Zubachev folded his massive arms over his enormous chest but still said nothing.

“What you failed to understand was that it was not personal. The bottom line is that playing with your team would not have been a challenge for him. A team filled with bears, Siberian tigers, and Novikov—will do nothing but win. He knows that. You know that. That’s why you wanted him. But Novikov needs a challenge. He needs to know that he can’t just waltz off with a trophy. He wants to earn that win. So let’s forget the past. Let’s forget about cages. Let’s forget the insults. And let’s talk about money. Because a game between our teams in a neutral, shifter-only location, will have money coming down on us like snow in Siberia.”

That made Zubachev smirk and, after a moment, he walked over to the chair he’d just left, pulled it out, and plopped down into it.

He briefly lifted his hands, then dropped them. “Let’s negotiate . . . little doggie.”

Toni grinned. “Yes. Let’s. You big, adorable bear, you.”

Twelve hours. Twelve hours to negotiate one goddamn hockey game. During that time, Ricky and Vic had stood behind or beside Toni—Vic sometimes briefly stepping out to answer phone calls—while Toni handled it all like a pro. She never looked tired, even though Ricky was sure that she was exhausted down to her toes. Nor did she snap when the bears made things difficult. And like most bears, these Russian bears certainly enjoyed making things difficult.

Like now, when the bears had agreed to almost all the terms except one. Although they wouldn’t insist on putting Novikov in a cage, they were insisting that the man was to be shackled before and after game time. Toni kept reminding them that the damage done to their coach had happened during a game, so what would be the point of chaining her player before and after? But the bears wouldn’t be moved on this point and Ricky was thinking Toni was about to give up and decide to head on home. Especially when her cell phone went off.

Toni glanced at the screen, while one of the bears muttered, “Rude,” as she did.

“Everything all right?” Ricky asked her.

“Just Cooper.” She sighed, glancing up at Ricky. “He’s wondering when I’m heading home.”

“I can’t believe Cooper Jean-Louis Parker is your brother,” Vic suddenly announced . . . rather loudly. So loudly that both Ricky and Toni looked at the man. He shrugged. “Just an observation.”

“Cooper Jean-Louis Parker?” Zubachev repeated, and all the bears’ eyes locked on Toni. Ricky stepped even closer and placed his hand on her shoulder. Standing there for the last twelve hours had allowed him to come up with all sorts of exit strategies should things turn nasty. “You know Cooper Jean-Louis Parker?”

“He’s her brother,” Vic said, moving closer to the table and Toni.

Zubachev snorted.“Lie. The freak cat lies.”

“I find that very hurtful, Ivan.”

“Shut up.” Zubachev glared across the table at Toni. “Prove he is your brother or I believe nothing.”

Toni shrugged and again looked at her phone. She began scanning a ton of pictures—how much memory does her camera have anyway?—but instead of choosing, Toni kept muttering things like, “Nah. Not that one, I look too fat. No. Coop has that ridiculous smile. No. If I show that one, Cherise will be mad.”

Fed up and exhausted himself, Ricky took the phone from her, flipped through a couple more pictures until he found one that showed brother and sister hugging each other and grinning into the camera. He sent the camera skidding across the table right at Zubachev.

The bear stared at the tiny screen, the other bears soon getting out of their chairs and surrounding him, all staring at the small phone in his giant hand.

After nearly a minute, they all looked up at Toni.

“You truly know him,” Zubachev said. “You know The Coop.”

“I better,” Toni muttered. “He used to throw his dirty diapers at me. I better not have gone through that for no reason.”

“The Coop,” another bear said, grinning. “The man.” Then Ricky watched twelve bears of varying sizes and colors pretend to play air-piano.

It was . . . weird. Yeah. That was the best word for it. Weird.

“You talked all sorts of crap about canines,” Toni reminded Zubachev, “but you love my brother?”

“He plays music like god,” Zubachev cheered. “Species does not matter when man play like that.”

“He’s still a canine.”

“He is The Coop,” Zubachev insisted, as if that explained everything. “You should be proud to be his sister!”

“I am!” Toni snapped back, her exhaustion finally catching up with her. She leaned back in her chair, huffing and puffing a bit, when Vic kneed the back of her seat. Glaring, Toni looked at the man. Vic raised his brows and motioned to Zubachev.

After a moment, Toni focused back on Zubachev. She studied him and, finally, said, “You know . . . He’s doing a tour in Russia in September. I’m sure I could get him to add this territory to his itinerary.”

Zubachev smirked. “What price?”

“His usual rate, because that’s the least he deserves. The concert would be open to all species and breeds and, of course, dinner with his host. But no chains for Novikov. Instead, we will rely on Novikov’s commitment to me not to harm anyone. This, of course, is only in effect if none of you”—and she looked hard at all the players at the table—“challenge him while off the ice. Commit to that, and my brother will happily do this favor for me.”