Ric grabbed his own weapon—a .45—and put it into his holster before he bothered to look at the woman he loved but refused to speak to. Although it was hard to be mad at her with her face looking like that.

“I’m okay,” she said again.

Unable to not speak to her for any length of time, Ric said, “Dee . . . they were sows. We both know your ribs took a beating from them.” Not to mention her legs, spine, and head, but her ribs took the worst of it.

“I said, I’m okay.”

He motioned to one of the team leaders and the lioness led everyone out. When they were alone, Ric said, “You’re not going.”

“Don’t answer to you.”

“Actually, you do.”

She ignored him, reaching into her locker and pulling out her vest and several weapons he didn’t remember placing on the authorization list.

He walked up to her. “Dee?”

When she didn’t answer, he placed his hand under her chin and lifted.

“I’m fine.” She slapped his hand away.

“You can’t even move.”

“I can move enough.”

He placed his hand on her forehead, and she jerked away, but not fast enough for him to notice another problem. “You’ve got the fever.”

“Probably. But it won’t hit good and proper for at least another hour or so. We’ll be done by then.”

“Dee—”

“I need to be in before the fever has hold of me. Won’t be responsible for anything I do if you keep me out. Understand?”

Yeah. He understood. Understood that she was the one who’d gotten the information that was leading them to the New York base of the people who’d grabbed Blayne. Dee wasn’t about to let someone else follow that through. Not when she’d been working on it for so long.

And the fact that the bears had known this info since they’d tracked the full-humans’ damaged vehicle and their weapons to the location was something he and his Uncle Van would deal with at a later date.

“All right. But when the team’s done, we take you to the hospital.”

“Fine.” She held her vest in one hand and kept her other hand pressed up against her ribs. “Help me get this thing on, will ya?”

It was the first time he’d heard her ask anyone to do anything for her not in the context of ordering food at a restaurant. He decided to take it as a positive sign.

He took the vest from her and turned her so she faced him.

“And no need to look so full of yourself, Van Holtz,” she complained.

He was polite enough not to disagree, but he did smirk. It was a Van Holtz thing. He couldn’t help himself. At least that’s what he said when she snarled at him.

“I need ice time,” Bocomplained after writing a list of all the things he needed to do that evening in order to reorganize his uncle’s library—and burning his soiled shirt in his uncle’s backyard pit. “Want to come with me?”

Blayne snorted. Not exactly the answer he was expecting.

Pulling a training jersey over his head, he watched as she fed the dog under his uncle’s couch. When Grigori realizes she’s expecting him to keep that dog . . . “What does that snort mean?”

“It means do you really expect me to be like the other skanks who shine your knob? Sitting around watching you play hockey?”

“I don’t want you to watch me play. I need training and you’re available.”

“I can’t help you train.”

“Because you’re a girl?” And he was surprised when that bowl of fresh chicken and steak for the dog didn’t come flying at his head.

“No, you sexist prick. Because you equated my roller skating ability to a seal moving across land. I somehow doubt my ice skating skill will impress you any more.”

He crouched in front of her, the dog under the couch whimpering and moving farther away. Good thing the couch was so big. “This is true, but I’d hate for these to go to waste.” He brought around the box he’d been hiding behind his back and placed it on her lap.

She stared down at the box and sighed. “This isn’t a clock, is it?”

“No. This isn’t a clock. I think you’ll like it.”

Blayne didn’t seem too convinced, but she pulled off the top and moved the tissue paper around until she gasped and grinned. “Oh, my God!”

“They should fit. Norm had to search like crazy to find your size, though.”

“They’re ice skates.”

“They’re hockey skates.”

She held them up. “Sparkly red hockey skates.”

“They didn’t have pink.”

“I can’t play hockey in pink, isn’t that the law?” She dropped the skates in the box, tossed the box aside, and threw her arms around his neck. She hugged him tight, and he’d never been so glad he’d followed a whim before.

“Thank you so much! I love them!”

He hugged her back and kissed her neck. “Good. Now let’s get going.”

She pulled back. “I’m still not sure what you want me to do. I haven’t gone ice skating since I was thirteen when Gwenie decided it was a good idea to teach me some derby moves. That humiliation alone was enough to ensure I never got on ice again.”

“Well, I have uses for you and your exemplary stick skills.”

“Such as?”

He grinned. “I need a goalie.”