“Hot tent?”

“Yep. All the more African-based shifters are there. I try not to see it as segregation, though.”

“I’m sure it’s done strictly for health reasons.”

“Can I ask you a question, Crush?”

“Sure.”

“Do you like Bo?”

“Uh ...”

“I don’t mean in a weird way. I’m not talking about hockey and I don’t mean sexually.”

“Oh, that’s good ... ’cause ... yeah.”

“I just mean in general.”

“Well ...”

“For instance, do you find him rude or overbearing or obsessively psychotic?”

“No.”

“Okay. That’s good. Um ... do you ever want to stab him in the face or set him on fire or go back in time and destroy the origin of his bloodline?”

“No.”

And there in her big parka, Blayne did a little shimmy. “I knew it! I knew he could have friends!”

“I don’t know if we’re actually friends, though.”

“Sha-sha-sha. Don’t ruin this for me.”

“Okay.”

“Now come on.” She took his hand with her mitten-covered one and together they headed down toward the party.

“Is this your first Ice Party?” she asked as they walked.

“Yeah.”

“Me, too. I’m having a blast!”

“Even though you’re dressed like you’re on a National Geographic expedition?”

“Hot tent!” she reminded him.

They walked to the edge of the dance floor and that’s where Blayne stopped. She looked up at him and then out at the dancing bodies. Crush followed her line of sight. It took a second, but then he saw what Blayne was trying to show him. Malone.

In denim cutoff shorts, black motorcycle boots, and what he could only assume was a white-fur bikini top, Cella danced between two males. She held a Guinness in her left hand, leaving her right hand free to fist-pump at the most appropriate times, usually when one of her cousins yelled out, “Malones, call back!” And all the Malones yelled in return, “Maaaaalonnnnnnes!” Followed, of course, by what Crush had always termed the “Long Island Fist-Pump.”

Blowing out a breath, enjoying how he could see it in the air, Crush looked at the wolfdog still holding his hand. “Really?” he asked her.

Blayne laughed. “What did you expect? She’s a Long Island girl.”

“I guess.”

“And you’ve gotta admit, she looks fierce as hell in that outfit.”

Yeah. Crush did have to admit that.

“And I have to admit,” Blayne went on, “although freezing to death, I’m really enjoying the partyside of the snow-loving.” She turned toward him, still holding his hand. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because something about you tells me that you’re the duck-out-the-first-time-you-get-the-chance guy. Unless you’re about to arrest someone.” She blinked, thought a moment, then asked, “Are you here to arr—”

“No, Blayne. I’m not here to arrest anyone.”

“Cool! Want me to get Cella for you?”

“Sure. Okay.”

“No problem.” She finally released the grip she had on him, put both her hands to her mouth and screamed out, “Cella!”

And yes, that was something he could have done himself, but why quibble?

Malone turned, saw them, and ran over. When she was about ten feet from Crush, she launched herself at him, hitting him hard, her legs wrapping around his waist, her arms around his neck. “Hi!”

“H—”

She didn’t let him finish, her mouth pressing against his, arms tightening around his neck. And for those few seconds Crush forgot about everyone else.

When she finally pulled her mouth away, Crush still had his eyes closed.

“I’m glad you came.”

Wait. He had? When?

“I was afraid you were going to bail on me.”

Oh! Came as in attend. Got it. He was there. He was okay. He could handle this. Her. Whatever.

“I promised.”

“You did.” Still wrapped around him, she leaned back a bit and gave him a once-over. “You’re kind of overdressed.”

“I see that now.”

Cella took Crush on a tour. She loved this yearly party and was excited to be able to share something with him that she was pretty sure he’d enjoy. She got the feeling that MacDermot’s party from a couple of weeks ago was probably the first time in a long time that he’d gone to a party that had nothing to do with his job. He had to learn to relax. Guys like him ended up with heart conditions and high blood pressure. She didn’t want that for Crush and would do what she could to make sure he learned what relaxing was all about.

“There’s a couple of hockey games going on. Pro players over there and just-like-to-get-drunk-and-fuck-around-on-the-ice over there. There’s equipment to borrow if you didn’t bring your own. There’s ice holes over there with freshwater seals. I’m told they’re just like ring seals.”

“Baikal seals. Someone went all the way to Russia to get those?”

“Not when they can just go to the Maine seal farms. Have you been to any bear-only towns?”

“No.”

“So much to show you.”