When the She-wolf finally spoke, her accent combined with the female’s size had both Sami and Sander making sure they could instantly escape out the window or door if necessary. She didn’t know what the Smith wolves fed their pups, but Christ they were a huge breed of canine!

“You the hybrid’s friend?” the She-wolf asked.

Knowing panicking now would only set the female off, Sami answered honestly, “He’s our polar.”

She frowned a little at Sami’s answer, but shook her head. “Whatever. I need information. About the Brooklyn bears. Thought he’d have something here.”

“Bo doesn’t know anything about the Brooklyn bears.”

“They hate him,” Sander added.

“’Cause he’s a hybrid?”

“No, it was because of that year he played with the Jersey Stompers.”

“Yeah. He stomped all over that Brooklyn-born bear playing for the Long Island Devourers. They said every one of his vertebrae had been ruptured. Took him years to get back to playing—and he was never the same.”

“He shouldn’t have taken Bo’s puck,” Sami argued, like she’d been arguing for five years since it happened.

The She-wolf let out a breath. “I was really hoping I could find something here to help me out.”

Sami, always more distrustful than Sander, questioned, “What for?”

“Because I need to help one irritating little wolfdog. That’s what for.”

Knowing exactly who she was talking about, Sami wondered what the hell she’d been missing since they left town. She dropped into the leather seat across from the desk the She-wolf had been going through. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, and I’ll see what information I can get for you.”

“You could get me information?”

“There’s a lot of foxes in this town, and we give each other information about ongoing cons, the best fences in the city when you need some quick cash, and when someone’s bringing in the latest shipment of high-quality diamonds. We’re all real friendly with each other—as long as we’re not trying to take each other’s polar.”

“Yeah,” Sander agreed, dropping into the other chair. “Because that would be wrong.”

Blayne was running down a side street of the town when a door opened and she ran face first into it.

Stumbling back, her hands to her forehead, Blayne heard, “Oh! Oh! You poor thing! Blayne, are you all right?”

“Yes, Dr. Luntz.” She smiled in an attempt not to wince. “I’m very hard headed.”

“Let me see.” The sweet sow studied her head closely. “Don’t even think it’ll leave a dent.” She patted Blayne’s cheek. “You look . .. cheery.”

Blayne raised a brow. “So do you.”

The doc’s eyes widened, and Blayne whispered, “I won’t say a word about you two.” Then she gave the sow two thumbs up. Dr. Luntz turned a lovely shade of burgundy and glanced behind Blayne.

“You have a small army following you, dear.”

“Yeah. I know.” Blayne looked over her shoulder at the small pack of dogs that had been following her since she and the pittie mix left Grigori’s house. “Do you know where they’re from, Dr. Luntz?”

“Marci, dear. Call me Marci. And”—she shrugged—“I’m not really sure where they come from. They just show up. Don’t bother any of us, so we don’t bother any of them. Foxes fight with them, though.” She frowned. “I doubt they’d do all that damage.”

They wouldn’t. Coyote shifters maybe, but not the foxes. They were all about the thieving, no time for random dog brawls.

So then where did these dogs come from? They were clearly more escaped fighting dogs like the pittie. Many of them covered in scars, missing one or both of their ears, or had damaged limbs. It broke her heart to see them, but it wasn’t the human part of her they responded to. They knew their own kind. Every one of them had been crossed with a wolf. Rotties, pinchers, pits, German shepherds. All power breeds. All dangerous working dogs on their own but add in that part of wolf that had been bred out of them and there was a whole new world of dangerous added to the equation. She refused to believe any of the locals had anything to do with these dogs, but then who did?

“Well, Blayne Thorpe,” a voice said beside her. “How are you doing?”

Blayne smiled at the sow. She didn’t know her, but she seemed friendly. “Good morning.”

“Love the earmuffs,” she said.

“Thanks! They’re little fake raccoon heads. Bo said they were unholy because he felt like they were staring at him. He’s so cute when he’s being unreasonable.”

The sow examined her carefully before introducing herself. “I’m Superintendent of Ursus County, Kerry-Ann Adams.”

“I’m Blayne Thorpe. Plumber,” she tacked on, feeling the need to have a title.

Kerry-Ann blinked. “You’re a plumber?”

“Blayne has her own business,” Marci bragged. And when Blayne looked at her in surprise, she added, “Bo told me. Now exactly what do you want, Kerry-Ann Adams?”

“Do I need permission to talk to her, Marci Luntz?”

“As Blayne’s personal physician . . . yeah, ya old sow. You do!”

Sensing a fight but not sure why, Blayne quickly cut in with, “I’m hungry!”