Play of Passion

CHAPTER 18

Andrew dumped his pack in his room and began to tug off his clothes for the shower. The hike down from the campsite had been undemanding in spite of the rain that had fallen overnight, and, for the juveniles, fun. Most had abandoned their packs for later retrieval halfway down and shifted, gamboling in the pools of water like four-year-olds, their howls of pleasure singing to his soul.

But no matter his wolf’s joy at being with his pack, the trip down had cut at him, made him bleed—because in spite of everything he’d told himself about charm, about courtship, he’d lost his temper the night before and it was still simmering. He’d been in no mood to play—and neither had Indigo.

They’d spoken to each other only when necessary and kept their distance the rest of the time. For Andrew, it had been partly self-preservation and partly because he didn’t trust himself around her. The hunger to touch, to caress, to possess, was a constant craving in his gut by now. He was fully capable of going after her with the intent to claim rights he didn’t have, rights she refused to give him, notwithstanding the addictive musk of her own desire.

Throwing the last of his clothing on the floor, he walked into the shower cubicle and tried to rub away the need, the fury that had him losing his mind. Of course it didn’t disappear, but the time he spent under the deliberately cool spray did calm him down a fraction. He’d made a mistake in challenging Indigo that way—but he wasn’t sorry. Because when it came down to it, he was a dominant same as her. He wasn’t going to lie to her about that. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t also going to use his other skills to burn through the ice of her temper.

I might play with boys, but I don’t keep them.

He clenched his jaw at the memory of her razor-sharp words, refusing to let them push him away. That was what she wanted—it would be the easy way out. And no matter how mad he was at her for what she’d said, he wasn’t going to give her that out. No fucking way.

Switching off the shower, he got dressed, then scrawled something on a small piece of paper that he slipped under Indigo’s door on his way down to the garage. He wasn’t exactly fit company right now. Better he redirect his anger into something useful, like fixing one of the malfunctioning vehicles. Fact was, he was good with cars, but no expert—which meant he’d have to concentrate.

However, he’d barely reached the underground area that was home to all their vehicles when someone pulled him aside and whispered that he’d been hearing rumors to do with “purity.” Freezing, Drew asked for further details, but the mechanic shrugged. “I think it’s something nasty, but no one’s sure quite what.”

His anger tempered by the need to protect the pack, Andrew began to do what he did best—talk to people. Over the next few hours, he moved from group to group, eating lunch with the soldiers, playing chess with a few of the elders, hanging out in the infirmary and in the training rooms.

His gut was a knot at the start. The last traitor within the pack had almost killed SnowDancer, stabbing a knife straight into its heart. He wasn’t sure they could bear it a second time.

The pack was too tight a unit, their loyalty to each other the bedrock on which they built their worlds. But what he found was something else, something unexpected.

“An e-mail,” he said to Hawke later that day, after managing to get his hands on a copy at last. “Sent from an anonymous account but, from the content, it’s connected to Pure Psy, that group all about maintaining Silence. No one knows where it originated—and a few of the people who received it had enough skill to attempt a backtrace. Nada.”

Hawke held his hand out for the e-mail. Andrew passed it across, having already memorized the poison.

We invite our brothers and sisters in SnowDancer to help us achieve our aim of a world of absolute Purity. Surely you do not want your blood polluted with those of the other races—surely you do not want your pack weakened by humans.

Hawke threw down the piece of paper, his jaw a brutal line. “Do we have a problem?”

“No,” Andrew was happy to say, his wolf’s relief a powerful beat against his skin. “Everyone I ran into who’d had contact with the thing found it ugly and malicious and deleted it immediately. I got this copy from someone’s recycle bin.”

Hawke rubbed at his forehead. “Why the fuck didn’t they e-mail it to me? I need to know about shit like this.” When Andrew said nothing, his alpha sat back in his chair. “Yeah, yeah, that’s why I have you.”

Andrew gave him a wry smile. “Most people just didn’t think it was that important—figured it was a nasty e-mail campaign by some crackpot group but nothing more.” Relaxed now, but with a different tension thrumming in his blood, he nodded at the e-mail. “That was a miscalculation on the part of Pure Psy. Almost everyone in the pack has someone human in their family, and they’ve come to see the Lauren children as pups to protect.” And wolves, changeling or feral, would give their lives to protect the young. “But I don’t like the fact the sender seems to have targeted people lower down in the hierarchy.”

“Means they’ve made enough of a study of us to get a handle on at least a little of how the pack functions.” Hawke tapped a finger on his desk. “We need to figure out if they’re trying to recruit outside the den as well.”

“I’ve already got my team on it,” Andrew told him. “So far, it looks like it was a concentrated e-mail blast to our people in this area.”

“Good. The other thing we need to consider is whether they targeted other groups within the city’s population. Something like this could generate serious friction.”

“I’ll put some feelers out, see if that’s a possibility.”

The wolf apparent in his gaze, Hawke picked up the e-mail again. “They’re not going to get inside this pack,” he said with cool finality. “But we need to know how strong they are in the PsyNet.”

Andrew didn’t need Hawke to explain why. Given the Psy race’s influence on economics and politics, whatever happened inside the Net had the potential to affect them all. “I’m meeting Judd after this. I’ll see what he can dig up. Last we heard, Pure Psy was mostly a splinter faction.”

“Things change fast in that bloody hive mind.” Lines marred his brow. “Maybe we should talk to the cop as well,” Hawke said, referring to Nikita’s new security chief.

“I’m on it,” Andrew said, taking the e-mail and folding it into a square he could slide into the pocket of his jeans. “As an aside, Nikita can’t exactly be popular with Pure Psy if she’s got a human security chief.”

That in itself, the fact of a human in a Councilor’s domain, had to be one hell of a story. Andrew had heard bits and pieces of what had gone down with Max Shannon and the J-Psy who was his wife, but he’d been away in another area when most of it was taking place. However, he’d made it a point to get in touch with Max when he returned to the den, knowing the cop’s position meant he’d be privy to some very useful information. Max, too, had seen the benefit of having a direct point of contact with SnowDancer.

“She’s still a Councilor,” Hawke said, his tone grim. “Be careful what intel you share.”

“There’s not much sharing going on right now.” Andrew knew true trust would take time. Hell, it had taken over a decade with the leopards. “We’re feeling each other out.”

Hawke’s eyes gleamed with unexpected humor. “So, feel anything out with a certain lieutenant?”

Andrew didn’t even bother to swear. He just got up and stabbed a finger in his alpha’s direction. “No interference.” He’d court, seduce, and tangle with Indigo his own way.

Hawke held up his hands, palms out, but the glint in his eye didn’t disappear. “Is she playing with you?”

Andrew thought of the silence that had been her response to the note he’d slipped under her door. “Not yet. But she will.” He wouldn’t accept any other outcome.

Coming in to change for a session with the novice soldiers, Indigo couldn’t keep from staring at the piece of paper sitting on her bedside table. It wasn’t as if the words would’ve changed from this morning, but she picked it up, bringing it close to her face—as if that would make her understand it better.

Have dinner with me tonight.—Drew

P.S. Don’t you want to know?

It was the last thing she’d have expected him to do after the bitterness of their fight. Because, all charm aside, Drew was a dominant predatory changeling male. He’d been in charge of the volatile San Diego sector until Hawke assigned him to his new position as a roaming liaison/spy across SnowDancer territory. And he was their tracker.

Men like that had tempers. They brooded and simmered. They did not extend olive branches . . . if that was what this was. Her eyes narrowed. Cunning, she thought; Drew wasn’t only smart and strong, he had a whole streak of sneaky running right through him.

As to the P.S., she could’ve told herself she didn’t understand, but that would’ve been disingenuous when the truth was beating her over the head with the subtlety of a hundred-pound hammer. A hammer wielded by an obstinate male with a wicked, wicked smile and a way of moving that made her want to sit back and simply admire.

It would be so easy to say yes, far easier than she could’ve ever imagined.

“But then what?” she whispered out loud, knowing that the disparity in their ages and—more crucially—positions in the hierarchy meant that any relationship would be a fleeting thing. It already tore her to shreds that they’d lost some of what had always been between them. No matter what, she’d never be able to touch Drew with the joyful familiarity of Pack again, never be able to sleep with her body tangled in his.

Frustrated and angry at him for doing this, for changing a relationship she hadn’t known she relied on until it was yanked out from under her feet, she scrunched the piece of paper into a ball and threw it into the corner. But though it was out of sight, it refused to leave her mind.

Having just had an interesting discussion with Judd about Pure Psy, as well as about another matter his brother-in-law wanted him to pursue, Andrew stopped by Brenna’s, knowing she had the day off. “So,” he said, giving her his most winning smile, “what’s for lunch?”

She laughed. “I got immune to that look around about when I turned five.” But she hugged him before supplying him with a large piece of leftover lasagna, fruit, and even a slice of almond-orange cake.

He ate fast, kissing her on the forehead in thanks before using the privacy of her apartment to make a call to Nikita’s security chief. Max was tied up all day today and tomorrow, so they set up a meeting for the morning of the day after.

“About the rumors Judd’s heard?” Brenna asked after he hung up. “Possible dead Psy in the city?”

“Yep.” Reviewing everything he had on his to-do list, Andrew realized he’d cleared it. Now it was time to pursue his personal prey—in a most unusual location. “See you later, baby sis.”

“Hey,” Brenna called out as he put his hand on the door-knob, “how’s the charm offensive going?”

Andrew thought of how furious Indy was with him, thought, too, of her silence in response to his note. “I’m working on it.” Leaving, he made his way through the corridors and to the White Zone. His target, the outdoor nursery, was tucked in one well-guarded corner of the designated safe area, and he wasn’t more than a foot inside when he was accosted by a determined two-year-old.

“Up,” she said, raising her arms imperiously.

Being the sucker that he was, he obliged, throwing her into the air. “Again!” she ordered when he caught her, the morning light blazing off the thick brown of her curls.

He obeyed. Four more times—to her squealing delight—before her chubby little arms hugged his neck. “Down.” As he bent to put her on the ground, she smacked his lips with her own in a silent thank-you.

“So the charm works on two-year-olds, too?” A gentle comment from the woman who stood watch over the littlies as they played in the secure playground area—fenced off with stone walls to ensure no harm could come to the smallest of SnowDancers.

He rose to his full height. “The only one it doesn’t seem to work on,” he said, well aware that her acute gaze would see through any attempt at prevarication, “is your daughter.”

Tarah Riviere’s smile deepened, and there was such serenity in it that his own wolf turned calm, unwilling to disturb her with its chaotic emotions. “Your mate is a lucky man,” he said without artifice. Such peace would never suit his own wild nature, but there was no denying the beauty and grace of it.

“Charming me won’t do you any good with my daughter.” Bending down, Tarah kissed a boo-boo, then sent the little boy toddling happily away.

Andrew shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, rocking back on his heels. “I adore her,” he said, figuring honesty would only help his case. “And if nothing else, she”—he couldn’t say “wants me” to Indigo’s mother—“is attracted to me, but I can’t even get her to talk to me about it because I don’t fit the image she has in her mind of the men she ought to date.” His frustration punched through in spite of himself.

Tarah scowled. “No criticizing my baby.”

“Sorry.” Shoving his hands through his hair, he caught a pup in wolf form as the boy tried to make a daring escape, and tapped him gently on the muzzle before setting him back on the right path. “She’s making me crazy.” He remained hunkered on the ground, playing with the pup, who’d circled back to growl and bat at his hands with little paws.

Tarah’s fingers touched his hair. “My Indigo is willful. Always has been, always will be.” Affectionate words. “She knows what she wants.”

“Well, she’s wrong,” he muttered, growling back at the pup when the little one tried a dominance display.

The pup froze.

Reaching out, Andrew picked him up, nipped him on one ear, and sent him on his way.

“Very well done,” Tarah murmured. “The babies are always trying things like that. They need to know their boundaries at this age.”

“It’s the wolf,” Andrew said, remaining where he was . . . because it was nice to have a mother’s fingers playing through his hair. He only had a few precious memories of his own lieutenant mother, but he missed her—the way she’d pepper his face with kisses, the way she’d brush his hair, the way she’d smell after coming in from duty. Small moments, fleeting whispers, those were the things he remembered. “It needs the certainty of the hierarchy.”

“That doesn’t change with age.” Sighing, she tugged a little at his hair, making him look up. “You don’t fit the hierarchy, Andrew.”