“Are you trying to get killed? Are you suicidal?”

“As long as I protect my head . . . I should be fine.”

“Should be . . . you should be fine? That’s great, Livy.”

“I need to do this.”

“Why? Why would anyone in their right mind need to do this?”

All the bears preparing for the joust stopped putting on their armor and focused on Vic. He stared back. “Yeah,” he challenged. “That includes you people.”

“I learned this in the court-ordered anger management class I took. About how to work off your aggression. Yoga, running, boxing, Krav Maga, Muy Thai . . . nothing helps. But I’ve never tried jousting before. So I’m going to try jousting.”

“But you’re going up against bears, Livy.” He pointed across the tent they were in. “I mean, look at that guy over there.”

The eight-foot polar realized that Vic was talking about him. “Hey! What are you pointing me out for? Like I’m some kind of freak? That just hurts my feelings, man!”

“Oh, suck it up,” Vic growled.

“Your feline is showing,” Livy warned.

“Because you’re not being rational and there’s an eight-foot, four-hundred-pound whiny baby over there begging me to claw the holy shit out of him.”

“You are rude!” the polar complained.

Vic was about to go over there and show the idiot how rude he could be when Livy caught his arm.

“Don’t beat him up because I’m pissing you off.”

“Who says he can beat me up?” the polar demanded.

“I could beat you up,” Livy shot back. And when the polar just stared at her, she asked, “Want me to prove it?”

The polar thought on that a moment before he stalked out of the tent.

“Help me find a helmet,” she ordered Vic.

Sighing, he walked over to a row of helmets. “I don’t know why you’re doing this,” he said. He grabbed one of the helmets. “I know you’re upset and I know when you’re ready, you’ll tell me why. But doing something this stupid—” He placed the helmet on her head. It fit perfectly.

She lifted the visor, grinned. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re welcoming death.”

“Your faith in me is heartening.”

“Can’t we just go and sit in the audience and mock people dressed in clothes from another century? You know . . . like normal shifters do?”

“Most times I’d say yes, but I need to do this. And if I survive, you’ll be really proud of me.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Have me cremated and tell my family I left town. They don’t deserve anything better than that.”

“What aboutToni?”

Livy blew out a breath and shook her head. “Yeah, she’ll figure things out on her own, and then . . . yeah, you’re dead.”

“Again . . . why is this coming down on me?”

Livy shrugged, picked up her sheathed sword, and walked out.

“Hey,” a sloth bear said from behind Vic, “don’t you play hockey?”

“No, I do not!” Vic roared.

“Wow,” the sloth bear said, backing away from him. “You are one bitchy hybrid.”

Livy stared up at the horse one of the faire employees held for her. She glanced over and said, “You can’t be serious.”

“These are horses bred for two things. Handling the weight of big guys in armor . . . and not panicking at the scent of shifters. Helping some tiny feminist trying to prove something was not on our list of things to accomplish during the breeding process,” he finished.

Livy looked under the horse and asked, “Huh. What’s this? It looks bad.”

The faire employee bent down to see what Livy was looking at and that’s when she rammed the pummel of her sword into the employee’s tibia. She heard something snap, and he went down with a roar onto one knee. Before he could fall back, Livy climbed onto his shoulders and mounted the horse that was way too big for her.

She looked down at the now-sobbing bear. “Thanks for the help.”

Vic walked into the prep area and stopped when he saw her.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” he asked.

“No. There were horses at the private school I went to. Riding lessons were mandatory and were part of our gym grade, but every time I got close to them, the horses tried to stomp me into the ground. Eventually, I had to be excused.”

“But now you’re going to ride one that’s too big for you so that you can . . . joust?”

“That’s the plan.” Someone put a lance in her hand. It was heavy and too long, but Livy held on to it. “How do I look?” she asked again.

“Suicidal.”

“If you’re going to be negative . . .”

Livy moved around in the saddle.

“What?” Vic asked.

“I wish I didn’t have to wear this armor. It’s making my skin itch.”

“Take that armor off, female, and still try to joust, and I’ll beat you to death myself.”

Livy nodded. “Subtle.”

“I’m not subtle. Never said I was subtle. Worried you’re about to do something stupid? Yes. That is accurate.”

“Honey badger’s up!” someone called out.

“I’m up.” Livy stared at the back of the horse’s head. “You can go now,” she told the beast.