Beast Behaving Badly (17 page)

“
Certain
military types?”

“
Our
military types.”

He internally sighed in relief when she pulled her hand away from the watch rather than continue playing with it. “What kind of trouble do I need to be in?”

Even better, she was asking questions about it. Good. Excellent. “Trapped in the Andes and forced to eat your friends because there's no way out is a good example. Missing the downtown bus and needing to make a dentist appointment . . . bad example.”

She gave a little laugh as he moved ahead. “In other words, follow my dad's rules on when to bother him and when not to. Skinned knee, suck it up and take it like a Thorpe. Skin hanging off your face after wiping out on your Harley, then definitely call but don't expect sympathy.”

Bo nodded. “Kind of like my uncle's rule. Unless body parts are actually detached, he doesn't want to hear about it.”

Blayne smiled. “I guess your family must be proud of you, huh? You being a big hockey player and all.”

Bo shrugged. “I have no idea. I haven't spoken to them in a while.”

“What's a while?”

“Since I left.”

She turned a little in her seat so she could look at him with wide brown eyes. “Since you left? You mean ten years ago?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Why haven't you spoken to them in so long?”

He shrugged, not sure why she seemed so upset. “I don't know. I was busy.”

Her mouth dropped open and she gawked at him.

“Okay, why are you looking at me like that?”

“How do you not stay in touch with your family?”

“By not picking up the phone and dialing the number?”

“That's . . . disheartening.”

“Disheartening?”

“Disheartening.”

“Why?”

“Because you need family. Everybody needs family.”

He shrugged, still not sure why she seemed so upset about it. “I guess I'm lucky then.”

“I guess.” She didn't say anything for a long time after that, simply stared out the window. He wondered what she was looking at, thinking about. Was she thinking about him? His lack of family? Or was she still angry at him? Maybe her mind had jumped to another topic all together? The world? Society? Politics?

 

 

 

 

They were less than a mile from the restaurant they were going to. Bo had already called ahead, and the owner would have his best table set up and waiting for them. But first Bo had to get something out of the way, so he pulled over at a corner on a deserted street.

She looked around. “Why are we stopping?”

He let out a breath. “I'm sorry.”

Her eyes narrowed. “This watch is totally
not
fake, is it?”

“That's not what I'm talking about, Blayne.” He turned a little in the seat so he could face her. “First off, I'm sorry I ambushed you earlier.”

“You should be. There has to be an easier way for you to get a date.”

“With anyone else, but you weren't giving me much choice.”

Her hands dropped in her lap. “What does that mean?”

“It means . . . it means . . .” Bo shook his head. He couldn't think straight. Not with her so close. “Fuck it. Who cares what it means?”

“If you're going to get all pissy about it—what are you doing?”

 

 

And that's when Bo kissed her, his mouth pressing warm and firm against hers, his tongue easing its way between her lips.

The contact startled her simply because she really hadn't been expecting it. But not expecting it didn't mean it wasn't welcome. And goddamn if the man could kiss as well as he played hockey.

Blayne tilted her head to the side so they could both more easily enjoy the other's mouth and tongue. God, she was so enjoying. He tasted good, his tongue stroking hers in a way that made her think of oral sex. She didn't know why, but she wondered what he could do when they got around to that . . .

Wait.
If
they got around to that. If. The man wasn't in yet. Right? Right, Blayne?

Bo suddenly pulled back from her, his tongue licking his lips as if he were still tasting her, his eyes locked on her mouth. Had he closed his eyes at all when he'd kissed her? “I'll be honest,” he murmured. “I'm not sure if that helped the situation or made the rest of the night that much longer if I can't do that again until I take you to your front door.”

If she could speak, she'd totally agree with him. Maybe she should forget about all her recent rules about hooking up with a guy. Maybe she should just throw caution to the wind, forget about the pasta, and take the big hybrid home to her way tiny apartment and put her really sturdy bed to use. True, it wasn't like her but . . . but . . .

But God she really wanted to.

Blayne grabbed his hand and said, “Bo—”

The sound of shattering glass filled Bo's way-too-big truck, and the hybrid's big chest and shoulders jerked forward, shoving Blayne back into the passenger side door, Bo's body keeping her pinned there.

Wincing from the sudden pain in her head where her skull had met the door, Blayne pushed at Bo's shoulder. “Bo?” she called out. “Bo? Can you hear me?”

Confused as hell, Blayne leaned up a bit. The window hadn't been destroyed completely. Instead there was a healthy-size hole in it and cracks running through the glass that was left. Looking back down at the hybrid on her, she saw the metal tip of something poking out of his brown-and-white mane. Blayne reached around and gripped it, pulling it out until the dart slid from his skin. She lifted it up and stared.

“Fuck—”

The passenger door flew open, and since Blayne had been leaning on it, she fell back with it. She saw black ski masks and knew she was in trouble.

Someone jammed a needle into her neck, and she felt liquid forced into her veins. She cried out, her first instinct to fight, but she remembered how fast Bo dropped, and she went limp instead, her eyes closing.

Hands grabbed hold of her arms and legs and lifted her out of Bo's truck. She felt her body carried to a running vehicle. She sensed it was a van by the way they were able to haul her in and get in with her without any trouble. She heard a male voice ask, “Kill the other one?”

“No. Leave him.”

Blayne felt a moment of relief flood her as they placed her on a bench and the van doors were slammed shut. The van sped off and Blayne worked hard not to panic. She needed to remain calm, to handle this rationally. Not easy when she felt trapped, like the walls of the van were closing in, like they'd already locked her up in a cage.

And if there was one thing Blayne hated, it was feeling trapped.

 

 

She was gone. But unlike last time, she hadn't run from him. She'd been taken. And he wanted her back. He wanted her back right now.

Bo Novikov sat up straight in the driver's side seat. He could smell the full-humans who'd taken her from him, and rage at the audacity of what they'd done moved through him, his lip curling back over fangs that were three times larger than any lion or bear bred after the prehistoric era. Shoving the driver's side door open, he stepped out and immediately focused on the van taillights he could see ahead in the darkness. Blayne was in that van. He stepped forward, ready to take off after her when it hit him in the back. He felt it like little shocks he'd feel after sliding through a thick carpet and touching a metal door handle. The feeling annoyed but that was about it.

He turned toward the two males who stood behind him, their van parked lengthwise across the quiet street in case Bo had tried to back his truck up to get away. But he hadn't even known they were there. He'd been so involved with her . . .

He couldn't worry about that now. About how unobservant he'd been. How stupid. Not if he wanted to get her back.

Reaching behind him, he caught hold of the probes attached to his back and ripped them off.

“Jesus Christ,” the younger full-human sputtered, stumbling back, the taser falling from his hand. The older one was going for his sidearm. With no time to fight these two, Bo grabbed hold of his truck's back door and ripped it off at the hinges.

The older male had his gun raised and pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into Bo's shoulder, but all it really managed to do was piss him off even more.

Roaring, his mane growing as the rage coursed through him potent and uncontrollable, he threw the door. It hit the one holding the gun, part of his head taken off in the process. The younger one screamed and ran, not even trying to get back into his van and drive away. He just ran, never once looking back.

With Blayne his only thought, Bo turned and shot off after the other van. Unable to see the taillights anymore, he took a chance and cut through the park that this road swerved around, praying he got there fast enough. Praying they hadn't made it to the expressway. He hadn't bothered with his truck because it limited what he could do. And he was fast enough to keep up with most cars or vans.

As he powered around trees and over benches, Bo caught sight of fast-moving headlights farther ahead. He snarled, his speed increasing as he thought about Blayne alone in that van.

They had her. They had Blayne.

 

 

Those who had taken her were chatting comfortably. They'd done this before. So much so, they were busy discussing basketball tickets and plans they had for next weekend. And while they chatted, whatever medication they'd given Blayne to knock her out was pouring out of her pores like sweat. She felt cold, her thick sweater doing little to keep her warm, the liquid soaking into the material. Her teeth began to chatter, but she clenched her jaw tight and held on.

Someone leaned in close. A full-human. They were all full-human.

“Jesus. She's sweating like a pig.”

“In this cold?” a female asked.

“Chain her up,” a gruff voice from the front of the van ordered.

“But, sir—”

“Do it.”

The male sighed, and Blayne felt hands grip her wrists, the cold touch of metal against her skin. She took in a breath, steeling herself for what she had to do next. And that's when the van bucked.

“What the hell—”

Blayne heard a roar from overhead and she almost smiled.

He'd come for her.

“We should have killed him,” the female voice whispered to someone else.

“He's on the roof,” someone else said, his words nearly muted from the sound of metal being torn apart by claws.

“Kill him,” the gruff voice ordered. “Kill him now.”

Blayne opened her eyes and took a quick look around. It was a young male who sat beside her, his attention focused on the van ceiling. She looked him over once and saw the blade he had strapped to his leg. Military issue.

“And lock her up!” the gruff voice snapped. The young male pulled his gaze away from the ceiling and back to Blayne.

She smiled at him. He blinked, startled, and quickly tried to grab her wrists. She yanked them away and slapped him across the face. His head jerked to the side, and Blayne reached down and grabbed hold of his blade.

As she slid it free from its holster, she kept in mind what her father had always told her. “Do something, Blayne. Even if it's wrong, do
something.
”

And that's just what she did.

Bo swiped his claws against the roof again, tearing at it to get inside. He could hear screaming now and, roaring in rage, sure they were hurting Blayne, killing Blayne, he shoved metal aside to get inside to her. To save her. But the shock of what he saw when he looked inside that van caught him off guard; that split second of confusion costing him dearly because the vehicle swerved wildly again, spinning in a circle and tossing him off.

Bo's body flipped through the air until he hit the ground hard, his right forearm shattering from the impact while his body continued to flip again, his ribs banging against unfortunately placed rocks. He rolled a few feet more, finally slowing to a stop that left him in excruciating pain and unable to breathe very well.

Bo stared up at the trees over his head. Everything was silent now, and he knew that the van had crashed while he'd flipped across the park ground. To be honest, he wanted to stay right where he was. He wanted to lie here and try to find a way to breathe without that unfortunate whistling sound. He wanted to die here staring up at the trees and hoping that heaven really was an ice-covered pond where all the best hockey players met daily for a new game.