Beast Behaving Badly (27 page)

“Hi, ya,” she said, crouching down. It wouldn't approach at first, watching her closely. “Where did you come from, little guy?” She smiled and opened her arms. “Come on.”

That seemed to be all he needed, the mixed dog ran forward and into her arms. She immediately noticed three things. This mixed canine had been through hell and back, his leg had been broken and no one had bothered to fix it, and some brain trust had mixed a pit bull and wolf together. To create what? The ultimate fighting breed?

Having nearly ended up on the wrong side of a similar situation, Blayne immediately felt a kinship to the eighty-pound dog. She hugged him close, careful not to rub against any fresh wounds. But she quickly realized he had no fresh wounds. His scars were all old, his leg long healed to a useless mess. Yet he couldn't be more than a year or two old.

“What's your name, little guy? Did they even give you a name?”

After having been so cautious around her, he now slathered her with wet dog kisses and jumped from side to side, eager to have a friend.

“Oh, my God. You are so cute! Wanna come with me? Wanna go running with me?”

He turned and charged off, stopping to spin around to look at her. Blayne stood and followed. For a basically three-legged dog, he moved fast, but Blayne kept up with him, moderating her gait so that they ran together. She let him take the lead and she followed him up another high hill. They stopped at the top and Blayne looked down, fascinated by what she saw. She held her hand out and her gloved fingers went through a wall of what she could only call a winter storm. Snow and ice laced the other side. When she pulled her hand out, the tips of her glove were frozen together, and the only thing that kept her fingers attached to her hand was the fact that she wasn't completely human.

Shaking her head, she said to the dog standing by her side, “That's amazing, huh? And weird.”

Blayne started to turn away, but she stopped and leaned in. Not wanting her nose to freeze off, she didn't get too close, but she wondered about the farmhouse she could see on the other side. A farmhouse with several buildings that looked deserted and was right by the ocean. A nice piece of property except that it was completely cut off from anything and everything, stuck between an American bear town and a Canadian one from what Bo had told her.

Reminding herself to ask about it later, she rubbed the dog's head and then headed off down the hill. They kept going, running through a forest, Blayne stopping when she caught sight of a pond in the distance. She moved a little closer, smiling as she watched Bo Novikov do what he did best—conquer the ice.

“He's amazing, isn't he?” The dog pressed against her leg, tongue hanging out, looking very happy. “If I moved like that, little guy, I'd own the world, too.”

The dog ran a circle around her and charged off. Laughing, Blayne followed.

CHAPTER 20

B
o walked up the porch stairs and into his uncle's house. Grigori was coming down the hallway, his big coat on.

“Where you off to?” Bo asked, dropping his equipment by the door just like he used to.

“Storm comin'.”

“And?”

“Don't be smart.”

Too tired and happily satisfied to argue, Bo walked past his uncle and headed toward the bathroom. But he stopped, looking into the dining room. “What's all this?”

“Neighbors brought food.”

“That was nice.”

“Yeah.” Grigori opened the front door. “Not for you, though. For Blayne Thorpe.”

“For Blayne?”

“That's what I said.”

“Is she here?”

“No. But I'll look for her while I'm—”

Blayne ran in before Grigori could finish, and she wasn't alone.

“What is
that
?” Grigori demanded.

“My new friend. He doesn't have a name yet. Let me know if you think of one.”

“He can't stay here.”

Blayne took off her goofy earmuffs. He hated those things. They were creepy little bunny heads. “Why not?” she asked.

“What do you mean why not? Because I don't want him here.” Blayne didn't say anything, simply gazed at the much taller and bigger polar. “You heard me,” he pushed. “He can't stay here.” She kept gazing, and Bo could imagine the big dog eyes his uncle was getting . . . and not from the dog. “You're only a visitor, ya know, Blayne Thorpe. Here because of my goodwill. So don't push your luck.” The gazing continued until Grigori snarled, and snapping before he stormed out, “He better be gone when I get home in the morning!”

The door closed and Blayne faced Bo, looking kind of smug for a canine trapped among bears. He motioned to the dining room. “What have you been up to today?”

She walked over and gawked at the dining table. “Wow. Is that all for us?”

“No. That's all for
you
. Apparently everyone seems to think Grigori and I were planning to starve ya to death.”

She gave the tiniest snort. “Dude, your accent's coming back.”

“I ain't got no accent. And stop callin' me dude.” Bo scratched his scalp, ready for his shower. Speaking of which . . .

“That's from Irina Zubachev.”

Bo gritted his teeth when Blayne squealed and dashed over to the bags. “I'm so excited to try this stuff!”

“Well, you can try it after my shower. Grigori's shower is out and the other one only has a tub so—”

Bo watched Blayne grab both bags and make a wild run for the only working shower in the house.

“Blayne Thorpe, don't even think about—”

“Ha-ha!” she crowed, slamming the door before he could even finish. Seething, he looked down and watched the mangled dog who'd come in with Blayne back up and into the living room until he found a couch to hide under.

“Good idea,” Bo muttered, and glanced at his watch. Okay, okay. How long could she take in the shower anyway? Ten minutes? Maybe fifteen? He could wait.

He walked to the bathroom and stood outside it, his arms folded over his chest and he did just that. He waited.

 

 

Blayne couldn't wait until she got Gwen and Mitch to try some of this stuff. The shampoo cleaned her hair without stripping it, and the conditioner currently sitting on her head was absolute perfection! Allowing her to detangle her hair without ripping it completely from her head. She couldn't be happier. While she let the conditioner do its work, she got around to actually showering the rest of her body, humming while she did. To be honest, she had no idea how long she was in but, as usual when it came to her “hair washing time,” Blayne didn't notice little things like time.

Too bad some other people currently in her life weren't as comfortable.

Blayne squeaked. “Are . . . are you in the bathroom with me?”

“What are you doing in there? You're taking too long!”

Gasping in outrage, Blayne snarled, “Fuck off! I'll be done when I'm done!”

“When is that? Another five minutes? Another ten?”

“Can't you take a bath or something?”

“No.”

It amazed her how certain he always was. No doubt ever.

“Then I guess you'll have to wait until I'm done.”

“Which will be when?”

Now he was pissing her off. “When. I'm.
Done.
”

And that's when the insane hybrid bellowed,
“Too long!”
from the other side of the shower door. Blayne spun around when the door slammed open and watched through the one eye that didn't have honey-infused conditioner in it as Bold Novikov stepped into the shower with her.

“Have you lost your mind?” she screamed, trying to get the conditioner out of her eyes and cover her naked body at the same time.

“You're taking too long!”

“Too long for what? Did we have plans I'm not aware of?”

The shower, an exquisite bit of bathroom engineering, had five showerheads that could be individually adjusted by temperature and water pressure. Yet Blayne only had three going at the moment, each adjusted to what she—and her hair—needed. And the shower that was so wonderful and big was now way too small since it not only had a seven-one cranky polar-lion hybrid in it but his big dick, too!

“Look—” she began.

“Don't ‘look' me. I've been standing out there for a good fifteen minutes. More than enough time for a
normal
human being to shower—”

“—but instead of getting in and out you stay in here and abuse the Ursus County water supply!”

“First off”—she yelled over the now
five
pumping showerheads and her exploding rage, busy trying to get all the conditioner out of her hair—“I am as normal as anyone else who can shift into a half African wild dog and half wolf! And second, I wasn't abusing anything! I'm a girl! A girl with a lot of hair that likes to be pampered and loved!”

“Are you giving your hair its own personality?”

“Yessss,” she hissed at him as he scrubbed himself clean, attempting to prove how fast he could do it.
Goddamn show off!
“Because my hair is
that
amazing! And third, don't blame me for your obsessive compulsive disorder! You have a schedule to keep—that's on you. Not me! So suck it up, Genghis! This is one peasant who's not running from your OCD boar-rage!” She turned away from him and then spun back. “And use some goddamn conditioner on that
mop
!”

And to help him with that, she threw one of her new and industrial-size, thirty-two-ounce bottles of conditioner at him. The one with the wheat protein added. She had good aim, too. Hit him right in the face.

Blayne knew, too, that if she'd seen anger or rage, she would have run. But there was none of that. No. Instead, she saw that he had the same expression he'd had right before he cross-checked a rookie who'd been moving up behind him during his last game.

She saw determination.

Blayne took a step back and she knew instantly that had been the wrong move. His gaze narrowed, watching her close, his eyes turning from bright, light blue to gold in a split second.

Lion-male gold.

She was no longer Blayne. She was prey. And they both knew it.

 

 

Bo watched Blayne's claws unleash from her hands while fangs extended from her gums. She braced her legs apart and waited for him to move first. He liked that. It was bold. Like his name.

In the thirty seconds since that bottle of product slammed into his face with the power of a baseball thrown by a major league pitcher, Bo's mane had grown until it practically covered his eyes and tumbled past his shoulders and to his pecks in an unruly mass of light and dark browns.

Knowing she'd wait, he made a classic hockey move by dropping his head as if he was going to move to his left to circle around her. Blayne saw it and went for the shower door to his right. He caught her there, as he knew he would since no one in the game was as good at “deking” or head-faking, as he was. But he forgot he wasn't dealing with some nonplayer. She may not play hockey, but she was a derby girl. When he had her around the waist, Blayne let her weight come back on him, surprising him. In the process, she brought her elbow down and slammed it into his collar bone. Bo slipped backward and into the opposite wall, Blayne still in his arms, but she twisted and head-butted him. True, she only got him in the jaw, but it rang his bell. Then she was out of his arms and gone.

Slipping and sliding through water and suds, he followed after her. He saw that perfect ass hard-charge into the living room, and he went right for it and her. So focused on his prize, he didn't know she was crouching by that entrance until his brand-new hockey stick slammed into his shins, flipping him head over ass. He landed so hard he took his uncle's prized, handmade coffee table out in the process.

In that second they both froze.

Oh, shit,
he thought.

“Oh, shit,” Blayne whispered.

He went up on his hands and knees, and Blayne crouched by him, the hockey stick still in her hands.

“He's gonna kill me,” Bo whispered.

“He's gonna kill us both!”

Bo looked down at the table. “There's gotta be a way we can fix it.”

“How? We just threw four hundred pounds of rampaging male at it. This table is done.”

She was right. He knew she was right. And all Bo could do was laugh.

“Bo! It's not funny!”

Yeah. It was. But he couldn't even tell her it was because he was laughing too hard. So instead he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in close, the hockey stick still between them. She had to move it, though, when he pressed his head against her shoulder.

“I hope this isn't nervous-breakdown laughter.”

When he snorted, she laughed with him, dropping the stick and putting her arms around his shoulders.

It was the best end he'd ever had to a weird day.

 

 

They sat next to each other on the couch. They hadn't bothered to get dressed yet. Instead they sat and they stared at that completely destroyed coffee table. According to Bo, the table had been handmade by some master wood guy, and Grigori had only paid a few hundred for it. Of course now it was worth several thousand. Or, ya know . . . it had been.

She could imagine how bad it would be had this happened with her dad.

“Should we clean it up?” she finally asked. “Or let him see the devastation?”

“I don't know. He'll be home in a few minutes so—”

The phone rang, and they both looked over at it. When it rang for a third time, Blayne nudged him and Bo reached over and picked up the receiver. “Hello?” He looked at Blayne and nodded. “Okay. Sure. No problem. See you later.” Bo hung up the phone. “That wind we've been ignoring, coming from outside, is the storm. It's bad and Grigori is going to crash on Dr. Luntz's couch for the night.”

Blayne snorted. “Yeah. Right.”

“What?”

“Yeah. On her couch. Right.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can't be that naïve.”

“Naïve about what?”

“Bo, they're sleeping together. For a while, from what I can tell.”

“Dr. Luntz and Grigori? No.”

“Yes. He's crazy about her. Can't you tell?”

“No. I can't. And I'm not comfortable with this conversation.”

“I think it's sweet. They argue to hide how they feel about each other.”

“Since I was brought here those two have been arguing.”

“She doesn't want anybody to know.” Blayne cringed. “She's not married, is she?”

“Her husband passed away a few years back.”

“There you go. She's not ready to deal with a real relationship. But Grigori is waiting for her. It's so sweet.”

“Where are you getting this from?” he demanded.

“Instinct. You can't tell when people are madly in love?”

“Apparently not.”

“She probably has kids, right?”

“Grown children. One of them is a physician at the hospital.”

“Doesn't matter. They still love their father, and I'm sure she thinks this will hurt them. But they're such a cute couple. I bet he's loved her for years,” Blayne sighed. “That's so romantic.”

“You bruised my shins.”

Blayne sighed again, but this time she was annoyed. “Is that all you've got to say?”

“Yes! Because I don't want to talk about this anymore!”

“Fine. We'll both pretend your uncle is an untouched schoolboy and Dr. Luntz is the Virgin Marci and they're not at her house, right now . . . gettin' it on. Bow-chica-bow-wow.”

“Okay,” Bo said. “Prove it.”

“Prove it? You want me to prove fucking?”

“I want you to prove that my uncle and Dr. Luntz are being inappropriate with each other.”

“Oh, my God! Is that what you call it?”

“When it involves my uncle and Dr. Luntz, yes! Now prove it!”

“Fine!” Blayne stood up and marched into the hallway. She headed right for Grigori's room. Unlike his nephew, Grigori was neat but not obsessively so, which she was glad to see. She went right to his side table and opened the drawer. Smiling triumphantly, she held up the opened and extremely large box of condoms. “Proving not only that Grigori Novikov is far from an innocent schoolboy but that safe sex is important at any age!”