What had never occurred to Gwen, what she hadn’t thought about when she’d agreed to this, was her fear of facing the screaming crowd—again. That’s what had gotten her nailed during her first bout all those years ago and it seemed that fear hadn’t changed. And that’s why she felt ready to vomit.

God, what if I do vomit on the track? There will be no coming back from that! she thought hysterically.

The door to the small hallway where she’d been hiding opened. “I’ll be fine, Blayne,” she said without looking up. And she knew it was Blayne, because the wolfdog had been trying to calm her down for the last two hours, but she’d only managed to make Gwen ten thousand times more nervous. “No need to worry. I’m fine.”

“And you call me a lousy liar.”

Gwen’s head snapped up and she never thought there’d be a day where she’d be

ecstatic to be startled by a grizzly.

He would have walked right by her if it hadn’t been for her scent. That would never change—thank God—but the rest of her sure had. At least for the moment.

She had on thick black eyeliner and her naturally long lashes were even longer and thicker. She wore blush on her cheeks, and her lipstick was dark red and glossy. She had her curly hair pulled into two small ponytails and a black headband covered in skulls and crossbones tied around her forehead.

Lock had debated about coming back here, not wanting to make her any more nervous than he already knew she was, but then he’d gotten that text from Blayne. It had one word…“Help!”

Gwen rolled over to him and right into his arms. “Oh, my God! I’m so glad you’re here!”

Rubbing her back, Lock decided not to be too freaked out about her wardrobe. He didn’t mind the glittery, bright red four-wheel skates. They were cute. But Gwen was hot when she wore her cargo pants and an old Eagles sweatshirt. Now she was volcano-hot in black fishnet stockings with kneepads over them, a miniscule red pair of shorts, three layered tank tops with red on the bottom, black over that, and white on top, black elbow pads, and body glitter smeared on her biceps and neck that made the tattoos on her arms pop.

He was torn between wanting to show her off to everyone and covering her with his jacket.

But before he could worry about that, he had another concern at the moment…

“Why do you have Van Holtz on your ass?”

Startled, Gwen glanced at her ass as if expecting to find Ric there. Thankfully for the wolf, he wasn’t.

However, his name was there…right on Gwen’s ass. Or, in this instance, her shorts. Her derby name—

TastySkate—and her number “59” were on her tank top.

“According to Blayne, he’s a sponsor.”

“Does he know his family name is on the asses of a Roller Derbyteam?”

“Doubt it.”

Okay, that was actually kind of funny. “And TastySkate?”

She let out a sigh. “You know…like Tastykake.”

“You mean the fine makers of my favorite Krimpets?”

She glared up at him and hissed, “Yes. Like the Krimpets and cupcakes and the pies that we of the Tri-States all grew up loving. It was either that or Philly Killsteak.” When Lock frowned, she added, “You know…like Philly

cheesesteak?”

When he laughed, she scowled, so he stopped.

“Gwen, you’re going to be great. You shouldn’t be worried.”

“Oh, I know. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

She was lying again. He knew that because Gwen was shaking.

His Gwen. Fistfight with an entire derby team? Nothing. Taking his intimidating uncles at poker? Nothing.

Getting in a vicious revenge fight with crazy wolves in the basement of a club? Eh.

Putting on derby skates and facing off against her mother’s reputation? A mess.

“Gwenie?” He tightened his grip on her, hoping that talking would get it out of her. Although, Gwen wasn’t much of a talker. “What is it? What’s really bothering you?”

Gwen may not be much of a talker, but once she got going…

“What if I screw up? What if I blow it? What if I let the team down? What if I make a complete fucking idiot out of myself? In front of everybody? What if I lose to that humongous bitch? What if I get so injured I can never walk again? What if there’s a war anyway? What if I embarrass my mother? What if I embarrass myself? What if your parents find out? What if your

sister does? What if—”

“Okay, okay.” He had a feeling she could run with the “what if” scenarios until the next millennium and he knew they didn’t have that kind of time right now. So what should he do? Tragically, he knew what he had to do. As much as it appalled him, he knew there was only one thing he could do at this moment to snap his Gwen out of this.

So, taking a page from the Alla Baranova-MacRyrie handbook of motivational techniques, Lock said,

“Hey, I totally understand if you can’t do this.”

“You do?”

“Sure. I mean…McNelly’s good.”

Gwen snorted. “She’s brute force. That’s different from being good.”

“But she’s bigger than you, weighs more than you, and you can’t shift into cat or pull out that razor blade when you’re on the track, so you have no real advantage over her. And…to be honest—” Oh and this would be the hardest part to say “—I don’t want you out there. I want you home, safe…where I can protect you.”