He shot out the door, and Blayne went after him. She was way faster than him and slammed into him before he got ten feet from the kitchen. The problem wasn’t catching him, it was taking him down. She wrapped her arms around his head and her legs around his chest.

“Stay away from him!” she screeched. “It’s not what you think!”

“Like hell it’s not! I’m gonna rip that fucker’s lungs out! No one takes advantage of my Blaynie!”

Blayne knew Mitch was serious. Knew he planned to go over to the sports center and confront a man who could crush him with his pinky.

So Blayne did what she had to do. What she always had to do when it came to fighting Mitch O’Neill Shaw.

“No, Blayne! No! Not the hair! Good God, woman! Not the hair!”

Spending most of his time in a house filled with wild dogs had taught Smitty a few things: Dogs never shut up; there was not enough chocolate in the world to satisfy them; why speak quietly when you can yell your conversation; they all howled—badly—when any fire trucks went by; and anytime of the day or night, if there was weirdness to be found, the dogs would find it right in their own kitchen.

This time, however, he found it in the hallway outside the kitchen. And although the wild dogs weren’t at the heart of it, like usual, he wasn’t surprised to see who was.

“In retrospect,” he said to his baby sister, her pretty little face buried in her hands as she stood next to him, “do you think you should have rethought picking yourself an actual wolf to be your mate?”

She didn’t answer, but Sissy Mae didn’t have to. Then again, where would Smitty find his fun if not for the big-haired lion male desperately trying to pry a crazed wolfdog off his back? It still amazed him how the Smiths had such a bad reputation when, in fact, they were probably the sanest among the packs, prides, and clans. Then again, when they went outside their own to mate, this is what happened.

He got a sobbing female who, while pregnant, couldn’t have any sharp objects within five feet of her, and his sister got a lion who couldn’t bat off the unwanted attention of an incredibly sweet wolfdog.

“Get her off me!” Mitch yelled. “Get her off me!”

Since no one else was doing anything and Smitty knew he’d eventually need to learn to handle these kind of wolfdog issues on his own for when his baby wolfdog was born, he walked up to the tusslin’ pair and grabbed Blayne Thorpe around the waist, holding her nice and tight.

A month back, Smitty had gone with Jessie Ann to a birthday party thrown for Blayne. He’d been thinking he’d rather set himself on fire, but it turned out to be a really nice affair at a Van Holtz restaurant. At the party he’d met Blayne’s daddy, Ezra Thorpe. Also a former Navy man, they got to talkin’, and Smitty had immediately likedthe older wolf. And Petty Officer Thorpe was nothing but helpful once he realized that not only was Smitty’s mate a wild dog but that she was about to have their first child. A daughter. Smitty had learned a lot from the man in a few hours. And the most important thing he’d learned was that “No matter what anyone says, wolfdogs don’t suddenly go postal and attack for no reason. The reason may not seem logical,” he’d added, “but they’ve got a reason. As long as you know that much, you can control the situation before law enforcement has to get involved.”

Keeping that firmly in mind, Smitty said, “What did you do to her, Shaw?”

As soon as Smitty asked that, Blayne released the death grip she had on Mitch’s hair.

The lion, now free, spun around and said, “Me? I didn’t do anything!”

“You all right, Blayne?”

“I am not having sex with Bo Novikov!”

Not the answer Smitty had been expecting, but . . . all right then.

“I see.” Smitty placed her on the floor. “And you’re telling me that because . . .”

“Because he’s about to do something really stupid!” Not exactly new for Mitch Shaw.

Massaging his damaged scalp, Mitch moved away from Blayne and hid behind Sissy like a two-year-old. “I was only going over there to talk to him. I was bringing Sissy for protection.”

Sissy’s eyes crossed, and Blayne said, “I know you, Mitchell Shaw. First you tell Sissy. Then Ronnie and Bren—then your mother.”

“We only want to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection from Bo Novikov. You guys just misunderstand him. He’s really sweet!”

Oh, Lord.

“See?” Mitch crowed. “Do you see?”

“Shut up, Mitch! He’s been great. Helping me with derby, making sure I eat—he even cleaned my apartment.”

Smitty immediately locked gazes with his sister. They’d always been close and understood what the other was thinking without actually having to say the words.

“Um . . .” Sissy began. “Why now did he clean your apartment?”

“It might have been a little messy . . . and I was passed out on the couch.”

Suddenly getting worried, Smitty asked, “What do you mean you were passed out on the couch?”

“It was after the badger attack—”

Sissy raised her hand, cutting Blayne off. “Badger attack?”

“They’re trying to destroy me.”

Sissy’s entire body jerked. “Badgers?”

“Don’t judge me!” Blayne yelled seconds before she burst into tears and ran back into the kitchen, the wild dogs following after her.