His smile was warm, and Gwen felt that pang of jealousy again. She hated feeling it, hated knowing she even had it. “She handed me one of those cups of coffee, along with six honey buns, sat down next to me and…and she talked to me. I don’t even remember for how long or what was said. And, in the beginning, she did most of the talking. For a week, though, I came back to the same coffee shop around the same time and every day she was there or she’d show up a few minutes later, and we’d talk some more. Before I knew it, she’d hired me to write code for some of her company’s software and when that went well, they hired me to do more. I started shaving again, showering every day, and I put all my military stuff in my trunk and put it in the back of my closet. Soon I had goals and plans for my future that were months or years ahead rather than days or hours. She helped me move on…well, her and the therapy. And that’s not something I can ever forget. So, yeah, if Jess told me to jump off a bridge, and there was a good reason to do it, I probably would.”
Gwen swallowed, torn between feeling grateful to Jess for helping Lock when he needed it most and resenting her for being closer to Lock then Gwen might ever be. “So you do love her,” she said softly, determined to face the truth.
“Yeah, I love her. But I’m not in love with her. I’m not in love with anybody.”
Gwen felt her heart drop at Lock’s words, but she wouldn’t come down on him for being honest. She’d rather that now than later.
Nodding, Gwen reached for her ice cream and said, “I understand.”
“I mean,” he went on, unwittingly turning the knife, “not in love with anybody but you.” He thought a moment and added, “God, I’m crazy in love with you. But yeah, I love Jess. Wait…what’s wrong?”
He was probably asking that because her hand was frozen in the action of reaching for her ice cream, but she’d been so stunned, she left it dangling there. Staring at her nails, she asked, “You’re in love with me?”
“Crazy in love with you. You know, that whole ‘can’t imagine my life without you’ crazy in love with you.”
She dropped her hand back in her lap and gazed up at him in astonishment. “How do you just toss that into a conversation?”
“Not tossing, clarifying.”
“You see, this is what I’ve been talking about with you. It’s like the whittling—”
“I never said I whittled. I said it was a hobby. You thought it was whittling and there would be birdhouses.”
“But the way you described it to me—in your quiet, understated way—made it sound like whittling. Instead you’re like the Ansel Adams of wood!”
“And that’s a problem?”
“No. That’s not the problem, your way of telling me things is. You do this constantly.”
“I do what constantly?”
Using her most calm, relaxed, “surfer dude” voice, Gwen replied, “Hey, just want you to know…sky’s falling. Hey, nothing to worry about but…uh…tsunami.”
“Oh, come on!”
“Hey,” she went on casually even as her heart slammed hard against her ribs as she realized the grizzly loved her, “I invited this old buddy of mine over for dinner. He’s president of the United States of America, and he’s bringing about three hundred people with him, but no problem, I’m sure we have something in the freezer.”
Lock pouted. “I’m not that bad.”
“Yeah, ya are. You’re lucky I can overlook it.”
Then Gwen reached up, her fingers stroking his cheek, his jaw; her eyes focused on his beautiful face.
“It’s okay, Gwen.” He gave her that sweet smile. “Say it when you’re ready.”
“Okay. I will.” She slid her hands into his hair and tugged so he would move closer. She sat tall in his lap, raising her mouth to his. When they were barely a breath apart, Gwen said, “I love you.” She smiled, shrugged. “I was ready.”
Lock’s hands bracketed her face, long fingers stroking her skin. He studied her like he wanted to absorb every part of her, take in every detail. No one had ever looked at her like that and, if they had, it clearly hadn’t meant as much.
Lock’s lips met hers and, as his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she leaned back onto the kitchen floor, taking Lock with her.
“Table Six up,” Ric called out as he placed the two large and expertly roasted and plated slabs of venison on the counter. The server grabbed both plates and walked out.
Grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge, Ric said to his sous chef, “I’ll be back. Taking a break.”
He walked out without waiting for an answer and headed into the alley behind the restaurant. Drinking water, he stared up at the sky. It was a nice night. A beautiful night.
“Planning to run away?” a voice asked.
Ric’s grin was wide and real as he threw his arms around the man’s shoulders. “Uncle Van! It’s so good to see you.”
“Hello, cousin.” Niles Van Holtz, Uncle Van to the younger cousins of the Pack, stepped back and studied him closely. “Busy night?”
Ric let out an exhausted sigh. “You have no idea.” He gestured with his water bottle. “So what brings you to this coast?” His shoulders slumped. “Do I need to involve my father?”
“Oh, God, no. I’m still recovering from Memorial Day weekend.”
Ric cringed, remembering the family event that had turned ugly rather quickly. “I sent Aunt Irene flowers.” Complete with groveling apology. “She said she liked them.”
“She loved them. Although I had to hear, yet again, how it’s my fault that we didn’t take you from that, and I’m quoting here, ‘Visigoth’ when you were five and realized your IQ was higher than your parents’ and brother’s combined.”
Laughing and appreciating the compliment from a bona fide genius like Irene Conridge-Van Holtz, Ph.D., Ric shrugged. “So what do you need?”
“The information you sent me a few days ago?”
“Yes?”
Van held out something and Ric took it. It was made of studded leather and when he unraveled the pieces, he realized it was a very large muzzle. A very large, blood-encrusted muzzle.
“I think it’s time, cousin,” the older wolf said and, sadly studying the piece of equipment in his hands, Ric had to agree.
CHAPTER 25
Alla Baranova-MacRyrie watched her son lift her husband’s old and extremely heavy desk up and out of the way and put in the new one.
“I thought your father just wanted you to fix the old desk.”
“I know.” Lock shifted the new desk back, forth, back, trying to make sure it was perfectly situated. “But after examining it, I decided he needed a new desk.”
“He likes the old one because his son made it.”
“I was thirteen. It’s flawed.”
Alla rolled her eyes. Some things would never change. “Yes. Horribly flawed. It only managed to last eighteen years in perfectly acceptable condition. At your father’s dangerous hands, no less. Must be a huge disappointment to you.”
Stepping back until he stood beside her, Lock observed the desk and the surrounding area. “Think he’ll like it?”
“He’ll adore it.”
Lock glanced at her. “Why are you wearing a witch’s hat?”
“It’s Halloween.”
“Yes. I know. I’m going to a party later tonight.”
“You? Going to a party? With people?”
“Cute.”
Arms crossed over her chest, Alla said, “That desk is really beautiful, Lachlan.”
“Thank you.” Lock cleared his throat. “I’m…uh…” He cleared his throat again. “I’m probably going to be doing this as a business.”
“Building desks?”
“Yes. No. I mean, building desks, chairs, tables, whatever.”
“Like an assembly line?”
“No, not at all. I’m talking handmade pieces.”
“Art.”
“It depends who you talk to.”
Alla nodded. “That fits you.”
Lock ga
ve her a sidelong glance. “You’re not…”
“Disappointed?”
“Since I’ve been back you’ve been pushing school, teaching—”
“Lachlan, you’re very good at many things, but I want you to do what makes you happy. The military didn’t make you happy. Software—” she rolled her eyes “—honestly. Where’s your joy in that? But this?” She held her hands out, gesturing to the desk. “This brings you joy. That’s all I’ve ever cared about.”
Alla turned to face him and placed her hands on both his cheeks. “I want my son happy. Because when you’re happy, you shine.”
Lock kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Now you’ve got a party to go to. And I hope you’re not going alone.”
“Nope. I’m going with Ric.”
Alla let out an annoyed sigh. “I did not mean Ulrich.”
Lock grinned. “I’m meeting Gwen there.”
“Excellent.”
“You like her.”
“I like her for you.” After a moment, she shrugged and added, “And I like her.” Because she makes you shine.
“Children are beginning to show up,” Brody said as he walked into the room. “I can’t terrify them from the bushes if you’re not manning the door, Alla.”
“Of course. Because that’s what makes this dreadful holiday so entertaining.”
Brody walked over to his new desk. “This is gorgeous!”
“I’m glad you like it, Dad.”
“And a rolltop.” He pushed the rolltop up and then twisted around and under to see inside. “I’ve always wondered how these types of desk work.”
“Dad. Don’t take my desk apart.”
“Of course not!” Brody pursed his lips. “But if I were just to—”
“No!” Mother and son barked in unison.
Brody pouted and Alla had no idea why when he did that it always made her love him a little more. “There’s no need to get testy,” he grouched.
Gwen opened the door and stared at her best friend. “I can’t believe you still have that costume.”
“I can’t believe I still fit in it.” Blayne twirled once in the hallway. “Isn’t it great?”
“Yep. It’s great.” And very, very Blayne. Her idea of a 1950s Satan’s Cheerleader, complete with a full-length red poodle skirt—only the poodle was a snarling Doberman pinscher—a black V-necked sweater, saddle shoes, short black socks, black and red pom-poms, an inverted-cross necklace in black, and her long hair blown out straight and in a high pony tail with bangs combed over her forehead. Plus the “blood”-covered rosarys hanging off her hip was a nice and recent touch.
Blayne studied Gwen. “You and your sixties obsession.”
“Best era for clothes and music.”
“You look like you should be in an Andy Warhol movie.” Blayne’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a wig?”
“Nah.” Gwen ran her hands through her freshly shorn locks. “I cut it.”
“Lemme see.”
Gwen lowered her hand and shook out her hair. She’d kept the front ends a little longer and cut the back shorter. It had been a whim after studying some old photos online when she was pulling her costume together. Blayne dropped her pom-poms and circled Gwen, playing with the ends of her hair.
“It’s perfect.”
“You like it?”
“I love it.” Blayne dug her hands into Gwen’s hair and scrubbed like crazy. Laughing, Gwen batted her off.
“Let’s go!” Blayne cheered, doing a forward cartwheel back into the hallway—and almost popping Gwen in the face with those long legs. “I’m so ready to go. It’s gonna be a blast!”
“Yeah,” Gwen agreed. It’ll be a blast—for Blayne. Gwen, however, would spend the whole evening keeping track of her mother and brother and making the peace when it was necessary. But Lock promised he’d meet her there, and she had no doubts he’d come through. If nothing else, she had a great after-party party to look forward to.
Hell, if she had her way, she’d forgo the stupid costume party altogether and hook up with Lock. But her mother…
“You ready or what?” Blayne asked eagerly.
“Uh…hold on.” Gwen went to the coffee table and grabbed a pack of gum, a tube of lipstick, her ID, and cash. She placed those inside her boots. Then she grabbed the closed straight razor she’d carried with her everywhere in Philly and now New York and slid it into the small holder sewn into the inside of her pants. Having claws, she didn’t need the weapon with other shifters, but when she dealt with humans, a lot of them carrying those damn cell phones with cameras around, she found it necessary. She’d rather be arrested for having an illegal weapon than end up on the cover of the Daily News as evidence of werewolves or something.
Gwen walked back to the front door and headed out with Blayne, closing the hotel door behind her.
She was glad to see that Blayne had had the cab wait for them. Halloween was a busy night in Manhattan, and she had no desire to get on the subway.
Traffic was thick, but they made it to the party in good time. The entire club had been rented out for the Kuznetsov Pack, and they could already tell tons of people had shown up. They found themselves stuck in line for a bit before reaching the front door. While they waited, Gwen glanced over and watched as a too-young-for-those-tiny-shorts Assault and Battery Park Babe rolled up to them.
Gwen shook her head at Kristan’s outfit and laughed. “Your mother is going to snap her leash when she sees you, girly-girl.”
“Can I help it if I look really good in this?” Kristan said as she gave Gwen a warm hug and then Blayne.
“She does look good,” Blayne agreed.
“Too good, if you ask me.” Gwen glared at the three cougars standing behind them, checking out the young wolfdog. She hissed and they hissed back, so she tossed in, “Jailbait.” That got them to look away, but her gaze quickly scanned the street, feeling like someone else’s eyes were on them. “Who you looking so good for?” she asked Kristan as she turned back to them.
“Nobody.”
Gwen snorted. “Liar.”
“Total liar,” Blayne laughed.
“Come on, kid. Fess up.”
“Okay. There’s a guy at school.” She shrugged, looking adorably sweet. “He may swing by tonight.”
“You bringing him in?”
“Are you kidding? He’s full-human. My father will have a fit.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Gwen warned her, unable to help herself.
“I’ll work on that.” Kristan pointed at the crowd. “Why are you two standing in line?”
“Because the last time we cut a line, Blayne got stabbed in the arm.”
“I can’t believe you’re still blaming me for that.”
“You shouldn’t have cut the line.”
“Oh, my God. You two are like bickering old women.” Kristan grabbed an arm from each and skated forward, dragging them with her. “They’re with me,” she told security, who immediately let them in.
“Power of the pups,” she explained happily before skating off down another corridor.
“We’re going to have to keep an eye on her tonight, too,” Gwen sighed.
“Why?”
“Look at her in that outfit.” They did.
“Okay. Maybe you have a point.” Then Blayne grinned. “You’re so sweet, though.”
“Huh?”
“Watching out for Kristan.”
“In those shorts?” she murmured, watching some male walk by the entrance they’d just come through, his gaze slowly moving from Kristan and back to Blayne and Gwen before one of the security guards motioned him away. “Someone has to.”
They went down a long hallway dressed up with jack-o’-lanterns, skeletons, and bubbling cauldrons. When they reached another set of doors, the phrase “Enter at your own risk” was scrawled across it in red paint. When Gwen grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, one of her favorite sixties songs, “Denise,” was playing. She and
Blayne grinned at each other, immediately feeling at home. At least where the music was concerned. Gwen loved anything from the sixties, but for Blayne it was the fifties, although they overlapped eras to keep their friendship intact.
They walked in, and Gwen admired the job the wild dogs had done, going for the high school gym look rather than the standard haunted house. An even nicer touch was all the “bodies” lying around.
“Carrie,” Blayne blurted out.
“Who?”
“Not who, what. This is the prom scene from the movie Carrie. See over there? That’s where one character gets slammed by water from a fire hose. And that’s Carrie getting dumped with blood, and over there is the teacher who was nice to her and got cut in half. Brilliant,” Blayne sighed.
Gwen had to agree. One could get a lot of things when they had the money to buy them, but something told Gwen that the Kuznetsov Pack lived for these kinds of details and, rich or poor, they’d always create entertainment at this level. They didn’t do it to impress anyone but themselves and their intense geekiness. Gwen admired that.
Shame she wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy it. “I better find my mother.”
“There’s Mitch,” Blayne pointed out. Gwen nodded and walked over to the table her brother was sitting at.
“Nice costume,” she mocked.
“Hey, hey. Watch what you say.” Mitch glanced over his Roman soldier outfit. “I’ll have you know I’m a legionnaire.”
“A common foot soldier,” she threw back at him. “You couldn’t even make yourself a captain or a general?”
“What?” he asked as she dropped in to the seat beside him and Blayne sat across from them. “You think I have Roman soldier costumes lying around for my use? I got this from the wild dogs. Everyone’s in costume tonight, according to wild dog law.” He looked his sister over. “So you better change.”
“I am in costume, you cretin.”
Mitch leaned back, took another look. “Really?”
“White go-go boots? You see me wear these every day?”
“Don’t get snappy. You look cute. The mole’s a nice touch.”
“It’s a beauty mark.”
“Whatever.”
“Aren’t you going to say ‘hi’ to me?” Blayne asked.