Cella Malone sat across from the three hyena females in the Clan living room and tried to figure out how she’d gotten here. Not the physical place she was in at this moment, but more a philosophical question.

She had the full-human sitting next to her, reeking of lion—one of her least favorite scents—and a She-wolf, who’d always annoyed the fuck out of her, outside. And she had to work with them. Maybe her father had been right. Maybe she should have just focused on playing hockey. Or she could have joined the family business.

But Cella always believed in protecting her kind. It was a flaw that her parents blamed on Cella’s grandmother. She was another “helper,” and the one who’d suggested Cella should join KZS after her time in the Marines. Katzenhaft Security might sound like any old security company where you get big guys to cover the front door of your daughter’s sweet sixteen party, but it was much more than that. For hundreds of years, KZS had protected felines from all over the world. It was necessary, since most cats were solitary. They might live with their families, if they settled down like Cella’s parents did, but unless they had the power of a Pride behind them, the lone tiger or leopard or any other feline could find him or herself in serious trouble with nowhere to turn.

She’d been proud of her work over the years and loved that the job still allowed her to play pro hockey, something that meant a lot to the Long Island girl who started skating with her father when she was barely three years old. And with four, not-too-much younger brothers hoping to beat their father’s record, she’d had to learn hard and fast how to survive on the ice. It was worth it in the end, though.

She still wasn’t as great as her father, but she held her own and had a great time doing it. Plus, she had a bit of a reputation that she enjoyed. But what could she say about that? Cella loved a good brawl.

“Why were you trying to hide that you owned the property?” MacDermot asked the three hyenas. Sisters, the one in the middle was the matriarch of the Clan. They were an odd-looking bunch, though. Maybe because if she shut her eyes or it was slightly darker in the room, Cella wouldn’t know if she was talking to men or women.

“We weren’t trying to hide anything. It was a simple business transaction set up by our accountant.”

“So you’re trying to evade paying your taxes.”

“Did we say that?” the matriarch asked. “I don’t remember us saying that.” Cella had a feeling this wasn’t going anywhere. Like the bear territory in Ursus County a few months back and the other territories they’d checked during the day, it seemed that someone knew about these properties and used them for the fights—unbeknownst to the owners. But MacDermot had been determined to check the Allan Clan out. The former Bronx girl had a real hard-on for the hyenas and Cella could only figure she must have picked that up from her lion mate.

As a tiger,Cella found the hyenas annoying and, if she was bored, she had no problems slapping them around, but other than that . . . they just didn’t get to her the way they got to the gold cats. Then again, the wind blew wrong and the lions got bitchy.

About to shut this meeting down at the first opportunity—especially since she needed to get back to the city and ready for the game—Cella glanced out the big picture window behind the hyena females’ heads. That’s when she saw a male hyena run by, followed by another . . . and then Smith.

Carrying a bat. A few seconds later, the males ran by the other way, but this time Smith caught one of them, yanking him back by his sweatshirt and dropping him to the ground. She hit him a few times with the bat and went after the other one.

Cella glanced over at MacDermot, but the full-human’s focus was still on the females in front of her.

“So you had no idea what was going on inside your own building?”

“We never use it,” one of the younger females argued. “It’s there, we own it, but we never use it.”

Smith stumbled into sight, the bat she held raised as a lead pipe came down at her. She blocked it, but the power of the hit drove her back a few feet. She swung the bat, smacking the lead pipe out of her way and slammed her body into the male’s, knocking them both out of sight.

Must be like fighting one of the New York Jets. Sure, Cella was always willing to take Smith on, but that’s because she’d been trained to fight opponents four times her size. Like most female felines, Cella was long and lean, just hitting six feet. Only the wolves and bears seemed to grow their females so ridiculously . . . large.

Cella saw a rope flip up in the air, tossed over something. Smith jogged into view again and grabbed the end of it, hoisting the male up and into the air. She tied the end of the rope off, and proceeded to beat the poor bastard like a birthday piñata.

Once she was done hitting him, Smith started to walk off, stopped, came back, hit the one on the ground a few times for good measure, then was gone.

“Okay then!” Cella said, standing. “Time to go.”

Confused, MacDermot stared up at her. “What?”

“I’ve got that exhibition game with the Carnivores tonight, remember?”

“No.”

“We have to go.”

“But I’m not done.”

Perhaps not, but when Cella saw Smith spring by that window again, a gang of vicious, baby-fanged hyena cubs chasing after her, she knew they had to leave. She grabbed the full-human under the arm and yanked her off the couch, heading toward the door. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter. We’ll let you know if we have more questions.” They were outside on the stoop when Smith hurtled around the side of the house toward their SUV. MacDermot stopped short. “What in—”