And she knew what it was, too. Bold had convinced himself that his uncle was only doing what he morally felt he should do, not that he loved the boy more than he could ever put into words. And Grigori had convinced himself that Bold was so standoffish because he didn’t like him, let alone love him, and that he’d been biding his time waiting to get away from him rather than the entire town who still called him Speck. They were both foolish and incredibly stubborn males who never listened to anyone, and although Marci still tried when she could to get both past all this, she’d given up hope.

Until this very moment. Until this very wolfdog.

“Why are you yelling at me?” Bo asked, and as usual, he didn’t sound hurt or angry, merely confused. Male bears . . . the most confused of any carnivore on the planet!

“Because family is all, Bo. You should stay,” she suddenly said.

“I am not staying.”

“I’ll go back with whoever is coming to pick me up and you can stay a couple of extra days.”

“I’m not staying, Blayne. So forget it.”

“Do we really need to have the ‘when was the last time you went on vacation’ discussion again?”

“The Cup Finals begin in two weeks. Do you really think that I’d miss one day of training before Finals?”

“You know what I just heard? ‘Blah blah blah blah blah . . . finals.’”

Marci quickly covered her mouth with her hand and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“You need to stay and see your family.”

“No.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“And you need to get dressed unless you want me to drag you on that transport naked. And don’t you dare cry!”

Marci heard the wolfdog sniff loudly and dramatically three times before saying, “Fine. Be that way. Alone, bitter, friendless.”

“Don’t alone and friendless kind of go together?” Marci heard something crash, then Bo growl, “And stop throwing things at my head!”

Straightening her clothes and trying to wipe the smile off her face, Marci stepped in front of the doorway and knocked.

Blayne was still seething when the doctor from yesterday knocked and stepped into the room.

“Morning,” she said, looking kind of serious.

“Morning,” both Blayne and Bo mumbled.

Blayne knew Bo was pissed at her, but she didn’t really care. Family was family, in her mind, and unless they were stealing from you or abusing you, a body just had to put up with them. That’s what being blood meant. Most hybrids didn’t even know their families; shunned from birth, their birth parents forced out, they often ended up living a hard life if anything happened to the ones who raised them. Blayne knew she was lucky that her father haddecided to keep her and raise her. Others, unable to survive without their pride, pack, or clan, often deserted their young pups and cubs who then ended up roughing it in the system. It was hard enough being a shifter in a world of nonshifters, but to be a hybrid . . . Blayne couldn’t imagine it and didn’t really want to. And like her, whether he realized it or not, Bo was one of the lucky ones. He may have lost his parents, but to find a family member willing to take him in was no small feat. So the fact that he didn’t slather that polar with love and adoration stuck in her sensitive paw like little else could.

“How are you both feeling?” the doctor asked, stepping farther into the room until she stood between the bed and the side table where someone had put out clothes.

“Fine,” Bo mumbled.

“Much better,” Blayne said.

“Good.” She clapped her hands together, startling Blayne and Bo, causing both of them to snarl a little, but if she noticed, she didn’t show it. “So I guess Grigori told you that Blayne’s people are coming for her. In fact, they may already be here.”

Blayne couldn’t help but wince. “My father?”

“Your father is a Van Holtz?”

Blayne not only laughed out of relief, but the thought that some “born with that stick up his ass”—as her dad put it—Van Holtz would deign to claim any wolfdog as their child made her fall back on the bed.

Bo threw clothes at her, his anger already gone as he watched her. “Put some clothes on, Giggles.”

“Hey! I could be a Van—”

“Don’t even,” he cut in, already smiling, which was good because she was laughing again. “Just get dressed.”

“I guess the answer to your question then, Blayne, is it’s not your father.”

Blayne pulled on thermal underwear, sweatpants, and a sweatshirt.

“Hmmm,” the doc said. “I was afraid of that.” She motioned for Blayne to stand on the bed, and she examined the bottom of the sweats. “These are fox cut pants, but, as I feared, they’re too short for you.”

“We’ll be here another half hour. Tops. She can suck up the shortness.”

Before Blayne could point out that no one had asked his damn opinion, the doc did it for her.

“And who asked you, Bold Novikov?” Marci said, tossing shiny black and gray hair off her forehead.

“Bold?” Blayne giggled. “Did you call him Bold?”

“That’s his name.”

“Dude, your name is Bold?”

“First off, stop calling me dude. And second, you got a problem with my name?”

“Not if you were on the cover of one of my mom’s old romance novels.”