipped
me? Like a house pet?”

The jealous, devious side of him—he liked to call that the lion side—wanted to scream, “Yes! That bastard microchipped you, and you should never see him again! Or I can kill him for you! Let me kill him for you!” But the expression on her face tore into Bo more than her fangs had torn into Fabi's face. So the nicer bear side replied, “I doubt that. And, if he did, I'm sure he did it for a good reason.” That last part made Bo want to retch, but he said it anyway. Although he did adore the look on Blayne's face when she raised her head: her brows pulled in, one corner of her top lip lifted, and she gawked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

“Grigori's here,” Dr. Luntz said, walking back in the room. She'd taken off her lab coat and wore a Boston Bruins sweatshirt and a Boston Bruins knit cap. “We better get moving. Storm's coming.”

Bo nodded and focused back on Blayne. “You ready?”

She let out a breath and stood. “I'm ready.”

And he had to say, the coldness coming off her rivaled any storm coming off the Atlantic that this town had experienced in the last hundred years or so.

 

 

Ric paced restlessly in front of Niles Van Holtz until Van finally grabbed his cousin by the arm and held him in place. The nervous pacing didn't bother him, of course, but it sure did bother the twenty bears standing around waiting for nothing more than for them to leave. They'd even brought Ric's friend Lock to accompany them, but the bears seemed to care less about the Van Holtz's grizzly escort. These bears didn't like wolves and they really didn't like Van Holtzes, so they wanted nothing more than to see the back of them.

They waited outside the police chief's office, the bears unwilling to allow them to even sit and wait for Blayne's appearance in a warm room. Whatever. Van could do nothing but smirk at all the bullshit from the uptight bears. His wife used to ask him why he rolled his eyes anytime someone mentioned bears, and as he always said, “Because they don't matter nearly as much as they think they do.”

“Ric,” Lock said, and both Van and Ric turned, watching the big SUV turning the corner and pulling to a stop a few feet away. A polar boar and a black sow stepped out from the vehicle, followed by the Marauder, a player who had always impressed Van with his unparalleled ruthlessness on the ice and his unwavering lack of approachability off it. And, apparently nothing had changed, his always-there scowl locking on Ric with something akin to a homicidal intent Van found a little unsettling, considering.

Then after all of them came the small wolfdog. She had her eyes down and didn't look at all like the Blayne he'd met in late October of the previous year. That wolfdog had been full of life and laughter, but this Blayne, beyond the bruises and healing wounds littering her face and neck, seemed miserable. Devastated. Christ, what had those full-humans done to her? Or was it these bears who'd hurt her?

He knew his cousin was thinking the same thing as he seemed to grow taller, his back snapping ramrod straight, his head dipping down, and a low growl easing out of him. Lock stepped up beside him, showing whose side he was on should things get ugly and protecting his friend all at the same time.

The small group walked up to them and, after taking a calming breath, Ric asked, “Blayne? Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah. I am.”

Lock's gaze moved around the group of bears that, Van abruptly noticed, had grown in number.

“Let's get you both back home,” Lock said.

“Yes,” Ric agreed, his gaze still on Blayne while she continued to stare at the ground. “Let's get you home, Blayne. Home and safe.”

And that's when Miss Thorpe's dark brown eyes fastened on Ric, her gaze ripping into him with a rage that nearly took Van's breath away.

“Blayne?” Ric asked softly, taking a small step toward her.

Growling, Blayne stalked away from all of them. Ric began to go after her, but Grigori Novikov stepped in front of him, blocking him.

The Marauder followed after her instead, the pair stopping once they reached the corner.

Van didn't know what the hell was going on, but he knew it wasn't good. Not even close to good.

 

 

“I don't want to go back,” she said simply.

Bo blinked, surprised. So this was what Blayne was like when she was really mad. Good to know. “Okay.” He wouldn't force her to go back. “Where do you want to go? I have houses in Tahiti, Paris, London, Edinburgh—”

She looked around. “I want to stay here.”

“Here . . . where?”

“Here. In Ursus County.” She took another look around. “I like it here.”

“You can't stay here, Blayne.”

“Why not?”

“You can't stay here, Blayne,” Bo repeated. “Trust me on this.”

Grigori strode up to them, the wolves and MacRyrie waiting for them at the end of the block. “What's going on?”

“Nothing I can't handle,” Bo told him.

“Can I stay here?” Blayne asked, and Grigori appeared as stunned as Bo felt when she'd first told him she wanted to stay. Never before, in the history of the town—and it had a very long history—had any non-bear or non-fox not mated to an Ursus County resident ever wanted to stay.

“Stay . . . here?” Grigori's low voice even cracked a little on that question.

Blayne sniffed once, then again. “You . . . you don't want me to stay?”

“Uh . . .”

“That's all right. I understand.” A lone tear trailed down her cheek. “If I were you, I wouldn't want me around, either.”

“No, no,” Grigori rushed to explain, panicking. “Don't misunderstand. It's just—”

“What is going on?” Dr. Luntz demanded as she stomped over. “Those wolves are getting snarly.”

Grigori turned to Dr. Luntz. “Blayne wants to stay.”

Dr. Luntz watched Grigori for a moment, focused on Bo, and finally focused on Blayne.

“You want to stay here?”

“Not forever. It's just—”

“Of course you can stay, Blayne.”

“What?”
Both Bo and Grigori said at the same time.

“We're not turning this poor, sweet girl away. Besides, it's not forever. Right, Blayne?”

Blayne nodded quickly, recognizing an ally when she found one. “No, ma'am. Not forever.”

“Just until these rude bastards learn a lesson about how to treat you. Right?”

Blayne threw her arms around Dr. Luntz's shoulders, going up on her toes to reach them, and hugged her tight.

Dr. Luntz chuckled and hugged her back. “You can stay at Grigori's house.” She winked at Grigori. “He won't mind.”

Knowing his uncle, Bo was sure Grigori was about to argue that particular point, but Blayne released Dr. Luntz and looked up at Grigori with those wide, imploring eyes. Not wolf eyes. Dog eyes. And who, with a soul, could turn down dog eyes? Bo couldn't, and he now realized, neither could a polar he would have thought was as hard-hearted as they came.

Grigori sighed, big and heavy, before saying, “Of course you can stay, Blayne Thorpe. Wouldn't be right to turn you away, now would it?”

The smile she unleashed nearly knocked all three of them on their asses, it was so bright and wide, and her eyes filled with tears again. This time from gratitude. “I promise, Mr. Novikov, I won't get in your way or bother you or anything.”

“Grigori's the name, and I don't think you'll get in my way. Little thing like you.”

“You sure about this, Blayne?” Bo asked. “You sure you want to stay?”

“Just until I feel . . . better about going back.”

“What's better for you? Groveling or crawling through glass?”

“Anyone can grovel,” she grumbled.

“Broken glass it is.” Bo shrugged at his uncle and said, “Guess you better get my old room and the guest room ready for us, and I'll tell Van Holtz.”

“You can't,” Blayne said.

“But I look forward to telling Van Holtz. I'm really hoping on sobbing so I can point at him and laugh.”

“I don't mean you can't tell him. Actually, you
can
tell him because I'm not talking to him ever again . . . or until I get over it, which may or may not be ever or even longer.”

Grigori and Dr. Luntz exchanged confused glances, but what really freaked Bo out was that he now understood exactly what Blayne meant.

“I mean,” she went on, “that you can't stay.”

“I'm not leaving you in Ursus County alone.”

“I won't be alone.” She leaned against Grigori, resting her head against his arm. “Grigori will take care of me.”

Dr. Luntz snorted, quickly looking off, while Grigori raised a brow at his nephew.

“Like I'll let that happen,” Bo told him, and to Blayne he said, “I'm staying.”

“Llewellyn Cup Finals.”

Then Bo Novikov said something he never thought he'd ever say. “The Cup Finals will be there next year.”

 

 

Blayne knew her mouth was hanging open but . . . but . . . he was willing to miss Cup Finals? For her? Had the world gone off its axis? Were volcanoes erupting while rivers and lakes overflowed? Had the world ended? She looked up at the sky. Nope. No pigs flying overhead, either.

“What's that look for?” he asked.

“You're willing to miss the finals . . . for me?”

“I attacked a van for you.”

“But that didn't interfere with your schedule.”

When Dr. Luntz and Bo's uncle burst out laughing, Blayne knew Bo had always been this way. And for some reason, that made him cuter.

“I'm staying, Blayne.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You wanted me to have a vacation.
This
will be my vacation.”

“All right. But I don't want any whining about it later. Or any latent bitterness used against me when you're at your lowest.”

“Where do you come up with this shit?”

“The
Dr. Phil
show.”

“I like that you admit you watch it.”

“I'm brave that way.”

“Sorry to interrupt the mutual weirdness of you two,” Grigori cut in. “But the wolves and that grizzly are getting anxious.”

“You want to tell Van Holtz? Or me?”

“
I'm
not speaking to him.” She folded her arms over her chest. “So you tell him.”