Lock grinned around the burger in his mouth. He seemed to be a regular in this place. The waitress didn’t blink an eye when he ordered four of their “Big Enuf 2 Kill a Man” Burgers. But the way the same waitress eyed her, Gwen got the feeling he’d always come in alone before, and the waitress was hoping she’d one day be the one sitting on the other side of the table with him.
Too bad. He’s with me, and apparently I’m his girlfriend.
For the moment, anyway.
Gwen gave a big yawn before she dug into her pancakes. It was almost two o’clock, but she’d been all geared up about getting some breakfast. Thankfully, this diner sold breakfast twenty-four hours a day.
“You knew them, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Knew who?”
“The guys in that blue van from last night. You knew them.”
“Probably.”
She didn’t mention the Unit, because she didn’t have to. Mitch had told her once what they did. Portraying prey to lure out the full-human hunters who focused on shifters—and then killing them. “It’s been three years. They’re still following you?”
“Maybe. There’s been a few problems lately with former members, so they may be checking up on me.”
He wiped his hands on a napkin now that he’d finished devouring those four burgers in record time and dug into his basket of fries, leaving it in the middle of the table to share with Gwen.
He pulled out his cell phone and Gwen tensed, thinking it was Blayne again. Lock let out a sigh after reading a text message, glanced at Gwen, and asked, “Would you mind if we hit a bar after we’re done here?”
“A few hours with me and already you need a stiff drink?”
He grinned. “No. But I figure you could use a little more rest before we head back to my place.”
And damn him…he was right.
Lock walked into the Jersey bar with Gwen behind him. He’d given her what Ric called “The Speech” when they’d driven over. “They’re mostly full-humans there. Don’t talk to anybody. Don’t look at anybody. If someone moves toward you, let me know and I’ll deal with them.”
He’d practically grown up in this bar and he’d seen enough over the years to know what the lowlifes at the bar went for and what they didn’t. Lock had learned early that full-humans were worse than any predators he’d ever encountered in the wild, and being in the military had only driven that belief home. Yet it wasn’t what was in the main bar that he wanted. It was in the back room.
As soon as they entered, every full-human eye turned their way. They immediately turned away from Lock’s direct gaze as they always did, but they all latched on to Gwen the second after that. He popped his jaw and those who’d watched him grow from five-foot nothing to what he was now instantly refocused on their drinks or racing forms. A few of the newer, younger ones were unaware of past incidents and their gazes stayed right on Gwen. Lock could see them debating whether she’d be worth the fight—and she was. For him.
Gwen, being a true feline, seemed not to notice anyone or anything. She moved casually through the bar, her gaze examining the framed pictures tacked to the wall and the ancient jukebox shoved into the corner. But as they neared the hallway leading to the backroom, a new full-human Lock had never seen before spun his bar stool around and made a move to stand. It wasn’t that Gwen turned to look at him. It was that only Gwen’s head turned to look at him. A good 180 degrees if Lock were to guess. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t hiss, she didn’t do anything because that one move was all it took.
Freaked out, the full-human spun his stool right back around and faced the bar again. Smirking, Gwen moved into the hallway, and together they walked to the last door. Gwen reached for the doorknob, but Lock pushed her hand away and shook his head. He raised his fist and knocked. Two times. Pause. Two times. Pause. Three times.
A minute passed and the door slowly opened. The seven-two glaring Scotsman stared down at Gwen, and Lock felt her press her body closer to his. Not that he blamed her. He could see her nostrils flare as she caught the scent of a bear-filled room. The grizzly raised his gaze and the scowl turned into an enormous grin.
“Lachlan, my boy!”
Lock grinned back. “Hi, Uncle Nevin.”
Gwen discreetly let out the breath she’d been holding. They were related. Thank Christ, they were related! For a minute there, she’d thought Lock had lost his ever-loving mind bringing her to a bear den. But the way his uncles descended on him, she realized Lock was greatly loved here.
“You’re looking fine, boy. Fine.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed Gwen’s hand and pulled her forward. Although she felt like running, she plastered on a fake smile instead. If she could handle his parents, she could handle his uncles.
“This is Gwen. Gwen, this is my Uncle Nevin, my Uncle Duff, my Uncle Hamish, and my Uncle Calum.”
“His Scottish uncles,” Calum said, bowing low from the waist. “The MacRyrie bears. The loving, caring side of his family. Not those rough brutish Russian bears, the Baranovas.”
“Don’t let Mom hear you talking crap about her family…again.”
Calum took Gwen’s hand and kissed the back of it. “And such a beauty you are, dear Gwen.”
Lock pushed his uncle aside. “Lay off.”
“I was greeting her properly.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Lock’s Uncle Duff moved behind Gwen and sniffed her neck. “Mmm. She smells like the sweetest honey.”
“That’s shampoo,” Lock said, moving on Duff. “And don’t crowd her.”
“Who’s crowding her?” Hamish, who seemed to be the youngest, asked. They all seemed to have held up well for men in their late fifties and early sixties. He sat on the round table in the middle of the room and added, “We’re trying to get a better look at her, is all.”
“Where do you come from, sweet Gwyneth?”
“It’s Gwendolyn,” Lock corrected Calum. “And she’s from Philly.”
“Well we can’t hold that against her.”
Gwen laughed while Nevin rested his butt on the table, his arms crossed. “And who are your kin in Philly, dearest Gwendolyn?”
“The O’Neills.”
“A lioness? You seem too pretty to be a mere lioness.”
“I’m half lioness, half tiger. A tigon, if you want to be technical.”
Calum raised a brow. “Ahhh. The delicious fruit of forbidden love.”
Gwen laughed harder and Lock pulled her against him. “All right, that’s enough. Leave her alone.”
“What’s wrong with you, boy?” Calum asked. “You’re not attached to this one, are you?”
“Attached enough to keep her away from you.”
“That’s because you have the sense of your dear mother,” Hamish laughed.
“And we’re not staying long. You said you wanted to see me, so I’m here. What’s up?”
The uncles exchanged glances and then Calum said, “Your father’s birthday is coming up in December.”
“Yes.”
“We thought we’d throw him a party this year.”
“No.”
Duff crossed his arms over his chest. “Why not?”
“After what happened last time?”
“That was twenty years ago!”
“And Mom has not forgotten.”
Apparently, it wasn’t just Lock that Gwen had this effect on. His uncles were falling over themselves to be accommodating. Wiping off a chair so she could sit down, getting her a clean glass for her beer, and offering her some of their honey-wheat pretzels to munch on.
What Lock found really interesting was the way she giggled and fluttered those eyelashes like some average female. He’d thought she must have banged her head at some point and lost her mind until she said, “So what are you gentlemen doing with these cards?”