Wolf With Benefits

by Shelly Laurenston

  “Oh, my God,” Ricky muttered, placing his phone on the end table. “He’s never going to let that go.”

  “Let me ask you”—Barinov stepped closer to the bed—“did you research negotiation techniques before you came here, Toni?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you research negotiating with Russians?”

  “No. But I’ve negotiated with Russians before.”

  “About your family?”

  “Yes.”

  “The powerful music family that everyone kind of loves?”

  “As long as you don’t know ’em personally,” Ricky tossed in.

  Toni shoved Ricky’s shoulder and answered Barinov at the same time, “Yes.”

  “Then that is completely different from negotiating a business deal about hockey.”

  “Why is that different?”

  “Your family is a bunch of American artists that the Russians—who love music like they love air—are going to treat differently during negotiations. Especially if they’re dealing with a family member. But hockey is a much-beloved sport and a very important Russian business. Especially to the Siberian bears.”

  “So the delay . . . that’s all a—”

  “Negotiation tactic.” Barinov shrugged. “I really thought you knew.”

  “No. That’s what was making me crazy. I didn’t understand why they weren’t meeting with me. When I’ve helped negotiate deals for my brother and sister, I was always treated wonderfully. I guess I expected the same thing this time.”

  “You could have said something, Vic,” Ricky told him.

  “People don’t hire me for my opinion, Reed. You know that.”

  “I’m not people,” Toni said. “I’m desperate. I need your opinion. I have to get home before my entire family is decimated by their insanity. And I have to point out . . . that’s a real short trip for them.”

  “You gonna help us, hoss?” Ricky asked.

  “I’m not used to getting involved.”

  Toni moved close behind Ricky, laid her chin on his shoulder, smiled sweetly. “Please?” she begged. “For me?”

  “You don’t even like me,” Barinov accused.

  “I could learn to like you . . . if you help me.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. All right.”

  Toni gave a happy yip, but Barinov barked back and said, “Do not make that noise around me. It makes me want to go outside and tear the bark off trees.”

  “So what’s the first thing we should do?” Ricky asked.

  “First . . . we cancel today.”

  “Cancel?”

  “If they want to play hardball . . . so will you. Besides, we have to meet someone.”

  “Someone who can also help?” Toni asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  “Yep. Someone who can also help.”

  She yipped again and now both males barked, “Toni!”

  “Sorry. Sorry. Habit.”

  It was late when Livy worked her way through an open window in the kitchen.

  Yes. She had keys. Toni always gave her keys to whatever home or hotel suite she and her family were staying at when Livy was around. And if Toni didn’t give the keys to her, because they were having one of their ridiculous arguments, then Toni’s parents gave Livy the keys. Paul and Jackie loved Livy. She didn’t know why, though. Most shifters, without even knowing what Livy was, didn’t like her, but especially jackals. In the wild, full-blood jackals and her kind went at it like dogs and cats.

  Then again, nothing stopped their kind from fighting anyone off. That’s what they did. That’s what Livy’s ancestors, mostly witches and healers, liked about the animal. How vicious and fearless it was. So while a lot of others were learning to shift into giant, apex predators, her people were becoming small and deadly.

  When Livy was a little girl, she didn’t understand how come she wouldn’t be shifting into a cool animal like the other shifter kids her parents knew. But now that she was an adult . . . she loved what she was. Adored it. Just like she adored her best friend.

  Toni was an unusual girl. She didn’t think she was. She saw herself as average. And, compared to the rest of the Jean-Louis Parker brood, it wasn’t surprising she felt that way. Yet Toni was definitely unique. Naturally maternal. Naturally kind. And constantly on Livy’s ass.

  That’s when Livy realized that she’d been accepted as family by Toni when the woman—a girl at the time—began to manage Livy’s career. Or, at the very least, manage Livy’s agent, while attempting to get her to live a certain way. It drove Toni nuts that Livy could and often did live anywhere she had to. She had no problem taking over someone’s house for a couple of days when she saw them leave with some luggage. She made sure not to destroy anything and to replace anything she may have used. True, Livy could afford her own place and she had one in Washington, but she really liked living in other people’s space. It was always so fascinating. You never knew what you’d learn from complete strangers.

  Livy opened the refrigerator and reached for a bottle of orange juice.

  “Hi!”

  Livy spun and hissed, baring her mouthful of fangs.

  The wolfdog jumped back, her hands raised to protect her face. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!”

  Actually . . . she hadn’t startled Livy. But the wolfdog was just so damn perky. It was irritating. Really, really irritating.

  “Still here?” Livy asked, being bitchy.

  The wolfdog glanced down at herself. “I think so . . . right?”

  Letting out a sigh, Livy turned back to the refrigerator and took out the orange juice. She opened the bottle and was about to start drinking from it when the wolfdog held out a glass for her.

  “What’s that?” Livy asked.

  “Something for you to pour your juice into. So that you don’t have to drink right out of the bottle.”

  Gazing at the wolfdog, Livy put the bottle to her lips and drank. For a real long time.

  The wolfdog’s eyes narrowed and a little spot on her cheek twitched.

  When Livy was done, she smacked her lips—loudly.

  “That was good.” Livy sighed. Then she held the bottle out to the wolfdog. “Want some?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You sure?” Livy pushed, shoving the offending bottle with her saliva all over the rim closer. “It’s really good. No pulp!”

  “No. Really. I’m fine.”

  Shrugging, Livy screwed the top back on and put the juice back in the refrigerator.

  “You’re just going to leave it in there?”

  Livy closed the refrigerator door. “Yes! It wouldn’t be right not to share, now would it?”

  “But . . .”

  Livy stepped close. “But . . . what?”

  When the wolfdog didn’t say anything, Livy started off toward the swinging door.

  “But you slobbered all over it!” the wolfdog yelled before Livy could make it through that door.

  Slowly, Livy faced the canine. “You know what, Blayne?” Livy said mildly. “You’re absolutely right. I did.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And it felt good.”

  The wolfdog gasped, her mouth dropping open, but before she could say anything else, Livy walked out.

  Halfway down the hall, she passed Coop. “Hey,” Livy said, grabbing his arm. “Do me a favor.”

  “Sure.”

  “If you’re going to the kitchen, make sure to drink out of the orange juice bottle that’s right in the front. The one with no pulp.”

  “You’re the only one who drinks the one with no pulp. The rest of us like pulp.”

  “I know. Just trust me on this.”

  Coop shook his head. “You’re messing with Blayne again, aren’t you?”

  “Well, your sister’s not here to do it, so I’m covering.” She squeezed his forearm. “That’s what friends do for each other, Coop.”

  “Torment the innocent?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  They
drove back to the territory that Ricky had taken Toni to the night before where they’d run for hours. Honestly, the land was even more beautiful in the day. So lush. And Ricky actually would love to come back in the dead of winter. To see all this covered in ice and snow. It must be amazing. Especially Lake Baikal itself.

  Vic took them past the wooded area they’d run through and down a road until they reached a village. He pulled up in front of a small house with a pack of children running around.

  “Where are we?”

  “This is the home of Genka Kuznetsov.”

  “Wait.” Ricky scratched his head. “Kuznetsov?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Toni leaned forward. “Are they related to the Kuznetsov Pack in New York?”

  “Do not mention the New York Kuznetsov Pack or your association with them,” Vic warned.

  “Why not?”

  “Sabina Kuznetsov is the daughter of Anton Kuznetsov. Her Pack of orphaned wild dogs took Sabina’s last name because they thought it sounded cooler than Jessica Ward’s last name, which in New York is true. Unfortunately, the reason Sabina ended up in New York was that her father was pushed out of the Pack by Genka who, to this day, loathes her brother with the fire of a thousand suns.”

  “That’s a lot of heat,” Ricky noted.

  “Exactly.”

  “Then maybe we shouldn’t be here.”

  “You need information. And that’s what the Kuznetsovs trade in. Information.”

  “Okay.”

  Vic looked between them. “You two ready?”

  “Yep.”

  They got out of the car, and adult wild dogs seemed to appear from everywhere. Surrounding the house and especially the kids, protecting them.

  An older She-dog walked out of the house and stood on her small stoop. She had hair that was filled with a riot of colors like gold, brown, red, and white, but mostly blond. Lots of blond. “Why are you here, Victor Barinov?”

  “I’ve brought friends for you, Genka. They need your help.”

  The wild dog lifted her head, sniffed the air. “At least this time they’re canines. Unlike you.”

  “I’m not canine, nor am I empty handed.” He lifted both his arms. In one hand he held two bottles of very expensive vodka. In the other, he had a basket filled with good French and Italian cheeses and water crackers from England.

  That’s when the wild dogs no longer looked suspicious but instead raised their own arms in greeting, calling out Vic’s name. Genka opened her front door. “Come friends, come. Let’s sit inside and enjoy this wonderful bounty our friend Barinov brings us!”

  So, that’s what they did.

  Toni had to admit, she was fascinated. And extremely annoyed. Not at the wild dogs. Once they got some gifts, they were in great spirits. But the bears were playing games. Games that annoyed her.

  “I like Novikov,” Genka said plainly, her English heavily accented but easily understood. “He is strong like polar but mean like lion. He is hybrid like you, Victor Barinov, but with talent.”

  Barinov snorted. “Thanks, Genka.”

  “Welcome.” She lit a cigarette, took a long drag, then pointed the cigarette at Toni. “You know, problem is not that Novikov kicked Yuri Asanov’s ass.”

  “And Novikov truly kicked Yuri Asanov’s ass,” Genka’s older sister commented as she walked into the room and dropped onto the couch across the small living room.

  “The problem is that he made the entire team look bad. They look weak. Now they want to make him look weak.”

  “I can’t help them do that,” Toni said, shaking her head.

  “Of course not. You are canine like me. We are loyal. Not like cats.” Genka looked pointedly at Barinov.

  The hybrid threw up his hands. “Are you just going to abuse me while I’m here, Genka Kuznetsov?”

  “Yes,” both Genka and her sister said together.

  Genka again focused on Toni, took another drag from her cigarette. Toni hated the cigarette smell, but she wasn’t about to say that. God knew, she’d put up with worse over the years for her family; she could do the same for the team paying her so much money.

  “See, they don’t tell you truth, little American,” Genka said, reaching for the bottle of vodka on the table and pouring herself another shot. “First off, those bears can all speak English as well as me, no matter how stupid they may act around you. In Russia, we all learn English at some point in school. Also, you think you are waiting to meet with man in charge. But Yuri Asanov is not in charge.”

  “He’s not?” Toni asked, surprised. “But he’s the team coach.”

  “He is coach. And he is important. But he is not who you should be negotiating with. In shifter sports in Russia it is who pays the bills who controls the team.”

  “And who pays the bills?”

  Genka blew out a long plume of smoke, her dark brown eyes on Toni before she finally said, “Ivan Zubachev.”

  “What? But we talked to him. He met us on the first day.”

  “Right. And you didn’t know him. You didn’t greet him as the one in charge. So now he plays games. He’s very wealthy, so he has little else to do but fuck with the Americans.”

  “The Zubachevs have run this territory and this team,” Barinov explained, “since Vadim Zubachev told Stalin to suck his dick.”

  Toni thought a moment and finally asked. “Wait, I’m sorry, but . . . does the Russian full-human government know you exist here?”

  “They’ve known for centuries at least,” Genka said.

  “And they’ve never said anything? They’ve never come after you?”

  “They tried.” She held up her forefinger. “Once. Sent an entire army to wipe us out for being different. For being who we are. The men never came back.” She smirked. “But we ate well that winter. Like kings.”

  Ricky nodded. “All right then.”

  “So it’s Zubachev I need to negotiate with?” Toni asked.

  “It is. Like most bear, he is difficult. Stubborn. Like most Russians . . . he is difficult. Stubborn. He won’t make it easy on you.”

  “So what can I do to make it easier on me?”

  “Gifts always help. But, my little darling, your problem is, Ivan Zubachev and his entire family are rich. Like they-can-own-your-Manhattan rich. There is little you can offer him that he does not have or cannot buy, so you’ll have to come up with something unique. That only you can give.”

  “Great.” Toni sighed.

  “What does he like?” Ricky asked.

  Genka shrugged. “Hockey. Women. Although,” she said, looking at Toni, “you’re not his type. Too small, like bird.”

  “Hey.”

  “Hair too messy.”

  “I like your hair,” Ricky reminded her.

  “Not helping me.”

  Ricky loved watching Toni’s face when she was forced to down a shot of vodka. It was considered rude in Russia not to drink during a toast. So she’d winced and cringed her way through it, but managed well enough. The woman was definitely determined. He liked that about her.

  After a hearty lunch and a good-bye filled with hugs and a promise to the wild dogs that they’d get a private audience with Bo Novikov himself—“We have cousins in Mongolia who want to meet him, too. We bring them,” Genka had promised—they’d headed back to their vehicle.

  Ricky had just pulled the back passenger door open to let Toni in when Barinov’s phone went off. He smirked at the caller ID and answered.

  “Barinov.” After a moment, he walked around the car until he reached Toni. He handed her the phone. “It’s Ivan Zubachev, ma’am.”

  Taking the phone, Toni answered. “Yes? Oh. Hello, Mr. Zubachev. Did I? I missed today’s appointment? Oh. I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. So much going on, I guess. But don’t worry, I’ll be there tomorrow. Ready to negotiate away!”

  Ricky and Vic chuckled at her tone.

  “Yes. Of course. Tomorrow then.”

  She disconnecte
d the call. “He is pissed.”

  “Russians hate lateness,” Vic explained. “And not showing up at all . . . considered very rude.”

  “Then he shouldn’t play games with me. I deal with that every day with my family, but I love them so I put up with it.”

  “Then tomorrow we’re on.” Vic grinned down at her. “You ready for that?”

  “I can’t wait.” She got into the car and Ricky closed the door and faced Vic.

  “Here.” Vic handed Ricky the keys to the car.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll walk back. Work off the vodka.” He pointed to a road that shot off from the main one they’d traveled. “Go that direction and it’ll take you to Lake Baikal. The shifter-only portion. It’s open to all breeds and species.”

  “You don’t want to come?”

  “Seen it.” Eyes like a cat’s glanced at Toni and back at Ricky. “You guys have a nice time. I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

  Ricky snorted. “Seriously?”

  “I know how you canines are, Reed. You say it’s nothing, but it’s everything. Just suck it up already.”

  Laughing, the big hybrid walked off, and Ricky didn’t bother to argue with him. Instead, he opened Toni’s door.

  “Out,” he told her. She immediately stepped out.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He closed the back door and opened the front passenger side. “Since we’ve got the rest of the day, we’re going to sightsee.”

  Blinking, appearing surprised, Toni said, “Really?”

  “Don’t you want to?”

  “Yeah.” She thought a moment, and a bright smile bloomed across her face. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

  “Then get in, darlin’. Because I have no idea where we are going.”

  “It’s called a GPS, Reed. It’s already built into the car.”

  “Get in, smart ass.”

  Giggling, she did as he said, for once not bothering to argue. For once.

  Seven in the morning and Coop walked downstairs to get in some practice before the rush began. The grand piano he’d ordered had been placed in the main ballroom. The one everyone was fighting over. But when he walked in, the piano was gone and Kyle was over in the corner on a stepladder, chipping away at his marble while Oriana used the rest of the space to dance. A special flooring had been laid over the original—but damaged—wood so that she could use her pointe shoes without problems.