Vic smirked when he saw Novikov look at his watch . . . again.

It had never been part of Vic’s plan to attend the weddings of Novikov and MacRyrie to the lovely Blayne and Gwen. Livy would be working, and he would have only come as her escort. But then Blayne had begged—literally, begged—for him and Shen to be Bo’s groomsmen. Apparently half the hockey team was standing up for MacRyrie, but other than two foxes who received a stern lecture about what they could and couldn’t do at the wedding from Novikov, followed by a printed-out, multi-page description of those things; and super-hockey-fan Lou Crushek, there was no one else to be his groomsmen. So Vic and Shen had agreed. Especially when Livy again reminded Vic about Novikov saving her life.

The service went well, though. Blayne cried, Gwen didn’t. The bridesmaids were made up of derby girls, wild dogs, wolves, and felines. When the two couples were announced to be husbands and wives, the wild dogs howled . . . badly.

And there, during it all, had been Livy. Dressed in black slacks, black sweater, and comfortable but sleek-looking black boots, she’d moved around that ceremony barely noticed. He loved watching her work. Her focus was always so intense. But when she worked, she didn’t stand for anyone annoying her. Especially wedding planners. She’d already threatened Cella Malone’s mother to “back up off me, old woman.”

Novikov glanced at his watch one more time before jumping to his feet and storming over to the door of the dressing room the brides were using. He banged on it, nearly taking it off the hinges. “You are late!” he yelled through the door.

“I will not be forced into a schedule by you!” Blayne shot back.

“Not forced! You agreed to this schedule! Agreed!”

“If you don’t back away from that door, Bold Novikov, I’m going to mule-kick it!”

Shen leaned over and whispered, “You owe me fifty bucks. I told you he wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

“I’d feel bad for Blayne,” Vic whispered back, “if I didn’t know for a fact she knew exactly what she was getting into.”

“You have five more minutes!” Novikov bellowed. “And then I’m comin’ in!”

“And what?”

“And I’ll bring your father with me!”

“You bastard!”

It took another twenty minutes for the ladies to finish changing into their reception dresses. Gwen just looked bored by it all, never smiling unless she was looking at MacRyrie. It was clear she was doing this for his family and his family alone; the MacRyries were a respectable family of grizzlies.

But Blayne . . . Blayne was in her element. As far as she was concerned, this was a big party and she wanted everyone to have a good time. All those bears, felines, and canines together should lead to lots of fights andsnarling, but Blayne had already managed to keep all the factions tolerant enough. The music and liquor would also help, of course. And Vic was sure that Blayne and Mitch Shaw would be able to get a good number of people out on the dance floor.

Vic was there to give Novikov a reprieve now and again from the crowds and all the loud music. They’d go outside the majestic reception hall that had been rented and stand around, talking about Russia and the great steakhouses Vic knew about. They ended up making plans to take a group trip there. A vacation. Something Novikov had started doing more because of Blayne.

If they actually went, Vic hoped they could also stop in Poland so Livy could spend some time with her Kowalski kin.

Vic didn’t know if any of that would be fun, but it would be worth a try.

Blayne suddenly skated through the dancing, partying crowd, pulling a reluctant Livy with her.

“I’m ordering you to take a break,” Blayne said as she shoved Livy into Vic’s lap. “You’ve been working for hours!”

“That’s what you paid me to do, Blayne. To work. At your wedding.”

“You’ve taken a ton of pictures. Just take a break.”

“Malone’s mother is gonna bitch about that.”

“I’ll deal with her. You just”—she wiggled a little—“relax with Vic.” She giggled and skated away, having removed her fifteen-hundred-dollar shoes and replaced them with sparkly white quad skates.

“You know,” Livy said, placing her camera on the table, “I think she actually believes she got us together.”

“Let her believe it. What do we care?”

“I hate seeing her so happy. She just gets perkier.”

“You could shift and attack her again.”

Livy laughed. “I don’t know what it is, dude, but my badger self just wants to maul her.” She cleared her throat. “But this is her wedding day. I will not maul her on her wedding day.”

“That is very big of you.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

She put her arms around his neck, relaxed her head on his shoulder. “I love my camera,” she softly sang.

“I’m glad it’s working for you.”

“Me, too. Oh. By the way . . . Melly’s back in jail.”

“The boyfriend again?”

“No. His wife. There was a fistfight.”

“There’s a wife?”

“I never told you that?”

“No!”

“He’s married. And Melly fucked her parole by hitting his wife in the face. A few times. She’ll be going in for another six months, probably.”

“Maybe you guys should consider getting her some help.”