The Mane Squeeze. Shelly Laurenston

didn’t mention that Blayne seemed to get distracted often.

      “Blayne, this is Ric. Ric, Blayne.”

      They shook hands and then Ric asked, “So what happened?”

      “Well—”

      “Don’t ramble,” Jess said quickly, which got her a harsh glare. In answer, Jess tapped her wrist, where her favorite watch usually was, but it had been taken by Smitty and hidden for the weekend. “I’m on a tight schedule here, sweetie.”

      “More like a tight leash with a hillbilly at the other end of it.”

      Jess gasped in outrage and Ric quickly placed his hand on Jess’s shoulder. “So what happened?” he asked Blayne again.

      “It was a hate crime.”

      Jess looked at Ric and back at Blayne. “You mean they attacked you because you’re bl—”

      “A hybrid. Exactly!”

      “Oh.” Jess rubbed her forehead. “All right then.”

      “You and your friend are both hybrids?” Ric carefully asked.

      “Yup. I’m wolfdog, Gwenie’s tigon. They jumped me, Gwen jumped in, we took off running, Gwen woke up the bear, they went over the mountain. There. That quick enough for ya, Jess?”

      Ric’s back snapped straight. “I’m sorry. Um…they went over…wait…what?”

      “Not at first. At first, Lock was slapping those wolves around. Then they were going over the mountain.”

      “Over the mountain?” Jess shook her head. “Do you mean they rolled down a hill?” She’d lived in Tennessee for two years, she was used to hills.

      “Nope. Over the mountain, into the river, down the river.”

      “You mean they fell into Macon River from one of the falls?” Ric demanded.

      “It was more of a cliff than a fall, but…yeah. I met up with Bren and Ronnie about a mile away. Together we ran down to the mouth of the riverbed, and that’s where we caught up with Lock. He was trying to take Gwen to the medical center, but she was putting up a fight because of the organ thieves.”

      Ric stepped back. “The what?”

      Jess held her hand up to halt Ric, wanting Blayne to finish before she killed her. “Then what?”

      “Then Bren fought the bear, I fought Gwen—”

      “Why were you fighting Gwen? Because of the organ thieves?” Wait. Did I just say that out loud?

      “Because she wouldn’t tell Bren that the bear helped her and Bren thought the bear was attacking her when he wasn’t.”

      “Why wouldn’t she tell Brendon that?”

      “Because she was torturing me.”

      “All right then.” Jess was done. “This was fun but—”

      “No, no, no.” Blayne clutched her hands together nervously or excitedly…to be honest, it was hard to tell. “There’s something else.”

      “You know the Pack who did this?” Ric, so cute when he was trying to maneuver a wolfdog into a nice, logical, straight line. Good luck with that one.

      “No,” Blayne said simply. “I have no idea who it was.”

      “Then what?” Jess pushed.

      “I don’t know if I mentioned it, but I’m planning some life changes.”

      “Life changes?” What did this have to do with anything?

      “Yes. Huge ones, actually. And so lately I’ve been mostly focused on me, you know, kind of obsessing, worried about how I was going to do this and everything and then it hit me!” She grinned, showing all those perfect teeth that had to be the product of excellent dental care and childhood braces. “What a really cute couple Gwen and Lock are!”

      Ric laughed as Jess shook her head, turning to walk away. “Oh, my God! You must be joking!”

      Blayne jumped in front of her. “I’m serious! You have to see them together. They’re so freaking cute!”

      “He’s bear, she’s feline. He lives in New York, she lives in Philly. The list is endless of why this is a bad idea.” Plus this was her Lock! Jess loved Lock. He was the sweetest, kindest, nicest bear ever. And all Jess knew about Gwen was that she threatened Brendon Shaw’s cranky sister with acid during the wedding. Not that Jess blamed her or anything, because Marissa Shaw could be a real bitch, but Lock deserved a lovely sow who loved him, pampered him, and understood his obsession with honey. Not some vicious-tongued cat who’d greeted Jess the last two mornings with, “Hey, Fido. How youse doin’?”

      “I’m telling you—cute. Adorable!”

      “Blayne, forget it.”

      Blayne sighed. “Okay. You’re probably right.”

      “Do you really think that pouty-face move is going to work on me?” Jess asked. “I perfected it.”

      “What about two pouty faces?” Ric rested his chin on Blayne’s shoulder and blinked big brown eyes at Jess. “Will that work?”

      “What are you doing?”

      “I have no idea.” Ric grinned. “But I have to say that I’m completely in for the ride.”

      “But this is my Lock,” Jess argued. “I mean…who is she?”

      Now it was Blayne’s turn to gasp in outrage. “Are you implying my Gwenie isn’t good enough for your bear?”

      “I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it. Out loud.”

      “Breedist!”

      “I am not!”

      “Breed-ist!”

      While the two females snarled viciously at each other, Ric grabbed a stick from the ground and waved it between Jess and Blayne. “Look! Look! A stick! Who wants it? Who wants it? Go get it!” He threw the stick and Jess and Blayne watched it flip across the forest floor. Once it landed, they looked back at Ric.

      “Dude,” Jess told him, “that was just rude.”

      Niles Van Holtz, Alpha of the Van Holtz Pack, briefly glanced up from the pan he was scrubbing. “Hold on.”

      His assistant watched him for several long minutes until Van was satisfied the pan was perfectly clean. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was crud on his dishes and cookware.

      “What is it?” he finally asked while carefully drying the pan with a clean cloth.

      “There was a territorial breach on Van Holtz property. Another Pack.”

      “Which property?”

      “East Coast. Macon River Falls.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      He certainly hoped there was more to it than a simple territorial breach for his assistant to come in on his day off. Especially if it involved his cousin Alder’s New York-New Jersey territories. As it was, Van didn’t involve himself in the day-to-day operations of his cousins’ territories and sub-Packs. He made the assumption that those who’d fought their way to the top could manage. Besides, the only thing he liked to micromanage was his restaurants, his kitchen, and his delicious wife when they were in bed. Any other time, she wouldn’t tolerate it, and he couldn’t be bothered.

      “There were injuries.”

      “How bad?”

      “Bad enough we were given a heads-up by the medical staff. And there’s something else.”

      He hoped so because