“I’m sorry,” Vic cut in, a spoonful of lemon-infused honey poised in front of his mouth. “She what?”
“Arranged her own kidnapping. It was an elaborate plan, too. The FBI became involved, there was blood at the scene, and calls from the”—she made air quotes with her fingers—“ ‘kidnappers’ with their demands, and she was just about six miles away at some resort with the guy she’d convinced to do this with her because of the money her boyfriend didn’t actually have. And, even after that, they were ready to let her off with most likely a wrist slap because they figured out she was crazy but not crazy enough to actually commit to Bedford Mental Hospital. But then she showed up to her sentencing drunk. So drunk she tripped over the defense table and vomited up a crapload of vodka on the baliff, which pissed off her judge. Got eighteen months, but as I found out a couple of days ago . . . she only served ten.”
“Wow,” he muttered, his cheeks sucked in a bit from the sourness of the lemon. “That’s mighty crazy.”
“That’s Melly. Crazy Melly.” Livy lifted her spoon. “These are the most amazing honeys I’ve ever tasted.”
“I know.”
“A few, though, I’ve had at your house. Now you see why I keep going there.”
“Now you know why I get so cranky when you eat it all. I love my honey.”
A door opened somewhere in the house, and Livy heard what sounded like clanking metal coming toward them. After a minute or two, a male polar walked into the kitchen, dressed in full armor. Like, King Arthur kind of armor.
The polar placed his helmet—complete with a vibrantly colored feather plume—on the table. He stood there for a second until his head slowly turned and he looked down at Livy and Vic.
“Victor.”
“Hi, Ken.”
“What’cha doin’ in my kitchen?”
“Eating your wife’s honey.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Why are you in armor?”
“Renaissance Faire’s in town this weekend. You should come. Jousting starts this evening.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not sure my friend would want—”
Livy crawled until she was stretched over Vic’s lap. “There’s jousting?” she asked the polar.
“Sure is. It’s an all-weekend thing for us. First rounds start tonight.”
“Can anyone join?”
“Well—”
“No, Livy,” Vic said.
“Quiet.” Livy quickly scrambled completely out of the cabinet. “Can you get me set up with armor and a horse?” she asked the bear.
“I think so, but we don’t have a fox joust at this faire.”
“I don’t want to joust foxes.” Livy grinned. “I want to joust bears.”
CHAPTER 13
Vic shook his head, unable to believe this was happening. “Do you have any idea how insane this is?”
Livy put on another helmet, but it was so large it spun around her head like a top. “You can keep saying it, but it doesn’t change anything.”
“Are you trying to get killed? Are you suicidal?”
“As long as I protect my head . . . I should be fine.”
“Should be . . . you should be fine? That’s great, Livy.”
“I need to do this.”
“Why? Why would anyone in their right mind need to do this?”
All the bears preparing for the joust stopped putting on their armor and focused on Vic. He stared back. “Yeah,” he challenged. “That includes you people.”
“I learned this in the court-ordered anger management class I took. About how to work off your aggression. Yoga, running, boxing, Krav Maga, Muy Thai . . . nothing helps. But I’ve never tried jousting before. So I’m going to try jousting.”
“But you’re going up against bears, Livy.” He pointed across the tent they were in. “I mean, look at that guy over there.”
The eight-foot polar realized that Vic was talking about him. “Hey! What are you pointing me out for? Like I’m some kind of freak? That just hurts my feelings, man!”
“Oh, suck it up,” Vic growled.
“Your feline is showing,” Livy warned.
“Because you’re not being rational and there’s an eight-foot, four-hundred-pound whiny baby over there begging me to claw the holy shit out of him.”
“You are rude!” the polar complained.
Vic was about to go over there and show the idiot how rude he could be when Livy caught his arm.
“Don’t beat him up because I’m pissing you off.”
“Who says he can beat me up?” the polar demanded.
“I could beat you up,” Livy shot back. And when the polar just stared at her, she asked, “Want me to prove it?”
The polar thought on that a moment before he stalked out of the tent.
“Help me find a helmet,” she ordered Vic.
Sighing, he walked over to a row of helmets. “I don’t know why you’re doing this,” he said. He grabbed one of the helmets. “I know you’re upset and I know when you’re ready, you’ll tell me why. But doing something this stupid—” He placed the helmet on her head. It fit perfectly.
She lifted the visor, grinned. “How do I look?”
“Like you’re welcoming death.”
“Your faith in me is heartening.”
“Can’t we just go and sit in the audience and mock people dressed in clothes from another century? You know . . . like normal shifters do?”
“Most times I’d say yes, but I need to do this. And if I survive, you’ll be really proud of me.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Have me cremated and tell my family I left town. They don’t deserve anything better than that.”
“What about Toni?”
Livy blew out a breath and shook her head. “Yeah, she’ll figure things out on her own, and then . . . yeah, you’re dead.”
“Again . . . why is this coming down on me?”
Livy shrugged, picked up her sheathed sword, and walked out.
“Hey,” a sloth bear said from behind Vic, “don’t you play hockey?”
“No, I do not!” Vic roared.
“Wow,” the sloth bear said, backing away from him. “You are one bitchy hybrid.”
Livy stared up at the horse one of the faire employees held for her. She glanced over and said, “You can’t be serious.”
“These are horses bred for two things. Handling the weight of big guys in armor . . . and not panicking at the scent of shifters. Helping some tiny feminist trying to prove something was not on our list of things to accomplish during the breeding process,” he finished.
Livy looked under the horse and asked, “Huh. What’s this? It looks bad.”
The faire employee bent down to see what Livy was looking at and that’s when she rammed the pummel of her sword into the employee’s tibia. She heard something snap, and he went down with a roar onto one knee. Before he could fall back, Livy climbed onto his shoulders and mounted the horse that was way too big for her.
She looked down at the now-sobbing bear. “Thanks for the help.”
Vic walked into the prep area and stopped when he saw her.
“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” he asked.
“No. There were horses at the private school I went to. Riding lessons were mandatory and were part of our gym grade, but every time I got close to them, the horses tried to stomp me into the ground. Eventually, I had to be excused.”
“But now you’re going to ride one that’s too big for you so that you can . . . joust?”