The Mating Game: Big Bad Wolf(46)

Before Phyllis could open her mouth to retort, the first of the wolves burst into the clearing, hackles raised, teeth viciously bared. He was a massive beast with thick fur broken above one eye by a pale scar. Daisy knew him at once. He’d come for her.

He was followed by more of his pack…and more…and more. They padded through the trees and poured into the clearing, moving with a single purpose. She saw Harriet, dainty even in her animal form, but snarling perhaps more fiercely even than Ryker. Lem ran beside her, panting, all salt-and-pepper fur, long and lean – almost whippet-like.

The Sheffields and the Bennetts were thrown into confusion. Phyllis turned to run, and a rather ragged-looking wolf pelted after her. It was Jasmine’s grandmother. Daisy didn’t envy her mother. Marta worked twelve-hour shifts dealing with belligerent drunks who’d lost a fight with the pavement. A skinny socialite whose idea of exercise was lifting her pinky finger when she drank her tea didn’t stand a chance.

Cadence ran straight for Larissa, bowling her over before she had a chance to shift and clamping her jaws around her throat, not hard enough to kill her, but hard enough to let her know it was an option. Daisy felt a tiny pang of disappointment that she hadn’t been given the chance to kick the treacherous bitch’s ass herself, but it was quickly lost in a swelling of gratitude that her friend had come to her when she needed her the most.

And she wasn’t the only one. That sleek gray wolf had to be Mrs. Finster, and Frasier’s thug Tritan went down under a ferocious assault by Jorge, Paulo’s father. Jorge certainly wasn’t drunk today – he moved with absolute determination and control. Despite his smaller size, the coyote held his ground, and Tritan showed his yellow streak, submitting almost at once.

Among the throng she spotted her school principal, two or three other teachers from the school, as well as half a dozen older students they obviously hadn’t been able to keep away. It wasn’t the most conventional field trip, but then they weren’t the most conventional kids.

A Bennett wolf turned snarling on a coyote cub. Daisy started to shift even before she’d finished tearing off the ugly frou-frou wedding dress. Seams ripped. Satin tore. Sequins scattered onto the leaf mulch on the forest floor. She threw herself into the fight, releasing the fear and frustration and hopelessness she’d felt while she’d been held captive.



Ryker felt relief flood through him as he saw that Daisy was alive and unharmed. He wanted to stop and shift, scoop her up in his arms, carry her away and keep her safe forever. But he had a score to settle first. A sharp bark caught his attention, and he saw Wynona, heavyset and glossy- furred, bounding after Frasier Sheffield. He was running away from the fight, like the coward he was.

Ryker join the chase, easily outpacing Wynona, despite the fact that she moved like lightning. She might be Daisy’s aunt, not her mother, but she was powered by the fury of a she-wolf whose cub has been threatened.

He leaped onto Frasier’s back and the two of them went tumbling over and over in the leaves. Ryker pinned his mate’s kidnapper to the ground, and the sniveling little cur exposed his belly, whining. Submitting.

Ryker coughed a bark of agreement and sat back, releasing Frasier. He turned his head to glance back at Wynona, who was trotting back towards the fight, satisfied that Ryker had this covered. And then Frasier lunged at him, snarling, going for his throat.

Just as he’d expected.

With one huge paw, he swatted the other wolf out of the air in mid-leap. Frasier hit the ground hard, skidding through the fallen leaves. He lay there panting, his flanks heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

Ryker prowled over, opened his jaws, and ripped out the bastard’s throat.



The polished, snooty, high society Sheffields and Bennetts had been hopelessly outclassed by Ryker’s pack and the scrappy band of teachers and students. Only a handful were still fighting, and they were tiring fast. There would be no help coming for them – the human police didn’t get involved in pack wars, and anyone with any political clout in the shifter world was either cowering in a group with the other battered socialites or part of the ring of angry wolves and coyotes guarding them.

Ryker came loping up to Daisy, and changed back into human form.

“Where is Jasmine?” Daisy demanded in alarm.

Ryker pointed at a lean brown coyote who was wrestling a member of the Bennett pack to the ground.

“She’ll be fine,” Ryker said to Daisy. “She’s a scrappy one. I’d hate to have her mad at me.”

Then he took her face in his hands. “I hope you know I only told the reporters that our engagement was off so I could fool your mother and Frasier. I wanted their packs to lower their defenses.”