Hot and Badgered. Shelly Laurenston

calm. Not a small order either. “Calm” was as foreign to Stevie as “uptight” was to Max.

      She placed the bag next to the couch Stevie was on and started back to her chair. She didn’t look at Stevie or smile. Because Stevie would assume Max was mocking her—and let’s be honest . . . she probably was—and react accordingly.

      But just as Max was about to drop her ass in the big armchair, both sisters looked at each other and then at the front door a few feet away . . .

      * * *

      Vic Barinov stood by his mate and smiled. They were finally home, and he couldn’t be happier. They’d had to run over to Italy in a private jet to retrieve just one jackal. But that jackal was like family to his mate and she’d insisted that Vic and his panda partner be the ones to go pick him up. Then she’d insisted on going with them. It seemed like a big deal for nothing until the news hit the states about the brutal “hotel invasion” in Milan, involving Maestro Cooper Jean-Louis Parker. Suddenly Vic understood why everyone was freaking out.

      But for someone who’d been through a horrible attack—one so bad his bodyguard had been shot and stabbed—good ol’ Coop had seemed fine. More than fine. He’d still got to perform at Vatican City for the Pope and he’d flatly refused to fire the three grizzlies who’d been the core of his protection. Despite his older sister’s near-hysterical rantings about cutting them loose. But nope. Coop wouldn’t hear of it, which basically told Vic all he’d needed to know.

      That whatever was going on, Vic didn’t want to know.

      Instead, he’d let his mate and her best friend get crazed about protecting a jackal old enough to breed.

      Vic glanced behind him and saw the elevator doors open again. Coop walked out with two of his grizzly protection and Vic’s partner, Shen.

      He didn’t know why, now that they were back on Coop’s home turf, he couldn’t get rid of them, but Vic wasn’t going to complain. Instead, he’d just get into his house, go to his bedroom, and close the door—before the grizzly side of him got cranky and bit someone’s head off, or his tiger side started clawing on human flesh to make it quiet. As a hybrid, he had many ways to stop people from getting on his nerves. Not that those options were morally right, but . . . you know . . .

      Looking down at his honey badger mate, Vic immediately noticed that Livy Kowalski had the key in the lock but she hadn’t opened the door. Instead, she stood frozen to the spot, her ears twitching right along with her nose. Then her eyes narrowed.

      “Livy?”

      She yanked the keys out of the lock and her lips pulled back over her honey badger fangs. Then, her dark eyes growing even darker, Livy growled out, “Badger.”

      “Livy, wait—”

      “Badger!” Livy stepped back and kicked the door open, even though she had the keys in her hand and it was a thousand-dollar lockset on the door.

      Vic grabbed for her, but she jerked away and charged into their apartment, throwing her entire body at the female honey badger standing by Livy’s much-beloved armchair. Her favorite chair in the whole apartment.

      Nope. This would not end well.

      * * *

      In horror, Berg watched two tiny Asian women go at each other like the wild animals they partially were. Snarls and snaps, blood flying, as they rolled across the floor of Vic’s beautiful apartment.

      And yet . . . Vic just stood there. Doing nothing. While his mate was possibly getting her ass ripped apart. Things were moving so fast, Berg really couldn’t tell who was doing what to whom, but he took all that blood as a bad sign.

      Maybe Vic was in shock or something. True, he had military training but maybe this was causing some kind of flashback. Yeah. That was it. A flashback. Why else wouldn’t he be helping the woman he loved?

      “Dag!” Berg called out to his brother before pushing Vic aside and rushing into the apartment.

      Berg grabbed the unknown female from behind and Dag took hold of Livy around the stomach, lifting the tiny She-badger off her feet.

      And, as soon as they did that, Berg knew exactly how stupid a move it was. The kind of move his sister would never let them get away with if she were anywhere near this situation. Why? Because she knew better. Size didn’t matter when it came to shifters. Rage did.

      And these two women were all about the rage.

      The woman he held managed to twist around and latch her teeth into his neck, biting at the flesh of his throat, fangs digging for a main artery.

      “Get her off me!” Berg screamed, desperately trying to push her away. “Get her off!”

      But Dag couldn’t help. He had his own problems. Livy had reached back with one hand and gripped poor Dag by the balls . . . and twisted. Then she kept twisting!

      Berg’s brother dropped to his knees, his scream so high-pitched that Berg was sure dogs in Brooklyn could hear him.

      Livy pulled away from Dag and charged the other female.

      Unlatching from Berg’s neck—Thank you, God!—the female dropped to the ground and backed up, hissing, then charged Livy. Livy backed up, then lunged forward. It was like a dance. A weird, horrifying dance of death.

      Berg fell back against the floor, his hand over his bleeding neck. He wasn’t sure, but the tip of that woman’s fang might have nicked his artery.

      And that’s when he saw her. She’d been sitting silently on the couch, but when he locked eyes on her, she suddenly seemed to . . . panic.

      Like a house cat. Yeah. That was it. She panicked like a house cat!

      The woman scrambled onto all fours, her back arched. She bared her fangs, her hiss of warning skittering across the room violently. So violently that the sound alone made the furniture move. So much so that both the badgers were briefly distracted. Blinking at each other and turning toward the female on the couch.

      And when they did . . . she really freaked out.

      Jumping straight up, she flipped in midair until she hit the high ceiling, her claws digging into the drywall . . .

      And that’s where she stayed, hissing at them all with a rage that shook the windows. The shaking becoming worse when she suddenly roared.

      “What the fuck is happening?” a voice bellowed from the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

      Berg forced himself to look away from the panicked female and over to the hallway—and he saw her. A woman he had assumed he’d never see again. She had on nothing but a towel, her wet brown hair resting against her shoulders, the strands already beginning to curl. Her dark brown eyes glaring at each of them, a vein in her neck and the side of her head throbbing.

      “Somebody answer me!”

      The She-badger pointed at Livy. “It was her,” she said, her voice flat. Not like she’d just been in a life-or-death fight. More like she’d been in a life-or-death nap.

      “You’re in my house,” Livy barked back.

      “It’s a safe house,” the badger snapped. “It’s not your fucking house. You have to share.”

      “It is not a safe house, you worthless whore!”

      The badger’s eye twitched the smallest bit. It was barely perceptible. But then she was reaching for Livy again and Livy was ready for it.

      But the woman—the woman—clapped her hands together several times and both badgers stopped. Which was weird. Hand claps never got Berg out of his grizzly rage.

      “Stop it. Both of you. This is completely un . . . un . . .” Her voice trailed off and she leaned down, eyes narrowing on Vic’s mate. “Oh. Hi, Livy.”

      Livy gave a half-assed wave. “Hi, Charlie.”

      Vic,