Birdie clutched at imaginary pearls and gasped like she’d just taken a hit to the solar plexus. “What about the flowers? The music? The reception afterwards? A photographer?”

Ivy took a breath, wondering how she was going to explain that there was no point in spending all kinds of time, effort and money on a marriage that was only going to dissolve into the thinnest of unions. “I just thought we could keep things simple. No muss, no fuss.”

“Oh, my word, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m totally serious.”

“This marriage represents the union of two very important packs. Not to mention, it’s my nephew’s first and only wedding. Simple will not do.”

“You know I’m lying in a hospital bed, right?”

“You told Hank you felt fine. Is that the truth?”

“Yes.” Ivy wouldn’t say she was a hundred percent, but she was at least eighty. Maybe eighty-five.

Birdie’s hands starting flopping through the air like she was trying to organize dust motes. “Then get up, girl, get up! We have work to do. Lots of work to do.”

With its tucked-away location, the Pinehurst Inn had once been the county’s favorite “No tell motel,” but time had worn the place down, and now its guests fell into three categories: cheapskates, the unfortunate, and delinquents.

Whether or not Dalton and Wade Jenkins were cheapskates remained to be seen, but they were definitely delinquents, and they were about to be very, very unfortunate.

Hank raised his hand and chopped it forward to indicate to Titus and Cruz that it was time to move into position.

Titus put two fingers to his forehead in a salute that said he understood, and he and Cruz moved out.

Keeping his voice down, Hank looked at Sam. “Let’s go.”

Sam nodded.

They crept past Titus’s pickup truck and around the side of the building, making their way through weeds littered with trash and an old mattress. Once upon a time there had been a pool back here, but it had been filled in a long time ago. Hank glanced at his watch. Three minutes to get into position at the back door of the Jenkinses’ room. The doors that had once led to the pool area still remained, and were probably a big part of the Pinehurst Inn’s reputation as a good place to make a fast getaway.

If the Jenkinses tried it, they were going to run right into him and Sam.

Hank wasn’t keen on executing this kind of operation in the middle of the day, but Ivy’s safety was paramount.

These lowlifes needed to be dealt with.

Hank ducked as he passed beneath the room’s open bathroom window. The sounds of a daytime TV game show and the acrid scent of cigarette smoke wafted out. The Jenkinses must be biding their time until night fell and they could make another attempt on Ivy’s life. They had to know by now that she’d survived the wolfsbane.

Hank flattened himself against the wall as Sam did the same on the other side of the window.

Hank checked his watch. Thirty seconds.

This wasn’t going to be some slick undercover op. Hell no. This was going to be a little taste of shock and awe. Brute force and the element of surprise. It was their only option to keep things neat and tidy, because if anyone shifted, they’d all shift, and having five wolves and a panther battling it out at the Pinehurst Inn was unacceptable.

Fifteen seconds.

Adrenaline coursed through his system, narrowing his focus until time seemed to slow. It had been like this in his Army Ranger days, too. The rush calmed him. He reached for the door knob, the sound of his pulse ticking in his head like a metronome keeping him on pace.

Ten seconds.

Sam crouched, ready to charge through.

Five seconds.

Hank’s fingers curled around the knob.

Go time.

He yanked the door off its hinges just as Cruz and Titus burst through the front. Chaos ruled. The Jenkins brothers leaped off the bed and lunged, going into half-forms.

Hank and his crew did the same, sprouting elongated fangs and sharp nails, while Cruz shifted into his partial panther form and unleashed a lethal set of claws.

The Jenkins closest to Hank swiped at him, catching him on the shoulder, but the momentum left the man open.

Hank rammed his arm back and clocked the man in the head with his elbow. A solid hit. The man slumped to his knees and fell forward, the gold in his eyes blinking out like a plug had been pulled.

Titus, Sam and Alex Cruz had the second brother well in hand. Hank grabbed the brother who was moaning at his feet, pinned him against the wall and held him there by his throat.

The man’s lids fluttered open.

“Good. You’re awake. We need to talk.”

He blinked. His pupils were slow to focus. “’Bout what?”

Hank snarled. “You tried to kill my fiancée.”

Realization filled Jenkins’ eyes. He clawed at Hank’s hands, trying to free them from his neck. “It’s…not…your business…Merrow.”

Blood welled in the cuts made by the other man’s scratching, but Hank held fast, squeezing a little harder. “She’s about to be my wife. That makes it my business.”

Jenkins started to go blue. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His eyes went buggy.

With a growl, Hank dropped Jenkins to his feet. He couldn’t kill the man. Yet.

The second Jenkins touched down, he took a breath. Then he swung.

Hank dodged the man’s talons and rammed his shoulder into the man’s chest. The air left him with an audible woof, and he collapsed to the ground again, heaving in air.