That was something Grigori never expected to see. At least not without the use of very strong hallucinogens. And the reason why was simple. This was Bold Novikov. The kid who only seemed to come alive when he was on the ice or discovered what he considered a mess somewhere in the house. Otherwise, Bold kept to himself, watched everything, said nothing, and plotted his escape from town.

Grigori didn’t think he knew this kid and never thought the boy had it in him.

Not wanting to get in the boy’s way, he turned to Marci to lead her back to her house. But he found her on her back, in the snow, laughing her black bear ass off. Anyone else, he’d think they were laughing at the boy, and Grigori wouldn’t stand for it. But he knew Marci Luntz. She would never laugh at Bold. No. This was pure happiness for a little boy she’d cared for and loved nearly as much as her own cubs, and Grigori could already imagine the conversation he’d have to hear for the rest of the night about how she knew that Blayne Thorpe was perfect for “her” Bold and how long before they figure it out and blah blah blah. He was already dreading it. Nothing worse, sometimes, than chatty sows.

Deciding he wouldn’t wait for her to get off her ass, Grigori grabbed her ankle and dragged her back to her house.

She laughed the whole way.

Blayne stared out the window, a hard-driving wind throwing snow and ice against the glass. Normally storms like this depressed her unless it was Christmastime because it usually meant she was trapped at home, bored out of her mind. Although she was rarely trapped for long, being the one person in all of Philly or New York who could track down an open Chinese restaurant when everything else was closed due to the storm. She’d find the food, get it, and bring it back to her father or Gwen’s Pride. Whoever she figured would be the most welcoming. Anything was better than being trapped at home by herself with no one to talk to her but, ya know, herself. Which she tried to stop doing when she was thirteen and the nuns kept asking her if she was speaking with Satan.

Big arms looped around Blayne’s shoulder and soft lips brushed her cheek.

Nope. This time she wasn’t depressed at all.

“Who made the beef stew?” she asked.

“Mrs. Henderson, I think.”

“Best. Ever.”

“I’ll let her know you liked it.”

“Nah. I can tell her.”

“You know Mrs. Henderson?”

“Met her earlier today. Met lots of people.”

“Any problems?”

She laughed. “Stop worrying. Everyone’s been really nice to me.”

“Let me know if they’re not.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She turned in his arms and basically climbed him like she would a rock wall. Arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist, she pressed her forehead against his. “Let’sfuck!” she exclaimed.

Bo sighed, pulling her in closer and heading toward the bedroom. “Have I mentioned that I adore your absolute lack of subtlety?”

CHAPTER 22

Dez MacDermott knew that if five, ten years ago someone had told her “You’ll be sitting in an average office building in downtown Manhattan, that’s actually owned by wolf shifters so that you can discuss the hybrid-hunting issue,” chances were Dez would have had them put in for a psych eval.

And yet here she was, doing just that.

“What do you mean they won’t help us?”

Dez took the cup of coffee handed to her by her husband, Mace. “Thanks, babe,” she said around a yawn, before refocusing her attention on a befuddled Niles Van Holtz. Niles? What kind of name is Niles anyway?

“They have to help us,” he insisted. He was cute when confused.

“Yeah, I tried that logic. So did Crush. They said no. Actually, what they said was, ‘Tell ’em to fuck off,’ but ya know . . . Brooklyn bears.”

She sipped her coffee, badly needing the caffeine. She hated all-nighters, and that’s what it turned into because the bears kept her and Crush waiting for hours before they’d talk to them. Although she wasn’t positive, Dez had a feeling this thing was blowing up into quite the drama. She normally wouldn’t care, but she liked Blayne. She had a lot more energy than Dez could normally handle, but she was always willing to babysit at the last minute and took great care of Dez’s son Marcus. But Crush had told Dez that as long as Blayne was protected by that Russian guy, Novi-whatever, she should be fine.

She hoped Crush was right, because she was seriously enjoying the disbelief on Niles Van Holtz’s face and the despair on his cousin Ulrich’s. And if it turned out Blayne wasn’t safe, she’d feel guilty as hell.

“Looks like I’ll have to talk to them myself,” Niles said, sounding pretty haughty.

“Better bring backup. I sensed they would enjoy hurting you. I have to say . . . bears and wolves? Didn’t know about all the hate.”

The younger Van Holtz looked across the big conference table at Sissy’s cousin Dee-Ann. The She-wolf appearing to care less about Blayne than anyone else in that room. When Ulrich glared at her, she let out an annoyed sigh and dropped her legs off the table, since she’d had them up there through the whole meeting while relaxing back in the expensive chair, sipping coffee and enjoying the donuts someone brought.

“Are you going to do something?” Ulrich demanded.

“Yeah,” Dee-Ann shot back. “I’m leavin’. See? This is me walkin’ out.” The door slammed shut behind her, and Mace took the coffee out of Dez’s hand as he had a tendency to do and sipped it.