Читать книгу The Mane Squeeze - Shelly Laurenston - Страница 7

The salmon were everywhere, leaping from the water and right into the open maws of bears. But he ruled this piece of territory and those salmon were for him and him alone. He opened his mouth and a ten-pound one leaped right into it. Closing his jaws, he sighed in pleasure. Honey covered. He loved honey-covered salmon!

This was his perfect world. A cold river, happy-to-die-for-his-survival salmon, and honey. Lots and lots of honey…

What could ever be better? What could ever live up to this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

A salmon swam up to him. He had no interest, he was still working on the honey-covered one. Yet the salmon insisted on staring at him intently…almost glaring.

“Hey!” it called out. “Hey! Can you hear me?”

Why was this salmon ruining his meal? He should kill it and save it for later. Or toss it to one of the females with cubs. Anything to get this obviously Philadelphia salmon to shut the hell up!

“Answer me!” the salmon ordered loudly. “Open your eyes and answer me! Now!”

His eyes were open, weren’t they?

Apparently not, because someone pried his lids apart and stared into his face. And wow, wasn’t she gorgeous?

“Can you hear me?” He didn’t answer, he was too busy staring at her. So pretty!

“Come on, Paddington. Answer me.”

He instinctively snarled at the nickname and she smiled in relief. “What’s the matter?” she teased. “You don’t like Paddington? Such a cute, cuddly, widdle bear.”

“Nothing’s wrong with cute pet names…Mr. Mittens.”

She straightened, her hands on her hips and those long, expertly manicured nails drumming restlessly against those narrow hips.

“Mister?” she snapped.

“Paddington?” he shot back.

She gave a little snort. “Okay. Fair enough. But call me Gwen. I never did get a chance to tell you my name at the wedding.”

Oh! He remembered her now. The feline he’d found himself daydreaming about on more than one occasion in the two months since Jess’s wedding. And…wow. She was naked. She looked really good naked…

He blinked, knowing he was staring at that beautiful, strong body. Focus on something else! Anything else! You’re going to creep her out!

“You have tattoos,” he blurted. Bracelet tats surrounded both her biceps. A combination of black shamrocks and a dark-green Chinese symbol he didn’t know the meaning of. And on her right hip she had a black Chinese dragon holding a Celtic cross in its mouth. It was beautiful work. Intricate. “Are they new?”

“Nah. I just covered up the ones on my arms with makeup, for the wedding. With my mother, I’d be noticed enough. Didn’t want to add to that.” She gestured at him with her hand. “Now we know I’m Gwen and I have tattoos…so do you have a name?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m…” He glanced off, racking his brain.

“You don’t remember your name?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I know it has something to do with security.” He stared at her thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers. “Lock.”

“Lock? Your name is Lock?”

“I think. Lock. Lock…Lachlan! MacRyrie!” He glanced off again. “I think.”

“Christ.”

“No need to get snippy. It’s my name I can’t remember.” He nodded. “I’m pretty positive it’s Lock…something.”

“MacRyrie.”

“Okay.”

She gave a small, frustrated growl and placed the palms of her hands against her eyes. He stared at her painted nails. “Are those the team colors of the Philadelphia Flyers?”

“Don’t start,” she snapped.

“Again with the snippy? I was only asking.”

Lock slowly pushed himself up a bit, noticing for the first time that they’d traveled to a much more shallow part of the river. The water barely came to his waist. She started to say something, but shook her head and looked away. He didn’t mind. He didn’t need conversation at the moment, he needed to figure out where he was.

A river, that’s where he was. Unfortunately, not his dream river. The one with the honey-covered salmon that willingly leaped into his mouth. A disappointing realization—it always felt so real until he woke up—but he was still happy that he’d survived the fall.

Lock used his arms to push himself up all the way so he could sit.

“Be careful,” she finally said. “We fell from up there.”

He looked at where she pointed, ignoring how much pain the slight movement caused, and flinched when he saw how far down they were.

“Although we were farther upriver, I think.”

“Damn,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How bad is it?”

“It’ll be fine.” Closing his eyes, Lock bent his head to one side, then the other. The sound of cracking bones echoed and when he opened his eyes, he saw that pretty face cringing.

“See?” he said. “Better already.”

“If you say so.”

She took several awkward steps back so she could sit down on a large boulder.

“You’re hurt,” he informed her.

“Yeah. I am.” She extended her leg, resting it on a smaller boulder in front of her and letting out a breath, her eyes shutting. “I know it’s healing, but, fuck, it hurts.”

“Let me see.” Lock got to his feet, ignoring the aches and pains he felt throughout his body. By the time he made it over to her, she opened her eyes and blinked wide, leaning back.

“Hey, hey! Get that thing out of my face!”

His cock was right there, now wasn’t it? He knelt down on one knee in front of her and said, “This is the best I can manage at the moment. I don’t exactly have the time to run off and kill an animal for its hide.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “Just watch where you’re swinging that thing. You’re liable to break my nose.”

Focusing on her leg to keep from appearing way too proud at that statement, he grasped her foot and lifted, keeping his movements slow and his fingers gentle. He didn’t allow himself to wince when he saw the damage. It was bad, and she was losing blood. Probably more blood than she realized. “I didn’t do this, did I?”

“No. I got this from that She-bitch.” She leaned over, trying to get a better look. “Do I have any calf muscle left?”

He wasn’t going to answer that. At least not honestly. Instead he gave her his best “reassuring” expression and calmly said, “Let’s get you to a hospital.”

Her body jerked straight and those pretty eyes blinked rapidly. “No.”

That wasn’t the response he expected. Panic, perhaps. Or, “My God. Is it that bad?” But instead she said “no.” And she said it with some serious finality. In the same way he’d imagine she would respond to the suggestion of cutting off her leg with a steak knife.

“It’s not a big deal. But you don’t want an infection. I’ll take you up the embankment, get us some clothes—” if she didn’t pass out from blood loss first “—and then get you to the Macon River Health Center. It’s equipped for us.”

“No.”

“I’ve had to go there a couple of times. It’s really clean, the staff is great, and the doctors are always the best.”

“No.”

She wasn’t being difficult to simply be difficult, was she?

Resting his forearm on his knee, Lock stared at her. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“No.”

“Is there a reason you don’t want to go to the hospital?” And he really hoped it wasn’t something ridiculous like she used to date one of the doctors and didn’t want to see him, or something equally as lame.

“Of course there is. People go there to die.”

Oh, boy. Ridiculous but hardly lame. “Or…people go there to get better.”

“No.”

“Look, Mr. Mittens—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“—I’m trying to help you here. So you can do this the easy way, or you can do this the hard way. Your choice.”

She shrugged and brought her good foot down right on his nuts.

Gwen took off, shifting in midhop, which amped up her wounded speed another twenty miles per hour or so. She could see the path leading out of the riverbed and planned to get there and then to the trees. Grizzlies couldn’t climb trees, and Macon had some really high ones. Yet, she didn’t realize how fast grizzlies could move until the big, shifted bastard grabbed her from behind. He wrapped those furry arms around her waist, the four-inch claws a little too close to her tender underbelly, and lifted her up. Intent, it seemed, on carrying her cat ass to some horrible hellhole where human beings went to die so their organs could be harvested!

Well, Gwen O’Neill wasn’t going out like that.

She started twisting and swiping at him with her claws. She could feel fur-covered flesh being ripped off, and although he never once lashed back at her, he didn’t let her go, either—until he got slammed into by the full force of a six-hundred-pound male lion.

Gwen went down with them, but the bear had to turn his attention to the lion trying to kill him and removed his arms from around her waist. Relieved, Gwen scrambled away as the two beasts fought. It was brutal, bloody, and ugly—she enjoyed every second of it, too, until that multicolored long-furred wolfdog came running up to her, barking and barking until she shifted into a black woman who had a tendency to blame Gwen for everything. So, in a way, she was still barking, when she said, “What the hell are you doing? Stop them!”

“I shouldn’t interfere,” Gwen said blandly, as two apex predators fought to the death behind her.

“Gwen,” Blayne chastised, her caring dog side out there on display, “he saved your life. I saw it. Now stop them!”

Gwen and Blayne had met in what Gwen still referred to as prison but others called Catholic school. Ninth grade detention specifically. After a rocky introduction, they’d been best and inseparable friends ever since, with more in common than people realized and a bond that was stronger than anyone dare risk trying to come between—as quite a few males had learned throughout the years.

And yet, none of that stopped Gwen from torturing Blayne when the opportunity presented itself…like now.

Giving a helpless shrug, Gwen said, “It’s really none of my business.”

“Gwendolyn O’Neill!”

She blinked. “Ma? Is that you?”

Blayne pushed her shoulder, so Gwen pushed her back.

Blayne’s mouth dropped open. “Don’t push me.”

“You pushed me first.”

So Blayne pushed her again and Gwen pushed her back.

“Don’t test me, Gwen,” Blayne warned. So Gwen pushed her again, this time using both hands and putting a little more “shove” in her push than she had before.

“So what ya gonna do? Huh?” Gwen gleefully taunted, ignoring the brutal pain in her calf and the blood pooling at her feet. “What are ya gonna do?”

And like she did that first time they met in detention all those years ago, Blayne Thorpe grabbed Gwen’s hair and yanked like she was yanking weeds out of her garden.

The lion had managed to get him on his back, his paw raised above Lock’s head, while Lock was moments from throwing him off and then batting him around the river until he was nothing more than a gold furry ball of flesh.

Unfortunately, both males were distracted by the screaming, naked women fighting while a She-wolf quietly watched from a distance and scratched her ear with her back leg.

Normally Lock would be right there with that She-wolf, watching two really attractive naked women fighting while scratching parts of himself he couldn’t reach as human, but he was still worried about Mr. Mittens’s calf and yes, if he had his way, he’d call her Mr. Mittens until the end of time.

Shoving the lion off him, Lock stood and shifted. He stalked over as the feline brought up her hands, her claws unleashing and the other female—a canine from the scent of her—covered her face, screaming, “Not the house cat, Gwen! Not the house cat!”

Not even wanting to hazard a guess at what the hell the canine might be talking about, he grabbed both females around the waist and yanked them apart.

“Stop it! Both of you!”

“She started—”

“You started—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” he roared, silencing them immediately. “Again with the fighting?” he said to Gwen. “What the hell are you thinking? Your leg is hurt, or did you conveniently forget that part?”

“You’re hurt?” the other demanded, looking guilty when she really shouldn’t. “Gwen, why didn’t you tell me?

“It’s not that bad.”

Lock released the canine. “We need to get this one—” he jostled Gwen a bit, much to her annoyance “—to a hospital. She refuses to go, I’m taking her anyway.”

The other female placed her hands on her hips, her much shorter, less well-treated nails tapping against her waist in the same way the feline’s had. “Again with this, Gwenie? Again with this bullshit?”

“I’m not going,” the feline said calmly and with much certainty.

“Yes, you are,” Lock told her.

“Oh, no, I’m not.”

The canine put her hand on Lock’s arm. “It’s all right,” she said. “Let’s just get her back to the house and clean up that wound ourselves.”

Lock scowled, not liking that idea, because he knew how bad the wound was, but the canine gave him the tiniest wink. He almost missed it.

“Okay, Gwenie?” the canine asked, smiling.

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Great.”

Lock began to release Gwen, but a quick shake of the canine’s head had him stopping and, instead, he tightened his grip. The feline looked down at his arm and then her head snapped up to look at the wolfdog.

“Blayne Thorpe, don’t even think—”

The canine, Blayne, took her friend out with a beautiful right cross to Gwen’s jaw. The impact of the hit so strong, Lock was forced to take a step back in order to keep the woman in his arms. He hadn’t seen a punch like that since he was a recruit in training.

Lock gaped down at Blayne. She had this innocent look to her with that beautiful brown skin and those full cheeks with deep dimples that flashed every time she smiled. And yet…

“You hit her.”

“Of course I hit her,” she said, shaking out her hand and wincing. “Although she’s got a jaw like granite. But if we tried to take her to the hospital wide awake, she would have put up one hell of a fight. Now we can just lift her up and go.”

Lock sighed. “I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“Philly logic.”

Blayne laughed and patted his forearm. “Let’s get her to the hospital before she wakes up.”

Lock lifted Gwen in his arms and turned, but found an alley cat in his way. “Don’t I know you?” Lock asked, feeling like he’d met the man before.

“Give her to me.”

Turning away with his prize, Lock shook his head. “No. Get your own cat.”

“She’s my sister.”

Lock looked at the Asian feline in his arms and at the Anglo lion standing across from him, seething. “You don’t look related,” he said flatly.

“It’s complicated.” When Lock merely stared at him, he added, “I’m the half-brother of her half—”

“Stop,” Lock cut in, remembering that impossible family tree, and in no mood to hear it again. “Look, I’ve got her, I’m carrying her, and I’m taking her to the hospital. So you can back off and let me do what I’m going to do, or you can get your ass kicked and I’m still going to do what I’m going to do. Your choice.”

Lock saw a flash of lion fang, but the She-wolf who’d been sitting off to the side and watching all this time leaped between them, going up on her hind legs, her front paws landing on the big cat’s shoulders as she shifted from canine to human. “Now, darlin’,” she said in an accent Lock found kind of irritating, “you gettin’ all upset ain’t gonna help our Gwenie one little bit. We’ll let him carry her and we’ll be right behind ’em the whole way.”

The lion leaned down a bit and whispered, “But she’s naked.”

Oh, yes. She was. And Lock was enjoying every second of it. She had the softest skin, and with her being so much smaller than he was, he could rub her all over his body like a loofah sponge. He wouldn’t…but he could.

“Darlin’, we’re all shifters here,” the She-wolf stroked the cat’s shoulders. “Now don’t you worry, we won’t let anything happen to our Gwenie.” The She-wolf looked over her shoulder at Lock and smiled. “You won’t let anything happen to our Gwenie, will you, Mr…. uh?”

“MacRyrie.”

“Will you, Mr. MacRyrie?”

“Nope. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Good.” She patted the lion’s chest. “See? She’ll be fine, Shaw. Let’s just get this done—okay?”

The cat sighed, but nodded his head. “Okay. But I’m not happy about it.”

Lock walked off with Gwen tight against his chest and Blayne beside him.

“You didn’t back down from him at all,” Blayne whispered, her eyes wide in awe.

“Why should I?”

“Because he’s the always-dominant male lion.”

“Yeah. And I can use his thighbone to pick my teeth.”

Laughing, Blayne patted his arm as they all headed to the medical center.

She looked up from her mystery novel and watched as the younger members of her Pack limped and yelped their way back to the cars. She knew those two hybrids couldn’t have done this much damage. Then again, maybe they weren’t as alone as she’d first thought.

It was an O’Neill she’d sent the younger members of her Pack after. She knew it was an O’Neill as soon as she’d seen the pickup truck by the Macon River pier that morning with the family name stenciled on both doors, and when she’d seen that the female getting out of the driver’s side was Asian, she’d known without a doubt it was Roxy O’Neill’s half-breed spawn. Years of hatred had welled up nicely, and she didn’t even bother trying to let it go. Sometimes things were simply too perfect to pass up.

Too bad she’d relied on others for what she could have easily done by herself.

Her daughter came forward, probably not wanting to shift back to human until she knew her mother’s mood. As usual, she seemed to have the least amount of damage, which was typical since she took after her mother and knew, instinctively, how to hit fast and strong while avoiding any real injury to herself.

Behind her daughter was that useless boyfriend of hers. A plotting little fucker, always up to something. No use complaining, though. He brought in money and that was something that made it easier to overlook his major flaws. She knew, though, watching him, that he was up to something again. That he was plotting again. He stopped, staring back the way they’d come. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, wondering what was going on in that dense head of his.

Closing her book, she said to her daughter now standing in front of her, “Let me guess…you got your asses kicked by two freaks.”

And when her daughter’s head quickly turned away, eyes gazing off—she knew she was right.