The Mane Squeeze. Shelly Laurenston

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      Lock brushed the attacking bees off his face and dug into the hive again, pulling out the honeycomb. He shook off the clinging bees and broke off a piece. Ric sat down against a tree opposite from Lock that was close enough so they didn’t have to scream at each other, but far enough away to help Ric avoid the rampaging bees.

      Once he seemed comfortable, he observed, “You’ve stripped the trees of their bark quite nicely.”

      “Yeah,” Lock mumbled around the honeycomb. “Sorry about that.”

      Ric shrugged. “My father had them imported from Japan for a tidy seven-figure sum, had them featured in that Vanity Fair article on him and the Van Holtz dynasty, and got an award from the Tree Rescue Foundation for his efforts to resurrect nearly extinct trees—but I’m sure he won’t be too upset.”

      Lock winced. “Now I feel bad.”

      “Don’t,” Ric said good-naturedly. “Now—” Ric cringed when Lock bit into a honeycomb and spit out a bee he’d started to chew on “—Adelle is going to make her honey-glazed chicken. Unless you’re all honeyed out.”

      Lock stared at his friend, and Ric nodded. “As I thought. So dinner is set. But before we go back, perhaps you can fill me in on why you’re sitting out here, tearing the bark off trees and abusing bees.”

      Ric cringed again when Lock spit out another bee.

      “What?” Lock demanded, tired of being judged for his eating habits. “Would you prefer I eat them?”

      “No, no. You keep doing whatever it is you enjoy doing. No matter how vile.”

      Lock stared down at the remnants of the hive and admitted what was bothering him. Something that even honey wasn’t curing. “I should never have left her.”

      “Did you have a choice?”

      “If I wanted to fight a polar.”

      “Weren’t you the one who told me that when it comes to bears—bigger wins?”

      “Yeah.” And Toots was definitely bigger. “But I promised her I wouldn’t leave her. I guess I just feel like I let her down by not being there when she woke up fully.”

      “Okay, so maybe you did let her down a little. But I’m sure when she calls, you can explain—”

      “Calls?”

      “To thank you, of course. It’s proper etiquette to send a thank-you note or call after someone saves you from a violent Pack, Pride, or Clan attack.”

      “I’m sensing she didn’t get much shifter etiquette training in Philly. Or, now that I think about it, any etiquette training in Philly.”

      “But you did give her your number? Or you got hers?”

      Lock stared at his friend. “My number?”

      “You didn’t give her your phone number?”

      “She was wounded. It didn’t occur to me.” When Ric sighed, his disappointment clear, Lock threw in, “And I’m sure that cat wouldn’t have let me leave anything for her anyway.”

      “What did the cat look like?”

      “I don’t know. He was a little thing. Tiny. Lion…I think. You know, the breed with all the hair.”

      “Tiny. Right. The world is filled with tiny lion males. And the only tiny lion I know of this close to my territory is Brendon Shaw. And, if I remember what you told me correctly, he’s the one you beat up at Jess Ward’s wedding. Something I’m sure he did not forget since last you two met.”

      “He didn’t. But I didn’t beat him up,” Lock quickly added. “I…I simply threw him five…or maybe it was fifty feet into a tree.”

      The two friends gazed at each other for a long moment.

      Finally, Lock shrugged. “That does make it all kind of awkward, doesn’t it?”

      And that’s when Ric started laughing.