“Wouldn’t you know them if you saw them again?” the cat asked Lock, although Lock sensed there was definite sneering behind that question.

“Not necessarily,” Lock answered honestly. “I was asleep and they woke me up.”

“That was Gwen,” Blayne filled in, answering the question that had been bothering Lock since he’d recognized Gwen’s face as she hung off that cliff. “She aimed right for you. I thought she’d lost her mind, especially when she bit your big grizzly hump.” Blayne blinked and then, slowly—and in a pathetic attempt at nonchalance—leaned back, trying to see between Lock’s shoulder blades.

Lock leaned back with her and said, “It’s not nearly as prominent when I’m human, Blayne.”

She quickly sat forward. “I wasn’t…I mean…I was only…um…”

“When I get startled awake,” Lock went on to the lion and She-wolf, trying not to chuckle at Blayne’s embarrassment, “I wake up swinging and anything in my way gets slapped around.”

“How nice for your friends and family.” And there went that sneer again.

“My friends and family know how to ease me out of my slumber.” He glanced at Blayne. “Coffee’s always good. Croissants with honey on the side, even better.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” the cat practically snarled.

Lock studied the cat for a long moment before finally asking, “Do I know you?”

The She-wolf leaned forward a bit and whispered, “You kind of slapped him around at Jessie Ann Ward’s wedding.”

Lock snapped his fingers. “You!”

“He didn’t slap me around,” the lion barked. “He assaulted me.”

“You came at me from behind.”

“You were near my sister!” As if that alone was a crime.

“I was talking to her. That is allowed, ya know?”

“Not in my world, it’s not!”

As the two predators glared at each other across the room, Blayne suddenly sat up straight and said, “Uh-oh.”

He didn’t know if it was her tone or the expression on her face, but Lock’s entire body tensed.

“She’s awake,” Blayne said simply.

Lock knew then something was very wrong.

Gwen’s nose twitched, the smell of antiseptic nearly causing her to gag. Then she heard those telltale sounds—a high-pitched beeping, steadily going up; the tear of plastic on hygienically maintained bandages and equipment; and the gruff orders of medical personnel.

Her eyes opened and an older coyote female smiled down at her. “Hello, Miss O’Neill. Everything is okay. I’m Dr. Davis and you’re going to be just fi—ack!”

She heard the nurses and otherdoctors yelling, but all she could focus on was how this murderer, this coyote savage was about to kill her! About to cut her open and remove her organs!

Die, doctor! Die!

Strong hands tried to pry her off the coyote’s throat but she’d never let her go.

“No one’s killing me and taking my organs!” she screamed.

“Gwenie! Look, Gwenie! Look what I have!”

Recognizing Blayne’s voice and knowing the wolfdog loved her and would save her from having her vital organs sold on the black market, Gwen glanced over.

“Look at the sparkly, Gwenie! Don’t you wanna touch the sparkly?”

Of course she did! Gwen released whatever she had in her hand and reached for the sparkly, shiny thing Blayne held. Gwen loved sparkly, shiny things. They were sooooo pretttttyyyyyyyyyyyyy…

Blayne came back into the waiting room and, letting out a dramatic breath, sat down beside Lock again.

“Whew! That was close. I had to steal someone’s car keys off their desk to distract her.”

“What happened?” Lock had to know. He hadn’t been this entertained in years.

Blayne shook her head. “I told them when we came in how they should treat her dosage, but they never listen.”

Ronnie frowned. “Treat her dosage?”

“We’re hybrids,” she needlessly reminded them. “What works for you as wolf doesn’t necessarily work for me as wolfdog. And it’s the same with Gwenie. Her metabolism is way higher than any lion’s or tiger’s.

Most doctors try and base it on her weight as cat, which is about three hundred pounds unless she’s a little bloaty. Then it’s like three-hundred-and-twenty-five, but either way, basing it on her weight never works. I told them if they didn’t give her enough, she’d wake back up. ‘Don’t worry. We’re giving her something that will paralyze her muscles,’ they tell me.”

“Probably pancuronium.” When they all stared at Lock, he asked, “What?”

“Yeah,” Blayne said. “That stuff. Which I, personally, piss out. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

“At all?”

“Nope. And I warned them it wouldn’t work on Gwen unless they gave her enough. And what happens?

She woke up and everyone is all shocked. ‘Why is she up?’ She’s up because you idiots didn’t listen to me in the first place.”

“Is that why she’s afraid of hospitals?” Lock asked.

“No. She’s afraid of hospitals because she saw this documentary on PBS once about organ theft. Ever since then, she’s been convinced they—the elusive ‘they,’ the terrifying ‘they’—want to steal her organs.