"Don't ask." He pushed past her and walked into her apartment.

"Don't ask? How can I not ask?"

Dropping facedown on his sister's couch, Brendon said, "I don't want to talk about it."

"I guess not." He could hear her settle in her favorite king chair, her feet on the ottoman in front of it. "After getting your ass kicked like this."

Brendon's head snapped up and he glared. "I did not get my ass kicked. I got ambushed. And they had guns."

She frowned. "Hyenas or wolves?"

Brendon grabbed a pillow, resting his head on it. He did love his sister's furniture. They had the same taste when it came to their comfort. "Not in this lifetime. There's no hyena or wolf alive that can do this to me. No, it was lions."

"Lions? Lions had guns? Are you sure?"

"I was sure when they had the barrel pointed at the back of my head." His sister fell deadly silent, and Brendon looked up again to see the rage on her face. Crap. He didn't mean to get her this pissed off. Once pissed off, it was hard to rein his twin in. "Rissa, calm down."

"Calm down?" She stood up. "I wanna know who did this to you. I wanna know right now." Then Marissa Shaw let loose with a litany of curses that reminded Brendon that although his family swam in money now, it hadn't been long ago when he and his sister ran the streets of Philly causing more problems then seemed right considering their age at the time. It took a lot of work to get to this point. A lot of work to change the Shaw name from lower level lions to prime breeders.

Brendon sat up, but before he could say anything, his sister slapped her hand against his forehead.

"Ow."

"Do you still have the fever? Christ, when did this happen?"

"Christmas Eve, and I already went through the fever."

"Christmas Eve?"

"Okay, you really need to stop repeating everything I say. It's getting on my nerves."

"It's the twenty-sixth. Where the fuck have you been for-"

Brendon put his hand over his sister's mouth. "If you'll shut up for two seconds, I'll tell you." He hadn't wanted to talk about it, but now he had no choice. It was either that or listen to the rants of a crazy lioness.

She sat on the coffee table in front of Brendon. "Start talking."

A long hot shower turned out to be exactly what Ronnie Lee needed to calm her nerves and her worries. As she brushed her teeth and combed out her wet hair, she realized her time with Brendon Shaw had only been a fluke. A momentary loss of sanity. No matter where Sissy and she may have traveled over the years, they always made it home for the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. This turned out to be the first year she'd ever spent a holiday away from her kin or her Pack.

Lonely. She felt lonely. That's all. But in a few more days it would be New Year's Eve. She'd hang out with her Pack at some swank party in the hotel, get ridiculously liquored up, and this shitty holiday would be long behind her.

So, as of this moment, she would stop feeling sorry for herself and forget this particular, cat-related incident ever happened.

Giving herself a brief nod in the mirror, she headed back out to the bedroom and her open suitcase. She dug through the pile of clothes until she found a worn pair of baggy cotton shorts and a loose T-shirt. She pulled them on, shook her wet hair out, and headed toward the door.

With keycard in hand, she walked across the hallway and knocked on the opposite door. In less than a minute it opened and Sissy Mae Smith grinned at her friend. "Well, hey, darlin'. How did last night-ow!"

Ronnie twisted Sissy's nose until her friend bent to the side, then she slapped her hand off, hitting Sissy's nose in the process.

Turning on her heel she stalked back to her hotel room. And as she slammed the door she could hear Sissy's laughing response, "I knew you'd like him!"

"And that's the whole story," Brendon finished.

For several long moments his sister stared at him, and then she said, "You let a dog take you to Long Island?"

Brendon's head dropped forward. "That's all you have to say?"

"What else is there to say? Other than I thought you had better sense than that."

"What about Mitch?"

"What about him? He's a scumbag. I keep telling you that and you keep ignoring me."

"Our baby brother may be in trouble. How can you not care?"

"Like this." Marissa stood up and started to walk away. Brendon grabbed her arm.

"He's our kid brother, Rissa. We protect him like we protect each other."

"He's a thief and a liar and hangs around degenerates. He's not our problem. Now do you want a soda or not?"

"Not."

"Fine." She pulled her arm away and went to the kitchen, returning with a Sprite. "You want something to eat?"

"No."

"If you're saying no because you're pouting, you might as well give it up because your hunger will win out. It always wins out."

Dammit. She was right. Brendon felt starved for food, like he hadn't eaten in months rather than a day or so.

"Fine. I'll eat. But I still think you're being cold about all this."

Marissa made an impatient noise from the kitchen. "Why? Because I'm not crying and panicking over Mitch?"

Brendon followed her in. "Yes."

"It's called tough love. You should look into it."

"No. It's called cutting yourself off from your baby brother."

"The kid's a fuckup. He's always been a fuckup. It's not going to change."

"He's still our brother."

"Tragically."

Brendon shook his head. "Give it up, sis. I think you care but you don't want me to know about it."

"I care for few things in this world. You are lucky to be one of those few, but I can only stretch myself so far."

Sitting down at her kitchen table, Brendon glanced out the big picture window that had an astounding view of the Manhattan skyline. Rissa's apartment took up the entire top floor, but she owned the building. It still amazed Brendon when he thought about where they came from, their lives in Philly. The two of them getting into situations they probably should have done some jail time for. At least some community service. They didn't talk about those days anymore. Some days it seemed Rissa liked to pretend those times never happened. That she and Brendon were somehow different from Mitch. They were different. They were lucky.

"I'm not giving up on him."

"Whoop-de-fucking-do for you." She slammed a plate full of her homemade lasagna in front of him. "Here. I made this last night. Should keep you until I finish making the ribs I have in the frig."

"Thanks." Picking up his fork, Brendon started inhaling-he wouldn't say he actually ate in the dictionary sense of the word-the delicious food. So focused on his food, it took him a moment to realize he'd felt his sister's lips kiss the top of his head.

Looking up from his meal, "What was that for?"

"For not getting your ass killed. Try and keep that theme going for me, will ya?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Brendon bent over his food again and didn't let his sister see him smile. She cared. She cared more than she ever wanted to. About him and Mitch.

Chapter Four.

H er plan had been a simple one. Spend the evening with her fellow She-wolves. Enjoy a beer or two and relax. But that fifth shot of tequila...that fifth shot of tequila did her in.

She should have known better. Wolves couldn't handle their liquor. You could call it their kryptonite. If Ronnie had been lucky, she would have spent the whole night throwing up in some fancy club's bathroom. Luck, however, didn't seem to be on her side these days. Because if she had any luck she'd be unable to speak.

"I mean, that mane of hair. I could spend hours letting him rub that mane all over my body."

The three remaining She-wolves and Sissy nodded their heads. They'd lost the other five earlier in the evening when they wandered off to another club or back to the hotel.

"The man is gorgeous, there's no doubt about that." Sissy Mae poured Ronnie another shot of tequila. "What I don't understand is why you didn't make that move, darlin'. You had that big house all to yourself and a naked man desperate to get into your pants."

"A desperate man sick as a dog. I'm sorry but I don't think I could have handled that coyote ugly morning when he realized he'd fucked a wolf."

"What makes you think he'd give a shit? A male is a male, sweetie." Marty, a mated She-wolf about twenty years their senior, sipped her Russian vodka. "Trust me when I say wolf, lion, cheetah, jackal, or any of the other breeds don't give a shit when a pussy is wet and willing."

The females looked at Marty and she casually shrugged her shoulders. "What?"

Supposedly, Marty came with Bobby Ray only to help out, but Ronnie had the feeling Marty would stay. Her mate would go wherever she went, and she'd never gotten along too well with the Smith She-wolves her own age. Not surprising once Marty's past came out. She'd lived on the wild side for years, mowing through most of the Smith Pack males before settling down with her one true love and having a few pups. She never discussed her past in detail, but a few tidbits she'd dropped here and there over the last few months they'd all been hanging together convinced Ronnie and Sissy that the woman hadn't merely lived on the wild side, but instead owned prime real estate there.

Still, it gave Ronnie hope she could put her own wild times behind her and settle down with a mate who didn't irritate her too much and some pups.

"Marty's right, darlin'," Sissy insisted. "You're real pretty. Got good strong thighs. And you've got oral skills most men would kill for."

Now everyone turned and looked at Sissy Mae.

"That's lovely, Sissy," Marty sighed out.

"I was only complimenting her."

"Compliments like that create hookers."

Ronnie waved her hands, accidentally slapping herself in the face. "It doesn't matter. I'm no longer looking for the occasional sleeping arrangement. I'm looking for...for..."

"For what?" Sissy asked, and she looked like she really didn't want to know.

"Love?" Gemma, Sissy's distant Smith cousin, asked with a sad amount of hope on her pretty face.

Ronnie and Sissy snorted. "Love?" Ronnie couldn't keep the disbelief out of her voice. That word more foreign to her than Sanskrit. "No. I'd rather have rabies than be in love."

"Why?"

"Because at least you can get over rabies with some shots."

Marty laughed and shook her head. She seemed to be the only one who didn't appear remotely drunk and she'd polished off an entire bottle of vodka by herself. "Trust me, pups, one day you'll find that male who makes you love him, care for him, and want to stab him in the face all at the same time. And your lives will never be the same."

Ronnie and Sissy both shuddered in horror.

"We're so drunk," Gemma observed for no apparent reason.

"We're not drunk," Sissy corrected. "We're blasted off our asses."

Taking her shot of tequila in one gulp before slamming the glass on the table, Ronnie offered, "I don't want my life to pass me by."

Filling Ronnie's glass again, Sissy promised, "It won't."

"It's already started. It's whizzing by like a freight train."

"So? We've had some great times, darlin'," Sissy reminded her.

"We have. But I'm sorry if I don't still wanna be running wild with you when I'm fifty. Life cannot be a series of great fucks followed by barroom brawls."

Gemma scratched her head. "And why is that?"

"When you get past your twenty-fifth birthday, Perky Tits, you can ask me that again."

Looking down at her chest, Gemma grinned. "Well I'll be...they are perky!"

Sissy grabbed Ronnie's arm before she could launch herself at the adorable little She-wolf.

"Okay." Sissy kept a good grip on Ronnie while slamming back another shot of tequila. "Perhaps we should think about heading back to the hotel."

"Why?" Gemma whined.

In answer, Daria, Ronnie's second cousin twice removed, opened her mouth to say something, and then her head slammed right into the table when she passed out.